From the Tiger Beat Archives, November 1965
Not all groupies are freakies. I love the groovy groupies and I’ve seen a few million of them, or so it seems.
Group chasing is part of the fun of being young and foolish. God knows, the young and foolish years will pass soon enough. Being a champ girl watcher, I feel a close kinship to my femme friends, the boy watchers and the star seekers. So I’m offering a few helpful hints how to be truly gassy groupie that the groups will dig the most.
During performance: Scream, yell, cry, wave banners and let go with all your pent up emotions and excitements. Dance in the aisles and stand on chairs if you think you can get away with it. Stars think it’s fun when kids rush on the stage, though the security takes a dim view. Throw hankies, love notes and soft stuff at them. Only rotty fans hurl heavy hard objects that hurt when they hit. Use all your wiles to elude the guards and get backstage. Anything goes if it isn’t vicious or injurious to anyone including yourself.
Many lover girls send gifts to their lover boys backstage but it’s useless to send layer cakes which can’t be carried away in the getaway after the show, or presents that are too heavy or bulky to be taken with them for the weeks of touring to come.
After the performance: To avoid scenes described above, players usually race pell-mell from the stage to the limos for a fast getaway. If you reach them before they escape, try for autographs or a touch or even a kiss, but don’t be obnoxious and pull hair, tear clothes, tackle or pummel, climb on the car, beat against the windows or hang on so it can’t move.
At the hotel: The boys love to make new friends with attractive girls in strange towns. One night stands make for a lonely life.
It’s much easier to meet them when they’re at motels than hotels. Groupies always learn where the groups are staying. They’re only a few places that will accept them; like here, 9 times out of 10 they register at the Hollywood Sunset Motel or the Beverly Rodeo Hotel.
Make yourself as pretty as possible. Where a short bright dress, look clean and well-scrubbed, not too young. If you get lucky and meet your glamour boys, come on cool with your autograph books, Kodak’s and small talk. Start a lively conversation, ask and answer questions smart and smiley, politely praise their music, clothes, a piece of unusual jewelry that they may be wearing, and like that. It’s not easy for a guy to make friends with the gal who is struck dumb with awe and wonder. Sparkle your eyes, flirt in your shyest, most fetching manner. Remember, darlings, they considered themselves human beings, not gods.
After the show they may need a spell of peace and quiet to unwind. Give them a chance to shower and shift threads. In half an hour or so, they’ll be hungry as varmints and maybe wanting company for a midnight supper. Suggest a restaurant where the food is good and no screamies are around. You might be just the friend they need. But it’s all off if you’re with a gang of people.
On tours our groups have often failed to find girlfriends to stow the chow after a show. “I’m with 6 other girls, can they come with us to?” asks the first girl we invited. “I can’t go without my friends, because I live 20 miles outside of town and they have the car,” is a second. “I’m with my boyfriend, can he come with us?” says a third. So we spend another lonely evening by ourselves.
More situations exist than is possible to describe. The security surrounding The Beatles is something else and yet, many fans and groupies get to them in their hotels and dressing rooms.
Security is leopard-spotty from city to city. Local promoters are usually required to provide security guards to keep order and protect the stars and the girls from punk boys but the city police also send a squad along too.
Some police are so strict and scared they won’t allow an audience to stand up or even take pictures from out front. If there’s too much action, they close the curtain and stop the show. Nothing burns the performers more than this because they are inspired to their greatest heights by wild but harmless scenes.
The police in many cities our understanding and good-natured. Aware that it’s all in fun, they permit the show to continue even when the kids are standing on the chairs, dancing in the aisles, pushing to the front stage and throwing love tokens to the headliners. They don’t blow their cools when some teenage girl charges up on the platform to reach her idol. They chase or carry her off and deposit her gently back in the audience.
My mailman brings me many letters from girls reporting their experiences, good and bad, with their local badges. The best kind is like the one from Mary Whitten of Prattville, AL 36067, who described a Beach Boy concert in Atlanta: “Man, we didn’t get a chance to start a rumble of any sort. All the police were dancing with the girls and things. It was coolness! There was a curtain across the back of the stage and five police out of sight behind it. So about 25 or 30 kids hopped onto the stage and were gonna dash behind the curtain, but they all hit at the same time and the whole curtain fell down over the police who were spazzing around underneath it trying to figger out what was comin’ off. The kids got backstage and the cops got trampled, but they came up laughing and everyone had a blast. No lie, man, I think we have the best gang of police around. The same ones are on duty at all the shows so the kids know them all and they know us so things swing at these concerts.”
Other stories:
Ray Nell Chapman, Vancouver British Columbia: “the police cut the show short because kids were standing in the aisles and on seats to get even a furtive glance of those for Liddy Pool Lads. According to the police, we should have been sitting down quietly. QUIETLY!? AT A BEATLE CONCERT!?”
Marilyn Hoenge, Wnamassa, N.J.: “I walked up to a policeman standing in front of the convention hall and politely, mind you, politely asked, ‘Sir, could you tell me which door the Beatles will be coming in?’ well, I thought somebody had stabbed him in the back the way he started hollering, ‘Get on your way!’ I cut out quick.”
Jenny Holland and Midge Newell, Orange, Conn.: “At 10 o’clock in the morning we went to the New Haven arena and decorated the dressing room for the Beach Boys. Then the police came along and tore our banners down. We got word to Mike about it and he invited us to visit backstage and he even dedicated Help Me Rhonda to us, then Denny leaned over and kissed us on the cheek. They are the grooviest guys in the world.”
Rapture and sadness, laughter and tears–that’s the way with the groupies–and the gods must envy them!
Editor’s note: All photos in this article were taken at Beach Boys concerts around the world by Earl Leaf.
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