by Lynda Moore, Flourtown, PA 

I was there with my friend Denise Crosby. Of all my friends who would have given their lives to be there, she was the only one allowed to go. I still couldn’t believe that I was there. The only explanation was that my parents were clueless to the mayhem we were encountering.

Denise and I were 13 years old. The crush coming in the center when the doors opened was so great that you could almost take your feet of the ground and not fall down. The crowd carried you along. Had I been older, I would have been terrified. There were girls everywhere. We were part of one mass GIRL. We somehow found our seats. We were far from the stage. No one, but no one, was sitting down. And they would not sit down for the entire concert.

And finally, after a forever of waiting, some guy ran out on the stage, said “Here they are,” you couldn’t hear the rest, and the curtains opened. And there they were. The Beatles. And the screaming reached an even more impossible level. I have never heard anything like it.

After two songs or so, Denise and I decided to move closer to the stage. Everyone was moving closer to the stage — out of their seats and moving. We eventually got close enough to almost see their faces — their cherished, memorized faces. I could see them sweating under the lights, but I could not hear a word they sang. Just snatches of guitars and drums.

But it was fabulous. Absolutely fabulous. It was the first concert I ever went to.