Other Beatles Stuff
Monday, October 3, 2005. I rarely go to book signings, and I had never been to a Paul McCartney book signing. Then it was announced that Paul was going to do a signing in Rockefeller Center for his children’s book, High in the Clouds.
I was actually still in recovery mode from the last Paul concert I went to; and I debated at length whether or not my system could handle a trip to New York City so soon after a major asthma attack. My best friend at the time, who lived near New York City, said to me, “How many chances like this will you have? Just come.”
That was all I really needed to hear. She was right. There really aren’t many chances to meet and have a book signed by Sir Paul McCartney.
Friday September 28, I got an email telling me that Paul would be doing a book signing in New York City the following Monday. I requested a vacation day. I have them all stockpiled because I never use them. Monday’s were usually incredibly busy at work, so it’s difficult to get that day off.
“Ok, where’s he going to be?” My boss asked me.
I played dumb. “Huh?”
All afternoon long I bugged my boss about the vacation day. This was unusual for me because I truly didn’t find talking to him enjoyable at all. I usually avoided him at all costs. Finally, he told me he’d approved my vacation day and I answered the question that I was asked earlier.
“New York City.”
It certainly wasn’t hard to figure out who, what and why because there’s only one person in the whole world that I get that excited over: Paul. He knew this, as he was already privy to the excitement that Paul generates for me. The shows in Boston had just happened a few days prior to this.
I went in to work some overtime on Saturday, and my original plan was to go to New York immediately after work. My friend had other plans and I couldn’t stay overnight with her. So, that meant that I had to change everything. I had four plans all thought out, but every time I thought they were finalized they fell through.
Plan five was to board a bus that would take me to Chinatown in New York City, and arrive at about 4:30am. Then I would take a cab to Barnes and Noble and camp out in line. But, honestly, the idea of being in the city alone at 5 am wasn’t really appealing. So, I settled for Greyhound and left Boston at 7am Monday morning.
I got to New York City at 11:30 and hopped in a cab. $6 and about 6 blocks later, I got out of the cab at Barnes and Noble. The cab pulled in behind a limo. I noticed that there was a line that seemed to stretch forever, and I prayed that wasn’t the line for Paul.
So, I got out and went up to a guard at the side entrance.
“Is this the Macca line?”
“The what?”
“The line for Paul McCartney?”
“All of the wristbands were given out at 8 this morning.”
“The what?” I’d heard nothing about wristbands.
“And he’s already here, so you’ve missed him.”
My heart stopped, I swear. “What?”
“But, they’re giving out free posters at the main entrance.”
I wanted to tell him to take the posters and shove them somewhere, but instead I walked around to the front entrance. There was a sign on the door: “125 wristbands for the Paul McCartney book signing have been distributed. We apologize for the inconvenience….” Whatever.
I went inside and looked around the store. It was quite smaller that I imagined it would be. I bought the book, High in the Clouds.
Everyone I went to insisted that there were no more wristbands. One person even told me that Paul was in a holding room downstairs, waiting to come up for the signing and that there was no way I’d even catch a glimpse of the man. And I just started to bawl.
I don’t know how many people that I called during my crying jag. I thought at least if I couldn’t meet him that I could see him, especially after having to leave the last show in Boston less than a week earlier. Finally, close to the end of my tears, my Mom called. I explained what happened and she told me:
“Quit your crying and sneak in there and see him. Don’t let these people take this away from you.”
Imagine that, my Mother encouraging me to break the law. Pretty cool, huh? My Aunts had said the same thing (yes, I called them too), but it always seems to sound differently when it comes from Mom.
“But, how am I going to do that?”
“You’ll find a way.” Mom replied.
By the time I hung up with Mom at 12:45 I’d stopped bawling and I was determined. I wasn’t about to let some lying bookstore staff tell me that I couldn’t catch a glimpse of the man. My many years of being a fan have taught me many lessons, but the most valuable one is this: people lie like dogs when it comes to celebrities. And, no one can be trusted.
So, I hung out in the bookstore. I went up and down every aisle and picked up books to read. At about 1:15, they started emptying out sections of the store so that they could block it off with the velvet ropes. So, I went up to the balcony and found more books. I pulled out a big thick book and sat down on the floor. I read about 5 chapters of that book and then I pulled out Macca’s book and read it.
Then, I took it back. I’d never done anything like that before, but I decided that I really didn’t want to give that store any of my money. They didn’t have to lie to me like they did, and it really pissed me off.
Afterwards, I tried to secure a place as close to the velvet ropes as I could. Then the NYPD came in and started to clear out the store. There was a group of us that refused to leave.
“Fine, but you can’t stand here. You can stand over there [on the other side of the store], but not here.”
So, we went and stood on the opposite side of the store near the escalators that led downstairs; where the holding room that supposedly contained Paul was located.
The people around me were like “Is he here? Is he here?”
“We’ll know when he’s here.” I said, unbelievably calm.
No sooner did I utter that sentence than people started screaming outside. I could see flashbulbs going off through the window. He had arrived, pulled up in front of the store in his chauffeured Lexus. It was exactly 2pm.
But wait a minute; wasn’t he supposed to be in a holding area downstairs? That’s what we were told; it wasn’t just me. I should’ve been angry, but I honestly wasn’t surprised. I knew it was a lie the moment the words hit my ears. However, I put all of that out of my mind and focused on the fact that Paul had actually arrived.
It took him a little bit to actually get inside the store. I can only assume that the reason why is because he was mobbed.
“Paul!” The woman beside me shouted as he entered the store.
There were people on all sides of the velvet rope, and looking down from the balcony, and he waved and smiled. I didn’t scream. I didn’t shout. I actually clasped my hand over my mouth and tried not to cry.
Then, for some unknown to me reason, Macca looked right at me and waived. My heart stopped. And then, I started to cry.
They escorted him through the blocked off sections to the back of the store. I could no longer see him at all. But, I was a little more focused on trying to calm myself down so that I wouldn’t cry myself into breathing problems. That would be bad, considering I was supposed to be taking things “slow and easy,” as my doctor prescribed.
I called my Aunt Starla. “Hello? What happened?”
I was still bawling. “He waived at me.”
“Oh, honey! I’m so happy for you! I’ll call Aunt Cindy and tell her.”
I went outside and joined the people who were standing out front waiting to see Paul leave. I called my Mom.
“Hello Dear.”
“He waived at me.”
Mom inhaled sharply. “Are you kidding? Oh my God.”
I started to cry again. “I’m serious. He looked right at me and waived.”
Mom let out a little scream. “Someone almost hit me!”
“You’re driving?”
“I’m trying to.”
“I’m sorry I almost caused you to wreck. You could’ve told the officer, ‘I’m sorry Sir, but my daughter just saw Paul and he waived at her.'”
Mom laughed. “I can’t believe that he waived at you. Call me back if something else happens.”
The crowd out front grew bigger and bigger by the second. They surrounded the two Lexus cars out front and blocked the street. And, they wouldn’t move when the NYPD came out and started yelling “Clear the street! You can’t stand here!”
It really wasn’t a safe way for Macca to exit. When 3:30 came and went (he was supposed to leave at 3) I knew that they were trying to devise an escape route. It was nearly 4pm when they came out and said: “Paul McCartney has left the building.”
No one wanted to believe them at first, but I had a feeling they weren’t lying this time.
“He went out the side entrance.”
People cursed, mumbled, went away angry, but I was cool with Macca fooling us. It really wasn’t safe for him to come back out the front door. It’s amazing to me how one small gesture can just take my breath away. You know?
I’ll never know what made him look at me that day, but I know I’ll never forget it. I truly felt that it was something special just for me, given everything I’d gone through just a few days before. Thank you, Paul. I know you’ll never remember it, but that moment will be forever imprinted in my memory.