Category Archives: The Beatles

To Jamie At 70

Paling around with you Jamie I always knew something fun, risky, or outright naughty was in store. Boy did you pack some serious confidence in our capers, plus displayed an endless capacity for kindness.

Being this is your birthday I’ve been thinking over our shared escapades and memories, and three moments stand out from our school years.

It must have been around 1968 or ’69 I had a slumber party in our basement. OJ was there, and pretended to sleep while we put her hand in warm water to make her pee. Hilarious. But the high point of that night happened when some boys showed up at the window in the downstair’s bathroom. It was BB, remember him? There were also some other guys but B was the one you ushered through the window.

My heart fell into my feet because my parents were just up a floor and easily could have caught us. Also, your gutsy move in bringing a popular boy into my house was pretty damn cool. And that is a daring that simply reveals your audacity, even as a pre-teen.

Besides B was cute-I can see you nod as you read.

Sometime later, I’m sure there was snow on the ground, you called, inviting me to spend the night at your house. You laid down some big time pressure for me to convince my mom to let me come over. God knows what deals I had to negotiate, but I knew this invite was more of a summons, and I couldn’t refuse. When I got there you were pleased, smiling like the Cheshire Cat. In the living room you turned and put on an album on that stereo in the corner, then handed me the cover. It was the White Album, and you were the first person I knew who bought it. I can’t describe how much that meant, the kind consideration you extended by sharing that treasure with your lucky friend. I still think about that night, especially if a song from that album plays. Thank you again, it was a summons worthy of honoring.

Cocolalla Lake was the site of your most memorable achievement. If you recall my dad took us to our lake cabin in his truck and dropped us off. Debbie W came along and someone else. Maybe you remember our fourth. At any rate, after he left we all talked about how to get beer. We pooled our cash and you walked across the lake to the Sagle Market with somebody, maybe our fourth. All of 16 years old, you must have exuded that Jamie confidence and returned with the goods—a case of Coors. And we had quite the party, peeing outside and playing music at top volume.

A couple of days later my dad came to collect us, again in his truck, and we had tied up 24 beer cans, carefully weighing them down with the garbage we had to haul out.

Sitting on each others laps, it was, after all the early 1970’s, so who needed for seatbelts? As dad hit 60 miles per hour the trash bags started to whip open in the back, and sure enough beer cans popped out like a bag of popcorn. The jig was up and my stomach, once again, fell into my feet, but not you, Jamie. You sat serenely enjoying the drive. I swear you have cast iron nerves. At any rate we returned to Spokane with a much lighter load of trash, and wonderful memories of our weekend.

My dearest friend, your strength, intellect, and creativity made a deep impression on me back in those early days as I am sure it has for many others you have befriended through the years. Enjoy a most happy 70th and continue that honorable path you forged when we were just little girls.

Love you,

Gail

PS-My dad never said a word about the beer cans.

Meet The Beatles

It was the night of February 9, 1964, a Sunday, when my older brother and I had to make a crucial little kid decision. The situation we faced left us over stimulated, careening off the living room walls. Our dilemma concerned whether or not to watch “Davy Crockett at the Alamo” on Disney, or the Beatles on Ed Sullivan. Adding even more adrenaline to the mix, our shared birthday was the next day, Monday, the 10th.

Agony.

In 1964 there were no video players, no DVD players, no home computers, or dvr’s. Our television stood inside a wood frame measuring about the size of Volkswagen Bug and beamed three network channels in glorious, flickering, black and white. This night’s decision was a one-off with no do-overs. Period.

Dale and I liked Davy Crockett an awful lot. We had watched all the previous episodes, and Davy biting the dust in San Antonio was the much anticipated grand finale. But, oh, the Beatles! “Please Please Me” had infiltrated AM radio, and the fever on the airwaves was palpable. 

This was a single decision, and a weighty conundrum for an almost 10, and almost 9 year-old. We had to choose.

In the end we tuned into Ed Sullivan and our world permanently shifted on its axis. George’s opening chords launched into John and Paul’s vocals. “Oh, yeah I’ll tell you something, I think you’ll understand.” The look, the sound, the energy knocked us both for a loop. And the band seemed so delighted with performing, visibly getting a kick out of the reaction of the screaming studio audience, and by extension, all of America. And then that deep bow at the end of the song! Wow.

In fan magazines we learned more about each individual: who was quiet, cute, endearing, and the leader, but those were minor details. That moment, on February 9th all we sensed was joyful wonder. John Sebastian said it best later, singing “how the magic is the music and the music’s in me,” and magic struck on that winter’s night.

The introduction of the Beatles to America reset the course of music world wide, not a small thing. Over the following years the joint efforts of Lennon/McCartney clearly demonstrated genius in both songwriting and brilliant recordings. After their breakup the four musicians pursued other projects: The Plastic Ono Band, Wings, Wilburys, and Ringo’s All Star Band. Each married, had children, remarried, then John was tragically murdered, and George died of cancer.

Now Paul and Ringo attend public commemorations of Beatle music, while their children pop up frequently on social media, each pursuing some latest venture or other. But those facts are details, and rather unimportant details compared to that singular moment on February 9, 1964.

For years I called my brother on our birthday, blasting “Birthday” from the White Album because “it’s my birthday too, yeah.” 

Now a lifetime has passed, and my birthday twin and partner in Beatlemania sadly died. But I remember, I’ll always remember. The gift of that moment survives, when we were both very much alive breathing in the unbounded optimism, energy, and magic when Dale and I first met the Beatles.

Oh, by the way, I’ve never seen “Davy Crockett at the Alamo.”

Gail Chumbley is the author of the two-part memoir, “River of January,” and “River of January: Figure Eight.” Chumbley has also authored the stage play, “Clay” and “Wolf By The Ears.” In addition, Gail co-authored the screenplay, “Dancing on Air” based on her books.