![Воспоминания Крис О'Делл]( "Воспоминания Крис О'Делл")
Воспоминания Крис О'Делл
In my time with the Beatles I had four major Magical Musical Moments (and many lesser, still awe-inspiring experiences). Singing in the chorus on "Hey Jude" was the first. The second—and the most magical—took place almost six months later on January 30, 1969.
"Are you going up?" Tony Richmond, the head cameraman, asked me that day as I was sitting in my office, despondent and depressed because, like all the other Apple staff members, I wasn't allowed up on the roof for the Beatles' final concert. The structure was too weak to hold all of us, we were told. I didn't take it personally, but I did take it hard because even though I'd be able to hear the Beatles play, I wouldn't be there. All week I'd had to endure the pounding and scraping in the hallways outside my office as workmen erected support poles to shore up the roof With every nail that was hammered in, I was reminded that something huge and monumental was about to happen and I was going to miss it.
"I can't," I said miserably. "Only essential staff are allowed up there."
"Well," Tony smiled, walking over to my desk and reaching for my hand, "you're coming along as my assistant then."
"Are you serious? Do you think it will be okay?" I was afraid that someone—Mai? Peter Brown? one of the Beatles?—would realize I didn't belong there and tell me to leave. If I got that close and then had to turn around and go back to my office, head hanging in shame because I wasn't "essential," the disappointment would be more than I could bear.
Tony just laughed as he pulled me out of my seat. I reached for my coat—it was a bitter-cold January day and the wind was blowing like crazy—and followed him up the rickety steps to the roof.
As Tony set up his camera equipment, I sat on a bench next to him. We were right next to the building's chimney and just a few feet from the edge of the roof.
"Damn, it's cold up here," Ken Mansfield said as he sat next to me and pulled his thin white trench coat tight around him. Ken was the US manager of Apple Records and we'd become good friends, often partying together when he was in London. He gave me a big smile, but I noticed his teeth were chattering.
Paul was the first Beatle to appear, followed by Ringo and Maureen. Maureen took the seat next to Ken on the bench, huddling against the cold and keeping her eyes fixed on Ringo with barely a smile to acknowledge my presence. She was such an enigma to me because she always looked so tiny and vulnerable, yet she put up this protective wall that I felt I would never penetrate. John and Yoko arrived a few minutes later. Yoko sat on the far end of the bench next to Maureen, and within minutes, it seemed, the band started playing.
The chimney sheltered us slightly from the icy wind, but the Beatles weren't so lucky. The wind kept blowing their hair into their faces. John's nose was red, and Ringo looked plain miserable. George wore a red shirt, bright green pants, and a furry coat that he loved. Billy Preston, a musician loved by all the Beatles, sat on a chair by the roof door, playing keyboard, dressed in a black leather jacket, his shoulders hunched up into his neck as a defense against the cold. And Paul, unbelievably, wore nothing but a black suit jacket over a shirt. They all blew on their fingers and grumbled about how "bloody cold" it was. After every song, Maureen would clap and softly call out, "Yay!"
I can't remember any other details except for my favorite moment of all, just before the police came onto the roof and ended the concert. I was sitting on the bench, curious about what was happening on the streets below as people heard the music and wondered where it was coming from. I stood up and peeked over the edge of the roof, peering at the crowd gathered on the street below. The music rained down on them from the gray sky above and the look of wonder on their faces was something to behold.
Miss O'Dell: my hard days and long nights with the Beatles, the Stones, Bob
