Brian Epstein: After The Cavern
After having seen The Beatles at The Cavern, Brian Epstein had decided to become The Beatles’ manager. However, he had to convince them first. He summoned them to his office at NEMS and he was about to meet the group, but it wouldn’t go smoothly. Tony Broadbent, in an excerpt from his book, The One After 9:09, looks at this historic meeting.
The Beatles were coming to see him. Brian Epstein adjusted his tie for the umpteenth time and tried to stay calm. Over the last four weeks he’d seen ‘the boys’ perform many times at the Cavern. Had made a point of chatting to them on each and every occasion. Today was to be the first sit-down meeting at his office. He tried to work, but found himself fidgeting with excitement. So he went downstairs, into the store, aimlessly straightened a few things, then stood and looked out at a deserted Whitechapel.
There was little foot traffic, but that was quite normal for an overcast Sunday afternoon. He did notice, though, that what passers-by there were stopped to admire the store’s window-display, which was all very gratifying and a small thing, perhaps, but his own. Brian was shopkeeper enough to hope the interest shown would translate into Christmas sales. He consulted his wristwatch, winced, cleared his throat, shot his cuffs, blinked, and adjusted his tie again.
He’d toyed with the idea of wearing an open-necked shirt, silk cravat, and tweed sports-coat. All perfectly acceptable weekend wear. But as this could well be the beginning of a formal relationship with the group, he’d opted for workday business attire. It always paid to make the right impression. He looked at his watch again. They were now very late. He began to colour at the thought they might not come, at all, but as the flat grey December light slowly began to fade and the store darkened around him, he could do nothing but wait—and wait.
“Hey ‘oop? Is anyone in there? Mister Epstein, sir? It’s us.”
The Fab Three?
The banging on the store’s front door awoke him from his reverie and he quickly went to unlock it. There were only three Beatles standing there. He tried not to look too surprised.
“Hello. Thank you for coming. Let’s go up to my office, shall we? I see Paul isn’t with you. He’s not ill or anything, is he?”
“No, he’ll be along in a minute, Mr Epstein, sir,” replied John Lennon. “He probably just forgot to wind his watch.” The other two Beatles nodded in agreement.
Where is Paul?
He nodded, and led the way upstairs, but even after half-an-hour of strained conversation there was still no sign of Paul McCartney. He tried to still his growing frustration and the creeping sense of dread his dream was already stillborn. Almost at his wit’s end, he turned to the Beatle sitting nearest the door. “George, I wonder if you’d give Paul a ring…find out why he’s so late. I’d hate to think it was something serious. You can use the phone in the outer office.” The youngest Beatle raised his eyebrows in mock surprise, nodded, and left the room.
He smiled a thin-lipped smile at John Lennon and Pete Best, then turned and looked out of the window at the darkening Liverpool night. John pulled a face and retreated behind a handy copy of Mersey Beat. Pete did the same. And after more moments of pained silence, broken only by the murmuring from the outer office and the rustle of John’s newspaper, George came back into the room. He gently closed the door behind him, turned, and said, very calmly, “Paul’s just got up from having a nap. And he says he’s now going to have a bath.”
Very, Very Late!
Brian Epstein was incredulous. “But this…this is disgraceful behaviour. It means he’s going to be very, very late arriving.”
George nodded. “He’ll be very clean, though, won’t he?” he said, eyes twinkling, a slow smile twisting into a lopsided toothy grin. John sniggered behind the now shaking pages of Mersey Beat. Pete turned away; bit his lip. Brian Epstein blinked and blinked and blinked and suddenly his irritation completely dissolved and he started to laugh, not realising he’d just taken his first real step into the strange new world of Beatles.
When Paul finally arrived, more than an hour later, Brian Epstein was already manager enough to realise a change of scenery was called for and he suggested they all decamp to a local milk bar. Once he’d paid for everyone’s coffee and biscuits, there was little time left to beat about the bush. “Look, I don’t really know too much about managing a group, such as yours, but with all the contacts I have with the major record companies, in London, I feel certain I can help you and be of real assistance in your future endeavours. And, if you were prepared to go along with me and give me a chance, I feel sure we can do something really special together.”
London
The four Beatles listened intently to what Brian Epstein had to say. They appreciated his candour regarding his experience or, rather, the lack of it. They were already very wary of people who tooted their own horns too much. What really got to them was the magic word ‘London’. That’s where the real pot of gold was to be found—a recording contract with a major record label. It was, also, the very first time anyone had ever seriously asked about managing them. They’d be the first to admit they needed proper guidance if they were ever to achieve any real success. Still, they didn’t want to be rushed into anything, by anybody, however honest and charming they might seem.
When Brian Epstein had finished, John glanced at Paul, George and Pete, then back at their would-be manager. “Well, that’s all very nice, Mr Epstein, sir. We’ve all enjoyed the coffee and bikkies, and we definitely appreciate your interest in us. But you’ve given us a lot to chew over for one night. Plus, we’ve got to go play the Casbah Club, over in West Derby, before bedtime. So if it’s alright with you, like, we’ll just sleep on it.”
“Of course, of course. I mean, I wasn’t suggesting anything be resolved tonight.” He stood up, his hands open, his heart on his sleeve. “Thank you for hearing me out. And in closing, may I say once again how very special I think you all are, as individuals, and as a group.”
We’ll Think About it
Paul nodded, smiled, and held out his hand. “Thank you, for your interest, Mr Epstein. We’ll definitely think about it.”
He grasped the opportunity. “Then perhaps we could all meet later in the week to discuss any further questions you might have?”
Paul glanced at John, who nodded back.
“Yeah, okay then, Mr Epstein. Later this week, it is.”
“Would Wednesday afternoon be too soon? Only it’s half-day, early closing at the store, and you’re booked to play the Cavern that evening, so you could come over before that, couldn’t you?”
He knew their schedule. That was flattering. It said a lot.
“We could,” George drawled, “once we’ve all taken a bath, like.”
Get Tony’s fascinating book, The One After 9:09 here
The One After 9:09
A DISAFFECTED LIVERPOOL TEENAGER BECOMES INVOLVED WITH THE BEATLES WHEN HE’S HIRED TO HELP PREVENT THE MURDER OF THE GROUP’S MANAGER, BRIAN EPSTEIN.
PURCHASE ON AMAZON
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