I Met the Walrus_ How One Day With John Lennon Changed My Life Forever - Jerry Levitan [35]
The Capitol PR man had taken a liking to me. I called him a day or two after I got the pictures to give him copies of the ones he wanted. The ones with Sam the Record Man ended up on the store’s wall of fame, the wall I peered at time and time again. I had made my mark. The PR man would call me up from time to time to tell me that new records of interest were coming out and give me advance copies while taking me out for dinner.
3
IN MY LIFE
Rumors were rampant in September 1969, the week prior to Toronto’s Rock and Roll Revival at the Varsity Stadium, that John Lennon was coming. The concert was scheduled for September 13 and the lineup consisted of Little Richard, Jerry Lee Lewis, Chuck Berry, the Doors, and a newcomer named Alice Cooper, among others. I called the Capitol man and he told me that it might happen and he would call me as soon as he heard anything. Deejays relentlessly plugged the massive concert and each time fueled the rumors that John Lennon would make an appearance. The night before, I got the call. “John’s coming with Eric Clapton,” the Capitol man said. I shouted with excitement. “Meet me tomorrow morning at the press office at the arena and I’ll get you a press pass.”
The all-day festival started in the morning and was going to go on through the night. I found the Capitol man and he put a chain around my neck with a card that said “PRESS.” It was hectic there because of the artists, but the John Lennon rumor was persistent and some were saying all four Beatles would be coming. I made my way to the front row where press and VIPs had designated seats. I was getting used to this.
I sat in the sun watching these legends of rock. Chuck Berry doing his crouching duck walk to “Hoochie Coochie Man,” Jerry Lee Lewis jumping on the piano as he sang “Whole Lotta Shakin’ Goin’ On,” and Little Richard screeching and strutting to “Lucille.” These were the Beatles’ heroes and the artists they covered in their early albums. I was having a rock history lesson. I saw Jim Morrison, about a year and a half before he died, sing “Touch Me” with the Doors. Alice Cooper infuriated everyone in the front row, including me, by throwing a full watermelon into the crowd, splashing us all with the insides.
Throughout the day, I would wander backstage and check out the stars wandering around outside in the secure area set up for them. A friend from school was working backstage as a roadie and we started chatting. Jim Morrison walked right by us. His skin was weirdly translucent. Jerry Lee Lewis walked by and I excitedly shouted to my friend, “That’s Jerry Lee Lewis!” My friend thinking I was referring to the comic, replied, “That’s not Jerry Lewis.” Jerry Lee, “the Killer” as he liked to be called, turned abruptly around and walked right up to his face and said, “You better believe it, Buddy!” and then stomped away.
It was nighttime and Little Richard had stirred the crowd into a frenzy. The over-the-top icon of early rock and roll finished his set with “Lucille” and strutted his glittered way off the stage. It was getting late and there had been no word yet about John Lennon. I knew something was up when several frowning Toronto police officers stood on either side of the stage. Then an announcer came out and said in a disbelieving voice, “John Lennon and the Plastic Ono Baaaaaannnnnd!” And out came the musicians: Allan White on drums, Klaus Voormann on bass (the Beatles mate from the early days in Hamburg who designed the Revolver cover), Eric Clapton, and then John and Yoko to tumultuous applause. I was front row and center. He was thinner than when I’d last seen him and the beard was thicker. Dressed all in white, he seemed unusually awkward and nervous as he approached the microphone while tuning his guitar and said, “Good evening.” The crowd wailed reverentially. “We’re just going to do