The Beatles In Cleveland: Memories, Facts & Photos About The Notorious 1964 & 1966 Concerts

Foreword by Bill Harry

When we booked John, Paul, George and Stuart for our art college dances, I can’t remember them having a specific name. I just referred to them as the college band. Images come back to me of them performing on the stage at the end of the canteen, being with them in the room behind the stage, and Stuart showing me his new bass guitar. These are fleeting images. The details of our conversations and of their performances at the dances have long since escaped me.

Virginia and I must have seen around two hundred performances by the Beatles, from their gigs in the cellar of the Jacaranda, to the Litherland Town Hall and Aintree Institute appearances. We were at most of their lunchtime, evening and all-night sessions at the Cavern, and were with them for the Royal Iris trips up the Mersey, all their Tower Ballroom gigs, and those at virtually every venue on Merseyside; Floral Hall, Southport; Queens Hall, Widnes; Plaza St Helens, and even their single appearance at the Locarno Ballroom in West Derby Road.

We saw them with Stuart, we saw them with Pete, and we saw them with Ringo. In those days, for a period of five years, Virginia and I would be out for lunchtime and evening sessions by the group, seven days a week.

As their fame grew, Virginia and I accompanied them on their first radio sessions in Manchester and their debut TV shows at Granada Television. During their tours we’d hang around with them backstage at venues such as the Ardwick, Apollo and ABC, Blackpool.

But, regretfully, we never saw them in Hamburg or America.

The audiences we had been part of were always electric; we’d feel the hair rise on the backs of our necks. They were compact audiences, squeezed tight in the Cavern or the Cassanova Club, or appearing in a larger venue such as the Tower Ballroom, which still radiated their power on stage. But even their theatre gigs before audiences of up to 1,200 people per house couldn’t match the vast audiences of thousands in America.

I often wondered what they would be like. And now I know.

Dave Schwensen has focused this book on two shows in Cleveland: the 1964 appearance at Public Hall and 1966 at Municipal Stadium. He has produced an amazing contribution to Beatles history, spending three years interviewing the people who interacted with the Beatles on those occasions and playing detective to unearth every single particle of information surrounding those exciting events experienced by the fortunate fans in Cleveland who were able to attend.

So now I know what it was really like. I’m able to experience, somewhat vicariously, the fervor of the occasion, which makes Dave’s book quite unique.

Although I documented the Mersey scene week by week, I was never able to document one specific gig in such detail. The stories of the Cleveland concerts are presented here in three dimensions - an exploration of an occasion experienced by the promoters, journalists and disc jockeys, fellow musicians, and fans. It’s an incredible sharing of information by the people who were actually there.

As John Lennon once said You had to be there. Well, Dave has created the nearest thing to actually witnessing the Cleveland concerts and it’s a worthwhile contribution to the growing canon of works about the greatest rock group of them all. Thanks Dave, for lovingly compiling such an invaluable collection of memories.

Bill Harry.

Founder of Mersey Beat

www.mersey-beat.com

Preface

It Was 40 Years Ago Today

It wasn’t exactly deja vu, or at least how I’ve come to understand the term. There were no feelings of having once before lived this exact moment in time, or watching a dream magically come to life before my eyes. Instead, a better description would be similar to a chance meeting between old friends as a result of being in the right place at the right time. The only difference was that my meeting occurred with a memory that had been lost for too long, but not forgotten.

I was surprised at how clear my recollection was of this one particular moment, considering it had only been a brief distraction on the way to a much larger, more chaotic, and unforgettable event. But the impression it had made on my once-teenaged mind was strong enough to be remembered four decades later. All it took was a chance meeting of weather, music, and a lonely voice of protest.

I was driving alone on a Saturday afternoon through an area of Cleveland called the West Side Market. It was early August, but instead of the usual summer heat and humidity that hangs over northern Ohio like a Lake Erie-powered sauna, the air was unseasonably chilly and damp. The sky was dark with heavy clouds and the rhythmic sweep of wipers across the car windshield pushed away a light rain that had been falling since morning.

In front of brick buildings I’d passed by so often they were not much more than background scenery, parked cars narrowed traffic lanes along West 25th Street and gave me an opportunity at each stop light to practice the fine art of people-watching. Despite the weather and a few impatient drivers practicing the fine art of people-dodging, shoppers crossed the street and filled the sidewalks searching for bargains. Many carried umbrellas and wore light jackets, while others simply ignored the rain, determined not to let it dampen the afternoon’s outdoor activities.

Feeling the need for a musical soundtrack to discourage any possibility of a damp mood inside my car, I reached for a copy of The Beatles’ Revolver and slid it into the CD player. Hitting the fast forward button, I found the opening notes of Good Day Sunshine, which any seasoned Beatles fan will recognize as the first song on the second side of the album released in August 1966.

For the unseasoned, an album was a vinyl, twelve-inch disk with grooves requiring a turntable and needle to be heard. For an added dose of sarcastic wit, this piece of equipment was often referred to as a record player. Since an album had two sides, it needed to be turned over to hear all the songs. These relics of the pop music culture were stored in cardboard sleeves and over the years some of the more creatively designed covers on these sleeves became valued for the artwork, as well as for the music inside. Revolver is a classic example of both.

Now that I’ve finished the humorous portion of Introduction To Albums 101, it’s worth noting the second side of Revolver, beginning with Good Day Sunshine, has a personal history of chasing away any summertime blues that can be brought on by cold and damp weather. But the reason I’m bringing this up now, during my story about a drive in August 2006, will be made as clear as a cloudless sky over Lake Erie a bit later.

Since I wasn’t interested in people-dodging or drawing attention from the Cleveland Police, I stopped for another red light. Glancing across the intersection at a corner park, I saw about a half dozen small, open-sided white tents forming a temporary outdoor flea market and protection from the rain. Each tent had tables displaying watches, clothes, souvenirs, and other items priced low enough to keep shoppers out of the drier stores. Apparently the bargains were worth braving the weather, because a large crowd had gathered in the park with more people heading in that direction.

Over the Beatles’ harmony on Good Day Sunshine, a voice caught my attention. Glancing toward a building across from the park, I saw an older man wearing a dark suit standing on the corner next to a wooden box displaying two stacks of pamphlets or flyers. His pale-skinned face was topped by slicked-back short hair, and he was holding a sign that said Jesus Saves in big block letters. In his other hand, he grasped a megaphone to his mouth in an effort to make his religious message heard above the noise on the street.

Whether it was curiosity or just plain fate, I rolled down the car window to get a better view. Feeling the wet, chilly air on my face, I listened to the man’s warnings for anyone who didn’t repent his sins and follow a path of righteousness. At the same time I also watched shoppers pass him on their way to the flea market bargains, almost as if he didn’t exist at all. In the background, side two of Revolver continued to play...

Suddenly, all the elements of that chance meeting stirred memories from forty years earlier. Sights, sounds and most importantly, feelings and emotions came rushing in through the open car window. My thoughts were swept back to another damp and chilly summer evening when I had watched a lone protester shouting a similar message at a crowd of people hurrying past him and toward a different event. In my mind it was August 14, 1966 all over again - and The Beatles were in Cleveland.

ACT ONE

Back Beat Of Two Cities

Located on what residents refer to as The North Coast of The United States, Cleveland, Ohio, has often been compared to England’s seaport of Liverpool. Both cities have diverse populations, a shared reliance on shipping, and were built around important rivers: The Cuyahoga and The Mersey. Stone, brick and concrete buildings darkened by factory smoke formed the surrounding urban landscapes, while strong muscles and seasoned characters supplied the manpower to make it all work.

To sailors on The Great Lakes, the area where The Cuyahoga flows into Lake Erie is still known as The Port of Cleveland. The river serves as a line dividing the city into an East Side and West Side, which are connected by a series of bridges that are either built high, or able to rise or rotate when cargo freighters are navigating to various upriver loading docks.

The low-lying district where the lake and river meet is known as The Flats. A focal point of the shipping industry for over 150 years, The Flats had developed a reputation by the 1960’s as an area to avoid. Docks and bars attracted a tougher crowd, criminal activity was not unheard of, and the atmosphere of dirt, grime, soot and smoke cast a dark shadow over the Lake Erie coastline. When pollution caused a section of The Cuyahoga to burst into flames in June 1969, a stream of international headlines and endless jokes influenced Federal and State Legislators to pass laws aimed at cleaning-up The Great Lakes and its tributaries.

After massive renovations in the 1980’s, The Flats now boasts a successful reputation for urban progress and has become a popular center for entertainment and nightlife. Restaurants, clubs, an outdoor concert stage and high-profile family events attract visitors, while future plans include luxury condos and permanent dockage for pleasure boats.

Rising up on higher ground next to the river is downtown Cleveland. With The Flats attracting people and dollars from the suburbs, investors continued the revamping of the city with a new baseball stadium, sports arena, Science Center, and renovation of the Playhouse Square District, which is second only to New York City’s Broadway in the number of theaters located in one area.

On the lakefront at the northern edge of downtown is The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum. Though other cities competed to be the permanent location, Cleveland was chosen for a number of reasons.

The term rock’n roll was broadcast in 1951 for the first time – ever – by local radio disc jockey, Allen Freed, over northern Ohio airwaves. The city is also credited with hosting the first rock’n roll concert, Freed’s Moondog Coronation Ball in March, 1952. And finally, Cleveland was the overwhelming favorite to host the pop culture icon in a poll by readers of the nationally syndicated newspaper, USA Today. The innovative architecture of the building was designed to include support beams over Lake Erie and for many fans solidifies a musical bond between the seaports of Cleveland and Liverpool:

Cleveland is the home of rock’n roll. Liverpool is the home of the most influential rock’n roll group the world has ever known, The Beatles.

West of the The Rock Hall, as it’s commonly known, is Cleveland Browns Stadium. Home of the city’s National Football League team, the giant structure opened in 1999 and was built on the same site where an even more massive outdoor arena once stood:

Cleveland Municipal Stadium.

Constructed primarily for baseball in 1931, Municipal Stadium could seat over 80,000 people. In fact, it was the setting for the first ever Monday Night Football telecast in 1970 when more than 85,000 fans cheered the local Browns over The New York Jets.

Except for the centerfield bleachers, the grayish-blue stadium had two seating decks covered by a partial roof, surrounding the playing field. Iron support beams for the roof and upper deck were spaced throughout the seating areas and would block the view for any unlucky ticket holders who had a seat behind one. Because of the expansive area within the stadium, the playing fields for both baseball and football were quite a distance from the nearest seats. For fans hoping to get a closer look at any on-field action, binoculars were an important piece of equipment. Behind the bleachers was a large, manually-operated scoreboard used to keep track of the Cleveland team’s game, other games, display advertisements, and in the days long before computerized graphics, flash simple messages in white lights over a black background to the crowd.

The stadium, like The Rock Hall, sat near the lake and offered scenic views of the water and downtown skyline. But its location also made it a victim of the unpredictable northern Ohio weather. With Lake Erie being the shallowest of The Great Lakes, storms could build up force quickly and turn a beautiful summer day at the stadium into an experience of driving wind and rain without much warning.

It