February 9
Valerie Clemson was thirteen years old, an awkward age when she was no longer a child but not yet a young woman. The high school freshman carried fifteen pounds of what was euphemistically termed "baby fat" on her frame, and had yet to acquire the curves of some of her early-blooming classmates. She knew from her older sister, Allison, that girls her age experienced something called puberty. Nurse McKeen, who taught the girls' health class, had shown them a filmstrip on what changes to expect, both physical and emotional.
"I don't want to become a grown-up and have to go through all that," Valerie whined. "I want to stay a child forever."
"You'll feel different when you're sixteen," seventeen-year-old Allison predicted. "Look at me. I go to school dances. I wear makeup and high heels. And best of all, I have a boyfriend."
"I'd rather stay home and play with my Barbie doll."
"Barbie has a boyfriend. Wouldn't you like to have a real-life Ken?"
"No. My Ken doll lost his hair, and now he's bald. He looks like Grandpa."
Allison wanted to tell her sister about the wondrous things and exciting adventures that awaited her once she took the next step on the road to adulthood. But her younger sibling was only interested in her dolls.
"Look at the nice clothes Barbie and Midge have. Wouldn't you like to wear a gown similar to the Enchanted Evening outfit?"
"I don't think it would look good on me," the thirteen-year-old admitted honestly. "I don't have a shape like Barbie."
"And it's not likely you ever will. Barbie's figure is greatly exaggerated. But, like me, you'll soon have a growth spurt and lose your baby fat. When you do, you'll fill out."
Valerie grimaced with distaste.
"I think I'd prefer to dress my dolls in those fancy dresses, and I'll stick to my play clothes. They're more comfortable."
"Speaking of Barbie's clothes, do you have her stewardess outfit?"
"No, why?"
"Someone from American Airlines came to my school and talked about job opportunities. I decided then and there that I'd rather be a stewardess than a secretary or a teacher. It all sounds so glamorous. Imagine flying to London or Paris!"
"Nah. I'd rather stay here in New Jersey, and I don't want to work at all. Betty Jean's mother doesn't have a job. She stays home and cleans the house, does the laundry and cooks the meals. That's what I want to do when I grow up."
"To be a housewife, you need to get married."
Valerie pouted and insisted, "I'm never going to get married. I don't like boys."
"Give it time. You will."
Allison ruffled her sister's hair, returned to her own bedroom and turned on her RCA record player.
Meanwhile, Valerie sat on her canopy bed, looking through the dresses in her doll trunk. As she put a blue corduroy jumper on Midge, she heard Elvis's "Can't Help Falling in Love" playing across the hall.
"My sister is boy crazy. Not only does she like Danny from the football team, but she's got a major crush on Elvis Presley. Not me, though. I don't like any of the boys from school, and I don't like any actors or singers either."
All that was about to change because the following day was February 9, 1964.
That day, as usual, the Clemson family gathered around the dining room table for Sunday dinner. Mrs. Clemson made meatloaf with mashed potatoes, steamed broccoli, Del Monte canned corn and Pillsbury biscuits. For dessert, she bought a chocolate cream pie from the local bakery. Ordinarily, the girls drank milk with their meals, but on Sundays, they were each allowed to have a bottle of Coca-Cola. Once everyone had eaten their fill, the girls cleared the table and did the dishes while their mother joined their father in the living room, where the family's only television was located.
"Do you want to play a game of Easy Money or Park and Shop?" Valerie asked her sister.
"Nah," Allison answered. "I want to watch Ed Sullivan with Mom and Dad. He's having a music group from England on his show. My friend, Erma, heard their record and said they're really good."
"But you're an Elvis fan."
"So? There's no law that says I can't like other singers, too."
Rather than watch television with her family, Valerie chose to hone her artistic skills by working on a Venus Paradise color-by-number picture of the Taj Mahal. Having completed a large portion of the sky, she needed to sharpen the blunted end of her blue colored pencil.
From the living room, she heard Allison cry, "That's them! That's the Beatles!"
"Look at those haircuts," her father chuckled. "They remind me of Moe Howard of The Three Stooges."
"More like Prince Valiant," his wife teased.
"I think their hair looks cool!" Allison contended.
Curious as to what all the fuss was about, Valerie put down her pencil and sharpener and walked into the living room. At that moment, the cameraman zoomed in on a long-haired young man, who was singing "All My Loving." She had expected another version of Elvis, Ricky Nelson, Bobby Rydell, Fabian or Bobby Darin. What she saw took her by surprise.
He's gorgeous! she thought.
It was as if she suddenly understood all the things her sister and Mrs. McKeen had told her about the changing emotions brought on by puberty. She imagined herself going on a date with someone who looked like this Beatle. The song came to an end, and he began to sing "Till There Was You," a song from the Broadway musical and movie The Music Man. While the song was being performed, each Beatle's name appeared on the screen.
Watching a closeup of Paul—what a nice name, she thought—brought butterflies to her stomach. It was as if he were singing directly to her.
Allison, meanwhile, was captivated by another member of the group: George. Although the sisters disagreed on their favorite Beatle, they were both mesmerized by the group from Liverpool and would become lifelong fans.
* * *
February 9, 1964. It was more than the start of what is referred to as the British Invasion. To Valerie Clemson, it was the turning point in her life. Just as Allison took down Elvis Presley photos from her wall and replaced them with those of The Beatles, so, too, did her little sister pack away her toys. In place of Barbie, Ken and Midge, she saved her allowance and bought a Remco Paul McCartney doll at Woolworth's. It was the best $3.77 she ever spent! The doll was the first Beatles merchandise she acquired, but it would be far from the last. Soon, she had a Beatles lunch box, a Beatles record case, a Paul McCartney pin, Beatles trading cards and a Beatles charm bracelet.
In July 1964, Valerie and Allison went to the Oxford Theatre in Little Falls, New Jersey, where they sat in a crowd of screaming teenage girls to watch the newly released A Hard Day's Night. The moment the opening scene appeared on screen, in which George, John and Ringo are being chased down a street by a crowd of fans to the accompaniment of the title song, Allison screamed out George's name. Her sister, meanwhile, impatiently watched the madcap adventures of three-fourths of the group with one thought on her mind: where was Paul?
Then two men appeared sitting on a bench: an older man, reading a magazine, and someone hidden behind a newspaper. The paper is lowered to reveal a bearded, mustached Paul McCartney. Valerie's subsequent scream was louder than her sibling's.
When the movie came to an end—all too quickly—the girls went home with sore throats but happy hearts.
The soundtrack for A Hard Day's Night brought the number of Valerie's Beatles albums to four. Five more albums quickly followed. In addition to the nine albums, she had eighteen singles that she kept in her Beatles record case. She listened to them all on the portable record player she got for Christmas. Frequently, when one of Paul's love songs played, she would take her Remco doll down from the shelf and hold it close to her while she danced to the music.
Although Valerie was no longer at an awkward age, she had yet to reach one of a teenage girl's most important benchmarks. She had yet to receive her first kiss. Since she had shed her baby fat and was considered a pretty girl, several boys had asked her for dates. She turned down every one of them.
"Are you playing hard to get?" Allison teased.
"No. I don't like any of them."
"Let me guess. You're holding out for Paul McCartney."
"So, what's wrong with that? Just because you settled for Barry instead of George ...."
"You don't honestly think we're ever going to meet Paul, do you? And besides, even if you met him, he's nine years older than you."
"Nine years isn't that much."
"Yes, it is. Anyway, he has a girlfriend, an English actress named Jane Asher. I read it in Tiger Beat magazine."
"If they're not married, it doesn't count," Valerie declared. "People break up all the time. You broke up with Danny when you met Barry."
Allison, who had changed her mind about being an airline stewardess, graduated from high school and was attending cosmetology school in Paterson. Three nights a week and on Saturday afternoon, she worked part-time at Great Eastern Mills department store. She spent most of her free time with her steady boyfriend, Barry Toller, who worked full-time at Teterboro Airport.
The older sister could see there was no use arguing with her sibling. Preposterous though the notion might be, she had it in her head that she was destined to be with Paul McCartney.
"Maybe you should ask Santa Claus to give him to you for Christmas," she teased and hurried out the door because Barry Toller had just pulled up in his 1964 Ford Mustang.
* * *
In June of 1965, Valerie was looking forward to two months off from school. At fifteen, she was too young to get the working papers that she needed to work a part-time retail job, but she was old enough to babysit. The Beatles would be appearing at Shea Stadium in Flushing, and Barry could get four tickets: two for him and Allison, and the other two for Valerie and his younger brother, Mark. While she would not have to pay the $5.65 cost of the field-level box seat, she wanted to have money to buy a program or souvenir.
However, before attending the concert on August 15, Valerie returned to the Oxford Theatre with her sister to see The Beatles' second movie, Help! Again, she carried her Remco McCartney doll in her handbag.
"Paul looks as gorgeous as ever!" she exclaimed when they came out of the theater.
"So does George," Allison observed.
"I can't believe we're going to see them in person next month!" Valerie exclaimed as they got into their father's Ford Falcon. "And I remember you telling me I would never get to meet Paul."
Allison turned to her sister and chuckled, "Meet him? There are going to be more than fifty thousand people there. It's not like you're going to go up and shake his hand!"
"Stranger things have happened."
"Sometimes I worry about you."
"Why?"
"I'd hate to see you go through life waiting for something that will never happen. You're going to be a junior in September, and you've never gone out with a boy. Do you think you're going to go to your junior prom with Paul McCartney?"
"Shows what you know! I wouldn't want to go to the prom with him. He'd be swarmed by fans like in A Hard Day's Night."
At least, reality is beginning to sink in—I hope, Allison thought. I'd really hate to see my sister waste her life away on an impossible dream or, worse, wind up in Greystone.
The following month, her fears were allayed. Valerie was not destined to end her days in the state mental hospital. The evening of August 15, 1965, proved to be a major milestone in the teenager's life. Not only did she see The Beatles' concert at Shea Stadium, but she also met Mark Toller, Barry's kid brother, a fifteen-year-old whose only goal in life was to write music, play guitar and form his own band like his hero, John Lennon.
The first thing that went through her mind when she saw him sitting in his brother's Mustang was, "He looks a little like Paul."
His hair was the same length and color, but his eyes were the deepest shade of blue she had ever seen.
Too shy to initiate a conversation, Valerie stared at the St. Christopher statuette on the Mustang's dashboard. She supposed it was Barry's good luck charm.
"So, you're a Beatles fan, too," Mark said to her, breaking the ice. "Let me guess. You like Paul best."
"Yes."
"It figures. Most girls like him. He's the so-called 'cute' Beatle."
"He's a good singer," she opined, believing she had to defend her admiration for Paul. "And he's a great songwriter."
"So is John," Mark asserted.
"I like John, too. I like all four of The Beatles."
"Me, too. Ever since I saw them on The Ed Sullivan Show, I've been taking guitar lessons. Maybe you'd like to hear me play sometime."
"What songs do you know?"
"Mostly Beatles stuff. Right now, I'm learning the chords for 'Can't Buy Me Love.'"
"Maybe they'll sing it at the concert tonight."
"I hope so."
Of the twelve songs The Beatles performed that night, "Can't Buy Me Love" was one of them. It became "their" song.
* * *
Despite enjoying the occasional romantic fantasy about Paul McCartney and her slow dances with the Remco doll, Valerie began dating Mark. They did not attend the same school since he lived two towns away, but they saw each other every weekend and spoke on the phone every night. In May, they went to both his and her junior proms. The following year, they did the same with their senior proms. And, thankfully, their graduation ceremonies were on different days, so they could attend each other's commencement.
Once they were out of school, Valerie went to work for the Prudential Insurance Company. Mark joined his brother at Teterboro Airport during the day, but at night and on weekends, he played with his band, Mercury. Both of them were still devout Beatles fans.
"You've got to hear this new album!" Mark cried, handing Valerie a copy of Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.
Like his idols, he now sported a mustache. He would no doubt have donned a green satin uniform to look like Lennon if he could find one.
"What I wouldn't give to write music like this!"
"Your songs are good," Valerie said, like the loyal girlfriend she was.
"Not good enough to get a recording contract."
"Decca Records turned down The Beatles, and now look at where they are."
"You're right. Who knows? Maybe someday I'll play Shea Stadium."
Mark still had big dreams, but what Valerie wanted was what her sister had. Allison and Barry were married and expecting their first child.
"Maybe someday we'll have a family," Mark told her when the subject of marriage came up. "But right now I want to concentrate on my music."
Until that day came, Valerie continued working at Prudential, living at home in her parents' house, adding to her collection of Beatles records and showering affection on the $3.77 doll she bought at Woolworth's.
* * *
On July 20, 1969, more than six hundred million people around the world watched the Apollo 11 moon landing. The Clemsons were no different. But Valerie did not share her family's exhilaration as Neil Armstrong made that giant leap for mankind. She was still recovering from the distressing news of March 12. Four months earlier, Paul McCartney married American photographer Linda Eastman.
While she had not seriously believed she would marry Paul, she preferred to think of him as being available. Her fantasies were like those of people who had dreamt of winning the Irish Sweepstakes. Her own father often spoke about what he would do with the money should his ticket be a winner.
"Cheer up," Allison said. "John, George and Ringo are all married, too. They don't have to be single to make records."
"But Paul is taken. It reminds me of that song Mom listens to, the one by Patsy Cline."
"I know the one you mean. It goes something like, 'I've got your picture; she's got you.'"
"That's the one."
"You're forgetting that you've been dating my brother-in-law for four years now. That's almost like being engaged."
"I suppose you're right. Paul getting married is not the end of the world."
After all, she mused, looking at the Remco doll on her shelf, I have a Paul of my own.
A year later, two events occurred that put the rock star's marriage in perspective. First, on April 10, 1970, The Beatles broke up. It was, Valerie bemoaned, the worst day in her life. The dissolution hit her so hard that she called off work and stayed in bed, crying and refusing to eat.
Two weeks after that catastrophe, a more personal tragedy struck. Her parents were killed in a car accident on the way home from a dinner celebrating their anniversary. Both of the couple's daughters were heartbroken.
The next three months were hectic ones for Valerie and Allison. First, there were the funeral arrangements, and then there was the heart-wrenching task of disposing of their parents' possessions and selling the family home. Once the estate was settled and the house officially belonged to the new owners, Valerie moved into a studio apartment above a florist. This arrangement was only temporary, for six months later, she and Mark got married.
Being a husband did not deter him from pursuing his dream. Despite working a full-time job at Teterboro, he still played with his band on Friday and Saturday nights. Even when Valerie gave birth to their son, John-Paul Toller, in the summer of 1972, he continued to devote those two nights each week to Mercury in hopes of someday getting a record contract and becoming a rock star.
"I'll never be a music icon like John Lennon," he admitted to his wife when he returned home from auditioning for the A&R man at Elektra Records. "But I'd settle for being able to quit my job and support us by being a musician and songwriter."
The Beatles' music, though still loved by their fans who prayed for an eventual reunion, was being replaced by the emergence of new subgenres of rock 'n' roll. Psychedelic music was fading in popularity, giving way to heavy metal, punk rock and disco.
When the Toller family sat in front of their television to watch the ball drop in Times Square and usher in 1980, Mark was less than optimistic about his prospects.
"I don't understand this new music," he whined between sips of the André Cold Duck he and his wife used to toast the new decade. "Mercury will never sound like the Sex Pistols, Black Sabbath or Chic."
"Not all music is punk, hard rock or disco. Paul McCartney is still going strong," Valerie pointed out, sneaking a peek at the Remco doll that she kept on the bookshelf in their living room.
"Yeah, that's true," he conceded. "Some of the songs Wings recorded remind me of The Beatles."
"And what's Lennon doing these days? Is the Plastic Ono Band still together?"
"No, they're not. John hasn't put out an album since 1975's Rock 'n' Roll, which he produced with Phil Spector."
"Well, cheer up, sweetheart. I'm sure we haven't heard the last of him."
* * *
Valerie's New Year's Eve comment proved to be prophetic. Eleven months later, in November 1980, John and Yoko released Double Fantasy. As glad as he was to learn that his idol was continuing to record music, Mark had yet to get that long-awaited break with his own band. As his thirtieth birthday drew near, he became despondent.
"You're hardly an old man!" Valerie exclaimed when her husband got drunk on his thirtieth birthday.
"Who are you kidding?" he argued. "I'm over the hill. John Lennon was only twenty-three when The Beatles released their first album, and George was only twenty."
"Grandma Moses didn't sell her first painting until she was seventy-three."
"So? I'm a musician, not a painter."
To Valerie's dismay, her husband's mood did not improve once he sobered up.
Ten days later, the Marks invited Barry, Allison and their two children to their New Jersey home for Thanksgiving dinner. Barry, who had been transferred to O'Hare Airport three years earlier, moved his family to Chicago soon thereafter. Valerie was delighted to spend time with her sister, but Mark remained sullen despite his brother's visit.
On Sunday afternoon, Valerie and Mark drove their siblings to Newark Airport, where they would take a flight back to Chicago. Barry took his brother aside to give him some sound advice.
"It's time you grew up and put this music nonsense out of your head. That was all well and good when you were a teenager, but you've got a wife and a son now. They should be your priority, not songwriting. Hell, you think when I was young, I wanted to be an air traffic controller? No. I wanted to play for the Yankees. But I realized a long time ago that I'd never be the next Mickey Mantle."
Seeing the misery on his kid brother's face, Barry softened his tone.
"It'll be Christmas in a few weeks. Why don't I send you airline tickets so that you, Valerie and little Johnny"—only Uncle Barry referred to John-Paul by the name of Johnny—"can spend the holiday with Allison and me? We'd love to have you."
"I'll see," Mark answered, shrugging his shoulders noncommittally.
On the drive home, he did not mention his brother's generous offer to Valerie. He was not up to traveling. Truth be told, he was not looking forward to Christmas any more than he had wanted to celebrate Thanksgiving.
Thanksgiving! he moaned, feeling the weight of self-pity bear down on him. What have I got to be thankful for? I'm thirty years old, and I'm no further along in my career than I was when I was twenty.
The following day, December 1, John-Paul opened his Advent calendar. It was a tradition his mother referred to as "counting down to Christmas."
"If I'm counting down, why are the numbers going up?" the boy asked logically. "If I'm counting down, shouldn't I begin with number twenty-four instead of number one?"
"No," his mother laughed. "The number one doesn't mean one day until Christmas. It refers to the first day of December. Think of it as one day down, twenty-three to go."
On December 8, the boy opened up the corresponding window of his calendar. Inside was a drawing of an angel. It was an image Valerie found appropriate, considering what would happen later on that date. At 10:50 that night, John Lennon and Yoko Ono returned to their home in the Dakota. Moments after they exited the limo, Mark David Chapman shot and fatally wounded the former Beatle.
Already despondent because of his stagnant music career, Mark did not handle the news well. Since the age of fourteen, he had idolized John Lennon. He had even named his only son after him. The senseless murder was more than the clinically depressed young man could handle. On December 9, he took his own life, leaving behind his wife and eight-year-old son.
* * *
While Valerie Toller was shattered by her husband's suicide, she did not have the luxury of falling to pieces. She had a child to think of. Thankfully, she had had the forethought to take out life insurance when she and Mark were married. Not only did the benefits pay off the mortgage on her home, but there was enough money left over to fund her son's college education.
Meanwhile, she went back to work and eventually continued her education, earning a degree in computer science. She never remarried. When her son moved to New York after graduating from college, she sold the house and bought a maintenance-free condo.
In the absence of a husband and father, Valerie and John-Paul were closer than most mothers and sons. It was natural then that he followed in her footsteps and became a computer analyst.
"Your father always wanted to be a musician like him," she said when the two of them visited Mark's grave on the twentieth anniversary of his death. "He wanted you to succeed where he failed."
"That was Dad's desire, not mine. I wanted to work with computers since I got that Commodore 64 for Christmas."
"And now you've got your Master's Degree and are working towards your doctorate. Your father would be so proud."
"Once I get my PhD, I might ask Diane to marry me. After all, I'm twenty-seven already. I'd like to settle down and start a family soon."
Valerie's eyes lit up like the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center.
"That's fantastic news! Diane is a wonderful girl! She'll make a good wife and mother."
"Of course, I wouldn't dream of asking her to give up her job, but these days a woman can be a wife, mother and a lawyer. That's assuming the world doesn't end on December 31," John-Paul joked.
"Please tell me you're not worried about the Y2K bug!" his mother laughed.
"What do you think I am?" he teased. "One of those nuts who are stocking canned food and bottled water in a bomb shelter in the backyard? Have no fear! January 1, 2000, will come without any major disasters."
To the chagrin of the doomsayers, John-Paul was right. No power grids failed, no bank accounts were wiped out, no nuclear weapons were detonated and no planes fell out of the sky. In fact, the year 2000 was a good one for the Tollers. Upon turning fifty, Valerie went on a two-week Baltic cruise with Allison. With Barry's blessing, the sisters visited Belgium, Denmark, Sweden, Finland, Russia, Estonia and Poland. When the fifty-year-old widow returned home to New Jersey, she learned that her son, Dr. John-Paul Toller, had proposed to Diane, and she accepted.
"Have you chosen a date yet?" the excited mother wondered.
"Diane always wanted to be a June bride, but the venue she wants is booked up for this June, so we'll be getting married on June 15, 2002."
"Why the frown?" Valerie asked. "The time will pass much quicker than you realize. And, trust me, there will be a million things to do if you're planning a big wedding."
"But I'll be thirty by then."
"Thirty is not old," she insisted.
"You're right, Mom," he agreed. "What's that they say, thirty is the new twenty?"
Recalling her husband's mental state when he turned thirty, Valerie felt a chill down her spine. Her son's lighthearted humor aside, she worried he might harm himself someday. During the numerous crises in her life, she found comfort in her good luck charm: the Remco Paul McCartney doll. However, when she made the move from her house to her condo, the doll went missing.
I hope that wasn't a bad omen, she thought, fighting back her tears.
* * *
Always punctual, Valerie arrived at her office precisely at eight o'clock in the morning. She put her briefcase on her credenza and booted up her computer. As she sipped her Starbucks caramel Frappuccino, she scrolled through her emails, deleting the spam and replying to the others. It was almost nine o'clock when she heard a commotion in the hallway.
"Gemma," she called to her administrative assistant. "What's going on?"
"A plane hit the World Trade Center a few minutes ago."
"Which building?" cried Valerie, knowing there were seven buildings in the sixteen-acre complex.
"The North Tower, I think," Gemma answered.
"Oh, thank God! My son works in the South Tower."
Although relieved that John-Paul was safe, she was concerned about the fate of those in the North Tower (also known as Tower One and One World Trade Center).
Maybe it was a small plane that hit the building, similar to one that struck the Empire State Building in 1945.
When she went to CNN's website, however, she learned that it was a Boeing 767. As she watched the news coverage of the plight of American Airlines Flight 11, she did not know that it was, in fact, a terrorist attack and not an accident. It was not until United Airlines Flight 175 went into the South Tower (Tower Two and Two World Trade Center) that it became evident.
As though she had been watching a blockbuster disaster movie, Valerie saw the plane appear on her computer screen and crash into the South Tower. Smoke was still billowing out of Tower One when the second plane burst into flames.
"John-Paul!" she sobbed.
Her son worked for an insurance company on the twenty-fourth floor, so she hoped he would not be affected by the crash more than fifty floors above him. Despite being the first one hit, Tower One remained standing when Tower Two collapsed, roughly fifty-six minutes after being struck. Not quite half an hour later, Tower One came down.
"Dear God, please let my boy have gotten out before the building went down!" she prayed.
In the weeks and months that followed, Valerie awaited word on her son's fate. As workers dug through the estimated 1.6 million tons of debris, they collected more than twenty-two thousand pieces of human remains. She had been so overwhelmed with grief over the loss of her son that she barely took notice that George Harrison died on November 29, 2001.
Although she knew her son had not survived the attacks on the World Trade Center, she waited for some official word that he had died. It did not come until 2009, when a DNA match confirmed that twenty-nine-year-old John-Paul Toller was indeed one of the 9/11 victims.
* * *
On February 9, 2009, exactly forty-five years after she watched The Beatles make their American debut on The Ed Sullivan Show, Valerie Toller drove her Subaru Legacy to Flushing in the borough of Queens to see what remained of Shea Stadium. The former home of the New York Mets was being demolished to make room for a new stadium.
Tears filled her eyes when she remembered the night that she, Allison, Barry and Mark attended The Beatles' concert there in August of 1965.
It was the happiest night of my life, she recalled. Until John-Paul was born, that is.
A lot had changed since that magical night. Both Barry and Mark were gone, and Allison, who still lived in Chicago, was nearing retirement age.
Things had changed for Paul McCartney, as well. The Beatles broke up. John Lennon, his friend and former bandmate, was murdered. His wife, Linda, died of cancer, as did George Harrison. And just last year, his marriage to his second wife, Heather Mills, ended in divorce.
"Despite our many losses, you and I are still hanging in there, Paul," she said, remembering the gorgeous twenty-one-year-old Beatle singing "All My Loving" and "Till There Was You" on The Ed Sullivan Show.
Valerie wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand and turned toward her Subaru. Suddenly, she felt a stabbing pain in her chest. She closed her eyes until the discomfort passed. When she opened them again, she was standing in the stadium's parking lot. To her amazement, Mark and John-Paul were sitting in Barry Toller's 1964 Ford Mustang.
"Hop in," her husband said, turning the key in the ignition and starting the engine. "We've been waiting for you."
Across the parking lot, in what remained of the former William A. Shea Municipal Stadium, came the sound of screaming fans. Barely heard through the cacophony was the voice of Paul McCartney singing "Can't Buy Me Love."
"Listen. They're playing our song," Mark announced, smiling, something he rarely did once he turned thirty.
"Come on, Mom," her son urged. "We've got to get going."
Valerie, looking like a young woman again, opened the Mustang's door and sat in the front passenger bucket seat next to her husband. On the dashboard, in place of the St. Christopher statuette was a Remco Paul McCartney doll. She was so overjoyed to be with her family again that she did not even ask where they were going. As long as she was with Mark, John-Paul and her good luck charm, she didn't care.
There have been several people referred to as "the fifth Beatle" over the years (among them, Stuart Sutcliffe, Pete Best, George Martin and Brian Epstein). But never have I heard that the fifth Beatle was a black cat named Salem!
