Sleeping with the Beatles

Somehow I survived my unarmed sojourn at 52 Division and made it to the Academy for my formal training. Things went quite smoothly during the weeks I spent there; and all my apprehensions about meeting the notorious Sgt. Saul again were unfounded. He was still the gruff old curmudgeon I remembered but as he had a go at me and the other guys in the class I was sure he had his tongue in his cheek. 

When he paraded us for duty on the second to last day of the course he had some surprise information for us. “I’ve got some good news and some bad news for you”. he said  “The good news is that you guys are getting out of here a day early; the bad news is that you are all going down town to guard a bunch of rock and roll fairies with hair down to their arses; they’re called the Bugs or something.

Although we were all young men and women only a few of us had heard of the Beatles and those who claimed to know their music were immediately suspect.

We were ordered to show up early the following morning and be prepared for an extra long shift.  It didn’t seem like a good way to begin a police career; I didn’t want to be a bodyguard; I wanted to be on the street catching criminals and suppressing crime. 

Then things got worse; when the duties were handed out I learned that I wasn’t even going to be on the street with the rest of my classmates; I had drawn the short straw and was doomed to spend two days and nights in the Empire Suite of the King Edward Hotel looking after some weirdo’s from Britain. I had no idea what they looked or sounded like and I didn’t care.

I was at the hotel early that day, patrolling the halls and keeping everybody off the private floor that had designated for their use.  In the early afternoon something very strange happened:  I was still inside and I felt something change before I actually saw or heard anything; the atmosphere suddenly became charged with excitement and when I went to a window to see what was going on I couldn’t believe my eyes.  The streets were plugged with people for as far as the eye could see; all traffic had come to a standstill and the pressure of the bulging crowd threatened to push the store windows in. 

I could see my classmates laughing and joking with the kids in the crowd; everybody was exited and happy, not at all like the situations described in our training. They were all having fun and I was stuck in the stuffy old hotel.

Sgt. Crawford, the officer in charge of the detail inside the hotel, slapped me on the back and shook me out of my reverie;  “Get down to the front door and help get those buggers inside!” 

By the time I got to the doors and made my way out to join the dozen or so huge cops waiting outside things had reached a fevered pitch.  “ Form a semicircle in front of the doors and lock arms! “ the patrol sergeant yelled over the noise of the crowd.

Members of the Mounted unit on excited prancing horses parted the crowd for a long procession of police vehicles followed by a paddy wagon.  The big beige van backed into the secure area we had held in front of the hotel and its back door flew open. I only got a quick look at the Beatles as they leapt from the wagon and dashed for the hotel lobby because a surge of crowd pressure hit our protective circle and I snapped up into the air suspended between the big guys on either side of me. An enterprising young girl in a white angora sweater attempted to crawl under my dangling legs to get at the band but I locked them around her and held in a scissor hold till the boys were safely inside.  It took quite a bit of brushing to get the white hairs off the ass of my pants when things settled down.

I broke ranks with the group of huge cops and followed them as they escorted the band members through the crowded lobby and over to a bank of elevators. It was pandemonium; the doors to the lifts hadn’t opened as planned and women were pushing by me and flinging themselves kamikaze like up and over the wall of policemen. 

I spotted Sgt. Crawford in front of an elevator away from the main bank; he was holding the door open and waving me over to him. I got there as quickly as I could and when we pushed the up button and the doors started to close I could see that the battle in front of the other elevators was still going on. 

We arrived at the private floor and had a quick look around then stood by and waited for the other elevators to arrive. Eventually the doors opened and the screen of policemen parted to reveal four bony young men with long hair and tight pants. They looked like they were having a terrific time, as they emerged from the elevator, breathless, laughing, fiddling with their hair and straightening their clothes. 

The whole group brushed passed me and hurried down the hall to their suite and as the door closed I said to myself, “ My work here is finished.”  

It was the end of my shift so I took advantage of the lull to make up my memo book and watch the elevator doors for my relief to arrive. 

That’s when things went from bad to worse; Sgt. Crawford came back down the hall with his band of big cops in tow and I watched as he directed them over to the stair well and sent them on their way.  I knew I was in for it when he came over to me and put his arm around my shoulder and started to speak in a low voice. “ Listen son, he said, the band manager complained about all the big guys guarding the boys; he says the they were feeling intimidated and starting to refer to, them as the goon squad; anyway, he continued,  I’m putting them down in the lobby and you my little friend are going to spend the night with the band. 

There was nothing I could do about it so I found a phone and tried to explain that I couldn’t come home because I had to spend the night in the Empire Suite with a rock and roll band.

So there it was, just me, Sgt. Crawford and the Beatles; at least that’s the way it was supposed to be.

The Beatles, a name I was now able to remember, were by this time settled in and running in and out of their rooms in their underwear with drinks in their hands. I took up a position in an easy chair in a corner of the living room while Sgt. Crawford acted as bartender.

I was frequently on my feet answering the door and admitting throngs of strange people; show biz types, reporters, hookers etc.  In addition to these invited guests we had visits from all kinds of kids who made incredibly creative attempts to get close to these guys who seemed to be their Idols.  

One of the better attempts was made by a young man who had looted the laundry chute for a bus boy uniform and picked up a discarded coffee pot and tray from outside of one of the rooms. He was brazenly making his way into the suite as if on room service when I unintentionally touched the coffee pot, it was ice cold and when I took a closer look at him I could see his jeans and sandals underneath the white hotel uniform.  I let him have a good look at the guys and then escorted him out of the room. 

There were many similar incidents and the people that I turned away, many of whom were staying at the hotel, spread the word that I was staying in the Beatle’s suite; whenever I went down to the lobby or the restaurant I was mobbed by kids, mostly girls, who would heap me with gifts that they had made for the various members of the band. I took the presents to the suite and added them to the growing heap of unopened offerings already there;  when I went back down to the lobby I made up stories about how well they were received. 

At one point I felt particularly imposed upon when the bands manager recruited me to participate in a little production line he was setting up.  He had the boys sitting side by side on a sofa and they were adding their signatures to small squares of paper and passing them one to the other until they reached me. I was seated next to a guy who said his name was Ringo Star, I thought he was putting me on but that was the way he signed the paper. 

It was my job to gather up the autographs and arrange them in piles of ten and put an elastic band around the bundles. This process went on for quite a while and when I became board and started adding my signature to the last few papers to reach me we all had a laugh and the manager tossed me a large pile for myself. 

I gave most of them away to the fans in the lobby and the remainder, later on to friends and relatives that seemed interested; I kept one or two for myself but have long since lost track of them. 

One of the Beatles told the Sgt. that he had relatives in the city and that he would like to visit them; we devised a plan that got him out of the hotel and back again safely; I think it was George Harrison but at the time I wasn’t sufficiently impressed with them to remember who was who. 

After twenty-four hours of nonstop excitement, I don’t know when anyone slept, I have to admit that I was starting to enjoy myself and I kind of missed the boys when they went off to perform at Maple leaf Gardens.   After all that time I was in sore need of a shave and a change of clothes; I didn’t think that any of their gear would fit me but I did accept a disposable razor and some tooth paste from John Lennon. 

By the time the Beatles were scheduled to leave the city the crowds of admirers had grown to such huge proportions that the chief of police, James Mackey, decided to take personal charge of the special operation to remove them from the hotel. Since Sgt. Crawford and I were most familiar with the boys we were included as an integral part of the plan.

When the time for the band’s departure arrived the chief called eight of the biggest men on the force into a huddle beside the elevators in the hall of the private floor. “Here’s how it’s going to work,’ he said, the wagon is standing by outside the front doors and I’ve got enough men on foot and on horses to keep the crowd back while we load these buggers; our job is to get them through lobby and over to the doors. “ The trouble is, he continued, I just came up from there and the place is crammed with crazy teenagers; so here’s what were going to do. “ You eight men will take the elevator on the left down to the lobby, I‘ll wait with the band, Sgt. Crawford and little guy for precisely two minutes and then we will take the elevator beside you down to join you.”  “In the meantime I want you boys to move over and form a V in front of our elevator so that when we get down there, we can get in behind while you push your way to the doors.”  “   Has everybody got that; good; synchronize your watches.” 

By the time he had finished his instructions the boys in the band had joined us and he set the plan in motion. Down went the goon squad in elevator number one then we entered elevator number two and I held the doors from closing while watching my watch. When exactly two minutes had passed the chief gave me the nod, I released the doors and we were off. 

In a matter of seconds we reached the lobby and the doors opened and instead of the protective wall of blue backs we expected we found ourselves all alone facing an enormous crowd of fans, the big cops had been delayed somehow. 

I was too late we couldn’t turn back now.  At first I thought we would be mobbed but for some reason nobody was reacting to our presence. I think they  may have been confused because of all the beatle imitators that had been hanging around the hotel or maybe they simply couldn’t believe their eyes. 

It looked like we might get away without too much fuss and the chief said, “ Let’s ease our way over to the door.”  Everything was going smoothly, too smoothly! I noticed an older woman half way across the lobby staring wide eyed with her mouth open.  She was looking directly at Ringo Starr and I don’t think , at that point  that she was sure that it was really him.  If Ringo had left well enough alone we might have made it to the door unscathed. Instead, the little bugger started shaking his tie at her and making lewd gestures. That was it; she responded by launching herself across the lobby, leaping on his back and wrapping her legs around his waist and holding his tie like a set of reins. I tried, but I couldn’t dislodge her so I pushed them both towards the door.  The chief had already ushered the  rest of the group to the safety of a space between the hotels double doors were more policemen waited. The cops on the other side of the door grabbed Ringo and dragged through while I put a Half Nelson on the excited lady and gradually got her to dismount.  She was down but she wasn’t out because even though the door had closed between them she still held Ringo’s tie in a death grip; it was stuck between the doors and Ringo’s face was flattened against the glass and turning colour. 

Before I could react a quick thinking policeman on the other side of the glass produced a jackknife and cut the tie off. The lady fell backwards into the crowd with her memento and I never saw her again. 

The paddy wagon departed but the crowd stayed on, something very special and exciting had been happening and they didn’t want it to end; I felt the same way.  On the way home I stopped and bought a Beatle’s album; I’ve been a fan ever since.