When They Were Boys (43 page)

“Is everything working all right, Larry?” he would ask. “Is there anything you need?”

“Thanks for asking, Brian.”

“Were the boys just fantastic tonight?” he would ask.

He would negotiate the narrow aisle of the airplane and stop at the seat of Motown star Brenda Holloway, who opened for the Beatles in 1965. “Brenda,” he would whisper to the energetic and unforgettable vocalist, “is there anything at all that you need, sweetheart?” She would smile back at him.

Cilla Black, former Cavern hostess, big-time rock star in the sixties and seventies, and TV host in her later years, would tell her friends over the years that if it was not for the boss and his gracious efforts to give her the chance to perform, she would never have had that career. In addition to his gracious manner with talent, Epstein had an ability to inspire performers he believed in. The four boys he began managing became his greatest leap of faith. Artists often practice their art in the quiet of their own insular world. Whether it is at a neighborhood drinking hole or a big venue, performers need constant feedback. Fans often find this hard to believe. After all, they may not view stars as “needy.” But Epstein had an uncanny knowledge of the emotional tightrope that talented and sometimes already successful people can tread on.

Maybe he understood those needs from his own rough start in the professional world. Epstein traveled a shaky road in his early twenties. There were many disappointments, the kind of setbacks that would stop most mortals, all the while seeking a place at the table of the great artists of his nation. And then, in a flush of luck, and through unselfish intuition, he became a king-maker. He was, in the words of many who came after him, a careless deal-maker. But in one area of expertise, marketing and skillful promotion, he had no equal.

Personality overwhelmed his shortcomings, and according to an early and close friend, his pedigree played well in the chambers of power.

“It was perfect, the situation was,” says childhood friend and confidante
Joe Flannery. “Yes, it was. He was Jewish and he was gay and that played perfectly with the London musical powers at the time. So, even though he was naive in some of the ways of promotion and business, he came to the table with some empathetic vibes.”

He discovered his homosexuality at an early age. Joe Flannery, whose parents worked for the Epsteins, talks carefully about their mutual affections, emphasizing that we “both found early on that we were attracted more to boys than to girls.”

He was, more than a manager, in love with the Beatles, not in the romantic sense, although other self-styled experts will try to convince you that he had an intimate relationship with John Lennon. That story is one of the Beatle myths so carefully crafted by the fanciers of fantasy. But one thing is clear: his relationship with John was much more intimate and complex than with the other boys.

“There is no doubt that he was a father or even ‘older brother' figure, especially in the early days, for John,” explains Flannery.

But to Yoko Ono, who was married to John for twelve years and shared countless intimate conversations with him, there was no question that John felt that Epstein wanted more. A lot more.

Yoko, sharing an exotic health drink with me in the kitchen of her home at New York's Dakota building, remains sentimental yet pensive as she remembers their bedside conversations, saying that John knew “Brian was in love with him.” But, she adds, “John was always straight, never gay, although he loved, in his performances, to act somewhat gay on stage to show his support for gays.”

As for Epstein, Yoko says, “Brian showed his real love for John by respecting him. John understood Brian's ‘crush' on him, but from 1962 on, John was impressed with Brian's professional manner. He liked the fact that Brian was so good. John [and the boys] felt so lucky that Brian had picked them up. But there was never any sexual connection to Brian.”

Not everyone associated with Epstein in the early years agrees with that assessment, especially “the Enforcer.” Horst Fascher, the German boxer, rocker, and nightclub legend who helped steer John and the boys through the sexual and sometimes drug-induced maze of Hamburg, has a different
take. John had deep respect for Epstein, but he also “fathered” Epstein when the young business genius allowed himself to go to extremes, which was usually in secret, but not always. As Fascher remembers,

H
E WENT FOR SOME DRINKS AND THEN HE WENT TO A BAR THAT THEY CALLED
Z
ASCHA AND THERE HE STARTS GETTING TIRED AND SLEEPING WITH THE HEAD ON THE BAR
. S
O
I
GOT A PHONE CALL FROM THE BARTENDER
. H
E SAID
, “H
ORST, THIS IS ONE OF YOUR
E
NGLISH MUSICIANS LAYING DRUNK WITH HIS HEAD ON THE BAR AND SLEEPING
. C
AN YOU COME AND PICK THAT GUY UP
?” I
SAID
, “H
OLD ON
, I'
M COMING OVER
.” S
O
I
CAME OVER AND THERE WAS
E
PSTEIN SLEEPING
. S
O
I
SAID
, “L
ET ME GET A MUSICIAN FROM HIS BAND, BECAUSE HE'S THE MANAGER OF THE
B
EATLES
.” S
O
I
WENT BACK AND
I
SAID TO ONE OF THE
B
EATLES
, “E
PSTEIN IS LYING THERE DRUNK; HE'S SLEEPING ON THE BAR
. C
AN YOU COME AND HELP ME
?” J
OHN SAID
, “Y
ES
, I'
M COMING
.” T
HEN WE WENT THERE AND
E
PSTEIN WAS LAYING [HIS HEAD ON THE BAR] AND IN FRONT OF HIM WAS A BIG GLASS OF BEER THAT WAS ALREADY OLD
. I
SAID
, “J
OHN, WHAT DO WE DO
?” A
ND
J
OHN SAID
, “H
OLD ON,” AND HE TOOK THAT GLASS OF BEER OVER
E
PSTEIN'S SHIRT, DRESS, AND
SHHH
. . . THE FULL GLASS OF BEER DOWN HIS NECK
. E
PSTEIN WOKE UP
. I
SAID TO
J
OHN
, “J
OHN, HOW CAN YOU DO IT, MAN
? T
HAT'S YOUR MANAGER
.” T
HIS RESPECT . . . WAS NOT THERE
. L
ENNON SAID
, “H
ORST, DON'T WORRY, MAN
, I
ALREADY KNOW HOW TO DEAL WITH HIM
. W
E ARE MATES
.”

Horst believes they were more than “mates,” but that theory has already been investigated, and scoured, and investigated again, as if it really has anything to do with the Beatles' rise.

Whether Brian was ever physically involved with John, as scintillating a story as it appears to be, is secondary to the genuineness of their friendship, and to the synergy that was created over time—a coupling that was absolutely essential to the group's success. The suspected physical bond will always be debated. Brian Epstein developed a close personal relationship with John Lennon. There were benefits to that relationship—open lines of communication, and total unrestricted candor—but in the view of a former press secretary, there was also a downside. A lifelong journalist, Tony Barrow, who
traveled more miles with the boys than anyone except Epstein, remembers vividly how the manager's closeness with John inspired many a confrontational experience.

“It was always John who did the heavy lifting when it came to the boys' issues with Brian. It was John who was elected to talk to Brian. Brian had enormous respect for John's intellect. As time progressed, the mentor, Brian, needed John's guidance as he maneuvered the minefields of negotiating and protecting the boys' interests. They were close. They understood each other. Those early conflicts were benchmarks for the successful days ahead.”

So Lennon respected Brian, and Brian respected John. That revered and symbiotic pairing, essential to the critical first years, was also noted from the grave.

Yoko, with great pride, notes that in his last will and testament, Epstein left two very valuable paintings of British artist Laurence Stephen Lowry to John. (Lowry achieved fame and fortune for his paintings of grim urban landscapes, and their impact on modern life.) John, she says, was honored that Epstein had thought so much of him, remembering him in that way. Considering that Epstein had no inkling that he would die young, it is therefore an extraordinary act of respect and love for John that he would bequeath some of his most prized possessions to him at such an early point.

His impact on John, challenged by John's insurmountable excesses of early success, and the parallel world of forced marriage and fatherhood, was impressive. Sensing the potential for collapse of his bright young star, Epstein provided a home for the newlywed John and Cynthia, a house on Gambia Street.

Four months before his demise, a letter arrived at my door. The language and style were typical of Epstein, formal with a touch of kindness. The letter was dated April 9, 1967. It was a response to a note I had sent him with my change of address.

Dear Larry
,

Thanks for the letter. The reason for such a delayed reply is the fact that I was in the States up to a week ago. As it happens, I had heard that you had
moved to Philadelphia. Thanks for letting me know, and I hope it won't be too long before we are associated again.

With all best wishes,

Brian

I folded the letter, put it away. I would never see him again. On August 27, 1967, I opened the letter again. That was the day the coroner reported that Brian Samuel Epstein had died accidentally from a drug overdose, although self-styled experts called it a suicide, as if they really knew what only he would know.

“He was hanging with a rough crowd in London,” says Barrow. “There were abuses of him, total confusion, and a constant identity crisis.”

In 1968, before I made a trip to see the Beatles in London, I chatted on the phone with writer Derek Taylor about the loss.

“What someone does in private is their business, but the boys, and the people around them, were starting to see him a bit more erratic than he usually was,” Taylor said. “The public never saw that. I had a bit of separation from him when I helped manage the Byrds. But we stayed in touch. There's no question, Larry, that in the spring of 1967, Brian was troubled.”

The letter that I received in 1967 offered no clue to any depression. His writing was crisp, formal, and majestic, much like the articles he wrote for
Mersey Beat
.

Taylor, who became a lifelong devotee to the boys, and ghostwriter of Epstein's colorful early autobiography,
A Cellarful of Noise
, stood in awe of Epstein's miracle act. The journalist, who was my main conduit to the boys on their first American tour, and remained a friend through the decades, was respectful if not sometimes resentful of Epstein, who was four years younger.

“Larry, let me tell you, Brian can be difficult and painful to be with, but how can anyone take away from him the fact that he signed a contract with the boys on January 24, 1962, [and] within nineteen months, they owned the world. They were simply the best, and Brian knew it. While their music will outlive Brian and all of us, his contribution, his understanding of the
nuances of getting publicity, and staging, and all that, was a wonder, an amazing intuitive sense.”

Part of that intuition was a rarely understood fact that Epstein, in most of 1963, limited the boys' appearances to small venues, where there was never a chance for an empty seat. Although the Beatles were climbing the charts and building a rabid fan base, Epstein, with only a few months of entrepreneurial expertise, refused to risk playing them at bigger venues. In that critical beginning, Brian sought and received the press imagery he wanted: packed houses, dynamic and intimate performances, and the priceless photos of screaming fans in hysterical poses, tears streaming down their faces. Taylor, Barrow, and others engineered the visuals.

Epstein, it turns out, had plenty of help, including the powerful words of Taylor, whose reviews of the Beatles in Manchester catapulted the boys to stardom there. There was prim and proper Tony Barrow, whose reporting in the
Liverpool Echo
, and later, crisp and businesslike management of the boys on tour, was invaluable. And there was that teenage journalist Bill Harry, who along with a special love interest named Virginia Sowry literally invented the world of rock journalism, with an accent on the bands of Liverpool, and especially on the boys. They are all players in this story. But in truth, the most powerful player in the story is the one no longer around to tell it, which is a dreadful irony.

What Derek and many of his confidantes didn't know at the time of the deal made with the future “Fabs” is that Epstein never signed the contract with the boys, a show of faith and confidence. In reality, that gave John, Paul, George, and Pete the chance to opt out of their association with him at any time. It also, in a selfish sense, gave Epstein his own out. The boys never dreamed of opting out, nor did he. But the events of August 27, 1967, would, tragically, end their association and perhaps—who's to say?—be the beginning of the end for the boys.

The cause of his death has long been debated, but it's very clear to friends and family that Brian Epstein would never have taken his own life. Boyhood friend Joe Flannery says there is no doubt that his mix of pharmaceuticals was deadly, but it was not intentional.