The ecstasy and agony of an original Beatles fan.
It started in April 1963, when friends of my parents returned to New Jersey from a trip abroad with a present for me. It was something a record shop clerk in London had recommended as the perfect thing for a 13-year-old girl.
I prepared myself to act surprised and grateful, even if I didn’t like it. But when I opened it, I gasped. The four young men on the album cover were the cutest guys I had ever seen.
This album, “Please Please Me,” was not available in the United States. And the group, the Beatles, was unknown here. I loved them immediately.
My classmates thought my new obsession was weird, except for one girl, Sharon, who was open to new things. In the months before the first stirrings of Beatlemania in America, Sharon and I spent the after-school hours listening to the album and gazing at the cover. We could never decide which Beatle was our favorite, because our opinions changed by the day.
One afternoon I noticed a sticker on the inside of the cardboard sleeve with the address for the Beatles Fan Club. I mailed a letter to 13 Monmouth Street, London, and began waiting.
That summer I spent eight homesick weeks at a sleep-away camp in Maine. With every letter home, I asked if I had gotten a reply from the Beatles. With every letter back, there was a no.
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Source: Music - nytimes.com
