It was early 1963. I lay on a lounge chair beside the pool at our recreation club in Karachi, Pakistan, soaking up the rays and half-dozing as mellow background sounds came from the jukebox.
A new song started . . . and suddenly I was wide awake. It had a pulsing beat so engaging that my hand started tapping almost unconsciously. The voices were male, but they were not the smooth crooners I was used to . . . these voices had a rawness and energy I had never heard before. The lyrics were simple, straightforward, occasionally shouted, and the harmonies were close and appealing.I had no idea who I was listening to, but I knew I was hooked. A trip to the jukebox revealed the name of the group as the Beatles. The song: "I Wanna Hold Your Hand." Such was my introduction to the group which was to write a unique chapter in the history of pop music. Little did I know then that before their touring days were over, I would actually meet them.
In 1964 after they hit the United States, you couldn't go anywhere without hearing their music. That fall I moved with my family to Tokyo. Though still in grade school, I had a daily diet of the Beatles as I rode an hour and a half each way on the bus with American high school students and when I listened to the Hit Parade every Saturday night on Armed Forces Radio.
In the spring of 1966, I learned we were to move again and would spend a few weeks at the Tokyo Hilton while our household goods were shipped ahead of us. We had stayed in that hotel for a long while when we first arrived in Japan and knew every corner of it. I was just short of 11; my older sister was 12. When we learned that the Beatles were going to be at the Hilton, too, during their tour, we were ecstatic. We had every hope of catching a glimpse of them.
The entire top floor - the tenth - was emptied in anticipation of their arrival June 29 for a five-concert engagement. The security was tight - checkpoints around the hotel prevented anyone without a room key from coming near the building. Still, the night before the group came, crowds were massing behind barricades within sight of our room windows. Not all of them were friendly - angry demonstrators were a constant reminder of the bitter feelings spawned by booking the group into a hall considered suitable only for traditional Japanese entertainment.
Despite the predawn hour, we knew the Beatles were near the hotel when screams from the crowds penetrated even our closed windows. Once the police had managed to get them safely inside, some people broke through the barricades and stormed the hotel lobby. I went down to the open-air garden courtyard around which the hotel was built and saw a scene of utter chaos.
Both the lobby and the courtyard were full of shouting fans who were demanding to see their idols. The damage they had done to the hotel furnishings and the elegant, formal garden in just a few minutes was astounding. The clamor was so tremendous, I imagined the hotel management made an urgent request - in any case, it wasn't long before the Beatles appeared on their balcony. Their faces were indistinct - they were too far away - but the clothes and hair made them easy to tell apart. Ringo especially stood out, wearing a pink shirt with orange polka dots visible even from that distance.
When they waved, you would have thought the crowd had been showered with hot coals. Several girls fainted on the spot, but soon police reinforcements arrived and drove all the fans from the hotel. After that they were fairly well contained, being confined behind the barricades along the route used by the group to get to and from the concert hall.
Later that afternoon, I had some trays to return to the kitchen and planned to take the service elevator, as I usually did. When it opened, I came face-to-face with Ringo and three large Japanese policemen. I stood there staring, not knowing what to do. One of the bodyguards made a move to close the door, but Ringo stopped him. "Well, let her in now," he said with a heavy accent.
As I squeezed in, he smiled at me and said, "Let's have those trays." When we got to the main floor, he went out commanding me to "Come along, love" and walked the trays to the kitchen, depositing them on a pop-eyedcook under the disapproving stares of the policemen.
When we got back to the elevator, he turned to me again and said, "I'm going down to get a haircut. Would you like to come along?" I gave him a mute nod of assent, and so down to the basement I went, with the policemen, to the hotel barber. As I sat in the corner and watched his hair trimmed a bit here and there, I timidly told Ringo that my sister and I were great fans of the Beatles and had hoped to see them during their stay. He got my name and room number before he saw me back to my floor. I remember thinking he was sort of funny looking and seemed very tired.
Some hours later the hotel manager arrived with an invitation for my older sister and I to attend a reception that evening in the hotel ballroom. At 7 sharp, two policemen arrived to escort us downstairs, where we were invited to join a receiving line at the private banquet being held for the Beatles by the promoter, who had invited about 200 Japanese dignitaries.
Ringo happened to be first in line, and when we got to him, he cheerfully introduced us to "My friends George, Paul and John." Each of them shook our hands and said a conventional word of greeting. We were escorted back to our room. I was so astonished at this turn of events that I even forgot to thank Ringo for the in-vi-ta-tion.
For the next three days the hotel staff let my sister and I stand right by the door where the Beatles came out to get in their limo to got to the concert hall.
The word was put out that the group was to leave the hotel at 8:30 a.m. to go to the airport the day after their last show; instead, they were spirited out around 5 and taken by an alternative route. When the crowds waiting to see them found out, they stormed the hotel again.
The police soon restored order however, and in a day the mess was gone.
Two months later, the Beatles gave their final live concert; the excesses of the fans and their desires to follow other musical paths drove them into the studio. But in the minds of the millions who saw them perform, they are on stage still. And one famous man's kindness to a little girl taught me to see beyond the hoopla to human beings and gave me a memory that will last a lifetime.