Frank, the doorman was on duty the evening of Friday, February 7th, 1964. He blew his whistle and hailed a taxi for me. "Where to, Mrs. D?" For some unknown reason, I didn’t want him to know that I was headed to the Plaza Hotel to meet the Beatles. I thanked him and pretended not to hear as I jumped into the back seat of the cab. The driver seemed slightly puzzled. At the first red light he turned to look at me and said, "You’re not going to that big cocktail party for the Beatles, are you?" I nodded and asked what the problem might be? He shook his head, "You can get near the Plaza. I might have to drop you off on 57th Street." I said that would be fine with me. New Yorkers would rather walk and reach their destination without a problem.
As I entered the hotel all the foot traffic was headed in one direction. I felt a tug on my right arm, "Can you distinguish one from the other of these four young lads?" I turned to look at the woman. It was Dorothy Kilgallen of the New York Journal American, author of the Broadway column. Ianswered yes, and assured her that I was an ardent fan of theirs. She put her arm in minesecurely and said, "You are now my official escort."
She and I took glasses of Champagne and began our pilgrimage. "Which one do you think is the most talented," she asked. I may have been prejudiced but I felt John Lennon was multi-talented. Paul was the most popular. George may have been the best guitarist and Ringo gave an authentic "everyman’s appeal" to the group, a nice balance.
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We stood in line to meet John for several minutes but she pulled me away toward Paul explaining tha an old colleague had engaged John in conversation and she didn’t want to get stuck with him. She said, "Look at that one’s hands, he’s loaded with rings. We looked at each other and I said, "Well now, which one do you think he is?" We both laughed and headed toward Ringo. I couldn’t hear her questions. When we turned away she said, "Good Lord, I couldn’t understand a word of what he said, did you?"
We spent a few minutes with Paul, then George. She especially reacted positively to Paul and thought he was a charmer. This was our fourth or fifth attempt at meeting John. At this point she asked me to give an honest assessment. Wouldn’t the Beatles be famous for six months and fade away? Weren’t they a flash in the pan, the flavor of the month? I told her that I thought they would probably be remembered as the biggest music group of the 20th century. She stared at me for several seconds."You really do mean that, don’t you?" John was not taking questions so much as talking about art. He had a complete circle of admirers mesmerized. He was brilliant, the star of the group. People lingered near John. They encased him like a rare treasure. It didn’t matter what he said, it mattered that we were with him. He extended both his hands to one and all in a group handshake. For a moment John Lennon belonged to all of us. The concert at Carnegie Hall was the only concert I ever attended without being able to hear one single note of music. Upon leaving we were told to hide our programs. People were being hit over the head. Several of us stuck our programs inside our heavy winter coats and ran down 57th Street to the Russian Tea Room. We ate a lovely warm, quiet dinner and made our way home late that night. It all seemed like a dream. The Beatles had come to town and the town would never be the same, let alone music.
