by Larry Kane
Sitting in the semicircle booth of a waterfront restaurant, slamming Sam, sipping a Guinness draft, erupts in laughter.
“Barbara,” he says. “Barbara was daft for the Blue Diamonds. Years later, she married the Diamonds’ chief guitarist, Frank Campbell. I’ve always said that the night of the Teddy attack [when she smashed through the window] was the night Barbara ‘fell’ for Frank.”
While Derek Taylor developed his writing skills, Brian Epstein shaped the bottom line, and Tony Bramwell looked in adoration at the wild mini-club scene and stole free rides from George Harrison’s bus-driver father, and high schooler Bill Harry carefully chronicled his friend John Lennon with the future newspaper already in his head, Sam Leach began adoring his role as a young Colonel Parker, a novice P. T. Barnum, and above all, a charmer with a fantastic smile and the passion to back it up.
It was with that backdrop that the Prince plotted day and night to find venues for the boys, bigger and financially more attractive. Frankly, he knew that the Beatles had not yet matched in their hometown their early successes in Hamburg.
Leach gleefully remembers:
JANUARY 25, 1961. I NEEDED A NEW BAND FOR THE NEW CLUB THAT WAS OPENING, THE CASANOVA CLUB. SO I PICKED THE FIVE BEATLES. YES, THE ORIGINAL FIVE. NOT A BAD CHOICE, EH? I MET THEM AT HAMILTON HALL, A HORRIBLE CLUB, A REAL DIVE WHERE THERE WAS ALWAYS LOTS OF FIGHTING. THEIR DRESSING ROOM WAS A CONVERTED LADIES’ TOILET. SO WHEN I CAME IN, EVERYONE WAS FIGHTING, AND WHEN THE BAND CAME ON, I NOTICED ALL THE FIGHTING STOPPED AND ALL EYES WERE FOCUSED ON THE BAND. . . . YES, THEY ALL STOPPED FIGHTING TO WATCH THE BEATLES. THAT IS HOW GOOD THEY WERE. FIRST TIME I EVER SAW THAT HAPPEN. I KNEW I HAD TO HAVE THEM FOR THE OPENING OF THE CASANOVA CLUB.
So the Prince went looking, and what he found was several venues, like the Hamilton Club and the big one, the Tower Ballroom, that helped secure their future, even at a time in 1961 when the band members were arguing and, at different times, talking about splitting up. As Leach found bigger venues, the internal issues were escalating. There were simmering disputes between John and Paul, even months after Stuart Sutcliffe left the band, John still upset that Paul’s disappointment in Stuart’s music may have accelerated the bass guitarist’s departure, even though Stuart did leave on his own to study art full-time. Money was always a point of contention, and Paul was quietly beating the drums to replace Pete, even as Mona Best continued playing a major role in the boys’ lives.
Sam Leach, with his wide grin and never-say-die attitude, came into the picture with a transfusion of optimism, but the truth was, as he confirms, that he was really a promoter, not a manager.
And then along came Brian Epstein. The date, in December 1961, is etched in Leach’s memory.
ON THE WAY BACK FROM ALDERSHOT, A SUNDAY, DECEMBER 10, 1961, THEY MADE THEIR DECISION TO GO WITH BRIAN EPSTEIN AS MANAGER. I WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER THAT DATE BECAUSE THE ADVERTISING DIDN’T GO IN THE PAPER FOR THE FIRST NIGHT AND THEY ONLY GOT EIGHTEEN PEOPLE TO COME TO THE VENUE. ON THE WAY BACK, THAT IS WHEN THEY DECIDED TO GO WITH EPSTEIN. THEY HAD CONVENIENTLY FORGOTTEN THAT THE WEEK BEFORE THEY HAD OVER FOUR THOUSAND AT THE TOWER THEATER IN NEW BRIGHTON, ON A FRIDAY NIGHT. ANYHOW, THEY DECIDED TO GO WITH EPPY. HE ALSO HAD THE MONEY, THE POLISH, AND THE CONNECTIONS. AND HIS ACCENT WOULD HAVE GOTTEN HIM INTO DOORS, WHERE I MIGHT HAVE GOTTEN THROWN OUT. ACTUALLY, THEY CAME TO TELL ME ABOUT BRIAN AFTER THEY GOT BACK FROM ALDERSHOT IN LONDON, AND THEY LOOKED VERY NERVOUS. THEY SAID, “WE HAVE A MAN THAT WANTS TO MANAGE US AND HE IS A MILLIONAIRE, LOTS OF MONEY.” I SAID, “NO, I AM GOING TO MANAGE YOU.” THEY SAID, “HE’S GOT MONEY. WE’LL STILL INVOLVE YOU, BUT JUST GO AND HAVE A LOOK AT HIM AND TELL US WHAT YOU THINK.” I WENT TO TALK TO HIM, SUMMED HIM UP IN FIVE MINUTES, SAW THAT HE WAS GENUINE, THOUGHT HE HAD MONEY, AND REALIZED MAYBE I COULD DO BUSINESS WITH HIM. MAYBE HE WOULD BACK MY RECORD LABEL. I HAD THE INDEPENDENT TROUBADOUR RECORD LABEL AND RECORDED GERRY AND THE PACEMAKERS’ “YOU’LL NEVER WALK ALONE.” THAT WAS GERRY’S BEST SONG. WHEN I WAS WALKING BACK, I DECIDED I WOULD TELL THEM HE WAS NO GOOD FOR THEM. BUT WHEN I SAW THEM LOOKING SO TRUSTING, I COULDN’T TELL LIES, AND I SAID, “YOU WILL MAKE IT WITH THIS GUY. HE’LL BE GOOD FOR YOU. YOU’LL BE FAMOUS. GO WITH HIM AND IT WILL WORK FOR YOU.” THIS IS WHAT I SAID TO THEM. POLISH, MONEY, ACCENT—ALL OF IT WAS A VERY ATTRACTIVE PACKAGE.
If Leach had recommended against Brian, would the boys have listened? The bigger question is whether John, Paul, George, and Pete asked Leach to “check out” Epstein merely as a courtesy.
As Epstein began to remake their image, Leach continued promoting events.
I CONTINUED TO DO SO UNTIL AUGUST 1962. WE MADE A LOT OF SHOWS TOGETHER AND I GOT THEM A LOT OF MONEY. THE TOWER BALLROOM WAS A BIG VENUE—HUGE. BRIAN APPROACHED ME TO GO IN ON A PERCENTAGE OF PROMOTING GIGS. HE CAME UP WITH LITTLE RICHARD, JERRY LEE LEWIS, AND BEATLES AS THE NUMBER-TWO BAND. HE WANTED TO GO IN WITH ME. I SAID FIFTY-FIFTY AND HE SAID, “CAN’T DO THAT, BUT I’LL DO HALF.” THEN IT WAS DOWN TO 12.5 PERCENT, AND THAT WAS THE END OF THAT. I HAD TOO MANY MOUTHS TO FEED TO ENTER THAT MEASLY CONTRACT. AS JOHN LATER WROTE, “LIFE IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU’RE BUSY MAKING OTHER PLANS.” EPSTEIN HAD NO INTENTIONS OF ANYONE BUT HIMSELF TAKING THE CREDIT.
Leach carried on and promoted other groups during the years, never taking his eyes off the Beatles. He had hits and plenty of misses.
I TURNED DOWN HERMAN’S HERMITS, THE HOLLIES. ONCE I WAS WORKED OUT [BY EPSTEIN], EVERYTHING ELSE IN THE BUSINESS SEEMED HOLLOW TO ME. THERE WAS NO MORE IN ME FOR THAT. MY WIFE WANTED ME TO COME OUT OF THE BUSINESS AND LOOK AFTER THE FAMILY. WE HAD THREE KIDS IN THE FIRST FOUR YEARS. I DID END UP COMING OUT AND HAVE NO REGRETS AT ALL. SO AFTER THAT I LEFT AND WENT INTO A STATE AGENCY FOR A COUPLE OF YEARS AND THAT DIDN’T WORK OUT TOO WELL. THEN I WENT INTO DRY PROOFING AND HAD ABOUT TWENTY, THIRTY PEOPLE WORKING FOR ME AND THAT WORKED WELL UNTIL ABOUT 1990, WHEN THE BUSINESS FAILED. THEN I MORE OR LESS RETIRED, DECIDED TO WRITE MY BOOK. MY WIFE DIDN’T WANT ME TO, AND WE DRIFTED APART, AND ENDED UP GETTING DIVORCED, BUT WE ARE STILL GOOD FRIENDS.
It is historical irony that his huge success, “Operation Big Beat,” a big show at the Tower Ballroom, came the night after Brian Epstein walked into the Cavern to see the Beatles up close. And inevitably, that visit would be a bad omen for the future of Leach and the boys.
“Operation Big Beat was Sam’s greatest success,” recalls former Beatle Pete Best. “It was thorough, and as promised, big, with so many bands.”
Best has warm feelings toward Leach and Allan Williams, two men who have carried on a competitive battle of words since the early sixties: “Sam is a wonderful man, but he made some mistakes along the way. Allan is mercurial. People here either love him or hate him.”
Like his mother, who “wanted to bring live music to the kids of Liverpool,” Pete respected Leach’s desire to create new ideas, such as Operation Big Beat.
Like some from the arena of Liverpool music in the sixties, Leach, the Prince of Mathew Street, is hard not to like. He has a wonderful glow about him, proud of his place in history. He is hardly sad, irritable, or bitter about what happened, but very happy to share his story about one of the people left behind who made giant steps possible for the fledgling Beatles.
In the end, the gig at the Tower Ballroom was a key turning point, and Leach made it happen.
Has Leach ever gotten the credit he deserves?
There was a time when Paul McCartney called the period during 1961 and part of 1962 “the Sam Leach era.” Leach’s accomplishments have been noted by select authors, but not all. There are times when the omissions of history may be more important than the inclusions. An example: Some authors have practically written May Pang out of John Lennon’s life story. She was, through her eighteen-month relationship with him, a powerful force in John Lennon’s life. The same incredulous historical revision has happened to Sam Leach. There are those biographers who have not even mentioned him, and others who give his historic bookings and love for the group a brief mention, if that.
Few people report John Lennon’s uncharacteristic tears when the Beatles and Leach parted ways, after Brian Epstein maneuvered him out of their lives. John had said, “Sam Leach was the pulse of Merseybeat. What he did, the rest copied.”
And that is true. The concert dates, and the amount of tickets sold, prove that in the early, pulsating rise of Mersey Beat, fans of the music would start buying up tickets whenever Leach’s name was connected to a concert.
And the biggest omission of all?
The most thorough accounting ever of the Beatles, biased but important nevertheless, was The Beatles Anthology, in print and on video. In its accounting of the Liverpool years, there is not one mention of Sam Leach.
The anthology was produced and edited by the organization representing the surviving Beatles.
Sam Leach, often copied, was always loyal, creative, and hopeful. Like others left behind, the Prince of Mathew Street is often forgotten as the enemies of history prevail—foggy memories and omission making the real truth elusive.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE POLL
“. . . when I discovered that there were around forty votes for Rory Storm written in green ink in the same handwriting, I decided to disqualify them. This made the Beatles number one.”
—Bill Harry
“And by the way, Larry, forget about the counting method. The guys were the most favorite in Merseyside.”
—Tony Bramwell
LESS THAN TWO MONTHS AFTER SAM LEACH’S TOWER BALLROOM SUCCESS, Bill Harry unleashed a crafty piece of journalism, backed by a public opinion survey that struck a raw nerve on the music scene. Was it a “scientific” survey?
There was a buzz on the streets—Mersey Beat was becoming “Mersey Beatles,” or so they said. It was true that the Beatles were featured heavily in Harry’s popular new newspaper, but a look at most of the editions will show that Bill and girlfriend Virginia Sowry spread the wealth with significant coverage of all the big Merseyside groups, especially Gerry and the Pacemakers, Rory Storm and the Hurricanes, and Kingsize Taylor and the Dominoes.
The survey, though, became a catalyst.
When the January 4, 1962, edition of Mersey Beat hit the newsstands, its cover featured the headline “Beatles Top Poll!” and the tagline “Full Results Inside.” The cover story listed the boys as the number-one Merseyside band in a poll of readers, and the Beatles were elated. They thought, for sure, that the people at Decca would view it as another affirmation of their coming success.
In the meantime, with a heavy schedule at the Cavern, the Tower, and other assorted venues, the boys became even hotter after the Mersey Beat poll, which Harry carefully conducted.
“The survey was indeed a significant moment, signaling a local supremacy, but not necessarily a predictor of their rise to the top,” recalls Harry, who then describes the methodology. “We had a coupon inside each issue. When the completed coupons were filled in and sent to our office, Virginia and I counted them.”
But hold on. It’s not that simple. Bill Harry says good-natured trickery was afoot. “Rory Storm and the Hurricanes [with drummer Ringo Starr], had the most votes. With my Beatles bias, I decided to go over the coupons again, and when I discovered that there were around forty votes for Rory Storm written in green ink in the same handwriting, I decided to disqualify them. This made the Beatles number one and Rory dropped to number four.”
There was more to it than that. Harry and Sowry launched their own investigation, of sorts.
“The news agent at the corner of Castle Street contacted me to tell me that someone had bought his entire stock of Mersey Beats and his description matched Joe Flannery, at that time manager of band leader Lee Curtis. Curtis is Flannery’s brother. I realized that groups and their managers must have bought copies, and it later emerged that Paul McCartney admitted to doing the same. It was simply a case of keeping it honest, and fair.”
So how did the Beatles finish at number one?
“Considering the amount of votes we received and our knowledge of who was really popular, due to the fact that Virginia and I were out virtually seven nights a week going to various venues, I reckon that the poll results were the accurate mirror of the popularity of local bands.”
Was there a “margin of error,” as we now see in surveys? No. But Harry and Sowry were comfortable that the Beatles were really number one, even though Bill’s confessed “Beatles bias” made it into the mix.
Young Tony Bramwell, who couldn’t wait for each Mersey Beat copy, has distinct memories of the January 4 cover.
Soon to join Team Epstein, the future big-time promotion man understood the meaning of the story. “Let’s face it; the guys had been struggling,” Bramwell says. “Even with their local successes, there wasn’t yet an image of ‘owning’ the territory, so to speak. This was a really big deal for me and my mates to see them on the front cover of Mersey Beat. And by the way, Larry, forget about the counting method. The guys were the most favorite in Merseyside.”
Freda Kelly, Epstein’s secretary, was just “totally blown away.”
She recalls, “All of a sudden the success that we saw at the Cavern was right there. . . . I mean . . . number one in Merseyside. How could you top that? Unfortunately, the people in London didn’t get it. Yet. I’m sure they were thinking, ‘Who cares about those simpleton fans in Liverpool.’ They didn’t realize how perceptive and brilliant we were in discovering talent.”
Years later, John Lennon, joining me for a 1975 charity radio marathon in Philadelphia, shared some stories of 1962, and an audition from hell. When the poll was published, Epstein and the Beatles were waiting for the answer on an audition for Decca Records, an important milestone that you will soon experience. In retrospect, John understood that, at the time, the London musical geniuses were biased.
“The Decca thing was rubbish, although we thought we did well. There was bias against Liverpool. But in the meantime, we were doing quite well everywhere and at the Tower Ballroom, and then . . . Mersey Beat proclaims us number one. That was the best press we ever got, even better than you, Larry [makes a funny face].”
Bill Harry remembers the edition and the poll results. “In reality, all the groups were happy to be on the list, but there were jealousies, a lot of that. There might still be today, but the poll was fair, considering all the discrepancies that Virginia and I discovered.”
Here are the printed results from the poll:
1. The Beatles
2. Gerry and the Pacemakers
3. The Remo Four
4. Rory Storm and the Hurricanes
5. Johnny Sandon and the Searchers
6. Kingsize Taylor and the Dominoes
7. The Big Three
8. The Strangers
9. Faron and the Flamingos
10. The Four Jays
11. Ian and the Zodiacs
12. The Undertakers
13. Earl Preston and the TTs
14. Mark Peters and the Cyclones
15. Karl Terry and the Cruisers
16. Derry and the Seniors
17. Steve and the Syndicate
18. Dee Fenton and the Silhouettes
19. Billy J. Kramer and the Coasters
20. Dale Roberts and the Jaywalkers
In all fairness, Billy J. Kramer, soon to be a star, was just beginning, but Kingsize Taylor and the raucous Big Three were doing quite well, along with Rory, Ringo, and company, and of course, Gerry and his Pacemakers. In a twist of irony, these groups, as you will learn soon in the chapter “Bands on the Run,” contributed mightily to the boys’ success.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
TOWER OF POWER
“Yes, I hold the record for largest attendance in England in 1961: Tower Theater in New Brighton—Operation Big Beat. That is where and when Beatlemania began.”
—Sam Leach
IF ALLAN WILLIAMS WAS THE MAN WHO GAVE AWAY THE BEATLES, then Sam Leach was definitely the man who had the Beatles taken from him. Right up to the present d
ay, Leach has never lost his love for the boys, and it all traces back to a night of nights, in New Brighton, England. The date was November 10, 1961.
New Brighton is a resort on the Wirral Peninsula; its beaches are charming, with a view of the Irish Sea. And its Tower Ballroom was a huge venue.
“It was massive, like a cinema or two mansions pushed together,” recalls Leach. “Larry, when I thought of putting the Beatles there—and remember, it was the fall of 1961—my friends thought I was crazy. Maybe I was.”
The Tower Ballroom, in various formations, lasted from its opening in 1900 until 1969, when a fire ended its run. Its demise was soon followed by the breakup of the Beatles.
Leach was having a very good year in 1961. In March he helped open a place called the Iron Door Club, a stone’s throw from the Cavern. On March 11, a concert featuring Gerry and the Pacemakers, Kingsize Taylor, and the Big Three drew over 1,800 people into the early morning hours. Around the corner, the Cavern had just fifty people.
The Beatles played the Iron Door later in the month, but on that early March night, the Iron Door changed history. The owner of the Cavern, Ray McFall, took the cue. The Cavern began allowing rock ’n’ roll bands at night, and would become legendary. Without that decision, the Beatles’ temporary home would have given way to other venues, and Mathew Street would have lost its luster.
Leach loved themed events. He called the big Iron Door concert “Rock Around the Clock.”
A little later in the year, the excited showman began “Operation Big Beat,” a big show held at the Tower. But the ballroom’s operators had no interest in the Beatles—in fact, they didn’t even know them. Leach recalls,
LARRY, I WENT THERE AND SPOKE TO THE OWNER, WHO HAD NEVER HEARD OF THE BEATLES AND DIDN’T WANT TO HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH THEM AT FIRST. HE SAID, “IT’LL NEVER WORK,” BUT I CONVINCED HIM TO GIVE THEM A TRY, AND BY THE TIME I LEFT, WE HAD A DATE. WHEN I WAS LEAVING, I ASKED HIM WHAT THE RECORD ATTENDANCE WAS AT THE TOWER. HE SAID SOME NUMBER LIKE 1,000. I TOLD HIM WE WOULD BEAT THAT. HE THOUGHT THAT WAS A RIOT, AND HE WAS LAUGHING AS HE WENT DOWN THE STAIRS. TEN DAYS LATER, I WENT BACK WITH THE TICKETS AND THE POSTERS. HE WAS VERY EXCITED AND WAS SHOUTING AT ME, “SAM, THE PHONE HASN’T STOPPED RINGING! WE KNEW IT WOULD BE SUCCESSFUL! WE KNEW YOU COULD DO IT!” WE GOT A RECORD 4,100 PEOPLE IN ATTENDANCE ON NOVEMBER 10, 1961—AND IT WAS FOGGY.
