Saturday, October 11, 2008
A VISIT NOT SO FABULOUS FOR THE FAB FOUR
Out of all the photographs I had taken of the Manila Yacht Club, this has got to be my favorite. It was once selected as Photo of the Week by the editors of Manila Bulletin's Picture Perfect section.
I have never in my life gone inside the Manila Yacht Club, but there's one striking memory I treasure from when I was a kid in which it played a prominent role. This happened one Saturday, the 3rd of July, 1966, when the Beatles arrived in Manila.
Their handlers' plan was to fly them by helicopter from Manila International Airport to a waiting yacht owned by Manolo Elizalde docked at Manila Bay. However, should the crowd of fans were to be less-frenzied and manageable, as compared to those in other cities which the Beatles had visited, a likely option called for a typical motorcade, as afforded to visiting heads of state. This way, many local folks would get a glimpse of the Fab Four as they headed from the airport to their awaiting yacht. I intensely prayed for the latter.
Besides the anticipated presence of riotous and hysterical fans that usually crowded the Beatles' live performances, the cost of buying tickets for the entire family to see their concert at Rizal Stadium proved prohibitive for my father. Neither did he have the heart to merely pick and choose only a couple to see the concert, for everyone was stricken with Beatlemania, including the household help. So the decision was for everyone to stay home. And that was that.
After many years of growing up in a household with a soundtrack from other family members' record collections -- a repertoire that consisted of a steady stream from my father's favored jazz artists and big bands to my older siblings' mushy and rocking hits of the '50s -- the Beatles' music I claimed as truly my very own. Darn, even my vocal range, pitch and enunciation matched perfectly that of Lennon's and McCartney's. Spurred by childhood dreams of grandeur, I was truly under the impression that I could be a potential fifth Beatle. Hence, under such compelling illusion, no one could possibly thwart my determination to see the Beatles in person, in one way or another.
Prior to their weekend arrival, a Manila Times article highlighted the upcoming visit replete with a map of their motorcade route from the airport to the Manila Yacht Club. Needless to say, that article inspired me to hatch a plan unbeknownst to all, except for my sister Inday and four more childhood friends who range in age from 11 to 15 (I was to celebrate my fourteenth birthday the following week).
On that momentous Saturday, the 3rd of July, 1966, all dressed up as if headed to a children's party, we got on a cab on Avenida Rizal that took us to Dewey Boulevard and Quirino Avenue. According to the motorcade route as illustrated by the Manila Times article, this was where the cars heading north from the airport would have to make a u-turn if they wanted to go to the yacht club. Hunch told me the motorcade had to slow down to a crawl in order to accomplish such maneuver; thus, this would be the ideal ground for us to claim.
There was a lot of traffic on that Saturday afternoon and when we finally reached our destination -- at the service road that paralleled the boulevard near corner Quirino -- the motorcade with the white Cadillac limousine (obviously with the Beatles in it) were fast approaching; only a hundred or so meters from the u-turn. After silently offering a prayer of appreciation -- that the Beatles weren't flown by a helicopter instead -- we all jumped out of that taxi like a bunch of thoroughbreds bolting out of the starting gate; racing over to the boulevard as if our lives depended on it. Years of playing 'tag' and tumbang preso certainly gave our legs the much needed sprinting power.
And as it in lockstep, as we neared that particular u-turn junction, the white Cadillac also began to decelerate. For a few precious seconds, Ringo, John, Paul and George were all within our arms' reach. As evidenced by the wide smiles on theirs faces, they were all apparently enthralled by the sight of our group of nicely-dressed kids running alongside their limousine while screaming out their names.
John Lennon removed the shades that covered his eyes, and his seemingly heartfelt smile and enthusiastic waving hand made my knees and legs suddenly felt rubbery. As the white limousine completed it's u-turn on its way to the yacht club, we headed for the grassy ground along the boulevard where I fell, tripping everyone else behind me in the process. We remained laying on the grass for a few minutes before we slowly got up to brush ourselves off and get back to the taxi waiting for us. The cab driver patted our backs; very much delighted that we all had seen the Beatles in person and up close.
We had the cab driver drop us off at the same spot where he had picked us up -- on Avenida Rizal, a safe and far enough distance from our house. I paid him with the money that I've managed to save the past few months. We then headed to Manong's sari-sari store where I treated everyone to a bottle of Cosmos sarsaparilla and hopiang hapon. Afterwards, Mang Fermin came by and we all enjoyed a cone of dirty ice cream as well. Everyone was rather giddy while discussing in hushed tones what we had experienced earlier that afternoon. Everyone promised to keep it as our very own secret.
When we all went home, my sister Inday and I found our father alone in the downstairs living room reading the newspaper. After pressing his hand on our foreheads, my sister raced upstairs while I sat next to my father. He asked how the birthday party was. I told him the truth: I said it was my upcoming birthday that we celebrated. And that we took a cab to Dewey Boulevard to see the Beatles' motorcade. I was prepared to accept whatever punishment he thought appropriate for such roguish act. Instead he just calmly told me not to mention what we had done to anyone else, especially to my mother. Unlike my sister who had immediately gone upstairs when we got home, I chose to remain sitting on the sofa next to my father, lost in thought. For some strange reason, I was feeling that my childhood, my age of wonder, was finally coming to an end.
I was aroused from my pensive mood only when my brother Pepsi came down and turned on the radio. The top ten program he tuned into was playing the Beatles' Paperback Writer. After the song was finished, I went upstairs to change my clothes.
The Beatles' concert performances in Manila during that weekend set a record-breaking phenomenon in terms of attendance. Some estimates placed the figure as high as 50,000 for each performance. Regrettably, what could have been a historic musical event soon got marred by 'political' controversy.
Supposedly, a miscommunication between their local promoters and manager, Brian Epstein, resulted to Imelda and her friends getting insulted by the Beatles' nonappearance at a Palace reception. Consequently, incited by the Marcos' media machine, Beatlemania turned into Beatlephobia. Hence, the Beatles, including their entire entourage, were roughed up at the airport as they were leaving Manila. Undoubtedly, it was a concert tour that proved less than fabulous for the famed Fab Four.
Nevertheless, what I deemed more unfortunate for the Beatles was the missed opportunity to enjoy a glorious Manila Bay sunset. At that time, since they may have already been experimenting with mind-altering substances such as LSD, God only knows what words and music might have come from Lennon and McCartney after enjoying a spectacular Manila Bay sunset. A more psychedelic tune than Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds, I bet.
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Please note:
I very much appreciate my articles and photos appearing on fellow bloggers' sites, popular broadsheets, and local broadcast news segments, but I would appreciate even more a request for permission first.
Thank you!
I very much appreciate my articles and photos appearing on fellow bloggers' sites, popular broadsheets, and local broadcast news segments, but I would appreciate even more a request for permission first.
Thank you!
Labels: Beatles in Manila, Growing up memoirs, music
posted by Señor Enrique at 9:31 AM
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