When They Were Boys (48 page)

When Pete talks about his mother, who died in 1988, tears well up in his eyes. She was an amazing inspiration. Both she and Pete helped shape the band. The Fab Four rarely acknowledged that, but the facts are there.

Still, the nagging questions remain, as does the search for the whole truth.

Theories still abound that Mona Best's staunch control over the band's early activity prompted Epstein to fire her son. There is a major hole in that story. If Epstein was so intent on getting Mona out of the way by sacking Pete, why did Epstein work so hard to keep Best in his stable of boy bands? Besides, when Pete was sacked, Mona was the mother of a newborn, Vincent Roag, and was very busy with
that
special assignment.

The other theory for his abrupt departure was the music. But that also is apparently bogus. The genius producer George Martin had brought in a different drummer for one recording session. Session drummers were routinely brought in for purposes of more finite recordings, because of their expertise in understanding sound and recording techniques. In fact, when the newly anointed Ringo Starr arrived at EMI studios on September 11, 1962, he found himself replaced on the drums by Andy White, a session drummer. The session drummer was called after Ringo's performance on a September 4, 1962, session, a month after he joined the band. He has, on more than one occasion in his career, suggested that the group members were pulling a “Pete Best” on him.

Another rarely reported quote stands out, and sheds some light. In a 2002 interview in his
Wingspan
DVD, Paul McCartney discussed a change of drummers in Wings, and also mentioned the Beatles' drummer situation. He said, “In the Beatles, we had Pete Best, who was a really good drummer . . . wasn't quite like the rest of us . . . fine line between what is exactly in, and what is nearly in. . . . So he left the band, so we were looking for someone who would fit.”

So there, in Paul's own words, is a clear rebuke of the theory that Pete was not a good drummer.

Michael Brocken reinforces doubts about one popular theory. In person, he appears very analytical. The professor is a man with no personal agendas, only obsessed with the truth: “Larry, there are so many agendas, but the facts are the facts.” Brocken writes in his book,
Other Voices
.

T
HE EVIDENCE IS THAT
P
ETE
B
EST WAS A DAMN GOOD DRUMMER
. . . . T
HERE REMAINS VERY LITTLE EVIDENCE THAT
P
ETE
B
EST WAS INFERIOR AS A PERCUSSIONIST
. . . . I
N FACT
, B
ILL
H
ARRY RECORDS THAT ONE OF THE
BEST DRUMMERS IN THE
L
IVERPOOL ROCK SCENE AT THIS TIME
, J
OHNNY
H
UTCHINSON
(
A.K.A
. J
OHNNY
H
UTCH
),
CONSIDERED
B
EST TO BE AN EXCELLENT DRUMMER
. B
ILLY
J. K
RAMER WAS ALSO TO COMMENT, ACCORDING TO
H
ARRY, THAT HE “DIDN'T THINK THE
B
EATLES WERE ANY BETTER WITH
R
INGO
S
TARR
. I
NEVER DOUBTED HIS ABILITY AS A DRUMMER BUT
I
THOUGHT THEY WERE A LOT MORE RAUCOUS AND RAW WITH
P
ETE
.”

Perhaps no one has spent more time researching Pete's story than Dave Bedford, the author of
Liddypool
, one of my favorite books on Liverpool and the Beatles, and his good friend Ed Jackson, from Buffalo, New York, who has assisted Pete Best on some of his recent US tours.

Jackson thinks, in general, that “it may [have] been all about Pete's being a fan favorite. After all, we all know now that Pete's drumming talents are considerable.”

So, with Pete's ability, then and now, rarely questioned, why was he let go? Was it underlying jealousy, or something else?

Bedford's theory:

T
HE
B
EATLES WANTED TO SPREAD THE EARLY PROFITS THREE WAYS
. I
T WAS ABOUT MONEY
, L
ARRY, AND
R
INGO WAS BEING HIRED ON A PROBATIONARY CONDITION, AND WOULD NOT BECOME A FULL-SHARE PARTNER UNTIL THE FOLLOWING YEAR
.

W
HILE
I
BELIEVE THERE ARE MANY CONTRIBUTORY FACTORS TO
P
ETE'S DISMISSAL, THIS ALL CAME TO A HEAD WHEN
G
EORGE
M
ARTIN TOLD
B
RIAN THAT
P
ETE WOULDN'T BE DRUMMING ON THE RECORD
. I
BELIEVE THAT
J
OHN
, P
AUL, AND
G
EORGE MUST HAVE WONDERED WHY THEY SHOULD PAY
P
ETE A QUARTER SHARE OF THE RECORD PROCEEDS WHEN HE WOULDN'T HAVE CONTRIBUTED TO THE RECORDING
. I
T WOULD THEREFORE BE BETTER TO GET RID OF
P
ETE, HIRE A SESSION DRUMMER ON A FIXED WAGE UNTIL THEY KNEW IF THEIR RECORDS WOULD BE A SUCCESS
. R
INGO WAS THAT MAN, WHO JOINED FOR A FLAT FEE OF £25 PER WEEK, ON PROBATION, AND DIDN'T FULLY JOIN THE
B
EATLES UNTIL
M
AY 1963
.

Bedford adds, “It wasn't just Ringo who was approached to replace Pete, as some have claimed.”

According to Spencer Leigh's book,
Drummed Out
, John met former Quarrymen banjo player Rod Davis in March 1962. Davis told John that he had made a record and played guitar, banjo, fiddle, and other stringed instruments. John said, “You don't play drums, do you? We need a drummer to head back to Hamburg.” Davis, who left Liverpool earlier for a distinguished academic record in higher education, admitted it may have been his second bad career move. Billy J. Kramer and the Dakotas' drummer, Tony Mansfield, recalled that Epstein also approached the band's manager, Rick Dixon, to ask about his availability.

Jackson and Bedford, close friends of Pete's, are sleuths who continue to look for clues, but in the background, Pete Best has proved his worthiness in another way.

In one area, Pete Best can always claim success. He has been married for over forty-six years. His wife's name is Kathy, and they have two daughters and four grandchildren.

Freda Kelly, the sensitive and respectful confidante, the girl who kept the “boys on track,” reflects on Pete with a smile and sparkle in her eyes. “Maybe, maybe, in the end, he is the one who is enjoying the most stable and happiest of lives.”

She adds, with a loving grin, “maybe.”

About one aspect of post-Beatles life, there is also a question from most Beatle insiders: Why has there never been contact between the Beatles and their former drummer? In all the years since Pete Best left the band, now over fifty years, the late John and George, and the surviving Paul and Ringo, have not seen Pete Best. It would be pleasant and poignant to think that they would have tried, would have planned some sort of reunion, or at least reached out. Certainly there was a wonderful opportunity when funeral services were held for their most consistent and longest-serving friend and business leader, Neil Aspinall, on April 8, 2008, at the Church of St. Mary the Virgin in Twickenham, southwest London. Paul, who was said to have visited Aspinall a few weeks earlier at a New York Hospital, was out of the country. Ringo, who had paid his respects earlier, did not attend. In their places were Stella McCartney, Paul's fashion designer daughter, and his son, James.
Ringo's wife, Barbara Bach, was there, along with John Lennon's widow, Yoko Ono. The musical legend and architect of the Beatle's musical success, George Martin, attended.

The Best family was represented well. Pete, Aspinall's best friend, was there, along with his half-brother and Aspinall's son, Roag. Despite the lack of any reunion with Pete, the surviving Beatles had a thread to Pete through Neil and his son Roag.

If any occasion was appropriate for a reunion of the boys and the former Beatle who helped propel them to success, the farewell to Neil Aspinall was it—the seminal moment when the survivors could have looked him in the eye and embraced a man who was so influential to their real beginnings.

The revisionist historians, and some of the Beatles' friends, will continue to say that Pete Best was severed from the group because he lacked a sense of connection with the boys. There may be some truth to that, but it was never the stated reason.

The real history, the clippings, the memories of fans, the recorded music, and all the facts, will show that the young drummer was, in the early going, the most popular Beatle, and, along with his astonishing mother, had a potent and clear impact on the success of the group that he, sometimes painfully, witnessed climbing to the top only months after his unceremonious departure.

And what about the bottom line: the impact of the change from Pete Best to Ringo Starr?

“Technically it was a good move, but a part of the real Beatles sound was lost,” Tony Crane, cofounder of the Merseybeats, explains, quite forcefully. The original sound, the powerful sound of raw drumming was really not there after the change was made. . . . They seemed to lose a lot of the sound. The feel wasn't as good, no better [in] the long run.”

The Beatles became the golden megastars, universally admired, and by default history backs up the change in drummers. But a question remains: Would the Beatles have been just as successful with Pete?

The answer is obvious, isn't it? “John, Paul, George, and Pete” would have no doubt made it.

As a younger man, Pete talked about wanting to be an actor. He didn't get there, but he did play a singular role, a very significant but disputed one, that certainly helped put the Beatles on the map, just months before they rocketed to enormous success. And his life, although lacking in the nuances and frills of superstardom, has been a life well lived.

CHAPTER TWENTY

THE DECCA DISASTER

“The disaster at the record company could have killed the Beatles, stopped them in their tracks. But Brian forged on and had the most fateful meeting. But before that meeting, it looked dark, really dark.”

—Chris Carter, Beatles historian and host of
Breakfast with the Beatles
on KLOS radio in Los Angeles, and Sirius XM satellite radio

I
N POLITICS, AS IN LIFE, SOMETIMES YOU HAVE TO LOSE TO SEEK A SECOND CHANCE
.
In sports, an early loss sometimes helps the athlete grind on, perfect the act, and soar to victory.

In the world of music, there are few second chances. But in 1962, John, Paul, George, and Pete once again defied the limits of destiny and daring, with a lot of help from their friends, and with a high degree of misery and doubt along the way.

It began with Tony Barrow, Mr. Pressman, who was looking for a way to help Brian Epstein get some attention for the group. And it continued with the marketing department at Decca Records, where Tony wrote album-sleeve copy. When Epstein, trying to show the boys his devotion to them in the early days of his management, called Decca for an audition, he was surprised by the reception. Tony Barrow and the marketing people had recommended that Decca audition the boys, out of respect for Epstein's work as a major retailer for the music business in northern England. It was a courtesy call, but the usually provincial and proprietary record giants in London had also heard rumblings about the boys and, it should be noted, many of their counterparts. The boy bands of Liverpool were making news.

And so the date was set. But who would schedule an audition for January 1—New Year's Day? Was it a “blowoff”?

Certainly the date was a mixed message. Barrow had written an item, based on his conversations with his Decca cohorts, that noted the Beatles were viewed favorably at Decca, especially by the company's record producer,
Mike Smith. The item, in the
Liverpool Echo
, was published four days before the scheduled audition. At the same time, Bill Harry's
Mersey Beat
posted a similar item saying that Decca was big on the Beatles. Both notices were greeted with excitement by the boys and Epstein. But the excitement was short-lived.

January 1, 1962, was a most important day for what it
didn't
accomplish. Everything in the record industry was stacked up against the Beatles, even the weather.

The drive the night before was unbearable—two hundred miles of high winds and blizzard conditions. Neil Aspinall, the man who could get them anywhere, through any ordeal, got lost on the road. Aspinall was a master of preparation and execution. He would be considered, in this century, as a human global positioning system (GPS). The weather and the directional failure were frustrating. They got in late, had very little sleep, and were stunned the next day when Decca producer Mike Smith, actually excited about the audition, was late for it. They were also surprised that their new manager, Brian Epstein, had selected a very conservative group of songs for them to sing—staid older songs, and not the electric set that constantly turned on audiences at the Cavern and their other gigs in the North. At that time, John and Paul were involved in their most serious songwriting efforts, but even some of their crowd favorites, written by others, were “scratched” by Epstein.

What was he up to?

Epstein later would say that he wanted to show their range, their variety, the fact that they could transition from softer rock to a harder version, but there wasn't much chance to see the latter. In fact, George Harrison, who at the time was experimenting with his vocal skills (later quite powerful), was the lead singer for almost as many songs as John and Paul.