Give Me a Chance Read online

  John looked at me kindly and said it wasn’t childish at all – but he didn’t want to sign just a scrap of paper. He promised he’d find me a proper photo to sign another time, and also he’d make sure I was let back in again. As I left, John called after me, “See you tomorrow!”

  Tomorrow couldn’t come quickly enough.

  TWO

  EIGHT DAYS A WEEK

  The next morning, I was at the Queen Elizabeth Hotel bright and early. Well, not as early as I’d have liked. I was so excited, I’d barely slept and had woken up what seemed like every minute till 5 a.m., after which I’d given up and got ready to roll. But something told me that no rock star would want to be woken up so early. It took all of my self-control to wait until the more civilized hour of nine.

  When I couldn’t hold out any longer, I jumped on a bus and returned to the hotel. I made my way through the mob of fans who were outside again; since word had spread, there were even more than before. It was incredible to think that I had been one of the hopefuls only yesterday. I went up to a security guard who was controlling the crowds, and informed him that John and Yoko were expecting me in their suite.

  To my horror, he didn’t believe me!

  No matter how much I explained to the guard, it fell on deaf ears. To him, I was just another kid trying to get past security. When he told me to go home, I was close to tears. I thought I would never see John and Yoko again. Even worse, they would think I had let them down.

  The security guard whom I’d sneaked past on the seventeenth floor the day before arrived for his shift. He vouched for me immediately and told his colleague that, strange as it might seem, the Lennons really had asked me to come back. The grumbling guard let me in. I’d never been so relieved in my life – and especially as this time I didn’t have to use the fire escape! On our way up in the lift, the kind guard introduced himself as George Urquhart. When he laughed about the way I’d got in the day before, I knew I’d made a new friend.

  George told me that one of the reasons the Lennons had hired him to be their bodyguard was that he was fluent in both French and English. Since people spoke both in Montreal, John and Yoko wanted to make sure that everyone was catered for. He was to be on duty for twelve hours every day, so I hoped I’d see a lot of him.

  Before George had accepted the job, he’d asked John what he expected of him … who should or shouldn’t be let in? John had answered simply, “No drunks or druggies, but beyond that, have fun.”

  No sooner had we entered room 1742 than little Kyoko flew into my arms, as if we’d known each other for years. We hugged, and she excitedly pulled me inside to show me what John was doing.

  The Beatle was sketching on some large pieces of white cardboard with a black magic-marker pen. I remembered that John had gone to art college and was quite an accomplished artist. (Was there anything he couldn’t do?) I peeped over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of his work, asking what he was up to.

  As he carried on drawing, John said he thought the walls were looking a bit bare, so he was making some artwork and signs to hang all around. He wanted to give the room some atmosphere and make it seem more like his and Yoko’s.

  I admired a white dove with an olive branch in its mouth which John had drawn to symbolize peace. It was simple, yet beautiful, and there was no doubting its meaning in any language.

  John was also writing large signs which, with his usual humour, said “BED PEACE” and “HAIR PEACE”. There was also a large “L’AMOUR ET LA PAIX”, which is French for “love and peace”. John made sure everyone was included.

  Meanwhile, Kyoko was bursting with energy and racing about – not surprising for a five-year-old who’d been cooped up in a hotel for a day. Yoko joined us and asked if I’d take Kyoko out to play. We agreed it would be best to do this before any press arrived and things got really busy, so Kyoko and I got ready to go.

  I suggested I take her to Beaver Lake, which is in a beautiful park on Mount Royal, not far from downtown Montreal. There she could run and play as much as she wanted – though somehow I doubted even that would wear her out! I knew she would love it. As John looked out of the window at the glorious spring day, he wished that he and Yoko could come too. The more the merrier, as far as I was concerned. “Why not join us?” I asked eagerly.

  John shook his head sadly. “We’d be besieged by fans before we’d gone two steps. It’s one of the prices you pay for fame.”

  Till then, I’d never thought about the downside of being famous. Suddenly I understood why the Lennons had to hire a bodyguard, and realized that they couldn’t just slip out to a park any time they wanted. Everything had to be carefully planned so they were protected from mobs and from paparazzi. In the past I had always assumed being a celebrity was a win/win situation. I was beginning to think again.

  Before Kyoko and I left, I gave Derek Taylor the list I’d made of American and Canadian TV and radio stations. He was pleased and thanked me, saying he’d get onto them right away. I felt proud: I’d sat up until late into the night getting all the facts. I had never put that much effort into any school project, but here, I could envision the end result.

  As Kyoko and I were heading out of the door, Derek gave me twenty dollars to use for expenses, such as taxis and any food we wanted. What a fortune! That would have been my pocket money for an entire month. I was determined to use it to help make sure Kyoko had a good time.

  It’s easy to get to Mount Royal; Montreal is built right around this mountain (in fact, it’s thought to be named after it), and no matter where you go in the city, you can just look up and see it. It would be hard to get lost in a city where a mountain is always staring you in the face. But I thought the climb might be exhausting for the little girl; I didn’t want her to be too tired to play by the time we got there. So I decided to put some of the expenses to good use, and we took a taxi.

  Mount Royal isn’t high, but when we got there we felt as if we were on top of the world. We could see all of the city around us, and I pointed out the hotel to Kyoko. She observed that we couldn’t see Mummy or John – that would have been asking a lot! The air was clean and fresh, and everything was green as far as the eye could see. Kyoko was able to run as fast and far as she liked, as free as a bird, while I watched her.

  She was a beautiful child. She had Yoko’s dark brown eyes and shiny black hair, only Kyoko’s was straight and cut in a long bob. She was Yoko’s daughter from her first marriage, to Anthony Cox, a film producer and artist. But I could see how happy Kyoko was when she was with John and Yoko. She was a much-loved little girl and I quickly became fond of her too.

  It wasn’t long before Kyoko spotted a horse and carriage which tourists could hire. Of course Kyoko wanted a ride and, thanks to Derek, money was no object. Kyoko and I very grandly hailed a carriage, and the driver helped us in. We felt like royalty as the horse majestically clip-clopped its way leisurely around the mountain. To complete the perfect morning, we indulged in chocolate milkshakes and chips.

  After a time I could see Kyoko was getting tired, so we made our way back to the hotel. But as we reached the seventeenth floor, we could see a queue forming all the way down the corridor. People had started coming to the Bed-In in droves. George, the bodyguard, already had his hands full, but when people in the queue started recognizing Kyoko and wanted to talk to her, he made sure we got quickly into the suite. I was glad when we were safely inside … but it turned out to be even more crowded than the corridor.

  The sitting room was crammed with people, all waiting eagerly to speak with John and Yoko. There were journalists from around the world, talking to one another in languages I couldn’t even identify. I watched as Derek tried to turn chaos into order, giving everyone an exact time when they could interview the Lennons. Derek was brilliant at organization and keeping things moving. He told me the secret was that he had six children, so was used to maintaining order.

  Part of the chaos that always surrounded the Bed-In. Derek Taylor is the stylish
man on the left.

  The bedroom was even more packed with press, as well as TV, film and radio crews, with all their camera and sound equipment, everyone jostling for the best positions. John and Yoko were sitting up in their big double bed, in front of a huge picture window, with glorious views of the city. John’s signs and drawings looked great on the walls; people were photographing them, too. There was so little room to move, even Kyoko had trouble squeezing in.

  John looked comfy in bed, wearing white silk pyjamas, while Yoko wore a long white nightdress with frills on her cuffs and neck. I admired the Lennons’ calmness at dealing with the press; they didn’t seem rattled by the fuss at all. They were always polite and did their best to answer everyone’s questions. Even though they were asked the same ones a thousand times, they always made each time seem like the first. I guessed that, being a Beatle, John was used to it – as was Yoko from her public art exhibitions. I also noticed that they always made sure their peace message was heard.

  John and Yoko are talking to the press. And those flowers behind them were only a selection of those in the suite. It was Flower Power everywhere!

  I thought this would be a good time to get some more material for my own article for the school newspaper, so I perched nearby to listen. I’d also brought along my trusty Brownie camera, which I’d been given for my birthday. As I was about to take some snaps, a photographer asked if I’d like him to take some pictures of me with John and Yoko. My mouth fell open. I’d love it! John and Yoko laughed as they scrunched over to one side on the bed to make room for me, saying, “Come on!”

  I pointed out to John and Yoko that they had just got married, and I’d never shared anyone’s honeymoon before. But that didn’t stop me from joining them. As I sat on the side of their bed, it struck me how relaxed I’d become with them. Just a couple of days before, I’d been a Beatles fan, listening to their records and staring longingly at their posters in my bedroom. Never could I have imagined I’d be sitting on a bed with any of my heroes, urging, “Budge up!”

  We posed for photos and the photographer snapped away. I thought I’d never stop smiling. I couldn’t wait to see the pictures and show my friends – but I soon realized I’d taken up enough time. It was important for us to listen to the Lennons speak, which was why we were there.

  I certainly made myself comfy with John and Yoko. At least I didn’t climb into bed with them!

  John began, “Everyone who wants to fight should go to a desert, form their own club and kill each other… All I want is for me and my friends to be left in peace.” He seemed to know that was a bit light-hearted and added, “Peace should start with housewives, with women and mothers, teaching their kids not to fight.” That made a lot of sense to me. Women are powerful, as I knew from my own mother. He laughed, “Maybe then they’ll see that long-haired weirdos aren’t so bad.”

  I asked, “What do the other Beatles think about peace?” The band had been together a long time, since they were fifteen. Up till now, the Beatles had always done everything together – writing songs, making records and touring. Why didn’t Paul, George and Ringo join him in the Bed-In?

  John explained that George couldn’t do what he did because “he’s not as big a show-off as me”. But George was definitely an active pacifist. John stressed the important thing was that we all had “to do our own thing for peace”. Anyone could see that he was really fond of George.

  Then John turned his thoughts to the others. “Paul is an intellectual pacifist … he talks about it.” He often spoke to them about his concerns over the Vietnam War. “And Ringo,” John smiled, “lives peace.”

  But the main thing, John assured us, was that all the Beatles cared about putting an end to war. Unfortunately, he pointed out, not everyone felt the same way they did. There were fanatical people out there who didn’t like what he was doing, and they could be scary. I didn’t like the sound of that.

  John became even more serious for a moment. “It’s a possibility that one of us will be assassinated for peace.” I shivered and refused even to think about that, but John went on. “I don’t want to be a martyr.” He thought for a moment, then added, “All I want from life is to be with Yoko.”

  I could see how much he meant it. He and Yoko loved each other, and they respected each other too. They always wanted to know what the other thought, felt and said. I envied that closeness and hoped that one day I would find it with someone myself. John summed it up: “We only ask to be together and, when we die, for our souls to be together.”

  On a lighter note, John joked that they had both married foreigners. Yoko added that the old barriers of borders and boundaries were being torn down. I realized she was right and the Lennons themselves had proved it. John was from Liverpool and Yoko from Tokyo, but somehow they had found each other. Yoko hoped that in the future people would live in a “global village”. If we all felt that deep down we were the same, there’d be fewer wars.

  As the Lennons were working so hard, giving interviews all the time, Derek made sure that there were plenty of chances for them to eat and rest. Those were my favourite times. Without all the press around, there was an opportunity for me to get to know the Lennons and Derek a bit better.

  I suddenly remembered that my exam results were coming out that day. I plucked up the courage and, during one of the lulls, rang my mum at home. I could hear her ripping open the envelope – and then a long silence. This didn’t sound good. But when Mum happily told me how well I’d done, I screamed.

  Derek and John came running, wanting to know what was wrong – then congratulated me on my grades. I was proud, but at that moment I felt a long way from school. It suddenly didn’t feel that important, not compared with real life. I wasn’t sure what all that schoolwork had to do with my wanting to be a writer whereas, right then, I was in the best possible place.

  John had written not only over a hundred songs with Paul McCartney, but also, on his own, two books, In His Own Write and A Spaniard in the Works. Both had shot to the top of the bestseller lists. John had even done his own drawings for them. I envied John all that creative freedom; being able to write what you wanted seemed like heaven to me. I asked, “What’s it like to put out books, songs and films, any time you like?”

  John surprised me with his answer. “It’s hard to sell any films made by me and Yoko. And two of my books were turned down. Not all Beatles things are marketable.”

  What? I couldn’t believe it. Who in their right mind would turn down work by John Lennon? My heart sank. If one of the most famous and talented people in the world had trouble selling his work, then what hope would I have of being a writer? Just as well I’d done all right in my exams.

  The break was over all too quickly and the journalists came back in. They stayed late, until John and Yoko were too tired to talk. When I left for home that night, I heard Kyoko tell John, “It’s great living with a star – you never get bored.”

  THREE

  HERE, THERE AND EVERYWHERE

  Next morning, the hotel was besieged. It looked as though the Bed-In was getting to be a victim of its own success. Just as John and Yoko had hoped, word of it had spread all round the globe. Everybody was dying to take part, which I could understand. Hundreds of people came, in never-ending waves, all for different reasons.

  There were people who genuinely wanted to talk about peace, and see what they could do to help the process of attaining it. There were others who just wanted to hang out and have fun, who thought this must be the greatest party of all time. Still others just used this as an excuse to meet a Beatle. Even I could see, as I entered the suite, it was all getting a bit out of hand.

  The press were squeezed into the waiting room like claustrophobic sardines. And wherever people weren’t sitting on chairs or tables, they were perched on the floor, which made walking across the room like tackling an obstacle course.

  There were also forests of flowers all over the place. Montreal florists must have blessed the Lennon
s for this bonanza. Fans and admirers were sending huge bouquets; their sweet scents overpowered the room. Less welcome were the cigarette fumes filling the air as smokers puffed away.

  And then there were the gifts. Many who came to see John and Yoko brought presents; there were enough toys, dolls and children’s books for Kyoko to open a small toy shop. Others brought mountains of Beatles albums and photos, hoping that John would sign them. There was rubbish and mess everywhere – it was almost worse than my bedroom at home.

  A woman reporter drew me to one side and tried to slip me money. Surprised, I asked her what it was for. She whispered that she’d like me to get John to listen to her son’s demo tapes, and handed them over. I told her indignantly that I didn’t take bribes and that wasn’t why I was there, but, if she liked, she could ask John herself – though goodness knows when he would find the time.

  To make the chaos complete, the phones rang non-stop till my head ached. No sooner did I answer one and then put it down than it would ring again. And it was difficult in any case to hear callers through the hubbub. All this traffic meant that the hotel’s phone lines were being flooded and their telephone operators could barely cope. Other guests were having trouble making and receiving their own calls, and were getting annoyed.

  Some of the people who rang were from radio stations, hoping to do live interviews with the Lennons. Many others were “ordinary” fans who wanted to chat to John – and I felt for them, but there just weren’t enough hours in the day for John and Yoko to talk to everyone.

  Derek couldn’t handle all the phones, not even with the help of volunteers. As we struggled to answer the calls, he told me that John and Yoko had been doing interviews almost since the moment they’d woken up and were exhausted. Then our conversation was drowned out by singing from the Hare Krishna followers who had arrived.

  These gentle people adhere to a form of Hinduism, and want everyone to achieve true unity and peace in the world. Their manner is kind and friendly, so no wonder John and Yoko always wanted them to be made welcome. The women wore traditional Indian saris, and the men were dressed like monks in saffron-yellow robes. They’d brought along their drums, flutes and tambourines – just in case the room wasn’t noisy enough. They played their songs in the waiting room, while chanting loudly, “Hare Krishna Hare Krishna, Krishna Krishna Hare Hare, Hare Rama Hare Rama, Rama Rama Hare Hare…”