1963 is considered a milestone in pop culture history, the year when youth first established itself as a cultural force and sparked a social revolution around the world. Although Ireland lagged behind developments elsewhere, there’s no denying that 1963 was significant here too. For eighteen-year-old Brian Murphy, it was the year he saw the Beatles – the poster boys of the pop culture revolution, and JFK – the youngest ever president of the USA, in his hometown Dublin. In a recent conversation with me, Brian recalled some of his memories from sixty years ago.
“My family lived in a rented basement flat at no 7 Harrington St, right next door to the CYMS Club, which later became the Garda Club. The CYMS held a céilí every Wednesday night, which included a short rock ‘n’ roll set from upcoming bands like the Clipper Carlton and Dickie Rock. It might have been billed as a céilí but everyone went there for the rock ‘n’ roll, and it was brilliant. I loved music and lived for those Wednesday nights. At that time I was Elvis mad and the bands at the CYMS played lots of Elvis.
The showbands, jukeboxes, and Radio Luxembourg were the only places you’d hear pop music then. In 1963, my mother saved up and bought me a beautiful portable radio for my 18th birthday. It was made in the Pye Factory in Dundrum. I played it all the time, I tuned into Radio Luxembourg and, later, the pirate station Radio Caroline.
As teenagers we played football on nearby Pleasant Street, beside the Olympic Ballroom. It had music there every second night of the week so we’d see the bands coming and going, and saw the changes in sounds and styles. The first Teddy Boy I ever saw was outside the Olympic, dressed in light blue jacket, drainpipes, and a pair of brothel creeper shoes.
When we heard the Beatles were coming to Dublin, we pooled our money and bought our tickets. We saw a suit on a mannequin in Esquires menswear shop window (on Georges Street) and myself and my friend Frankie Patterson got measured for our tailor-made Beatles suits – short jacket, drainpipe trousers, white shirt and slim-jim tie. We paid for it weekly, it cost twenty seven pounds and five shillings – a fortune then (about €600 today). We wore the suits every time we went out, and we were the bees knees, we thought we were King Kong. My suit was a chequered dark brown and I had a bright pair of pointed Winklepicker shoes. When the shoes got wet, the points at the front would curl up.
I remember the Beatles coming onto the Adelphi stage to the screams and roars. Women were fainting. You couldn’t move, you couldn’t get to the toilet – some didn’t! The place was jammers, we were so hot and sweaty in our suits – the bloody Winklepickers started curling up. Everybody was dressed great, the women in floppy dresses, the men in suits. The Beatles didn’t say much and only played for about 20 minutes, though it seemed longer. When they finished, and we were coming out, the Garda let the other people waiting for the next show in. There was chaos. Half the people who were coming out tried to get back in for free to the next show. There were no fights, just people all singing Beatles songs. We got away along the side of the crowd and up to O’Connell Street and into Cafolas Cafe for a melancholy baby ice cream. The sweat was still pouring off us as we walked back home later that night.
A couple of weeks later JFK was shot dead in Dallas and that kind of numbed the Beatlemania vibe, but just for a while – Beatlemania lasted for years in the city. I saw Kennedy when he visited Dublin earlier in June. Some of the crowd broke rank just as he turned towards Trinity College and there was a bit of crowd trouble. Kennedy was a gorgeous man, like a film star, in a blue suit. I remember that day well too.”
Words: Brian McMahon
