As I walked I contemplated that a month had gone by and by now the Beatles had become a part of my everyday life. I had finally met George Harrison and shook his hand a few weeks ago. I would have never recognized George. George Harrison was only 17 and thin as a pole. He has a slight case of acne and tended to be very shy from what I saw. He was quite the handsome young man and, like the other two, was brimming with boyish charm. I had not met Ringo Starr yet. In the last month, the Quarrymen had gone through two different drummers.
I had gone to almost every one of their performances and was intrigued by what I saw and heard. I would never tell them I was going. I would just show up and now and again I would walk up and talk to them during a break. Our conversations would never get past "How are you doing?" The problem was I did not how to approach them. By now they all knew my name and that I lived with John and that was all. I was doing my best to be as non obtrusive as possible.
The group was very rough and was not often received well. I even saw them booed once or twice. It was obvious this group had a long ways to go. What I did see that was interesting was pure raw talent. In the short month I had watched them, I saw Paul really improve in his abilities. George could barely play a guitar but had learned some interesting licks on two or three of their songs. Another point that I found curious was that they did not play anything original. I had heard at least one half of the songs before, but none of it was theirs. I knew that they practiced mainly at George's house and I wasn't sure if John and Paul actually had started writing any of the hits that would eventually make them famous.
Most of the places they played were pretty bad. They were filled with the worst sort of people. Most of the time it would be a small and dark bar that was filled with the smell of smoke and alcohol. The crowds were often very small and frequently would throw things at the band later in the evening. Fights would break out all the time. I found that John frequently started these fights by picking on some of the hecklers. Many of the town drunks would find his sober quick wit too much to handle and resort to violence. When this scenario was combined with lots of alcoholic friends, problems always arose. I chose to stay out of the fights. It seemed to me that John picked them and actually enjoyed it.
John and I had made little to no progress on becoming friends. Our relationship was cordial, but far from friendly. I chose to concentrate on my art assignments on my off time at home. John was very rarely there and when he was there we really didn't talk much. I chose to fill the boring gaps with working on my new interest in painting.
I founead. He held a small hat in one hand.
At this point another person came within my field of vision. This one was a much bigger man in a uniform. I recognized the uniform as an old police uniform. He wore his hat and it reminded my of an old keystone cop flick that I had seen a few nights before. On his side was a silver Billy club that I surmised was what had caused the throbbing pain in my head. This man did not say anything, he just stood there stoic with a disconcerting look.
"Are you okay?" the slender m
As I walked up to the building, a small man at the door stuck out his hand without saying anything. I immediately stopped and realized that I would have to pay to get through the door. I got my money out. He seemed a little peeved that I was handing him money taken out of my shoe. I handed him the money and ignored the attitude that often accompanied these sort of people. Without further incident, I walked into the building. Inside there was one large and very dark room. The smell of sweat and smoke permeated the room to the point that I almost gagged. I thought that I had would have became accustom to such environments by now. A part of me was glad that I had not.
I saw that the band equipment had been set up on a what looked to be small and rickety stage. George sat his guitar down and stepped off. The entire stage seemed to sway as his weight left it. I followed him with my eyes. He walked a short way and sit down at a shadowy table next to the stage. I could make out four silhouettes of other people that I could not recognize from where I was standing. I stood there and stared at the shadows trying to make out faces. My gaze was interrupted by a crowd of people pushing past me. People were starting to pile in through the entrance and I soon realized that I was impeding traffic. After the second apologetic "pardon me," I chose to find somewhere to sit. Most of the tables were taken and any table that seemed to be open had the occasional person loitering about in the process of reserving it. The result was that I found myself standing in the middle of the dance floor doing circles trying to find an available place to sit and watch the show.
"Stu, over here. Stu!" I heard a familiar shout from the darkness. The sound was coming from the dark table near the stage. I recognized the voice as John's and I could see a shadow waving a hand at me that motioned me towards that way. "Over hear Stu. Sit with us. We need the extra protection." , John said amongst a chorus of laughter.
I slowly walked in there direction and squinted to make them out. I finally walked up within talking distance. I could see all the faces now. John sat at the head of the table smoking a cigarette with some sort of bottle laying on the table in front of him. He was leaned forward and almost looked like he was guarding the bottle. Paul was to his left and sitting away from the table. Paul was laid back and had one leg crossed over the other. George was still sitting where I saw him sit down. His chair was backwards and he straddled it with both arms folded over the back. George rested his head on his hands and looked as if he had not gotten enough sleep. I did not recognize the other guy sitting at the table. On his lap was a trashy looking woman. She was thin and dirty-looking. She sat crossways on the stranger's lap and gave him the occasional passionate kiss. She would look back at me as if looking for my opinion on her actions. It made me quite uncomfortable watching the two so turned my head and focused on John and Paul.
"Place is going to be crowded. Mind if I sit over here?" This had been the first time I had ever imposed on being with their company. I was tentative and prepare to walk away at the slightest hint of rejection.
"Of course not." Paul and John said in chorus. The two paused and looked at each other. "Pretty bad when we start talking in harmony." Paul said as he gently punched John on the shoulder.
"Pretty good if you ask me." John retorted as he took a deep drink from the bottle. He finished off the bottle and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Stu this is Danny. Danny is the drummer de jour tonight. The woman on his lap is Chrissy. Danny, Chrissy, meet Stu. Stu meet Danny and Chrissy." John waived his bottle back and forth during the introduction. I looked over to see the two in a deep kiss and totally ignoring the introduction. John ignored the whole thing.
"George, time to wake up." John said laying the bottle to the table with a heavy thud. George slightly jumped at the unexpected bang and only mildly opened his eyes. Danny and Chrissy broke from there embrace wiping each other's mouth.
Standing up, John crushed out his cigarette on the bare table and said "Time to go." The three others sat there for a prolonged period and wait for John to actually get on the stage. Each rose in turn to follow John. All four made it onto stage and began the familiar clanking and tuning that had began so many of these dive serenades.
Out of boredom, I looked around the crowd. It was rough. This was the roughest crowd I had seen. Most of these people were already drunk and yelling profanities. I saw two men grab each other's coat lapels only to be broken up by a sober and much bigger man. I knew this was going to be a rough night. As I glanced around I noticed that Chrissy was now staring at me. I turned my head towards her and momentarily returned her stare. She smiled at me and revealed that more of her teeth were missing then were present. The three that did stare back at me did not resemble teeth. I struggled to hide my disgust and gave her a polite nod before focusing in on the band.
John whispered in Paul's ear and I could tell that John was practicing some chord progression up to the last minute. I had a minute of pure admiration of what a passion this man had for his art. Over the last few weeks, I kept asking myself what kept these boys enduring nights like this one. Week after week of fighting and bad sets. Little or no money was involved and to top it off the Quarrymen were not that good. How could these young men bare this without seeing the promise that awaited them. I could barely endure it as a bystander and I knew what type of reward would be in store. As I looked again at the crowd, the answer hit me. What was there option? In this area, John and Paul had little options. Necessity was what pushed them through what seemed to be intolerable circumstances. Necessity combined with a natural love for this art is what would make them successful beyond any of their dreams.
"So where do you live?" Chrissy said, breaking my daydream.
Caught by surprise, I stuttered. "I live with John. This is his band."
She moved to the chair next to mine. "Yeah I know. He is gorgeous. I just met Danny last night. He is just sitting in for John as a favor. Seems these guys can't keep a drummer." she said cracking gum in my ear. The thought crossed my mind of how she could chew gum without teeth. By now she was right on me and had her hand on my leg. For fear of getting physically ill. I stood up quickly and moved to the other side of the table. She looked at me with a frozen scowl and went back to cracking her gum.
John said something in the microphone. It was followed by a high-pitched squeal. The crown booed and a beer can went whizzing by Paul's head. It was early to be in the throwing phase already. George made a few adjustments to a panel of knobs and I could hear a clearer voice.
"Check, check, check. How is that Stu?" John said looking down to me. I gave him the okay sign and John struck the first chord that entered into the first song of the night.
I don't know what got me through the first set. I am sure I fell asleep a few times. I had put my shades on so that nobody would have noticed. The Quarrymen had gone through the first set playing the same songs that they had played for weeks. It was almost unbearable. My few conscious moments revealed that the crowd had not enjoyed it that much either. The foul remarks and occasional flying beer can had become increasingly frequent. While I was conscious, I had counted three fights, but the band never stopped. Chrissy had gotten drinks for everyone and the entire band left the stage amongst a chorus of boos. The four of them sat down and started to down the beverage that was set out in front of them.
"Boy this is going to be a tough one." Paul said.
"You are not kidding." I agreed pulling off my shades. I made up my mind. It was time I stepped in and tried to speed this thing up a little bit. Who knows? Maybe it is Stuart Sutcliffe's responsibility in history to help this band get going. "I think there it going to be big trouble. I want to stay around and help you guys in case it gets rough." I looked at each of them and could tell I had sparked some fear.
"I don't think it is going to be that bad. Wait till they get a snout full. They will calm down and loosen up." John said looking around the table for support.
"Do you mind if I stay John. I wouldn't feel right. Besides, I don't think I'll make it home alive by myself." I said. John and Paul just snickered and nodded in the affirmative.
"Can I ask a few questions?" I asked as John and Paul took another drink. George just sat there waiting for the question.
"Sure, anything." Paul Said.
"Do you guys write any of your own songs?" I tentatively asked carefully monitoring my tone so that it would not offend.
"Well Paul and I have been dabbling a bit. Nothing serious. Nothing I would want anyone to hear either." John said.
"I have done some in the past. I don't have anything with me, but I would love to sit down with you and hear what you have. I think you guys have a lot of talent. You just need to get out of doing the places where you might get killed." I sat back and shoved the shades into my breast pocket.
John perked up as if he had just thought of something. "But where are we going boys?" he said as he pointed in the air.
George and Paul didn't move and said "To the top, John." in a low, despondent voice.
"Where is the top?" John said holding his position.
"To the toppest top." John said with a grin. "You see Stu, we need to do these dives to get enough practice so we might be noticed by someone who can do something about it. Right now we aren't good enough to play anyplace but dives. I look at it as we get paid to practice and I can pick on the drunks all I want."
For the first time since we met, he actually stared at me in the eye when he spoke. It was a sign of true confidence in what he believed.
"I see your point, John. It just seems like such a waste to perform for these people that are just as likely to hit you as applaud. You guys are meant for so much more than this." I hesitated on the last sentence. I wasn't sure that was wise to bring up. My hesitation was ceased upon by John.
He continued, "How would you know. Just what in the hell do you know about music. Sure you have a guitar, but until you have to practice and do these holes every weekend, how would you ever know what we are meant to do?". John straightened up and I could tell he was upset. He took another quick drink.
I could tell Paul and George were squirming in their chairs worried about how this discussion would end. I chose to calm it down.
"Listen John. I know a lot more than you think, mister." I said with an authoritative tone. I punctuated each word with a thrust of my finger towards the table.
"You don't know anything, if you ask me," he said with a chuckle. Paul and George looked embarrassed for John and just looked down. John was the only one laughing.
"I'll show you what I know. Do you mind," I asked politely as I pointed to John's guitar on the stage.
Without saying anything, John extended his hand with the palm up and gave me a shrug.
I got up to the stage and watched the three as I went to pick up John's Guitar. All three just leaned forward. I hear George mumble "This should be good." and John just looked at me in astonishment.
I put the strap around my neck and checked the volume. A few strums and adjustments and I was ready. I looked at the crowd and absolutely nobody, but the band, knew I was even on stage. I was surprise by how little anxiety I felt. "Now what to play?" I mumbled. What would go over well here at this time. I thought about it for a minute. I filled in the gaps with a couple of practice chords and then it hit me. A Beatles tune. Yes that would have to go over well. It was too good and just too perfect.
I started to strum the chords and pick out the melody to 'I Saw Her Standing There.' I picked up the tempo and gave it more of a funky rhythm. I thought it was great. I concentrated on my hand as it ran over each chord. I time or two I had to make a conscious effort not to make the funny face as I often did when I was concentrating. I looked down and noticed that Paul and George were really liking the tune. Part of me chuckled. Paul had to like it, it was his. Even Chrissy and Danny had broken their embrace and watched with disbelieving eyes. John just sat there with his mouth open and stared at me blankly.
I played the first chorus twice and the change once. I finished up with a frill of echoing discordant notes followed by a bow to the band. As I came up from the bow, George and Paul started to clap. Chrissy and Danny hooted. John just shook his head and went back to drinking. A chorus of boos interrupted my small moment of glory and a beer can went sailing by my face. I turned and noticed that the crowd didn't like that tune either.
"What is this amateur night? Get off the bloody stage ya bloke!" an anonymous voice rang from the crowd. For fear of my safety, I obliged and handed the guitar to Paul who had come to my rescue.
"That was great!" he whispered in my ear.
I took my seat and just sat there waiting for John to say something.
After a long wait and a couple puffs of a cigarette, he said "Who wrote that piece of shit." I had to laugh at him. With that, he bounded out of the chair and went back on stage. George stood up as well, stretched and walked back to the stage. George had to tap on Danny's shoulder to break his embrace with Chrissy and he soon followed.
The rest of the night was long and for the most part John had been right about the crowd settling down. The Quarrymen were on their last song and I could not remember the seeing a fight the entire last set. As soon as they hit their last note, I hear John say "Thank you very much. It has been quite the pleasure." with a wry tone. The crowd had thinned quite a bit and the last word echoed. The remaining crowd gave little response. Only low murmuring and the occasional clap filled the air.
I stood up from my chair and jumped on the stage to help breakdown. "Do you need any help with those drums, Danny," I asked.
"Sure." he responded.
I started breaking down the drums and stacking them. George worked on the PA system while John and Paul had their stuff already arranged in a neat pile on the dance floor. "I'll pull the van around back," John said as he jogged to the door. He was searching through his pocket looking for his keys.
Something caught my eye as he left out the door through the back. Five drunken men, that looked pretty rough, leaned in as if having a football huddle as John went by. I saw one of the individuals look up and point. It was obvious that they were talking about us. I had seen John chastise one in the bunch earlier. The conspiracy went unnoticed by the others in my group.
Paul started to walk towards the bathroom that was in their general direction.
"Paul!" I shouted. I worried that the fear in my voice may give away that I had noticed their activities. "Paul come here, please. I have something that you really must look at." I pretended to be wrapping a chord. Paul hesitated and pointed towards the bathroom. Fortunately he looked at my face and could see the urgency. He walked back to me. I was still on the stage and had to lean down to reach my mouth to his ear.
"I don't think that is a good idea right now. Those people in the corner are going to cause problems. I think we should start moving this stuff out the back right now." I whispered in his ear.
I stood up. Paul casually looked around and turned back to me and gave me a confirming nod. Without a work we started moving the stuff out the door behind the stage. Paul and I were about done before George noticed something was wrong. Before George spoke, Paul whispered something in George's ear and George assisted us. I looked around for Danny and he was no where to be found. I surmised his relationship with Chrissy had moved to the next level and required a bit more privacy. I snickered at the thought that Chrissy had nothing to worry about. She certainly could not get her teeth knocked out.
About the last piece was placed in the grass alley behind the building when John backed in with the van. We had three pieces of equipment in the van before John got the parking brake engaged. We had just about gotten all of the equipment in when a group of shadowy figures blocked what little light we had coming from the entrance of the alley.
"Don't think you chaps should be rushing off so soon. I believe an apology is in order." one of the shadows said in a deep burley voice. I reached in the drivers door and pulled the switch that turned on the lights. What I saw was not a pleasant sight.
On their side were six fully grown men with an obvious serious attitude. Fortunately I saw no weapons. On our side, we had three very scared teenagers. Unfortunately, I had learned that John like to hide his fear with his mouth.
"Leave us alone! We didn't touch your women. They were too damn ugly." John said moving up to the front.
I tried to quiet John, but he would have none of it. Whatever I did made more profanity spew from his mouth. This infuriated the men more and they moved towards us.
John took the first blow. A cracking left hook smacked him in the teeth and, at the very least, shut him up. The rest of us jumped the same man and started to pound on his head. It didn't take long for his buddies to run up and pull us off one at a time. I don't know how the others faired, but I did quite well. I was sure a stiff kick to my first opponent's knee put him in the hospital. I distinctly felt his bone crack below my foot. The second came up and just barely missed me with an overhand right. The blow came so close that I could feel the air as his fist came tearing past my ear. I countered with a left hook over his missing blow and sent him to one knee on the ground. I paused for a second feeling pretty proud that I had downed two grown men without being touched. Fortunately, these guys were quite inebriated and this help our cause immensely. Another man paused to look at his buddies writhing in pain and took a full charge at me. His hands grasped me by the throat and he shoved me against the wall. I had trouble fighting the raw strength of the man as he pulled me off my feet by the throat. I struggled for a breath. As I looked up, I could see John take a blow to the face that left him slumped to the ground. Two of the men had now focused on Paul and took turns at him. It was this sight that enraged me. Here these low-life drunks pounding on one of the greatest musicians ever. What would happen if they injured him beyond healing.
I didn't take time to think. I came up as hard as I could with my knee. It caught the man square in the throat and he immediately release my neck. I ran straight to Paul's help. Picking up a bottle I dropped the man punching Paul by smashing it over his head. The bottle shattered and I felt it cut my hand. The man holding Paul dropped him and came at me. I squared off to challenge him and then there was darkness.
I wondered how he managed to sleep upright in such an uncomfortable chair. He looked as if he would fall out of the chair at the slightest nudge. An evil thought passed through my mind. I looked around for a special object. It had to be big and loud. I saw a metal food tray sitting on the table next to the bed. I slowly slid the glass of water off of it and sit it on the table. I picked up the tray and slung it against the wall next to John's head. The resulting clang even surprised me and sent a painful shock through my ears. John did not do much better. He immediately sprang up and lost his handle on the small chair while still in a slumbering fog. Both he and the chair went sprawling to the ground to a very ungraceful position with his butt sticking up in the air.
I laughed so hard I had to hold both sides of my head to reduce the vibrations on the painful area that was throbbing for all it was worth. I looked down at the prone Beatle. He was struggling to get up in a graceful manner and not doing such a great job of it. Ms. Sutcliffe came barging through the door in obvious alarm to determine what had caused such a noise. She looked down at John and then looked at me with a disapproving scowl. She rushed to help John to his feet.
"Now is that some way to treat a man who has been here for two nights at your side, Stuart Sutcliffe?" she said in a harsh tone as she bent over and picked up the tray. She studied it and the wall for any damage. It had not been thrown that hard.
I stopped laughing. "Two nights?" I said in disbelief.
"It's true." John said as he bent over to pick up the chair. He put it back in its place and sat in it as he had before the food tray hit. Rubbing his head, "You have been in and out for almost two days now, Stu. You had us very worried." He paused and looked at me.
I could see he was serious. I remembered a long dream that I had just awoken from and remembered only fragments off what must have been happening around me over the last two days. It fit. I knew it was true. I immediately realized the poor taste of what I had just done. They would certainly excuse my actions give what had transpired. None of this would have happened if it weren't for John's mouth anyway. I dropped the subject.
I felt my head and examined it. There were no lumps. Just a painful spot in the back and in the left temple.
"I'm sorry John. Thank you for staying here. What happened? Did we lick them?" I said with a half smile.
"Only licking we did was their boots. You did pretty well from what I saw. Three of the guys you tussled with got put in the hospital. It was one of the one you didn't get that did you pretty bad. The bloke hit you over the head with a club and kicked you in the head while you laid there. George said if it weren't for the scare that they thought they had committed murder on you. They would have probably done the same to all of us."
"I wish you had let us take you to the doctor." Ms. Sutcliffe interrupted. "You were bleeding from your head pretty bad. But when we were going to take you to the doctor, you wanted none of it." She put the tray back on the table and leaned over to kiss me on the head.
"You two boys talk, I'll go make us some lunch." she said as she left the room. She left the door open.
"She's right you know. We really thought you were dead. I can't tell you what it meant to us that you stood up and fought like the devil. Do you remember any of it?" he asked as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
"Not at all. I remember getting the guy off Paul. Is Paul okay?" I cut myself off.
"Fine. We are all a little bruised. Except George, you know. He got in the van and rolled up the windows. Good thing he was young. They didn't pick on him much. I guess it's good he did. If he hadn't locked the van up, lord knows what they would have done to the equipment." He lit his cigarette and took a puff.
"I feel fine now. I sure am hungry." I said. John just nodded in agreement and blew a puff of smoke towards the ceiling.
"I can't get what you did out of my mind. Where did you learn to play like that. The way you played was great." he said as he scooted the chair closer. He touched his lip and looked at his finger to see if it was bleeding.
"I learned in high school. I always wanted to be a musician. It just was never in the cards." I propped my self up with the pillow behind my back and motioned for a cigarette. John handed me one and lit a match. I full pulls and the end of the cigarette glowed.
"I have learned, if it isn't in the cards, change the deck." he said.
I was surprised at his insight and I nodded in agreement and took another puff. The aroma felt refreshing and I was feeling much better.
"That's why I think it is time I get on with being serious about life," he continued, surprising me. "I think it is time to get a real job. Screw the college, screw the drunks, and screw the bloody band." He sat there solemn and for a moment I saw a beaten man.
In shock, I sat up in bed. "John, you don't mean that," I said with a mocking tone.
"The hell I don't. There are a bunch of jobs in Liverpool. Not very exciting, but at least I don't have to put up with all of this crap. Mom was right. I will never make a living playing guitar." With this, he crushed out his cigarette.
I could tell that he was deeply distressed over the prospect of quitting. The thought of John Lennon taking on a menial job at the docks was more than I could stand.
"John, stop feeling sorry for yourself! So you got beat up a little. So the gigs stink right now. So you are not making any money. So, what? I have realized that everyone should enjoy now. Because now is always the best time of your life. The past always seems better because time has a way of erasing the imperfections that we have in our day to day experiences." I paused and changed my position. "You have got a wondrous opportunity here. You have a band with some very talented musicians when rock and roll is young. You can make a difference." I took another puff and stared at John.
He just sat there despondent. He searched his pockets for the pack of cigarettes before realizing he had laid them on the side of the bed. I could tell I was not getting through and this could become serious.
"Besides, If you work hard and get lucky, you just might wake up one morning and find Chrissy next to you." I said in a serious tone trying to liven up the conversation with a bit of levity.
He paused and gave a slight smile for a moment. He then cut his eyes at me while he rubbed his lip and started to laugh as he realized the subtle joke. "Aye, she was butt ugly wasn't she." he said with a grin. "But who do you think gave you mouth to mouth after you got kicked in the head?" he added soberly.
The look of utter disgust on face sent him in to deep laughter. I soon gave in and had to laugh. Pretty soon we where both there alternating between laughing and holding our injuries.
As the laughter faded, John almost seemed to get mad at the situation. "Now let's be serious for a second here. We are talking about our lives." he said.
"John nothing is worse than settling for the easy way out. Settling for the easy way out buys you nothing but comfort and a total loss of life's ambition. Use your youth to get you through these hard times. Take the risk while you still can afford it. Pretty soon, life will cast responsibilities on you that will stand in your way of realizing your goals. John, stick with your plan until you can't continue." I said as I crushed the cigarette out in the headboard.
"The problem is I can't continue. I have had it." he said in a hushed voice. He started to get out of his chair as if he were leaving.
"Did you bring your guitar with you?" I asked desperately. I knew that there weren't many times that I saw him without it and I hoped this was no exception. I didn't see it laying around in the room, but I was sure the van was nearby and the guitar would surely be in it.
He stopped his motion and sat there. "Yes, but why?" he said, shaking his head and leaning back in the chair.
"Just let me see it, please," I pleaded.
He stooped over to the floor and I hear him opening the snaps on his guitar case that was evidently laying next to his feet. "I brought mine. I figured I would practice while I watched you lay there and snore." he said as he rose with the guitar.
I wasn't sure what I was going to do, but I was desperate. I was sure this was a pivotal point in this young man's life and I felt an obligation to send him in the path that fate has chosen. I wasn't sure I was doing the right thing, but I strapped on the guitar and checked the tune.
This was different than it had been Litherland Town Hall. That was in front of a bunch of strangers. This was much more personal. I felt as if it were the biggest audition of my life. I fiddled with the strings searching my memory for something to play. I didn't want to play another Beatle tune. I felt that I would be tempting fate at this point. I wanted to ride John Lennon's wave, not cause it. In my mind, writing his songs for him would be like stealing. I would get all the credit while potentially having an adverse affect on the real genius.
Finally something came to me. I wasn't sure the name of it. It was something I learned early on. I started to strum. A dissident sound rang from the guitar. I quickly grabbed the top knob and rotated it till the string sounded true.
I started to play the most beautiful song I knew on the guitar. I picked out the melody to 'If' very slowly. I didn't attempt to sing the words for fear of tainting the message that I was trying to get across. I could see that John really enjoyed the tune and listened closely to every note. I played it as clear as possible. I made it perfectly till I got to the change and, as usual, started to fumble the melody before I gave up.
"There's some sort of change and it goes on for a few bars." I said dismissing the final mistakes.
John just sat there. "That was beautiful. Did you write that?" he asked.
Ignoring him, I started playing the rhythm from a couple of hard rock tunes that I knew would not be written for nearly twenty years.
John sat back in the chair and looked on in dismay.
I continued to play just about every rhythm and lick I knew in my rock and roll collection. I even threw in a couple of licks that had become famous in some Beatles tunes not yet written. The more I performed the more I enjoyed the charade that I had written this classic rock that came out of my guitar. I played everything I had ever played. John particularly liked 'Smoke on the Water' by Deep Purple. This went on for almost fifteen minutes before I stopped.
John just sat there and did not say a word. I could tell he was genuinely moved by what he heard. He started to clap to show his appreciation.
"Don't clap." I exclaimed in a harsh tone. "Don't clap. Right now. I mean right now tell me how do you feel." I asked sternly.
John looked puzzled and just looked at me with his hands still in the clapping position. He put his hand down and said "What do you mean."
"How did that music make you feel? It is a simple question." I said smugly.
"I don't know." He said brokenly.
"Come on John. How did it make you feel? Dammit!" I said in an elevated voice.
I could tell he was getting angry. "It made me feel good and alive. That was really rocking! What are you on about?"
"Did you feel bored? Look at your watch. I played for nearly fifteen minutes and you probably didn't even realize it." At this point I was getting calmer and I could tell I was being successful in taking control of the conversation.
"No, not bored at all. I really enjoyed it. It seemed like you just played a little bit. Certainly not fifteen minutes." John still had the puzzled look on his face.
"Well my friend. That is what it is all about. This is exactly it. You give up on this now and that feeling you just experienced will most likely never happen again. If you ever do get that feeling again, you'll be to busy meeting deadlines and changing diapers to appreciate it." I was on a roll and I could see I was really getting through to him. "You settle for a menial job and you will settle for a menial life. That same fifteen minutes will turn into an what seems to be an hour. You will learn to hate yourself and everyone around you. You will not be able to blame anyone but yourself because you are the one who made the choice." I strummed on last chord and looked down as I took the strap from around my neck.
As I handed him the guitar, I continued. "Now people might not like the way you play this, but at least you try to be different and will always enjoy the memory of the brief struggle of being different and enjoying the music you choose. If you play your own way, you will either fail and are no worse off then you are now, or I make it big. Really Big!" He took the guitar and placed it in its case.
John's eyes lit up a little bit. "You see it too, don't you." he said wiping the guitar with a cloth. "I knew it. You said it exactly right. We have a good opportunity to become something big. How can I concentrate on adopting a mundane life in Liverpool when I potentially have the chance to do something really big. I loathe Liverpool. I want to do something special." He was brimming with excitement at this point.
At this point Ms. Sutcliffe came in with lunch. She left us with a tray overflowing with sandwiches, coffee, and a variety of scones. Both of us thanked her and she left us alone again.
John and I talked for quite sometime. John stayed for hours and we just talked about life. I realized that I had much in common with this man. This was an amazing revelation to me considering that I once thought I was the most mundane person on the planet.
We talked about his family. I found that his father was a sailor and he had been handed over to his aunt at age five to be raised. He talked about Paul, George, and a host of other people that I did not know about. When asked about myself, I told as much as I knew about the real Stuart Sutcliffe. What I didn't know an answer to a particular question, I substituted in my own family. I wanted to confide in him everything that I knew. I came close to telling the truth but backed away for fear that this would be dismissed as some sort of amnesia. I wanted desperately to warn him about the man with a gun that would shoot him dead in 1980. Several times, I almost brought up the subject. I comforted myself by making a promise that I would tell him the truth once I knew he would believe me no matter what I said.
"So do you want to join the Quarrymen?" John asked in mid bite of an raisin scone that was left over.
I was taken aback by the offer and almost answered immediately. Something about that prospect bothered me. "Sure." I said. "But there is something I need to address first."
John put down his pastry and looked at me.
"I don't want to cause a rift in this band of yours. They all look up to you so much. Lets keep my playing abilities to ourselves. I will just play rhythm for now and help out all that I can. I don't want to steal the show or anything."
He looked at me in puzzlement. After a brief hesitation, he said "Sure Stu, if that is the way you want it. I don't see why, but sure. I have to go now." John said as he patted me on the shoulder. "I am glad you are feeling better. I'll tell the others. Thanks again for saving our fannies." John said as he rose with the guitar case in hand.
I gave him a mock salute and said, "See you later. Give Chrissy a kiss for me." I held my lips over my teeth in an effort to make it look like I had no teeth. John just waved, grinned, and snickered as he walked out the door.
I was surprised at how welcomed I was by Paul and George. I guess getting your butts kicked together is some sort of an adolescent male bonding thing. From our first practice together on, I was treated as one of the Quarrymen.
"It goes this way Stu," Paul said as he strummed his guitar looking at my hands. I copied his motions and got it on the first try. We were at George's house and half way through a practice session. "That's right. Now lets take it from the top. One, two, three." Paul started the melody and John and I followed. We progressed through the chords for a few minutes and stopped. The look of disgust covered Paul's face and he wrestled with some alternating chord progressions. I had gotten to know Paul on a superficial level since I joined the band. I found him to be quite sure of himself and a bit brash at times when it came to music. When he wasn't behind his guitar, he was a very sweet and endearing person and his charm shined. It seemed that everyone tolerated his attitude during practices because it was known he was one of the most talented musicians any of us had ever met.
"Let me work on this for a while. Give me a second or two." Paul asked. He continued to go through some chords and sang the appropriate words under his voice. He tried several different rhythms before getting frustrated and starting the entire process over again. Once George, John, and I realized this was going to take some time, we put down our guitars and gave Paul some privacy.
"So what do you chaps think about our bands name? I think it is time for a name change don't you?" John asked as he put his hands in his pockets.
"I don't like the idea of being named after a school." George interjected.
"Okay. Anyone have some suggestions?" John retorted to both of us.
After a lull, George piped up with a couple of names that were quickly dismissed by John.
"How about the Beatles", I blurted without thinking. I realized that I may have made a grave error and hoped that the idea would be accepted.
George shook his head with a grimace and I feared that I may have made a terrible mistake. John thought about it for a while and removed his hand to stroke his chin.
John turned and walked away with his hand still at his chin. "I like it. A good play on Buddy Holley and the Crickets." He smiled and hesitated. "How about the Silver Beetles?"
I wondered how 'Silver' ever made it into the suggestion. I started to object to adding the word 'Silver' to the band's name, but as usual, George agreed to anything John had to offer and I did not wish to press my luck. John bounded back to Paul who was now getting closer to finishing his song.
"How do you like the name Silver Beetles, Paul?" John asked interrupting his practice. Paul stopped playing and just shrugged. Without saying a work he went back to practicing the song.
"Okay,it's unanimous. The Silver Beetles it is." John said as he started to pick up his guitar. George grabbed his and after a short hesitation, I to sat down and took my place.
Paul looked up and said, "I think I have it. These are the chords." He proceed to go through an endless progression of chord changes. George and John had no problem following him. It was all I could do not to fall too far behind. My orientation into the band had not been as easy as I thought it would be. I had been playing the guitar for a decade more than these boys but it was I that was being given a lesson. I quickly found out the difference between desire and outright, God-given talent. God-given talent was something of which these three had plenty. On every song they could pick up and play the song well after a few tries. After they had performed the song a few times, the three knew exactly how bend the song to get exactly what they wanted out of it. I, on the other hand, had to pay close attention to the other's hands and quite frequently got lost. It was clear that I had started out way behind in this race and needed to catch up quickly. Paul had been very patient with me, but I new that any teenage boy only had so much patience. We practiced the song a few times and I eventually had it to the place where it was passable. The best I could get from Paul was a disapproving scowl.
Our practice lasted for hours. If it weren't for George's mother hinting that it was time for him to go to bed, we may have stayed up all night.
"Stu, want to go to the pub. I know a girl from the school that works there. She promised a few free ales." John said as he carefully put away his guitar.
"Sure, love to. Want to come Paul?", I asked.
Paul was snapping up his case and never looked up. "No thanks. Got to get home. I've got some work I have to do for my father early in the morning. You guys have fun. See you tomorrow." He stood up and headed for the door.
John and I gave our thanks to George and his mother and left quietly. We climbed into John's van and he turned on the radio. I could tell he was in deep contemplation and I chose not to interrupt it. Since the fight at Litherland, John and I had become great friends and, by now, I knew him quite well. He had confided in me with on many occasions about very personal things. Sometimes we would stay up all night at some pub talking about life, love, and music. I often got the feeling that he expected me to be embarrassed by the outpouring of such secrets. It was quite the opposite for me. I was so proud that John Lennon would tell me these things, I was sure that my pride brimmed over during most of these conversations. This certainly caused John to have an endearing feeling towards me and made him open up just that much more.
I was awakened by my sleepy daydream by squeal of the van's brakes as it pulled into a parking space on the side of the road. It had been a very short drive and I wondered just how long I had daydreamed. I looked at the surrounding skyline and could tell we were headed in the general direction of home, but I had never been here before. I got out of and noticed the night was uncharacteristically cool and damp. After a brief pause, I followed John into the pub that lit the otherwise dark street.
We entered the smoke filled room that was teaming with the sound of party and sat next to each other at the crowded bar. John scanned the mass of people in the room and located his friend. She was a waitress. She had shoulder length brown hair, big eyes, and a very white and gleaming smile. She was busy scribbling someone's order on a pad. As she looked up she caught sight of John and immediately started to return his glowing smile. She walked towards him and slowly looked around the room as to see if anyone was watching. She leaned over John's back and kissed him on the cheek. He turned around and nuzzled her ear. He must have whispered something because she immediately started to giggle. "For your friend to?" she asked as she pointed the pencil at me. I said nothing and John answered only with a nod. In an instant she was off and giving her orders to the bartender at the other end of the bar. She and John made flirting eye contact before he turned around to talk to me for the first time since we left George's house.
"So what do you think, Stu?" he asked as he thumbed his breast pocket for a match.
"I think she's cute." I said as I turned around in my stool.
"Not her. I mean the band. How do you think it is going?" He said in an indignant tone.
"Oh. Well I think I need some help to be honest." I said as I cleared my throat.
John blew a kiss at the girl. "Paul seems to think so as well. I think you will be okay. Just practice a little harder."
He was right. I had been concentrating on my painting. Here I was on the verge of being rich and famous beyond imagination and I was messing around with a frivolous hobby. I was ashamed. A feeling of guilt overcame me and, for an instant, I questioned if what I was doing was beyond my capabilities.
"I know John. I have been putting a lot of time into my painting. I really enjoy it." I said trying to excuse my behavior. "I've entered into an exhibit next week." I attempted to continue to change the subject, but he would have none of it. He would always ignore any input I had that didn't relate to the band. He was totally self absorbed in it. This was probably the biggest reason I admired him so. His focus and discipline towards his music always left me feeling like I needed to measure up to his standards. I knew this was the way the others felt as well. I had come to the conclusion that John's drive was the biggest factor to what really made the Beatles great.
"Well my passion is the music. I enjoy getting up on stage and performing. I need Paul though. He is too talented. If I am going to ever make a living, I have to keep him happy. Please try to do better." John lit his cigarette just in time for his girlfriend to bring us two beers.
"Cheryl, this is Stu. Stu this is Cheryl." John said as he took a drink. He looked straight ahead and didn't eye either of us. I politely nodded and smiled and she returned the gesture.
She whispered something in John's ear. He smiled and both of them looked at me and smiled as I took a drink. Their smiles turned into laughter. After a few minutes, I said "What's so funny." In an innocent voice. John responded by saying "No, I don't think so." to her. She gave one last giggle and said, "Nice to meet you Stu. See you later my Teddy Boy." With that, she kissed him on the cheek again and left. John ignored the kiss and raised his glass to a mock toast to her.
I was still stinging from my embarrassment and chose to ignore their making fun of me. I went back to nursing my beer. John was doing a pretty good job on his.
I turned on my stool to face the room in an effort to get my mind off my meager performance at practice. "Look at them John." I said trying to change my train of thought.
"Look at who?" he said inquisitively while he looked through the mirror at the back of the bar.
"Them." I said as I pointed at the room with my hand holding the beer bottle. "All of them. Why do you think they are here?"
John slowly turned. After a brief pause and a sigh, he said "Why are any of us here? Kind of a silly question, don't you think?"
"I think that you and I are here in the pub for a different reason. You see that table over there in the corner." I said with a directional nod of my head.
John looked in that direction and nodded.
"Obviously dock workers. Look at them. Look like they are in their forties and don't have any life in their eyes. Tomorrow morning, those guys get up to a job that they will do until they are nearly dead. They might as well be slaves. They are here because this is the only escape they can afford." I took another swig of beer.
"And why is it that we are so different. At least they can pay their own way in life." John held his stare and then turned to me.
"We are here to pass the time until tomorrow gets here. We look forward to tomorrow. Tomorrow is always something we look forward to seeing. They come here to get away from the fact that tomorrow will come and most likely be exactly like every day before."
"Okay, so what is your point?" John said as he crossed his arms.
"My point is that we are taking a chance. It may not be the smartest, most logical, or financially sound thing to do, but the chance itself is why you and I love life. It is also why they hate it. That is why those guys beat us up in Litherland. They saw that we have a chance to get out. Our success only increases their failure."
I finally looked over to see John nodding in agreement. We just smiled at each other and raised a toast.
"Here's to life at the top." he said as our bottles clinked.
We spent virtually the rest of the night there before the bartender figured out we were getting free drinks. We were escorted out and I had to drive John home. I helped him up the stairs and noticed that he was pretty intoxicated as I fumbled for the door key. He started singing a song. He was singing it embarrassingly loudly. Being pretty buzzed myself, I decided to mess with his mind a bit. I started singing the words to 'Help.', a song he would write a few years from now. He stopped singing and, after the first chorus, joined in with the drunken melody. I eventually got the door open and escorted him to his bedroom. We sang the song the entire way and I let him collapse on the couch.
"Where did you hear that piece of crap?", he said with a half drunken laugh.
"I heard it from you! You old, drunken fart." I answered in a loud voice.
He pondered that one for a while before falling asleep. I stumbled back to my bed and it didn't take long before I was asleep.
I was awakened by the sound of John yelling out my name in a rather urgent voice. It was barely morning and it took me a minute to recognize what the sound was. "Stu. Stu. Stu. Are you awake?", John bellowed from the couch.
In a hurry I rushed to the door and stubbed my toe on the door jam. I paused to address the pain for a second before waddling out into the main room with a severe grimace on my face.
"I just had the wildest dream," he exclaimed.
"What?" I said standing there in front of him with my toe throbbing.
"A little man on a flaming pie just told me to spell the Beetles with an 'a'. What do you think? The Silver Beatles." He said emphasizing the 'a' sound. He had the biggest boyish grin on his face.
I ignored him and walked back to the bed. Between the disbelief of his getting me out of bed for that and the throbbing of the pain in my foot, it took me a while to realize what had just happened. It was mesmerizing. John had actually made the correct spelling of The Beatles on his own. The puzzle was starting to come together.
I stood at the side of the busy street just feeling the money that had just been handed to me for one of my paintings. Sixty-five pounds for a painting. My colleagues were just as astounded as I was. This was an unheard of sum of money for a work by an amateur artist. I dared not take the money out of the pocket for fear that someone would see it and decide that it would be better in their own pocket. I scanned the streets around me to make sure no one was stalking me and I walked in a hurried fashion back home. I could not wait to tell John of the news.
I was brimming with pride. I had finally found myself through my artwork. I had made more money off one painting than I had made in total since taking on the identity of Stuart Sutcliffe. It was too good to be true. I desperately needed to share the good fortune with my friends, the Silver Beatles.
As I rounded the corner, I could see John's Van was home and I broke into an all out sprint to my apartment and up the stoop. As I abruptly came through the door, I saw the three of them look up in astonishment from the sound of the door pounding open.
"Party time!" I exclaimed as I pulled the wad of money out and held it in the air. I had seen the three of them share a coke before because of lack of money. I was sure that it was more then they had seen in a while.
"Ms. Sutcliffe give you and advance on your allowance, Stu?" John asked in a mocking tone. The others just snickered.
"Nope. I sold a painting. Sixty Five pounds." I fluttered the money in the air. The paper made a thick, flapping sound.
All three of them stood up and surrounded me to see the money.
"I can't believe it. How did you get that much money for a painting?" Paul exclaimed.
"Some guy name John Moores bought one of my paintings. He really liked it." I said dangling the wad of money in front of three open mouths.
"What are you going to do with it?" George asked.
"I don't know. I will probably get some more art supplies and a new easel." I answered with a bit of trepidation. I had not really thought of what I would do with the money.
My idea was met with a chorus of groans. "We need a bass guitarist, if you ask me. I saw a nice Hoffner down at Hessy's Music shop the other day," Paul said. The others nodded in appreciation of the idea. I looked at John and his eyes got big.
"Now wait a minute John. I don't even know how to play one of those," I said as John turned me around and put his arm around my shoulder.
John talked in a hushed tone as we walked towards the door. "It would be a breeze. Just like playing the guitar except only one note at a time. How hard could that be? We'll help you through it." He waved his free arm in a motion towards the door. "Come on everyone. Drinks on Stu."
I was a bit troubled at the idea at first. I was not even keeping my own with the guitar I had and I knew how to play that. Learning the bass was bound to throw me even further behind. For the first time since I had been in the band, the guys looked at me in a appreciative way. I felt that I could finally help the Beatles and my mind was made up before we made it to the door. I just was not going to let them think they talked me into it that easily.
We ended up at the same pub John and I had been thrown out of the other night. The same bartender was standing behind the bar and gave us a stern eye as we entered. I went straight to him. "We will be paying tonight." I said as I flashed the roll.
We all took our seats at the bar and each gave his order. There was a touchy moment when the bartender looked as if he might card George, but he did not. It was not long before John was in a long embrace with his favorite waitress.
I turned to Paul in an effort to give them some privacy. "Do you think you could teach me to play the bass guitar, Paul?"
Paul just shrugged and looked around the room. I could tell he was a little uncomfortable. He was talented, dashing, and a bit arrogant, but he was still a very young man and quite reserved in some manners. He finally cleared his throat and said "I will give it a shot. It shouldn't be that hard. That one at the store is an Hofner 'President'. It is very nice and they have a really rich tone. I'd love to play it."
"Well you just might get your chance." I said slapping him lightly on the back as the drinks arrived.
My gazing at the small crowd was interrupted by the sound of John counting "One, two, three". Before I knew it, everyone was starting the first song and it was at least four measures before I struck my first note. I had never felt so lost. I struggled to see the others hands but it was to no avail. I managed to fake playing the entire song and made a mental note to practice that one next time. After the song ended, Paul leaned over from the other side of the stage and said "Stu turn that bass up. I can't hear it." I gave him an acknowledging wave and pretended to adjust the volume. I knew could not play that card again.
I caught the second song and started with the rest of them. My style was anything but fluid. Sometimes I would only manage one note per measure, but at least I knew I had stayed with them. That in itself was a triumph. After a few song, I looked over at Paul and he was obviously upset about the way I was playing.
The first break did not come to soon. One half of what little crowd was there had left already. Before I got off the stage, Paul had pulled John to the side and was vehemently whispering something in his ear. As I approached, John just gave me the quick glance and reassured Paul with a nod and a pat to the shoulder. Paul took a quick look at me and walked away grumbling something.
I followed John through the front door for a bit of fresh air. John lit a cigarette. There was a stiff cool breeze. He turned and said "If you are wondering what he is on about, I will tell you. Well, to be quite blunt, you need some practice. Hell, you need a lot of practice Stu. What is the matter? I don't think it should be that hard. You don't have to sing."
"I am sorry John. It just doesn't feel right. I need more time. You guys have been at it for years. I can't just pick it up like you. You guys live for this stuff. It has been a hobby, at best, for me. There is no way I could keep up with you at this point." He knew I was right. I could tell that we were both hoping that it would just work out somehow.
"So what am I missing? Certainly not missing anything in there," George said as he came bounding out of the door. He ran up so hard he had to catch himself between us. The momentum pushed us forward and John lost his cigarette over the railing. A moment of silence let the young George Harrison know he had caught us at a bad point and he decided to go back inside.
The night had gone on torturously long. At closing there was us and the bartender. We packed up and George went to collect the small amount of money owed us. It had been a long and fruitless night. John was the only one who had a spark and tried to raise everyone's feelings by being jocular. It was not well received and everyone resigned to going home in silence.
After a tossing night, I got out of bed at the crack of dawn. I was determined that I was not going to let that happen again. I got out the bass and started to practice. Three hours went by before my fingers were throbbing to much to continue. I had taught myself some new licks for several of the songs. I was confident that I knew at least three of the songs well enough to even impress Paul. It was not much, but it was a start. I went back to bed to attempt to catch some sleep. We had to play again tonight at the same club. My plan was to alternate practicing and sleeping with the occasional meal until it was time to go.
My sleep was interrupted by a gentle knock at my door. I had closed it to help muffle the sound. I had even be so considerate to wedge a couple of throw pillows under the door.
"Come in," I said straightening up in bed. I pulled the sheets over me to cover my lower half.
"It is just me." John said with his familiar accent. As the door opened the pillows got more wedged and slid begrudgingly against the wooden floor. I heard John mutter something profane and hit the door hard. Swinging it open, a harmonious clanging noise let me know that John had banged his guitar against the door jam. The door swung open to reveal John standing there in nothing but his briefs examining his guitar for damage. After a few minutes of close examination to the neck, he strummed a few hard chords and was satisfied that it was okay.
"I heard you playing and figured you might want some help. Do you mind?" He said standing in the doorway.
I could not help but snicker at his pale and fragile body standing there nearly nude.
"What's the matter. Didn't expect me to sleep in my leathers did you?" He said with a laugh.
I motioned him in and he sat on the edge of the bed. I had my bass out by the time he took his place. My fingers were still pounding from the hours of practice but I was not going to turn down any help at this point.
"So what do you want to work on first." John asked clearing the sleep from his eyes. A gentle yawn overtook his face.
"Well that blonde sitting at the end of the bar last night would be nice." I said with a grin.
I gave a grimace in response. "How about that Buddy Holley tune, 'That Will Be The Day'? I get so lost on that one." I said eagerly.
"Okay. It's easy. Let me show you." With this John went through the motions of the chord progressions. He was amazingly patient. He showed me several times. We practiced all the chord changes. At several times, he would stop and ask me to watch what I was doing. An hour passed in what seemed to be an instant and, before I knew it, I had four songs now that were passable.
"I am sorry, but I need some more sleep," John said. His yawns were becoming more frequent.
John laid his guitar against the wall and suddenly turned to me. "Stu," he said. "Mind if I ask a question?"
I responded quickly. "Not at all. Shoot."
"A couple of people I know told me that you had your pick of the ladies in high school. How did you land so many girls back then? What was that like?" With this he sat back on the bed.
I was taken aback for a moment and then reflected back to the night of my graduation.
"You are one to talk. What about Cheryl last night? By the way, did she have tonsils or not?" I poked him in the shoulder.
"Oh, she is just a fling. Ladies like her don't come around too often for me. When they do, the don't stick around too long. It doesn't take long for them to find out I don't have any money," he said.
"Well I'm not one to ask. Since I started hanging around you guys, the closest I have come to getting laid was sitting next to Chrissy." John had to think about that for a while. He then remembered the fateful night at the Litherland Town Hall. His expression of recollection was quickly replaced with a grimace like he had tasted something bad.
"Boy she was butt ugly. A real two bagger," he said with enthusiasm. I shook my head in agreement.
"Seriously. What is it like?" He responded.
I shrugged. "I will make a deal with you John. You keep Paul off my back until I can get up to speed, and I will get you a date tonight. Unless you will be with Cheryl."
He shook his head no. "I am afraid Cheryl went home with Tommy last night. Seems the old fart had a little more money on him than I did."
This was a revelation. I did not realize it until now. John was upset about loosing his girlfriend and just wanted to talk about it.
"There is not big secret John. It is all in the attitude. You teach me how to play the bass, and I will teach you how to play the female." With this, I extended my hand and he eagerly grabbed it and shook it. He squeezed a bit too hard and my aching fingers pounded. My face failed to conceal my anguish.
"Sorry," he said as he rose from the bed. I waved it off and got back under the covers. John picked up his guitar and headed back into the bedroom. He started humming a tune. It took me a while, but for an instant I would swear he was humming a Beatles tune he would make famous a few years from now.
Stephen Lipscomb is 35 and lives in Virginia with his wife and daughter. Stephen is a Computer Scientist with a Bachelor of Science Degree. He has written his own instructional booklet on running a lawn service. Stephen is currently branching out to writing in the fiction/adventure genre.
Stephen can be e-mailed at: slipscomb@logicon.com
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