In the movie, “A Hard Day’s Night,” the lads discussed him as the five of them rode in a railroad compartment.
I did not get on the train with the Beatles at the first stop, so to speak, but one day in 1964 I heard William B. Williams, one of my favorite disk jockeys, break a Beatles record (vinyl), right on the air, WNEW-AM.
What musical trash, he said.
Good grief, how bad could it be?
My wife and I went out to see the movie a few nights later and were enchanted. Then of course their music became more complicated, more dark, and so did their lives, and we became fans forever.
Then I was young enough to have a grandfather. Now I am an actual grandfather.
Do my grandkids think I’m very clean? I’ll have to text them.
I’ve often wondered about Paul’s grandfather.
Now I know.
He’s still alive.
He was on the tube the other day. I’d recognize him anywhere, that bony face, that surly glare.
He was very clean, the lads used to agree.
Nowadays, it works the other way.
Paul’s grandfather assures us he’s very clean, in a legal sense, that is.