Cordelia and I weren’t sure what to make of a musical phenomenon called The Beatles that our classmates were all atwitter about. Her exposure to music had been through Mr. McKenzie’s classical music collection while I’d been subjected to my parents’ love of bland male crooners who I believed existed to make people somnolent and bored. Peggy and Jim both collected rock and roll .45s which inspired me to do little more than tap my toes. I’d also been exposed to jazz, which I found too frenetic, and folk music which I thought too preachy. The absence of music in my life felt troubling as if I was missing something essential. Maybe The Beatles could fill the void. Cordelia and I promised one another we’d watch the group's American television debut on February ninth. My family always watched the Ed Sullivan Show, so I didn’t have to engage in negotiations over TV rights as I sometimes did on those rare occasions when there was something I wanted to watch.
There was talk at dinner about the English rock and rollers. “I want to see what the big deal is. I’ve liked it when I’ve heard them on the radio,” Peggy said.
“I hear they make a real racket,” Jim added sourly.
“I imagine they’re a passing fad,” mother said as if that were the definitive word on the subject.
When The Beatles were introduced my mother immediately complained about the girls in the audience screaming. “How are they going to hear them sing if they keep screaming? What’s the point?” Jim burst into laughter at the first close of the group. “Look at that hair, they look like monkeys.” I wanted to scream at everyone to shut up but the room grew quiet anyway.
I was mesmerized. I’d never heard anything like The Beatles. Music had never moved me. Rhythm. Percussion. Those fascinating voices. They were interesting, coordinated and made me want to get up and move. I wasn’t listening to music, I was feeling it. It was lifting my — oh-look-what-I-found — soul, and consciousness, to a place I hadn’t known.
Transcendent.
But as if to snap me instantly back into reality, my mother was typically dismissive. “Just a lot of noise, if you ask me. A noisy passing fad. Don’t you think so, dear?” She asked my father.
Dad was loathe to contradict my mother on anything, particularly matters about which he held no strong opinions. “That’s for sure, hon,” he nodded after taking a swig of cognac.
Jim tossed in his unwanted two cents: “Pfft, give me the Everly Brothers or Bobby Vinton any day of the week. At least you can understand what they’re saying.”
“I think they’re kinna cute,” Peggy interjected, “I like their music.”
“Ahh, you’re crazy.” Jim said.
“What about you, David? Did you, my level-headed younger son, like them?” My mother asked.
All I wanted in the world was to hear more and re-live the reverie of their first set. I most definitely didn’t want to share my thoughts with Mom, so hoped it would suffice if I merely said, “yeah, I did.
“You would!” Jim said plunking me on the head with a pillow. He then announced he was going to study for a chemistry test. When he left the room, I felt like leaping for joy.
I sat transfixed during The Beatles’ second set. I’d fallen in love twice within a few months. First with Cordelia, now with The Beatles discovering the magic of two things I’d previously only had a passing familiarity with: girls and music.
When the show ended Peggy announced that she was a fan.
“And you, David, are you a fan as well?” Mother asked.
“Yup,” was the extent of my response as I headed for my bedroom.
“Well, I don’t understand it.”
You wouldn’t, I thought.
The next day school dragged interminably. All I could think about was The Beatles and seeing Cordelia after school. I worried that perhaps someway, somehow she wouldn’t share my feelings toward these magical musicians. If she didn’t like them, would that do irreparable damage to our relationship?
The school day’s final bell sent me into the fastest sprint I’d ever run. I made the two blocks to Grove Street in less than a minute. Instead of stopping at home first, I continued my mad dash to McKenzie’s, only slowing down when I got within a block, to avoid arriving out of breath. Cordelia’s school got out fifteen minutes earlier than mine so she’d only just arrived. She was still deconstructing her school day with Mr. McKenzie when I walked into the bookstore.
“Goodness, me, did you leave early today?” Mr. McKenzie asked.
“Hi, Mr. McKenzie, hello Cordelia. No, I didn’t stop at home first.”
I joined my friends behind the counter. After a bit of idle chatter Cordelia led me upstairs. She poured us each a glass of apple juice.
“Well? What did you think?” I asked nervously.
“If you mean about The Beatles, I thought they were fantastic!”
Overcome with joy and relief I spontaneously hugged Cordelia.
“You’re wonderful!” I exclaimed.
We immediately went to a downtown record store where we each bought The Beatles’ first album.
Within an hour we were back at Cordelia’s house listening to Meet the Beatles.
While listening the second time, Cordelia suggested we dance.
“But I’ve never danced before, I don’t know how.”
“It’s easy, silly, the music will tell your body what to do.”
This made no sense to me but, obligingly, I stood.
“Close your eyes and feel the music,” Cordelia suggested.
My hips started swaying, then my arms moved in rhythm to the music. First tentatively then freely, I moved my legs. I opened my eyes. Cordelia’s movements were similar to mine. She smiled at me.
I’d stopped thinking, and was reacting, my body movements in tune with the songs. Finally Cordelia took my hands.
“Let’s try to mix what we’re doing with traditional dancing.”
“I’ve never done any traditional dancing.”
“It’s not going to matter.”
She was right.
The parallel dancing had been great fun, but dancing in coordination with another person — especially Cordelia — created another world of intoxicating sensations.
I felt free, uninhibited and at a total remove from any cares or concerns. But I also felt as one with another person. More than hand-holding, more than sitting together, more even than our first tentative kisses, dancing with Cordelia, especially to this entrancing music, made me feel connected to her.
We melded together and ascended to the heavens. When we finally separated I had the momentary sensation that half my body had been removed. But more than that I was overcome with the sense that I was well and truly in love. It was excruciating to leave her that day. I walked home still intoxicated by her smell, her looks, her touch and the sound of her voice. I was also buoyed by a new aural sensation: the sound of the Beatles. They’d elevated our love, animating it, giving it tempo and cadence.
I glided into the house unconcerned by Peggy’s surliness, Jim’s arrogance and the great distance that existed between my parents and I.
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