The Beatles -- Magical Memory Tour -- Fans Of The Fab Four Take A Trip Back To That Special Time

"Nearly once a year, for decades, I dream I've spent the day hanging out with the guys, laughing and running through the fields with them, as in `A Hard Day's Night,' " Laurel Mercury, who works for Seattle Parks and Recreation, tells me.

In 1964 she was 14, taking the bus from Spokane to Seattle to see her idols in concert.

"I always awaken crying and smiling at the same time," she says, "thankful that they filled a place in my heart and life at a very painful and needy time."

I don't have a good explanation as to why the Beatles have such a special place in the Northwest, but they do.

When that Beatles anthology was aired two weeks ago on ABC-TV, it was Seattle and Portland that gave the series its highest national ratings.

Around my desk are your letters and faxes, overflowing out of a cardboard box.

A couple of weeks ago, in a special Beatles section, I asked for your memories of the group.

Lynne Siverson stopped by The Times with a Beatles display case she put together. Among its souvenirs is the gum she chewed as a teenager at their Aug. 21, 1964, Seattle concert. About that day three decades ago, she told me: "It's the only time in my life when I had everything I wanted."

Jackie Levine of Kenmore faxed me a copy of what remains of the handkerchief she tore to shreds while watching "A Hard Day's Night" at the Paramount Theatre.

"I showed the handkerchief to my 11-year-old daughter," Levine told me. "She rolled her eyes. Kids have idols today, but I think they're more worldly, and it's just couldn't be as intense."

Beatlemania has been written about as a phenomenon affecting teen girls. It got to the boys, too. As adults, the men sent in their memories, too.

Greg Bedinger, who these days flies a float plane in the summer and does carpentry the rest of the time, remembered what happened to two coveted 1966 Beatles concert tickets, bought with money earned mowing lawns.

"I was going with my one and only Claudia, we were in love, you see! Or so I thought," he told me. "The boom fell just a couple of weeks before the concert, and in a caring and selfless gesture, I gave Claudia the tickets, and told her to use them with someone else. A few days later I left with a bunch of guys to water-ski for a week in Hood Canal, leaving all my troubles behind.

"I checked in at home by phone, as required, and was told a letter from Claudia was waiting. When I got home, my stomach lurched, as I could see through the envelope the outline of the little Bon Marche ticket holder. It was the UNUSED tickets to the Beatles' show two nights earlier, along with a note explaining she didn't feel right using them. I never had a chance to see the Beatles again."

Often, the letter writers tried to find ways to explain the fervor of it all.

"Let me tell you about spending 36 hours in a movie theater, watching Beatles movies over and over again." But the writer gave up. "It's unexplainable to me what an effect they had . . .," she says.

Maybe we can't explain what it was like, especially to those younger than us.

But I can tell you a few stories about this brief moment, based on your letters and follow-up interviews.

It really was something, what happened during those few years.

`Genuinely nice boys'

Bob Holter, 59, served with the Seattle Police Department from 1959 until 1985, first as a patrolman and finally in charge of the homicide unit. He recalled the Beatles' 1964 concert at the Coliseum.

"I was a young policeman, and I worked off-duty security. Toward the end, the sergeant asked me and another patrolman to go to the Science Center, where they had two Cadillac limousines, equipped with drivers. We each got into a limousine and began going to the Coliseum to get the Beatles.

"The kids saw us and ran toward the limousines. There were thousands of kids, a sea of kids. Only the first kids could see that there weren't any Beatles inside.

"They were all over the limousines. Finally, the glass popped off the windshield, the doors, the back, from their sheer weight. Somehow, in all this melee, we all managed to get out of the limousines, before the roofs collapsed. I looked at one of the cars, and I could see that the roof had molded over the steering wheel.

"We decided to get the Beatles out in an aid car. All the Beatles, and four police officers, and two drivers were all sandwiched in. The Beatles were genuinely scared. We took them to the Edgewater and Ringo gave me his vest. I gave it to a niece, who can't find it anymore. They were genuinely nice boys, and so young, not like the Rolling Stones, who weren't that young and naive and straight. The Rolling Stones, we had to pry them out of parties in their hotel to go to the Coliseum."

Nose-to-nose with John

Connie McDougall works for Seattle Pacific University in public relations. In 1964 she was 13 and living on Bainbridge Island.

"I threw myself onto the trunk of the Beatles' limousine - an act of courage and devotion which amazes me still.

"I HAD to see them up close and alone, not as one among an army of virgins behind the lines of chain-linked steel. The Beatles were staying at the Edgewater Inn. My plan was to make it to the hill east of the hotel, then, just as the Beatle limo passed, hurl myself onto the car.

"I had to push through layer upon layer of smoldering girls. I endured their curses until finally the tips of my go-go boots balanced at the edge of the curb.

"The car moved toward us. Jump! I was suddenly in the air, landing hard on the trunk. I crawled to the back window. I pounded as hard as I could. There they were! Real. And they were men, whiskers and all. I expected something more boyish and smooth.

"They took notice of the pounding. They smiled. John made an effort on my behalf, putting one finger in his nose and pushing up. With rapture, I peered into his nostrils.

"Almost at once the police were upon me, dragging me, bumping, from the car. It was done. It was wonderful."

The Beatles, eight days a week

Brian Rybicki, 28, works as a dinner train cook. He explained why his home has a room totally devoted to the Beatles, even though he's a 1970s kid, too young to have heard the group play live.

"I'm trying to remember when I first starting liking the Beatles. I lived with my mom, brother and sister. We moved around a lot from place to place. I never went to high school, just finally got my GED.

"It was maybe in fifth grade when this music teacher would bring `Sgt. Pepper's' to school and explain what it was all about. I was very intrigued. They also used to show `Yellow Submarine' annually, and I'd watch it every time. At the record store, the only place I'd go to was the Beatles section. I just thought there couldn't be anybody greater. I don't listen to much of today's music. It's boring. It's like it doesn't have any feeling.

"Now I live the Beatles on a daily basis. I get home, I go to my Beatles room. It's got a nice red velvet couch, and I listen to their music, read about them. It's relaxing. I've got maybe a couple hundred items in my Beatles shrine. Records, books, music boxes, posters, cards.

My girlfriend (of five years) said she thinks I like the Beatles more than her. That's probably true, but I like the Beatles in a different kind of way.

"I base everything in my life if it happened before or after John Lennon was shot. I always wish I could go back for a little bit, and have seen them in concert. Just to be in that madness, and to scream along with everybody else."

Taking note in Billings

David Laws, of Bellingham, repairs musical instruments. He remembers how Beatlemania hit Billings West High School in Montana, where he grew up.

"I was heavily into classical music in 1965, first chair bassoonist with the high school band. The strength of the group was its musical director, Avery Glenn, who eventually went to head the music program at Brigham Young University.

"He was a stern disciplinarian regarding music, but he also made band a lot more fun. His musical tastes ran from Strauss to Gershwin, with a tendency toward demanding technical pieces. Like my parents, however, he disdained rock 'n' roll.

"His one concession was to use `Rock Around The Clock' as a pep rally tune, and that was because the cheerleaders' coach had already worked up a routine for it before he realized it was rock 'n' roll.

"Consequently, it took a couple of years of wheedling to break him down enough to try a Beatles melody. It was `I Want To Hold Your Hand.'

"Mr. Glenn raised his baton and said, `Let's just read through once.' We got perhaps three measures before he signaled for a halt. No one could understand why - we weren't having any trouble, we all knew it by heart.

"Mr. Glenn began, `Trumpets, that's a dotted eighth note . . .,' and faded out, realizing that for the FIRST TIME EVER, the trumpet section TO A MAN had recognized and played a dotted eighth note.

"Again and again we started, picking our way a few measures farther each time. It soon became clear that the musicians knew the piece much better than the conductor. Mr. Glenn tried to fake it, but every time he'd halt to count a passage or point out a sharp here or a flat there, he realized we had played the tune correctly.

"Finally, he couldn't stand it anymore. `OK, we'll work on that another time.' For the rest of the year, Mr. Glenn could not admit the truth: that the Beatles number was technically challenging and well-written; mostly, he was not used to being the least-prepared person in the room. After a few weeks, we stopped asking if we could work on `Hold Your Hand,' but any time a band member wanted to irritate the maestro, all he had to do was play a measure or two."

`Covering' the Fab Four

Bonnie Parker Blachly is the director of a long-term retirement center. But in 1965, as a high school senior, she and a girlfriend ended up with their "goal in life." They got to meet the Beatles, at a news conference in Portland.

"My best friend and I would meet in downtown Seattle every Saturday and strategize how we would arrange to meet the Beatles over Cokes and French fries at a little cafe near the Orpheum Theater.

"Our logic was that if we formed an official fan club, we were certain to meet them. We had to get 20 of our friends to give us $25 each before we could have a chartered club. It took some doing, but on June 17, 1964, Seattle Beatles Ltd. was born.

"We could not stop there. So my friend and I wrote to magazines and asked for passes for press conferences for other groups. To our surprise, we got a pass from Ingenue magazine. I went as a reporter and my friend as the cameraman. We met such bands as Gerry and the Pacemakers, Billy J. Kramer, the Beach Boys, Chad and Jeremy and others.

"When the Beatles came to Portland, we got press passes from The Seattle Times, and attended their press conference. But we were so starstruck, we could not ask a question, or even get very close."

George smoked this . . .

Laurel Sercombe works as an archivist in the University of Washington's Department of Ethnomusicology. But in 1964 she was a kid growing up in the Los Angeles area. She told about a prized possession she had: a cigarette butt smoked by George Harrison.

"My girlfriend and I were both going to marry Paul, but I was a kind person, and so she got Paul, and I took George Harrison. In 1964, a Los Angeles disc jockey gave out the Beatles' `home addresses.' My best friend wrote to Louise Harrison, his mom, to ask for a memento. She also enclosed a self-addressed envelope with international postage coupons.

To my surprise, I received a letter from Louise (`Thanks for a warm and friendly letter. I feel as I want nothing so much as to come to California and visit you all . . .'). In addition, she sent me a Marlboro cigarette butt, wrapped in tissue, containing the date she'd fished it out of the ashtray.

"This was my most prized possession until I lost it in college. I went to a party, and I was trying to impress this cool UCLA hippie actor guy. I passed the letter and the cigarette butt around. The cigarette butt never came back."

Giving up Ringo

Mimi Krsak now is an elementary school teacher. In 1965, she was 14, attending a Catholic school.

"Like every girl, I had my favorite Beatle. I wanted to do something REALLY hard for Lent. The night before Ash Wednesday, I removed from my bulletin board my picture of Ringo!"

A jelly bean from Paul

Vivian Murray is an administrative assistant. In 1964 she was 13, growing up in San Francisco. She saw the Beatles at the Cow Palace.

"I remember being on the left side of the stage, and could see Paul shake his hair. He was the love of my life. I dreamt about him constantly!

"After the show, I waited by the back doors just hoping something wonderful would happen, like seeing them walk by. My girlfriends had enough of me and took the bus back to the city.

"Finally, a security guard asked me why I was staying. I told him all I wanted was a jelly bean from the stage. The Beatles supposedly loved jelly beans and we would throw them onto the stage.

"The guard told me to wait a minute. A few minutes later he returned and brought me a slightly trampled jelly bean and said, `I personally saw Paul McCartney step on this jelly bean onstage.'

"I treasured that jelly bean for years. I bought a dime store fake stone, and glued in the jelly bean. I wore it for a while, but it did look pretty stupid, so I then kept it in a little box until it began disintegrating rather badly and I threw it away.

"I also figure the security guard never saw Paul step on that jelly bean, but, jeez, it sure was a sweet thing to do."

`You crazy bloke'

Daniel O'Brien is a Municipal Court clerk. In 1964 he was 17, and he also schemed on how to get a good look at the Beatles.

"I worked part time at Seattle Center as equipment manager for the Totems hockey team, and so I was familiar with the plan on how the band would enter the Coliseum.

"Sure enough, the cars stopped just a few feet away and the Beatles began to get out. They hurried into the building, walking by me in single file. I stood there frozen, taking it in, wishing I could quickly think of something clever to say.

"Suddenly the pack of kids had spotted the Beatles and were running up the hill, screaming hysterically. As I turned my attention to the band, something came over me that I find hard to describe, even today.

"I felt suddenly compelled to grab Ringo, who was closest to me, by the arm. At the same time, I grabbed a shank of his famous hair. Maybe I was trying to save him for the rest of the kids running up. Ringo struggled to get free. He looked straight at me and said, `Let go of me, you crazy bloke.' His words shocked me into the realization I had something inappropriate. Now the fans began to grab at me, yelling, `You touched him, you touched Ringo!' Needless to say, I didn't wash my hands for several days."

A table for John

Mark Isaacs, 41, works in the classified ad department of this newspaper. In 1975, he was working his way through college as a page for CBS-TV in Hollywood. He got the plum assignment of working the American Film Institute's Lifetime Achievement Award salute to James Cagney. Attending were stars such as John Wayne, Groucho Marx, Henry Fonda and .

"`Say, mate, can you guide us to our place?' I heard a voice say. It was the voice that awakened every romantic notion I ever had - the backdrop to my first practice kisses into a pillow . . . the face that inspired every cool and authority-defiant look I had ever known . . . John Lennon, in tow with Mick Jagger and Harry Nilsson.

" `Come on, we don't bite,' Lennon said. My rock god - my life god - was talking to me.

"I went to the seating chart. I found table assignments for John Lennon and Mick Jagger, but not Harry Nilsson.

" `We'll make do,' Jagger said.

"We started toward the table. A tottering Harry Nilsson looked like he was going to pass out any second. "Jagger deposited Nilsson in one chair, Lennon claimed the other, and Jagger sat in Lennon's lap.

"I thought about asking for Lennon's autograph and shaking his hand - heck, I wanted to grovel at his mismatched sneakers.

"But suddenly I felt a deep sadness emanating from him and I loved him too much to ask anything of him . . . I walked away . . ."

`Beatles' for a night

Jerry Denlocker was in a high school stage band in 1964. He got a very personal taste of Beatlemania.

"I lived in Rainier, Ore., a very small town. I was in a pop group that was asked to perform in a high school variety show. We were asked to perform a lip-sync show of the Beatles.

"We studied the Beatles when they appeared on Ed Sullivan's show on TV. We choreographed two numbers, complete with Beatle wigs.

"Our plan was that when the house lights went down, we would take the stage, and have a few stage band gals in the audience scream for special effects as the lights burst upon us.

"The lights came up, we struck `I Saw Her Standing There,' guitars blazing, Beatle wigs twitching. We weren't prepared for the response.

"We couldn't hear the few girls planted to scream, for they were drowned out by a natural combustion of Beatlemania. Every time we hit a particular Beatle gesture or shook our wigs, the crowd went wild.

"In small Rainier, we were as close to a Beatles concert as most would ever get. As they so willed, that night I was Paul McCartney, and we WERE the Beatles!"