So in case you missed it, this month is the 50th anniversary of the Beatles’ “British invasion” of the US. This anniversary has inspired me to beam myself back in time to February 1964 and see what I remember.
I was in second grade, living in California, Missouri. Just four months earlier President Kennedy had been assassinated. His death marked the first rupture in normality, and the arrival of rock and roll via the Beatles marked the next.
I’m sure I watched the Beatles perform on the Ed Sullivan show on February 9. Everyone watched the Ed Sullivan show. I have a faint memory of curling up on the floor of the TV room in the Victorian house we lived in at the time and watching open mouthed as the Beatles performed in black and white and shades of gray. The screen was grainy, and the sound was thin and tinny, but even so, the energy of their playing leaped off the screen and into our small room. It was the same TV that had shown us the horrors of the Kennedy assassination, but now we were watching something alive and exciting. We needed the Beatles to invade us.
The TV had its own room then. Watching television was a self-contained activity; you sat down and watched a show like a live performance, which most shows were then. You gave the TV your complete attention. If it was supper time, you ate dinner on TV trays designed just for this purpose. If your mother was feeling generous, or she’d left you with a baby sitter, you got to eat a frozen Swanson’s TV dinner, either turkey or meatloaf. You only took breaks during “commercial breaks” (no DVR or on-demand), which were announced by the TV host: “And now a word from our sponsor.” Three broadcast channels provided the menu of choice, and that was it.
Anyway, as soon as the Beatles landed and took over the airwaves, my younger sister and I went crazy for rock and roll of all kinds. My older cousin Dana was still listening to songs like “She wore a teeny weeny polka dot bikini” and Elvis Presley hits, but we knew that kind of music was so over.
We begged our mother to buy us some rock and roll records. I don’t know why we didn’t specify the Beatles or another band, but because we didn’t, she brought home a ‘78 of Chubby Checkers. We were horrified and embarrassed for my poor clueless mother. That was first time I was aware that things had changed. A younger generation was in charge, and adults didn’t have all the answers.
It became even more clear when adults got upset over the Beatles’ haircuts that they just didn’t get it. We kids took a silent pleasure in our parents’ consternation over boys’ with girls’ hair. It was like we shared a secret from the adults.
Naturally, we had to have “go go” boots, white leather ones with side zippers. We wore them with knee socks, which kind of ruined the effect, but we didn’t care.
The next year, in third grade, we were living in Columbia, Missouri. My girlfriends and I would waste countless hours talking about which Beatle was our favorite. This decision was as important as declaring a political or religious preference; it would mark you forever. I finally declared that my favorite Beatle was John, more as a result of a process of elimination than a true preference. Paul was too cute and the obvious choice. George was too nerdy and dour, Ringo too goofy and silly. So that left John who was talented, attractive, and serious but with a sense of humor.
After the film “A Hard Day’s Night” came out, we would run around my front yard and sing the lyrics and act them out, climbing into a convenient apple tree to hang upside down from a branch and sing “Help, help, I need somebody, help!” Naturally, we wanted our favorite Beatle to rescue us like Prince Charming.
In fourth grade our class had an annual talent night performance for parents and family. The highlight was when we all came out on stage at the end and danced to “She’s Got a Ticket to Ride.” This was our teacher’s idea, and I remember being surprised that she was so daring and adventurous, that she even knew about the Beatles.
So there I was in my favorite wool skirt and V-neck sweater, knee socks, and Oxfords, on stage. (I had on laced shoes instead of penny loafers because my mother thought I was too young for loafers and would somehow lose them. I thought this was ridiculous; how do you lose a shoe at school?)
Anyway, there I was, twisting away to the music with the other fourth graders at West Boulevard Elementary in Columbia, Missouri. I felt embarrassed because I wasn’t sure I was doing “The Twist” the right way, but I was excited to be near the front, visible to all, leading the vanguard.
When I reflect on that time, I’m surprised that even though I was only in elementary school when the Beatles burst on the scene, I had a strong visceral sense that their arrival heralded a new era. It was like a curtain had come down on the past, and we were on the other side. New music, new clothes, new ideas were just around the corner. I didn’t know what was coming, but I could taste the future, and it was coming fast.
