12 | michigan history

In February 1963, I heard a song on the radio that would change my life forever: “I Want to Hold Your Hand” by the Beatles. The band followed that single with “I Saw

Her Standing There,” “She Loves You,” “Love Me Do,” and so many other songs in such a short period, it boggled the mind. I loved everything by the Beatles, and spent hours in the record department of the downtown Detroit Hudson’s store listening on headphones to their latest recordings. I liked the other “British Invasion” bands like Herman’s Hermits, Gerry and the Pacemakers, and the Dave Clark Five. But, at heart, I was a “Beatlemaniac.” And as far as I was concerned, no one could touch them.

My love for the Beatles, especially Paul McCartney, grew exponentially from early 1963 and into 1964. They were the first group to consistently rival Motown groups for the number-one song in Detroit in the mid-1960s. Then, inexplicably, a public relations guy at the University of Detroit initiated a “Stamp Out the Beatles” campaign, prompting a rumor that the band might cancel their scheduled concert in September—inconceivable! My friends and I thought we would die if we couldn’t see the Beatles.

Our favorite disc jockey was Tom Clay on CKLW, the big 50,000-watt station across the river in Windsor, Ontario. He organized an event called the Beatle Booster Ball to combat this campaign to malign our heroes. The ball was an outdoor concert at the state fairgrounds. By attending, we got to listen to great music and demonstrate just how much Detroit truly loved the Beatles. I even made a giant poster with pictures I drew of John, Paul, George, and Ringo to take along.

We spent the summer of ’64 arguing amicably over the various merits and demerits of one Beatle over another. In July, we went to see the band’s first film, “A Hard Day’s Night,” all the while anxiously awaiting the concert date.

I knew from reading fan magazines that the non-stop screaming at a Beatles concert was so loud, it was deafening. Even the Fab Four complained that it was impossible to hear their own music over the din of thousands of besotted teenage girls. Well, I for one was determined to

By Val Kamm

BeatlemaniacConfessions of a

may/JUnE 2013 | 13

be a mature 13; none of this silly, schoolgirl-crush insanity for me. My love for the Beatles was more of an adult appreciation of their music, which I very much wanted to hear live.

Finally, that day came to pass. On September 6, 1964, despite the unseasonably warm temperature of an Indian summer day, I dressed in a woolen “mod” outfit bought especially for the concert. It seemed like the nine-mile trip from Dearborn to Olympia Stadium took forever. But, soon, we were there…and stuck in the rafters of the building with no air conditioning! The temperature felt like 100 degrees.

Then the Beatles began to play, and we couldn’t hear a single note!

Years later, I would discover that, as a musical venue, Olympia Stadium was acoustically unsound. But that Sunday evening, it made no difference. We couldn’t hear anything—not even one another, let alone the music. And, sadly, from our high-tier seats, we could barely even see the Beatles way down on stage, seemingly a million miles away. What a ripoff! After all, we’d paid a whopping five bucks for our tickets.

 People were wandering up and down the stairs and aisles, everyone sweating profusely and becoming dangerously dehydrated. We saw one girl who had hundreds of Beatle cards pinned to her clothing. Again, I felt that such behavior was undignified. Though I wanted Paul McCartney to see me, I certainly didn’t want to appear so ridiculous.

In the excitement of the moment—or the heat—the poor girl fainted and fell down the stairs, Beatle cards flashing as she rolled by.

Some people helped her up and she was okay, but I was so appalled by the spectacle that I grabbed one of my girlfriends with the intention of making a beeline for the stage. If I couldn’t hear the Beatles performing, I was at least going to see them.

Down and down we went to the floor of the stadium. I pushed my way through the crowd, holding on tight to my

friend’s hand, until we ended up directly behind the stage with only a few bodyguards standing between us and the lads from Liverpool. Amazingly, we still couldn’t hear the band play, but now we were only 10 to 15 feet from our idols.

My friend, whose favorite Beatle was George, removed a shoe and threw it at him, hoping to get his attention. Fortunately for me, she was a lousy shot and instead hit Paul, who turned around, looked down, and “waved” at us with the neck of his bass guitar. His smiling eyes met mine and I almost swooned. Paul actually looked at me! Then,

I heard a girl screaming at the top of her lungs; it took a moment to realize it was me! So much for acting like an adult.

I recall next to nothing about the rest of the concert or the ride home. Paul McCartney had short-circuited my 13-year-old brain. But what I do remember is that Paul McCartney had the most beautiful brown eyes of all time. And on a sweltering September night in 1964, for one enchanted moment, they looked directly into mine.

Although Olympia Stadium was demolished 23 years later in September 1987, in my memory that moment will live on forever. 

Val Kamm, a graduate of Michigan State University, is a writer and horticulturist

living in Colorado at the foot of Pikes Peak.

Facing page: The Beatles performed before a sold-out crowd at Detroit’s Olympia Stadium during their first American tour. From the Tony Spina Collection, Walter P. Reuther Library, Wayne State University. Above: The author with friends on her way to the Beatle Booster Ball.

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