When They Were Boys (11 page)

“We were just lads trying to have a great time and impress some of the girls along the way. Nothing serious or businesslike about it, really. Not in the early days.”

Hanton is a realist. While he savors the later “reunion” career of the Quarrymen that started in 1997, he has no regrets from the earlier days. His comments on his career path are telling, humble, and most enjoyable.

W
E DIDN'T HAVE THAT KIND OF TALENT
. I
WASN'T GOOD ENOUGH
. I
REMEMBER
I
HAD TO GO SOMEWHERE AND TAKE TIME OFF FROM MY APPRENTICESHIP AND THE BOSS SAID
, “A
RE YOU SURE YOU WANT [TO BE IN] THE UPHOLSTERY BUSINESS, OR DO YOU WANT TO BE A BAND MEMBER?”—SOMETHING LIKE THAT
. H
E DID END UP GIVING ME THE DAY OFF, BUT MADE ME REALLY THINK ABOUT IT
. I
COULD HAVE GONE WITH THEM, ACTUALLY, BUT WOULD HAVE ENDED UP LIKE
P
ETE
B
EST IN
H
AMBURG
. I
WOULD HAVE ENDED UP WITHOUT A TRADE
. I
WAS NOT A GOOD STUDENT
. I
WAS GOING TO BE LEFT WITH NOTHING
. I
WASN'T GOING TO GIVE MY TRADE UP AS AN UPHOLSTERER FOR AN UNKNOWN OUTCOME
. I
WASN'T THAT GOOD AND KNEW IT
. W
HEN I STOPPED IN LATE 1958 OR EARLY 1959
, I
PUT MY DRUMSTICKS ON TOP OF THE WARDROBE
. A
ND WHEN THEY ASKED US TO DO THIS ONE-OFF CONCERT IN 1997 TO RAISE MONEY FOR
S
T
. P
ETER'S
C
HURCH HALL
, I
HADN'T PLAYED DRUMS FOR FORTY YEARS . . . AND SAID
, “N
O
! I
COULDN'T PLAY BACK THEN; WHY WOULD
I
BE ANY BETTER NOW
?” S
O THEY JUST SAID
, “L
ET'S JUST MEET AT
L
EN'S HOUSE AND HAVE A LOOK
.” P
ETE
S
HOTTON SAID
, “W
HY DON'T WE JUST GET TOGETHER AT
L
EN'S HOUSE
.” I
TOOK MY DRUMSTICKS DOWN FROM THE WARDROBE, WHICH MY
WIFE HAD BEEN THREATENING TO THROW OUT FOR YEARS
. W
E HAD SUCH A BLOODY WONDERFUL TIME IN
L
EN'S HOUSE, LIKE WE WERE NINETEEN AGAIN
. F
ORTY YEARS DISAPPEARED, AND WE DID IT EXACTLY THE SAME—NOT BETTER, NOT WORSE—JUST THE SAME
.

Hanton has sweet memories of the school and the boys, but when it comes to perhaps the most important moment in modern music history—the first meeting between John and Paul—he's a bit uncertain. It was also the day of the biggest performance in the young life of the boys from Quarry Bank. “It was summer 1957, at the Woolton church fair. I saw some guys talking to John in this wooden shed on the Woolton church property where Boy Scouts hung out and we kept all the equipment and our coats. I was playing drums and Boy Scouts were playing their trumpets. I saw Ivan [Vaughn] come in, and this other dark-haired lad, and I didn't know who they were, and they were talking to John. The dark-haired lad, I realized [later], was Paul. And that is when they met.”

Paul's arrival was the beginning of the end of Rod Davis's musical career, although he still plays a mean banjo and guitar. That meeting is emblematic of a great pairing of talent, when John met Paul amid the burning sun of summer, an innocent meeting, a chance encounter. And I wonder, what if it had rained and young Paulie couldn't ride his bicycle? Would he have walked? Or would he have stayed home? It is just another “what if” in a wondrous story of trial and error—in those days, mostly error.

CHAPTER THREE

PAUL—YESTERDAY

“He wanted to be accepted, loved, and always appropriate. He viewed criticism as a dagger, and adoration as a source of support. He avoided confrontation like a plague. He was a politician. He was so good at it, that in some other life, he might have been elected prime minister.”

—Tony Barrow

“[My dad] just said . . . ‘Well, you're never going to make any money . . . in a group.'”

—Paul McCartney, in a 1964 interview with me

“Paul was the Beatle, from the very beginning, who wanted to sustain a good image.”

—Derek Taylor, in an interview with me in the mid-eighties

Rumor has it that the oldest son of Jim and Mary McCartney was able to comb his streaking black hair with one hand as he held the handlebar of his bicycle with the other, all the while anticipating his arrival at the church in Woolton for the historic first meeting with John Lennon. James Paul McCartney had just turned fifteen. It was only eight months since the death of his mother. Life had been cruel to the music-loving cyclist with the locks of black hair, the slim teen body, and the hopes of becoming a professional musician. The roots of his life dated back, as those of so many children in Britain in the 1950s, to the nation's fight for survival. In fact, the McCartney family had its start beneath the surface.

Jim McCartney met Mary Mohin in an air-raid shelter, the earth shaking around them. The parents of Paul McCartney, humble and loving, were married on April 15, 1941. The sirens again wailed after the ceremony, and so their wedding night was spent with family and friends in a
shelter. That was life in Britain in the forties.

Although the road was bumpy and surrounded by intrigue, their first son, James Paul McCartney, born June 18, 1942, would become one of the twentieth century's most famous people.

His friends, the close ones from the old Liverpool days, called him Paulie. The media has renamed him “Macca,” a rather meaningless and unflattering abbreviation of his last name. His mom and dad have always called him Paul. The people of the British Empire, and most others, have called him “Sir” since Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth, knighted him in 1997.

Paul was a charming boy. He captivated his parents and relatives, endeared himself to neighbors, and at a very young age made himself a mesmerizing and seductive sex symbol through a sly demeanor, cutesy smile, and hips that would move even when his feet stood still. When he bicycled to the church at Woolton in July 1957 for what would be a historic, life-changing meeting with John Lennon, it is said, by eyewitnesses—how could they possibly remember the detail?—that in some miraculous way, he kept his hair intact on that windy summer day, in anticipation of meeting girls. As I can tell you from witnessing it less than ten years later, Paul was artfully creating a winning combination with women—a personal presence accompanied by the most powerful force of seduction. Paul talked to girls, and later, young women, with an intense seriousness. His words and intimate conversations were powerfully accentuated by a fleeting touch, or the wink of an eye.

It's truly a pity that, in our own early years, so many of us failed to emulate Paul's real secret to the art of romance: he used words, words spoken softly and with respect. He was a natural conversationalist who was truly and sincerely in love with his prey, at least at the given moment. Eventually that special talent would land him in the arms of a woman he loved for more than thirty years. But in the early days, Paul McCartney was a professional practitioner of beguiling girls and women into his bed with a manner befitting Casanova and Romeo. His parental guidance was filled with advisories on respect, and so he always showed respect to the women on tour whom he lured for intimacy. Which is why his answer to a personal question I asked in 1964 was surprising for a man of his young age and romantic skills.

“What would you want in a wife someday?” I asked.

“Well, most of all I would want a woman who was sensitive to my needs,” Paul said. “Good looks would be nice, but not the most important thing. Fashionable is okay, but not high fashion. Most of all, I would want to love someone who has a great sense of humor.”

When I first met Paul McCartney, soon after he turned twenty-two, I was blown away by his charm and his boyish grin, but I knew right away that he was aiming to please. Most people want to be liked, but Paul was almost obsessed with being loved and adored. He still is. Even after achieving supreme success as one of the most talented writers, artists, and performers in rock 'n' roll history, and despite the lifetime security of being a billionaire, and in stark contrast to his now royal pedigree and universal fame, Paul is really just the same old Paulie from the beginning, trying to be loved by everyone. He still seeks that face-to-face approval that only mega-concerts bring, and still adoringly treasures the praise and applause, whether it comes in the press that he tries to control, or from his fans of all ages who are still out of control for anything Paul.

And those legions of fans are forgiving. When Paul attempted to change the songwriting credits on certain “Lennon-McCartney” masterpieces to “McCartney-Lennon,” fans objected. But then they let it be. After all, it was Paul being Paul, and despite this walking paradox of personality, insecurity, daring stage majesty, and artfully creative music, Paul McCartney remains the gold standard of the world's superstars. He also maintains presidential-like security inside an organization best described as a bubble. Inside the bubble are press agents, fellow musicians, confidantes, and loved ones. The bubble is never penetrated. Even staff photographers, over the years, have been required to show their work to Paul or his censors before it leaves the confines of the bubble, especially on tour.

Yet the bubble has not always worked as it should. Paul McCartney's failure to provide routine access to reporters has ironically resulted in grossly distorted views of him, based on secondhand information, rumors, and innuendo. Clearly, Paul has never really learned that when reporters do not have information, they tend to guess, or worse, rely on distortion. And,
sadly, they make mistakes. It is commonly known that Sir Paul will never do an interview without knowledge of the subject matter ahead of time, which is not uncommon in the superstar industry. But it wasn't always that way. In the early days, from 1962 to 1970, Paul was the most accessible and approachable of the Beatles. John was also available, but he always took an arm's-length approach, even to me in the beginning. And George and Ringo were available, yet perhaps not as much in demand as John and Paul.

While Paul disdains criticism of any kind, the fans understand a little more than he does that in real life, it comes with the territory. And because of that, the millions who love his music and appreciate his wondrous talent are happy to dismiss a few verbal indiscretions here or there. After all, for what Paulie-Macca-Paul has brought to this world, he gets a pass, doesn't he?

How did this amazing climb to the mountaintop begin? It almost didn't.

Although Jim and Mary offered love and support to their two children (Paul's brother, Michael, was born in 1944), there were true moments of caution. Why not? In the 1940s and 1950s, parents were, as they are today, anxious about their children's ability to make their way in the world, especially those parents who had endured the years of depression and war.

Life wasn't easy for the McCartneys in post-Depression Britain. Mary worked as a nurse and midwife, her career blooming even as the mild-mannered and attentive Jim sought better jobs. He worked as an inspector for an engineering company, and as a cotton salesman. They moved several times. In postwar Liverpool, they lived in a tenement for a while, then two residences in the growing Speke neighborhood. Speke was the location of the airport, and it was off the runways where young James Paul McCartney, little George Harrison, and thin and younger Tony Bramwell went scavenging for spent German bombs. The McCartneys, buoyed by an economic upturn, wound up at 20 Forthlin Road in Allerton in 1955.

For Jim, a champion of hard work and ethical behavior, and Mary, the woman who helped bring so many babies into the world, labor was required to feed and maintain a decent life for their children. That high standard left
an indelible impression. There was a special urgency about taking the right steps to guide the boys in the right direction.

And there was no lack of inspiration. Unlike the divided family loyalties of young John Lennon, the McCartney brothers had a clarity and sense of purpose that were forged into their psyches.

So, when Jim warned Paul about the dangers of relying on a career as a musician, he was less an obstructionist than a concerned father. Jim, the courageous volunteer firefighter, who fought through the flames and rubble that the Luftwaffe left behind, sounded the warning to his son.

Paul, with deep respect for his dad's memory, shared with me the conversation.

H
E JUST SAID
. . . “W
ELL, YOU'RE NEVER GOING TO MAKE ANY MONEY . . . IN A GROUP, AND YOU MAY BE ENJOYING YOURSELF, BUT YOU STILL HAVE TO HAVE SOME MONEY TO HELP YOU LIVE,” YOU KNOW
. S
O HE SAID
, “G
ET A JOB AND [PLAY MUSIC] IN YOUR SPARE TIME
.” . . . [S
O
] I
DID GET A JOB
. . . . B
UT BECAUSE WE WERE PLAYING LUNCHTIME SESSIONS
, I
COULDN'T STICK TO IT . . . HAVE TO KEEP RUNNING AWAY EVERY AFTERNOON, YOU KNOW
. S
O
I
GAVE IT UP, AND LUCKILY, WE MADE IT. . . . AND SO NOW
, L
ARRY . . . HE'S VERY THANKFUL
I
DIDN'T TAKE HIS ADVICE
.