Sixty Years Ago this Month . . . Lee Alan Meets and Interviews the Fab Four in Miami, February 1964
Originally published in February 1964
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The day was Friday. It was early in February and I was getting ready to go on the air. It was no different than any other day for the past two days except that tonight I would play one solid hour of Beatles records. I had been promising this for a week and frankly, I was little doubtful about it. Detroit is the most competitive market in the United States. Too competitive radio to risk losing a lot of listeners by playing the records of just one artist; but now I had committed myself and now, lose ‘em or not, between nine and ten tonight I would keep my promise to a young public I loved. ONE SOLID HOUR OF BEATLES. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah . . . . .
It was a Saturday, and I had a lot to do. Record for radio in the morning, rehearse for and do a “live” one hour television show in the afternoon, put my radio show together later, also in the afternoon, and then drive like blazes so I could get the remote broadcast by seven o’clock. I did my radio show, and later that night I wound up my busy day by doing a stage show for the guys and gals of Detroit. The day was over all fifteen hours of it. It was one of my typical seven days a week. Sunday was about the same. Then it happened.
It was Monday. It was noon. I walked into my office at the radio station and I couldn’t believe my eyes. There on my desk were what looked like thousands and thousands of cards and letters. When that happens to a radio personality, many things run though his mind. “What did I say on the air? Did I slip and say something wrong?” Maybe I insulted someone. All those letters. I must have really pulled a doozy this time. I wonder if the station knows. I wonder if I’ll have to take the terrible trip down the hall to the General Manager’s office. Butterflies in the stomach all the way. I had taken that trip many times before and it wasn’t pleasant.
All these things were running though my mind as I eased over my desk and peeked at one of the cards. I couldn’t believe it. I looked at another one…and another. I opened a letter. I tore open another letter. They were all the same. They were all forms guys and gals. Thousands of them literally thousands of pieces of mail all saying the same thing. Each one of them thanked me, simply and clearly, just for playing that one hour of Beatles. I was shocked I knew the Beatles were big and popular; but certainly not that big, and certainly not this popular. But there was the proof. There were the letters. Too many letters to read; almost too many to count. I had to sit down and think. If that many responded just because I had played an hour of Beatles . . . . if that many people were interested . . . . and then it hit me. Just like a bolt of lighting it hit me. It was an idea that would carry me thousands of miles in the next two days. The idea was to culminate this story: ‘A TRIP TO MIAMI’.
The Beatles were in Miami, Florida. They had just done the Sullivan show the day before. I, along with millions of others in this country had watched them in their fantastic performance. Somehow I had to see them. Somehow I had to talk with them and tell them the stories they heard from Detroit were not true. The guys and gals loved them and someone had to tell them. I had already decided to try.
I guess I did my show that night. My mind was a million miles away. I was already planning what I would say to THEM. There were a thousands of things to do. The tickets, clothes, phone calls, cameras, tapes, recorders, and where would I stay when I got there. Well . . . . forget that. That would be the least of my worries. SET ME FREE . . . I was going to MIAMI.
I didn’t sleep that night, and I thought the morning would never come. When it did, it was cold. The sun was shining; but it was bitter cold. I had to hurry because I was meeting someone at the airport. I was meeting Del Shannon and he was going with me. I had called and talked with him on the phone. I asked him if he had ever met the Beatles while working in England and of course the answer was yes. Whats more, he knew them and said there would be no problem for him to get in to see them. It was all set. We were going to interview the Beatles.
I drove into the airport parking lot and tool the ticket which popped out of the automatic machine, and found a place to leave the car. I was thinking: “The next time I see this car either I will have seen and talked to THEM, or I’ll swallow my pride and admit that the whole trip had been a waste.” I locked the car, strapped the cameras over one shoulder, the tape recorders over the other, took my big brief case in one hand and started for the airport entrance. The porter said that Eastern Airlines was that way. I turned right and started walking toward the reservation counter. There weren’t many people in the airport so I knew immediately that Del hadn’t arrived yet.
After I had cleared my tickets there was nothing to do but wait for Del Shannon. Finally after about ten minutes, I saw my old friend amble in the far entrance, suitcase in hand. He had to hurry. We only had ten minutes to take off. We shook hands, cleared his tickets, checked his bag, and were through the Blue Concourse. The steward checked our tickets once again, and passed us through the door and onto the airfield.
It had been a long time since I had flown and when I saw that huge jet it overwhelmed me. I wasn’t afraid to fly but I was thinking of all those headlines in the newspapers and on our newscasts about hundreds of people being killed in air crashes. It was impossible even to imagine. A plane that big couldn’t just disintegrate and kill everyone inside . . . or could it? No time to think about that now. I had to get out my portable tape recorder and get the sound of that giant plane on tape. While it was running I described some of the things on the recording I have described to you here. I had it all planned. I would make a tape before we got on the plane, I would make tapes while we were actually in flight. In the radio business this is called the color. Just like the sports announcer does between half-times of a football game. I would make tapes of anything and anyone I could. If only I could get in to see the Beatles . . . . Then it would be complete.
We boarded the plane, fastened our seat belts, and taxied down the runway. The stewardess checked to see that everyone was secure, and when she came to our seats she asked about the tape recorder. I told her what it was and what I planned to do with it while in flight. She explained that somehow the operation of the dials and gauges the pilot uses to control the flight are affected by this type of machinery, and I wouldn’t be allowed to use it at all. She said that the plane and its passengers would be placed in danger. I put it away . . . . QUICK.
The big jet thundered down the runway. I could hear the whine of the engines, see the pavement on the airstrip going faster and faster, and I held on real tight. I was looking down at the ground from my seat. All of a sudden I felt a slight jerk, and the concrete runway began to leave us. It got farther and farther away; and then, it wasn’t there at all. We were airborne; headed for Miami and the Beatles.
Now, as I have said before, it was cold in Detroit. The temperature was somewhere around twenty-nine or thirty degrees and the sun was shining. We were flying above the clouds, and all we could see were their mountainous formations. Finally the haze broke and instead of ground all we could see were hundreds and hundreds of miles of what looked like sand . . . . yellow sand. Then there was a voice on the loudspeaker: “Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen. We are approaching the Greater Miami Airport; however, there will be a slight delay. We will be circling at fifteen thousand feet while waiting further landing instructions.” The land below us is a body of land known as the EVERGLADES. The great Florida Everglades . . . . I had read about it in school. Men had entered that desolate swamp and never returned. It was full of alligators, snakes, wild boar, and a thousand other things. Finally though my thoughts I heard the captain saying that we have been given the OK, and to fasten our seat belts. We were about to land. We were about to embark on our adventure with the Beatles.
The plane sailed down the glide path, touched the ground, and finally stopped. We gathered up our paraphernalia, said thanks and said goodbye to the stewardess, and stepped out of the plane onto the stairs leading to the ground. There we stood like a couple of dummies. We had cameras, recorders, briefcases, and we had our overcoats on. The temperature was eight-two degrees and we had on our heavy suits and overcoats on. It was hot, humid, and we shed those coats plenty fast.
Now we were in Miami. Now we would try to meet the Beatles. Making tapes of what we said and what we were planning as we walked, we headed straight for baggage pick-up. While Del was getting his suitcase, I hailed a cab. Suitcase, cameras, briefcases, tape recorders, overcoats, Del Shannon, and Lee Alan all packed securely in a Miami taxi, the cabby said: Where to? . . . . Del said “The Deauville Hotel,” and we were off. The Deauville Hotel was where the Beatles had been staying since their invasion of Miami. It was also the origination for their fab appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show just two days prior.
The cab driver was a man about fifty. He told us he’d been driving around Miami for thirty years. As a matter fact, he wouldn’t stop telling us things. He talked so much about so many things that I reached over and turned on the tape machine. What he said was priceless. We asked if he knew anything about the Beatles. I think he knew more about them than we did. He told us that the arrived by plane, at the same airport we had just come from, there was mass panic. He had never seen so many people turn out to greet anyone. There was so much traffic jammed up for so long that he and his cab made a small fortune. “It took me took me three times as long to drive anywhere I collected double and triple fares.” He told us that one of the local radio stations dressed up their disk jockeys to look like the Beatles, and just as the plane landed they all ran out from behind a big truck. The throngs thought for a moment that they were actually seeing the Beatles, and they were mobbed. Fortunately, he said, no one was hurt. To sum it all up, the Beatles caused pandemonium in Miami from the time they arrived until the time they left.
We were driving along the ocean and over the causeway, and before we knew it, The Deauvile Hotel was in view. I was laughing and talking just to cover up my butterflies. We were now within two hundred yards of the actual room where the Beatles were staying. We had come thousands of miles in a matter of a few short hours. The last two hundred yards would prove longer and harder than anything I had ever encountered.
We pulled up in front of the Deaville, got out thanked the cabby, grabbed our belongings and headed toward the entrance of the hotel. There were police everywhere. They were on the stairs, at the entrance, and all around the building. As we entered the lobby there were more of them . . . . Miami policemen protecting the Beatles and the hotel.
The lobby was jammed. There were people everywhere. Old people, parents, children, teenagers, bellboys, police, and they were are talking. It looked more like a giant teen dance reservation desk. I was trying to hide the tape recorder because it had the name of my former radio station on it and I knew that if anyone saw it, even we would be mobbed. Del asked the man behind the desk for the room number of the Beatles’ manager, Brian Epstein. He had met Brian on two occasions while in England, and even had even headline a show with the Beatles before they became popular. Brian had sent him an invitation to stop by and say hello if he happened to be near Miami during their visit to the U.S.A. We were stopping by to do more than say hello; but first we had to get the manager’s permission. When we finally got his attention the man behind the desk barked: “I’m not allowed to give that information out.” Can you imagine that? We had come all the way from Detroit to see the Beatles, and we couldn’t get the managers room number; let alone find out where they were.
We made our way through the crowd, past the desk to a long line of little booths. Each one of them contained a telephone. Del picked up the phone and asked for an outside line operator. When he reached the operator, he asked her to get him the Deauville Hotel. When the desk answered Del said: “Mr. Brian Epstein’s room please.” It turned out that the hotel operator asked him who was calling and of course he said, “Del Shannon.” There was a slight delay which seemed like an eternity. Finally, I could hear Del saying: “Hi Brian how’re ya doing?” We had made a contact. Del was talking to the man who could say a simple yes or no to our request. Del was saying “. . .Yeah, I’m here in the lobby . . . uh huh . . . well are the Beatles in? . . . they are. . . .”
That’s the way the conversation went. I could tell from it that the Beatles were actually there in the hotel. They were in their rooms. They were no more that a few floors away from us at that very moment. Then the bubble exploded!!!!
Del hung up the phone and motioned for me to come with him. We walked over to a part of the lobby which wasn’t as crowded as the rest and sat down. He explained that the Beatles were in the hotel; but they were on a “holiday” and would be giving no interviews . . . . not to anyone. Brian had told him that they were staying until Friday, and that their time would be spent in the Florida sun at a private home during the day, and at night they would be secure in their rooms. They would be talking to no one. NOW WHAT? We had run up blind alley and it seemed that there was nothing that we could do. I was about to call Detroit and call the whole thing off. Then I remembered those letters. I remembered all those people back in Detroit. They didn’t even know what I was trying to do, and I already failed? I decided right then and there that “holiday” or no “holiday” I was going to get that interview even if I had to follow the Beatles back to Liverpool.
Just then Del nudged me and said: “Don’t look now but that guy walking toward us with the dark glasses is Brian Epstein.” He walked over to where we were sitting and greeted Del with a big smile and a handshake. Del stood up and talked with him for a minute and then I was introduced. He wasn’t quite as friendly with me as he was with Del, but I was happy to have the opportunity of talking with him. We were a lot better off than we had been a few minutes ago. Just then another man walked over and whispered something into Epstein’s ear. This little gesture would turn out to be the key to our entire trip.
Brian Epstein was a tall, slightly built man in his early thirties. After listening to the whispered message, he turned and introduced his informant to Del and me as Mr. Jack Millman of Miami. We were to find out later that Mr. Jack Millman was the Capitol record representative for Miami and surrounding areas. It was job to see that the Beatles got from place to place all in one piece, and without being molested by the throngs which were to follow them wherever they went. Then, just as easily as if he were to tell the time of day, Epstein looked at Del and said in his Liverpool accent; “Del, I’m sure the ‘boys’ would love to see you. Could you come back about five o’clock and have dinner with them in the room?”
I flipped!!!!! Del had been invited to have dinner with the Beatles. This was faaantaastic!!!!! This was great. All our troubles were over. I jumped in said: “That’s great we’ll be here at five.” Brian leered to me and explained that the boys were giving out no interviews, and if I was with Del I would have to wait for him somewhere else. He sure had me pegged. There I was . . . . cameras, tape recorders, and all kinds of equipment, looking like the original country dummy. Of course I wasn’t invited! I looked no different than any one of a hundred others waiting in the lobby to pounce on the Beatles and get something out of them. I waited until Epstein had gone back upstairs, and then sank into a chair. I was beaten again. Beaten . . . yes. Give up? NO!!!
It was 2:30 P.M. What were we going to do for two and a half hours? I went to the reservations desk and asked if there was a room available. The man told me that in order to get a room there, I would have had to make reservations six months ago. As a matter of fact, he said there were no rooms available in any good hotels up and down the beach. He told me that if I just wanted a room I didn’t care what it was like, that I should call the dump down the street. He thought there was a possibility at least. So, off we went. Jack Millman, Del Shannon, and I were on our way to see if there was a room at the ‘dump’ down the street.
Well, I’ll tell you one thing, the guy at the Deauville wasn’t kidding. The place was a dump alright, with a capital “D”; but there was a room available. According to the proprietor it was “probably the last available room on the strip.” So, there we were. We had our room at the dump and we were waiting for five o’clock to come so Del could go back to the Deauville and have dinner with the Beatles.
Jack Millman was a short, stocky gentleman with a genial manner about him, and I asked him if he would have dinner with me while Del went to the Deauville. He accepted the invitation and we began to talk. It turned out that he had been in the record business for a long time, and knew all about yours truly and our shows in Detroit. He even knew a lot of people I knew, and the conversation became long and involved. He told me had been assigned to take care of the Beatles while they were in Miami. He said that he had met them at the airport, and described the same scene we had heard earlier from the cab driver. He gave us his impression of each of the Beatles’ personalities. His story was fascinating. He said the Beatles had done two shows on Sunday. One in the afternoon, which was a dress rehearsal and one at night, which was of course was their “live” appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show. “They gave out about five thousand tickets for each show, and there were only two thousand seats . . . it was a mess.” I was just listening . . . fascinated. “The kids couldn’t even hear them singing. They were all screaming. The technicians for the TV show had trouble putting the mikes in the right place so the Beatles wouldn’t be downed out for the millions who were watching at home.” I asked Jack Millman, for his personal opinion of the Beatles. Without hesitation, he interrupted me . . . . “Gentlemen . . . Complete Gentlemen . . . a credit to themselves, and a credit to their country.” If you were listening when I broadcast the interviews on the radio, you heard Mr. Millman himself utter those very words. I was tape recording the whole conversation.
Before we knew it, it was time for Del to leave for the Deauville and his dinner with the Beatles. He promised that he would do all he could to convince them to talk with me and provide us with the interview which we had come so far, and worked so hard for. I wished him luck, and he was out the door and gone. I sure wished I could go with him, but things I knew that if I tried, I could really make a mess of things.
Jack and I sat in the hotel. A couple of hours went by, and I knew that by this time Del had also dinner with THEM, and was busily engaged in the business of trying to get them to consent to an interview. Finally there was a knock at the door. It was Del. “They’re fantastic.” He said. “They’re still the same. They haven’t spoiled their success at all.” Del was so excited that I had a hard time trying to calm down. “What about it Del, do we get the interview or not?” Well . . . . (he hesitated) it doesn’t look too good. They were happy to see me; but . . . . no interviews . . . they’re on a holiday.” I leaped to the telephone and asked for long distance. I was calling a disc jockey I knew in New York. I was calling Murray Kaufman. He had interviewed the Beatles, and knew them. I asked him if he could exert any influence he might have in order to get me in to see them. He said he would try. After that there was a series of calls going back and forth from New York, to the Deauvile, to the “dump”, and back again. In the meantime Jack Millman left to go back to the Deauville himself to see what he could do. If nothing else, we were trying our best.
By now it was after midnight. Jack had been gone for two hours. Del was asleep. Not me though. I was wide awake . . . staring at the wall . . . waiting . . . waiting for the phone to ring . . . waiting for a knock at the door. By this time, the Beatles knew all about me and why I was here, and I hoped it all had done some good. I shook Del and woke him up. We decided to go out for a while . . . get some air. We left a message with the hotel, and grabbed a cab. We went to the Peppermint Lounge on the beach. We saw Hank Ballard and the Midnighters, and a group called the BG Ramblers, who months later were to appear on our TV show.
Now, it was nearly four in the morning. I felt like I hadn’t slept for a week. We were just paying the check when the chair next to me moved, and a man sat down. It was so dark for a moment I didn’t realize who it was.
“You got it,” he said. It was Jack Millman. “You got it,” he said again and again. “I got what?” “You got your interview with the Beatles!” I couldn’t believe it. I shook him by the shoulders. “Do you know what you’re saying?” I said “Yeah, I know what I’m saying . . . . don’t tear my suit!!!” I apologized. “All those calls from Murray Kaufman . . . they only made it tougher.” I asked him why. “Because they don’t like him,” he said. “You know what did it? . . .uh . . . uh. “Simple . . . I finally convinced them that you had come all the way from Detroit just to get this interview, and that there were thousands of kids who would be disappointed if they wouldn’t talk to you.” I couldn’t say anything. I was still stunned. He went on: “It was Ringo . . . .”, huh? I brilliantly said.
“It was Ringo who finally said that he would consent to the interview if the others would. As soon as he said that it was all set. Eleven o’clock in the morning.” Huh?, I said again. “Meet me at the Deauville at eleven o’clock in the morning for your interview (Wednesday, February 19), and make sure that machine is working. We’ll only have one shot at it.”
You might guess by now that with all going on, there was no sleep for me that night, I was up the rest of the night making sure that broken down machine wouldn’t conk out just when we finally had the chance to use it. I WAS GOING TO INTERVIEW THE BEATLES . . . .
It was ten-thirty. Del and I started for the Deauville. The scene was the same. There were people everywhere. We climbed the stairs and entered the hotel. Sure enough, there was Jack Millman sitting on a sofa near the elevators. “Sit down”, he said. “I’m going up to 1215 now. Be ready when I come down and we’ll get started before somebody changes their mind.” I asked him what 1215 was. “Their room number,” he said, and he was gone.
I don’t think I’ve ever been so excited. The events of the past forty-eight hours were a blur in my mind. If I would have to write this story right then, I never could have done it. It all ran together. I had to think twice to remember what day it was. By this time there were about a hundred guys and gals all around me. They didn’t know who I was but somehow, they sensed that I too would disappear into the elevator in a few minutes. They saw the tape recorder. They knew.
By this time, it was noon. I had been waiting for an hour and a half, and still no Jack Millman. I was beginning to get worried. I waited one more solid hour. Now there were no teenagers around me. I was sitting alone. Del had gone to make arrangements for our return flight. Just then the elevator opened. Jack stepped out and motioned to me. I walked over to him and he said . . . “let’s go.”
Now we were in the elevator. The operator said: “Floors please?” I said twelve please, and that’s all there was to it. The doors opened at the twelfth floor and we walked out . . . . right into the arms of a Miami policeman. “Your credentials please”, he said. Jack showed him his papers, even though he had just come down, and we were directed to our left. We walked down a long dark hallway. When we got to the end, there were more policemen. Jack flashed his papers and we turned right. There were six rooms in that short hallway. In front of each room there was a Miami policeman. Six rooms . . . one each for Brian Summervillle, (the Beatles’ publicity manager), Brian Epstein, John Lennon, George Harrison, Ringo Starr, and Paul McCartney. We walked to the last room on our left, and presented our credentials once again. The policeman tapped on the door. When it opened, a man stepped out. It was Brian Summerville. He introduced himself and told us that he was in charge of all the Beatles’ publicity. I asked him if I could talk to him on tape and he said he’d be glad to; but right now, I didn’t mind, the Beatles were ready to talk with me. He swung the door open, and there they were . . . . right in front of me . . . just like they had been waiting for me all the time. There were the Beatles from Liverpool, England.
Brain Summerville introduced me to all four. I fumbled with the tape recorder. I was nervous; but I knew what I was going to say. The room was lined with boxes of mail. There was mail from all over the world. There were two beds in the room. John and Ringo sat on one, and George and Paul on the other. I sat on the chair between the beds, microphone in hand. Directly to my right was a huge picture window. I could see nothing but ocean . . . beautiful, blue ocean for as far as the eye could see. All four of the Beatles were dressed in their bathing suits. They were going to that private home immediately after the interview. We began to talk. All during the interview I was thinking how easy going these boys were, how natural and relaxed they were, I was thinking : “Here are four good nature English guys who have become more popular than any other four people in show business, in the world. They are talented, sharp witted, full of fun, and their success has not affected their ego . . . four regular guys.”
I won’t describe the interview, because if you haven’t heard it, you will. When it was over, and after I had interviewed Brian Summerville, we were on our way. Down the hall and into the elevator, through the lobby, onto the street and into the car. We only had thirty minutes to get to the airport. We drove back along the same route we had come. Along the ocean, over the causeway to the Miami Airport. After the first plane took off, both Del and I relaxed for the first time in days. There were only three people on the flight and we were tired. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. The dull hum of the big jet was almost hypnotic. The events of the last few days we were still spinning in my mind. We had seen, met, and talked with the Beatles. We had been successful after all. It had been a long, hard, journey. Now, we were on our way back to cold, snowy Detroit. It would be a long time before I would forget those four fabulous guys. It would be a long time before I would forget the Florida sun. No matter how long it would take for me to forget the other two, I knew I would always remember . . . . A TRIP TO MIAMI.
A MCRFB Note: Following their departure from New York, The Beatles reached Miami, Florida, on February 13, 1964. Their performance on the Ed Sullivan Show at the Plaza Hotel took place on February 16. They stayed in Miami until their departure on February 21, 1964.
WXYZ 1964 jingle created by PAMS, Inc., Dallas
Audio digitally restored by Motor City Radio Flashbacks
Audio digitally enhanced by Motor City Radio Flashbacks
A special thank you to Lee Alan for having provided Motor City Radio Flashbacks this exclusive, Lee Alan Beatles journal and memories, both in print and in audio, in commemoration of the 60th year having passed when he first met and interviewed the Beatles in Miami in February 1964.
The featured audio presentation, ‘A Trip To Miami”, is an excerpt read from Lee Alan’s best-selling book, “Turn Your Radio On!”. Narrated by Lee Alan.
The audio-book edition, ‘Turn Your Radio On!”, was produced by KeyWest Productions, LLC. All materials used in this feature was copyrighted in 2003 and 2004. Print book edition published by KWP Publishing in 2004.
The copyrighted materials is sole property of Lee Alan and is used herein by permission, hereby, through the expressed written consent (via exchanged email correspondence; March 22, 2022) of Lee Alan. All rights reserved.
On your PC? Click any of the images in this featured presentation for largest detailed view.
ON YOUR MOBILE DEVICE? Tap over selected image. Open to second window. “Stretch” the image across your device screen to larger detailed view.
A MCRFB FOOTNOTE: On March 22, 2022, Lee Alan, writes —
Jim,
Thank you for asking about “A Trip to Miami“. You may know that I made that trip with two of my closest friends. The late Del Shannon who was at the pinnacle of his career at the time, and a genius producer at WXYZ in those days and lifelong friend, John Dew who went on to become a great radio station manager in various cities. Thankfully, John is still with us and living in Florida. John could give you a firsthand remembrance of this too.
[Note: With an email address Lee Alan provided me, I did try reaching out to John Dew, but he never replied. – J.F.]
I do not have an original printed insert that went with the 45 but I do have the story itself. The story (albeit written for a teenage audience) is attached. You may use it any way you choose as your effort to keep us all young continues.
NOTE II: The featured four individual photos of Ringo Starr, John Lennon, Paul McCartney, and George Harrison was selected for this post from The Beatles bubble-gum trading cards, published by Topps. The Beatles cards was published in 1964.
The above Lee Alan ad originally was published in The Detroit News, Friday, February 28, 1964. The featured ad was digitally re-imaged and was entirely restored by Motor City Radio Flashbacks.
