It Started With The Crazy Lady

Toronto, 7th September 1964

The plane began to dip down for its descent into Toronto, and the Beatles and their entourage started the well-worn routine of gathering possessions together, finishing drinks and cigarettes and, in the case of Neil and Mal, worrying what and how much was going to be left behind and how much there was to do when they reached their destination. The flight had been uneventful; the last two days had in fact been uneventful, with one small exception. Two shows in Detroit, the home of the music they loved and then straight on to the airport. The four had waited in the airport lounge, feet up on chairs as they slumped into the uncomfortable seats; the adrenalin of the last show had worn off leaving them limp and weary but in good spirits. John as always had fished out a book from somewhere and had permitted himself the luxury of his glasses as he read, and George had found a discarded newspaper and was browsing through the pages, searching unsuccessfully for any interesting articles. He glanced up from the paper, and noticed a man at the edge of the lounge; the reason he noticed him was that he looked extremely furtive, and George reflected that if you wanted to go unnoticed the worst thing was to look as if you wanted to go unnoticed. He was in a white uniform of sorts and was glancing sharply around him before he moved away from the perimeter of the large lounge. George looked back down at his newspaper and then looked back at the man. He was gone.

He couldn't have gone. He couldn't have got to the exit that quickly. And he hadn't walked past George. He couldn't have got out that quickly, not possibly. But he had.

Seeing George peering around so energetically, even getting to his feet and turning a full circle as he searched in vain for the Furtive Man, Paul spoke up. "Wassup, Geo?"

George wrested his attention away from his search and blinked across at Paul. "There was a man here, but he's gone."

Paul looked at him consideringly for a moment before remarking, quite reasonably, "You're not making any sense, you know."

George shook his head in exasperation. "I know! But, there was. A man. Over there," He pointed across the spacious lounge, and Paul automatically turned his head to look too. "And I looked away for a minute and then I looked back and he wasn't there. But he couldn't have got out without me seeing. And I didn't."

"Didn't what?" John had abandoned his book in favour of something that seemed far more entertaining, and now joined in this perplexing conversation.

"Didn't see him!" George was becoming ever more exasperated at his inability to describe the event, and his voice was rising in volume and pitch.

"Alright, calm down, calm down." At John's deliberate and exaggerated imitation of the archetypal Scouse comment, George laughed and found that he could, indeed, calm down. John went on. "Is it another one of your things, d'ya think?"

"What things?"

"You know, seeing things that aren't there."

George stared at him, and then at Paul and Ringo, who were both nodding agreement. "It's another one," chimed in Paul. George looked at Ringo, who nodded again. George slumped back in his seat, and chewed his lower lip anxiously.

"Am I really going mad?"

"Nah! It's that lady. She said it would happen." Their enthusiasm for this new phenomenon was...reassuring to an extent. Yet...

George closed his eyes briefly, and sighed deeply. "But why?" he said, softly, almost to himself.

......

George Harrison was in rather a bad mood before they even arrived at the grandly named King Edward Hotel in Toronto. He had in no way recovered from the anxiety generated by the mysterious disappearing man at the airport in Detroit, and then, waiting on the runway at Toronto, the group weren't even allowed to disembark before they'd given autographs to security people and immigration officials who had invaded the plane and demandingly thrust their autograph books and magasines at them. It was a situation which seemed to be happening increasingly frequently, when officials barged into their space and took advantage of their position, and all the Beatles disliked it. When they were finally allowed off the plane and pushed into the waiting limo George's patience levels were not at their best.