In 1993, my husband, Rande, and I made our first trip of many to Liverpool.
We were so painfully American-looking (Rande in his high-topped tennis shoes and me in my author-ish tweeds and sensible pumps). Even casual bystanders immediately knew we were "from the States." Oh, we tried to fit in - to be as cool as our Merseyside hosts - but our language was stilted, our humor wasn't edgy enough, and our clothes were two years out of fashion.
But Scousers (Liverpudlians) are a forgiving lot. They embraced us, despite our geeky demeanor. They smiled at us, joked with us, and brought us into the fold.
One very (very!) brisk afternoon, after driving out to West Derby to see Pete Best's home (and the site of the former Casbah), Rande and I decided to have an early dinner in the suburbs. (In Liverpool proper, no respectable restaurants serve dinner until half-seven . . . seven-thirty to you Yanks. From 5 p.m. to 7:30 p.m., Liverpool is a ghost town. Stores are closed, as everyone has gone home to refresh before the evening revels begin.) We'd been driving all day photographing Beatle homes and schools and after negotiating "the wrong side of the street" for hours and finding unfindable places, we were both exhausted.
One bright, welcoming restaurant advertised "a hearty steak dinner" at "reasonable fare." It sounded like just the place!
Chatting about The Casbah, Roag Best (who'd made our visit possible), and Ray Johnson of Cavern City Tours (who'd arranged it all), we exited our car. It was one of those moments that you instantaneously wish that you could recall. Almost the second that Rande closed the rental car door, he knew he'd locked the keys inside. The look of agony on his face said it all. In one instant, he realized the faux pas that would force him to brave impossible temperatures and/or call the RAA for assistance, if we were to make our appointment at The Cavern Club that evening.
I went inside the restaurant, where it was fantastically warm, to wait for his heroic rescue.
As I sat at a table, sipped a cup of tea, and watched Rande from the large picture window, the group of people seated next to me spotted my "realtor blazer" and "80's big hair." I could see that they were whispering to one another that I was an American. They threw me furtive glances, and I smiled politely in return.
Finally one of the group asked me the obvious, "Are y'from America, then?" I said that I was. I said that I was waiting for my husband to join me . . . that he was out in the frigid temps (night had fallen now, and it was icy) trying to open the rental car and retrieve the keys.
That was all I had to say. In an flash, several of the men at the table got up to go help Rande unlock the car . . . a task that, strangely enough, involved removing the front left tire to reach the emergency unlock button located in the wheel well.
And the women at the table insisted that I join them for a chat. They ordered more tea. They tried desperately to order me supper.
As we talked and the men assisted Rande, I told the welcoming Merseysiders about my book on John Lennon, about the people we'd interviewed over the past few days, and about our plans for the evening. They were riveted, locked on every word as if I were Walter Cronkite live on location.
By the time that Rande and his mates, keys in hand, returned to the table, my new Liverpool friends had written their addresses out on bits of napkin. "Next time you're Merseyside," they chided me, "don't dream of stayin' in some hotel, Jude. Come and stay with us! We've plenty of room! Really."
And they meant it.
The people of Liverpool are honestly the warmest people in the world. They celebrate strangers. They embrace visitors with a zest Americans save for close family. It's not sham or show; it's genuine. And I could not have written Shoulda been there without my many Liverpool friends to guide me. Colin Fallows from John Moore's University (formerly Liverpool College of Art), Bryan Biggs from The Bluecoat School, and Rod Murray (John's mate from his college years) all answered questions for me over and over during the 20 years of my research. Colin arranged interviews for me and gave me e-mail connections that made my work possible . . . and sold Rande his beloved Epiphone Casino from Hessey's (the City Centre music store where John purchased his first guitar). Eddie Porter of Cavern Tours introduced me to John's Uncle Charlie; Bob Wooler spent hours telling me his alliterative stories. None of these busy people were stingy with their memories or their time. They were friendly, open, and amazing.
If you like The Beatles, you would love Liverpudlians. In fact, although The Beatles will always have a place in my heart, my real "crush" is on Scousers. One trip to Liverpool, and you'll have it, too - Merseymania. The colorful people of Liverpool are easy to love and unbelievably hard to forget.
Early on in my travels Merseyside, I learned that the good people of Liverpool are very cautious about trusting an outsider. Very often, my husband and I were "tested" to see if we were the kind of people who could be taken into confidence...if we were the kind of people who would repeat stories intelligently and without embellishment.
Joe Flannery, for example, invited my husband and me to tour the Sudley Art Gallery with him before agreeing to our interview. And as we strolled from room to elegant room, Joe was guarded...very reticent to reveal what he really knew about The Beatles. He was gracious and polite to us, but he was distant.
Fortunately, Rande and I love art and have spent many hours strolling through the National Gallery in Washington, D.C., New York's Metropolitan Museum of Art and The Guggenheim, Kansas City's Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, and Philadelphia's Museum of Art (where Rocky climbed those immortal steps! Yo Adrienne!) So we weren't at all annoyed by Joe's side trip. Instead, we were delighted! And when we gasped at the rare Turners in the wonderful collection, Mr. Flannery was at last convinced. Right on the spot, Rande and I were deemed suitable for the colorful tales Joe had to tell us. And off we went to enjoy a lovely lunch at the Penny Lane Pub and a great afternoon in Joe's Aigburth home - sitting in the very same room that The Beatles used to sit in when Joe would assist his friend, Brian Epstein, in chaperoning the lads to various venues.
We heard some interesting stories that afternoon and even came away with a rare recording of Phil Boardman's "Much Missed Man" (which ChaChi Loprete is going to play on his Sunday "Breakfast with the Beatles" out of Boston in May. I'll be chatting with him, and he'll play the record for you!). Boardman's original song was the record that won the Merseyside tribute contest to honor John after his death in 1980. Copies are very rare, and I was elated to be entrusted with one. But trust is the operative word. Joe's trust in me was not doled out willy-nilly. It had to be earned.
The late (and lovely) Bob Wooler was another careful man. When I phoned him from Kansas City in 1994, requesting an interview, he asked me what other people I had interviewed Merseyside. Clearly, he wanted a reference. When I told him that I'd spoken with Beryl Adams and Allan Williams the previous spring, Bob told me that he would chat with his friend, Allan, and then ring me back. I waited.
Several days later, Mr. Wooler did indeed return my call, saying that he'd be delighted to meet Rande and me for lunch the following week at a new seafood café in Lark Lane, not too far from his home. I was on Cloud (what else?) Nine. I presumed that I had passed muster.
But the "interview" was not over yet. And I was the interviewee!
When we arrived at the café and settled in to our table, I ordered a small seafood salad while the men ordered something more substantial. We enjoyed Bob's gorgeous, open smile and his alliterative, brilliant sense of humor as we chatted. But Bob wanted a little more "insurance" that I was the "real deal" before he opened up to me. So he had prepared a pop quiz for me...ten questions that he wanted me to answer about The Beatles.
I can't remember all of them. I was so nervous that I'm surprised that I can remember any of them! But I do recall that he asked the exact date that John met Yoko, and he asked where it happened and what was written on the ceiling. Luckily, I knew all the details.
He also asked me to talk about the career of Neil Aspinall...how Neil got started with the lads and how his roll evolved over the years. I knew that one, too.
But there were a few that I didn't know, and I was honest about that. I told Bob that my book, Shoulda Been There, focused on John's life from 1940-1961, and that was truly my area of expertise. I didn't pretend to be a general Beatles' trivia expert. And I didn't pretend to know as much about all of The Beatles as I did about John.
And I think that was the key...not pretending.
When Liverpudlians realize that you're honest, even if you're not always right, they take you under their wings. When you come to them "just as you are," they honor that.
The final test at that Lark Lane luncheon (Bob would love that alliteration!) came when my seafood salad arrived...a hearty bed of greens topped with prawns, oysters, and...a whole octopus looking directly at me, his tentacles fanned out across the entire plate. It was...a bit more European than a girl who grew up in Louisiana and lived in Alabama was ready to embrace. I am far from a fan of haute cuisine, but I knew that turning up my provincial nose at the delicacy would mark me as "crude." This was one instance when being entirely honest would only appear uneducated and boorish.
With great difficulty and a smile, I ate the some of the octopus. I wish I could end my tale by saying that I found it delicious... that I would forever treasure the moment in Liverpool when I learned to like this seafood tidbit, but truly... it was awful.
What made it very digestible, though, was the way Bob opened up to me once I had sampled the creature...the wonderful tales that Bob shared for the rest of the afternoon, the d.j.'s request card from The Cavern Club that he gave me, the photo of himself in 1961 at The Cavern that he entrusted to me, and the hugs we all exchanged when the day finally ended (after 3 or 4 hours in Keith's Wine Bar with Allan Williams, as well).
I haven't been to Liverpool in 8 years, and in just a few months, I will have the extreme joy of returning to the place I love most on the earth. I know that even though it is home to me, I am still an outsider to my Scouse friends, and I will have to prove myself worthy of their trust. I'm not a bit put off by that. Instead, I'm looking forward to it. I will merely be honest, open, myself...unless, of course, octopus is served. Then, all bets are off.
Jude