I, George

In 1965, I was in Grade six at Prince Charles Elementary in Windsor, Ontario. On the last Friday of every month we put away the books and for the final hour had a meeting of the Red Cross Club.

There would be a treasurer's report, a collection of dimes for 'dues,' and Miss Heimer would read a press release about all the good work "we" were doing in the Third World. After that, it was Talent Showcase and then snacks - Rice Krispie squares made by Miss Heimer.

Usually there wasn't a talent show slotted on the agenda because the only one who had any was a pudgy accordion-player named Clark Johnson - and he was more interested in getting to those snacks.

But in 1965, Beatlemania was a vibrant force with kids in North America. The Fab Four had invaded our hearts only a year earlier courtesy of Ed Sullivan. On the after-school cartoon shows, hosts like Poopdeck Paul and Captain Jolly set aside air-time for any quartet of kids willing to come on and lip-synch to one of the Beatles' early singles.

Geez, anyone could do that. Even me and me mates. But we thought we'd do it one better and do our own singing and guitar work as well. And we would debut our act at the next Red Cross Club meeting before moving onto the bright studio lights of CKLW.

At the time, every home had a ukulele somewhere in the rec-room so finding guitars wasn't a problem. Nor was the fact that neither Darryl ('John') Sabo, Rene ('Paul') Labreque, or I 'George' could play them. Clark Johnson was the only kid in class whose family owned a set of bongos, so he became our Ringo.

We practiced every day after school for two weeks. Even though I was 'George', I was elected lead singer by virtue of the fact that I was the only one who knew all the words to She Loves You - all 12 of them.

In addition to being 'Paul,' Rene was also our Brian Epstein. He oversaw the arrangements for the "Yeah, yeah, yeahs." He showed us how to comb our hair forward into bangs. He instructed us on how to dress. We would all wear black turtlenecks to the gig - except Clark who didn't own one and had to resort to a white dickie under a black cardigan.

By the Friday of the big show, we were all pumped - until disaster hit. Clark's dad made him get a haircut the night before. Our Ringo was now sporting a brush-cut. As well, Rene had insisted that the black-out drapes used when we watched nature or hygiene films be drawn and that we be lit only by the blackboard lights. But Miss Heimer wouldn't go for it. On top of that, Clark had forgotten the drums so he had to run home and get them at recess which meant no last run-through.

Well, you can imagine what that does to a bloke right before showtime. But Rene calmed us all down with a last-minute bit of inspiration. "While you're up there," he instructed. "Pick out your favorite girl in class and sing directly to her, looking right into her eyes." This, mind you, from a 10-year-old. Today, he works in advertising.

And then it was two minutes and 12 seconds of pure fame and glory. We rocked. And how could we not? Four prepubescent male voices, three untuned ukuleles and a set of bongos played with drumsticks.

But afterwards, as Rene, Darryl and I stood around the punch-bowl (alone,) we watched Clark at the snack table - a Rice Krispie square in each hand and a bird on each arm.

That was my last experience in a rock band. But I still think of those days every time I hear the Beatles. And I will definitely be reliving it when I go see Rain: the Beatles Experience at the John Labatt Centre on January 31st. The Las Vegas-based Rain is acknowledged as being the best of the Beatles tribute acts - even if they never have headlined a meeting of the Red Cross Club before.