I am so excited to share this with you all. I know that so many of you will enjoy it and it is a hidden gem that I stumbled upon. During the 1964 tour there was a woman named Ruby Hickman who traveled with the Beatles as the airline associate. She had a very important job and according to her, she is the one that arranged for the Beatles to go to places as as Key West and the Ozarks. She took care of a lot of details with the flight around the country and she fell in love with the Beatles personalities along the way.
Ruby did not want to share her story with anyone because she did not want to exploit her friendship with the Beatles. However, in 1984, as part of the 20th anniversary celebration, Ruby wrote her memories for free for "The Write Thing" fanzine. As far as I can tell, this is the only time that Ruby wrote down her stories. And unfortunately, the print in the fanzine was very small and it made it difficult to read (at least it was for me and my friend).
I am pretty sure that Ruby passed away in 2003, and if she had never taken the time to write her story for "The Write Thing" in 1984, then her story would have gone to the grave. This is a wonderful reminder that if YOU have a Beatles story---even if you personally think it is insignificant, you need to write it down---type it up---video record it---anything! You don't have to send it to me (although I would gladly post it)...but just have it has a document for future generations.
This is an EXTREMELY long story (it was 16 pages typed on Word), and is basically a small book. But I feel like it is very important to post. I think Ruby would like the current generation of fans to read about her experiences.
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On the Road with the Beatles
By Ruby Hickman
(The Write Thing Issue #42 February 1984)
On a cold, blustery night, a little short of midnight August 20, 1964, I met all four of the Beatles at one time. They were sitting in semi-darkness in the circular lounge at the very rear of the plane at the San Francisco airport. They had just arrived from London and completed the first performance of their 1964 tour of the U.S. and Canada. As an executive of the airline that was chartered to fly them throughout the tour, I had just flown in from Fort Worth. I planned on spending only the first few days with them then let another executive take over. The Beatles won me over so totally that I not only stayed with them for the entire ’64 tour, accompanied them again for the ’65 tour, and on top of that, actually stood on the aircraft steps, alone, facing an out of control mob of thousands---ready to protect the Beatles with my life if need be.
Just turned forty, I was certainly not the typical Beatle fan. About the only thing I even knew about them was that my 15 year old daughter, Linda, played their records too loud. The tour contract was arranged by our New York manager. Busy with other duties, I did not give the tour any thought. We flew entertainment and other types of celebrities all the time. As director of public relations and executive assistant to the president of the airline, trade publications called me “the highest woman airline executive in the world.” I dealt with so many top level business and government leaders, I wasn’t easily impressed. A few show business people (never those at the top) had left many of us cold with demands attempting to prove their importance we felt. Then word came the Beatles, or their representative, had requested “an executive of the airline to accompany them the entire tour of over a month.”
Though I was to learn in a hurry, we had no earthly idea as to “why” at that point. When the airline president asked if I would consider going for a couple of days or so (just to make srue things go okay, then turn it over to someone else and fly home) I jokingly complained that I would rather fly with a group of single men my own age but I agreed to start the tour. The day before my departure I bought an English newspaper and nearly fainted! Splashed across the entire front page were photos and stories of the Beatles; the crowds they drew, the security needed, their fame (better known throughout the world then the President of the U.S. or the Queen of England), their popularity and the mass hysteria that accompanied their every move. I wondered what lay ahead.
Our 92 passenger jet Electra waited at the San Francisco airport. Transferring from my flight to our plane, via an airport vehicle inside the airport, realization came fast. Police and security people rushed around frantically, most running. A sea of teenagers, jammed and packed against a tall strong fence, stretched as far as the eye could see. A knot of guards blocked the steps to our plane. Without the uniformed crew members with me, I doubt I could have boarded the plane myself. It seemed as though hysteria ruled.
Suddenly a roar arose. Screams, squeals, sirens, loudspeakers and a rush of activity filled the night. Motorcycles, then a limousine, screeched to a halt near the plane. Running figures bounded up the steps, down the long aisle to the rear of the huge aircraft. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing or hearing. Then I knew. We had the Beatles on board!
Taking my arm, our New York City manager said, “Ruby it’s time you met the Beatles.” I followed him to the rear of the plane. I was a 5’2” 90 pound woman, I wondered what to expect. All four Beatles jumped to their feet. This gesture of politeness, from “the world’s most famous personalities” was the beginning of their disarming me. I was impressed. Four pairs of eyes studied me as we were introduced. Then we began talking – or trying to. Between my Texas drawl and their Liverpool accents, even though we were all speaking English, it was almost as though we spoke two different languages. We were together almost a week before we understood each other easily.
In those first few moments, John Lennon gave me the nickname all four were to use from then on, It was “Ruby, baby” from the pop song of those days.
Though the Beatles had the English reserve, tending to stay rather quietly to themselves the first few days, they seemed relaxed with me from the start. I had two sons near their age, so I was relaxed with them too. I took my work very seriously, but not myself. Neither did the Beatles and we quickly developed an easy banter. Even the language problem helped break the ice. I hadn’t been conscious of how often I used the term “you all” before The Beatles soon showed me. They would listen intently to every word I said, then repeat it, drawling out the words with exaggeration and inserting lots of “you all’s.” I couldn’t help laughing. I was having them repeat everything they said for several days, until I understood them, and they were kidding me. But good-naturedly. My foremost impression of them was of their naturalness Unlike other entertainers I’d met, The Beatles did not seem the least bit impressed with their fame. It was their “niceness,” politeness, sense of humor and naturalness that won me over. Then we became like “war buddies” as we battled every sort of problem imaginable.
Our first flight was form San Francisco to Las Vegas. I hadn’t been concerned about hotel rooms but Vegas changed that! In every single city of the tour, calls would come in such numbers that hotel switchboards would be instantly overloaded. It was impossible to call in or out. In Vegas, I stayed at a different hotel. I couldn’t call the Beatles and they couldn’t call me. From then on, with one exception, I stayed at the same hotel, usually on the same floor. This was the only way we were able to communicate in person. For numerous reasons, “communication” was needed. I soon leavened, too, why “an executive of the airline” was needed.
On the 92-passenger plane, we usually carried from 40 to 50 people. The group ranged from Malcolm Evans, Neil Aspinal, Derek Taylor and Brian Epstein to a writer from England, a photographer or two and from 20 to 30 entertainers who were the supporting or lead-in acts. Ira Sidelle, from their New York agency, was along. Airline regulations requires a passenger manifest for each flight and the list was constantly changing. Supporting acts would change, Brian Epstein would leave for a few days, a writer or photographer would make a single trip. On regular flights, there were times, people and equipment that had to be on all copies of the manifest. No “Beatle” flight was ordinary and the manifests were just one of my smaller problems.
“No aircraft carrying Beatles is going to land at this airport” headlined an article in LIFE magazine, picked up by numerous other publications. The statement was made by the manager of the Burbank, California airport, on which our airline had an office. We weren’t scheduled to land there, and didn’t, but we had trouble landing at numerous airports on which we were scheduled. With concerts, hotels, limousines, security, and everything else arranged for various cities, we would literally be circling the airport while the tower refused us landing permission. With the thousands of fans always inundating airport buildings and all available areas, harried officials had never before faced such problems. The first such refusal shook up me and the crew members. Via radio we spoke with the airline president. From then on I was prepared. Each time such an occasion arose—frequently—I passed my scribbled notes to the captain to be intoned to the tower. “Civil Air Regulation, section such and such states—no airport built I full or in part with Federal funds can deny any aircraft etc etc.” Then they would finally let us land.
Only twice did I choose an alternate airport. Hurricane Dora was in the process of rearranging Jacksonville, Florida as we prepared to fly there from Canada. The Montreal airport manager had summoned me to his office on another problem. An airline contracted months before to handle our gate and ground arrangements in Montreal flatly refused to handle our departure after their taste of Beatlemania with our arrival. Neither the contract, pleas, nor finally the threat of a lawsuit would budge them. “Life is too short,” they stated, and they didn’t want their facilities demolished by thousands of fans.
Entering or leaving another country with the Beatles flights was a major undertaking. Requiring stacks of paperwork, the cooperation needed was awesome. The timing was critical. Virtually always we left immediately after a performance. Police escorts, limousines, street barricades, baggage and instrument trucks, buses for supporting acts, the aircraft fueled, catered and ready, crew members packed and waiting at the airport, security people by the hundreds, and then when departing another country there were customs and immigration officials. Hotels, airports, security, performances, etc. awaited at our next destination. There was neither time nor room for the system to break down—but it was falling apart in that Montreal airport office.
Several hours and many dozens of phone calls later, the ground handling, customs and immigration problems were squared away. We could leave on time. Exhausted, I relaxed and listened to the weather reports. Jacksonville, with it’s hurricane in progress was out. Alone, I had to choose another destination. Un unsuspecting city without prior arrangements for hotel, security, etc. Numbly, I stared at a map of the United States. Where could I find shelter and safety for The Beatles?
Another criteria entered the picture. It had to be an international airport with customs and immigration officials to receive us. During the long afternoon I asked the flight captain to join me. His presence was comforting but still had to make the decision. Finally I chose Key West and, wearily, headed for our plane.
The Beatles, when departing right after a performance, would arrive at the airport an hour or more before the rest of the entourage. Without pausing, unless for television or photographs on the steps, they always quickly sought the haven of the huge plane. Inside they dashed for the restrooms, removed the stage make up and changed to more comfortable clothes. Then with a drink or juice, there was usually at least an hour or so wait for the buses and luggage and instrument trucks, followed by another wait for these to be loaded. The routine seldom varied except for the few times we stayed over after a performance. From the first, the circular lounge and nearby seats in the back of the plane was “Beatle territory” though unofficially. Loaded briefcase in hand, I was always nearby, within a few rows. The rest were scattered throughout the plane but we all did a lot of visiting back and forth.
In Jacksonville, the Beatles were scheduled for a two day respite before their performance. They were looking forward to a deep sea outing. On the night of the hurricane, the plane was a hub of activity. I explained the problem to Ira Sidelle, the travel agent with us, and to others responsible for various arrangements. They dashed for phones. At some point I explained the situation to the Beatles. Someone suggested we fly to the Bahamas. Without explaining all the hours of turmoil preceding the decision or the conditions that had to be met, I answered firmly (maybe even a little shortly), “No, I’m not taking you in and out of another country right now. You’re going to Key West.” And the matter was settled.
Perhaps they could see my exhaustion. Or the Bahamas was just a fleeting thought. It wasn’t mentioned again. They were immediately laughing, joking, talking and into the spirit of adventure. And I loved them.
This was well past my original “couples of days” and I was still with them and would not have left them for anything! I had learned to sleep one hour at a time, with my clothes on, including my high-heeled shoes. I was exhausted by every day and night brought some new type of problem needing my attention. I was more familiar with the routines and what to expect than any other executive would be. If there was EVER a tour that needed “an executive of the airline” along, it was The Beatles tours. They appreciated my staying with them too and even worried at times that I would leave and turn it all over to someone else.
For security reasons, we flew with as much secrecy as possible. Our arrival and departure ties were never given out by anyone connected with the airline or the Beatles. This probably helped some, but not totally. For instance, on the long flight from Montreal to Key West, in spite of the hurricane, the captain filed a flight plan for Jacksonville. He didn’t change it until we had flown over half the distance. But airline frequencies can be monitored by radio and radio DJs all over the country kept track of us in this manner. Once Key West was mentioned, it was broadcast immediately. We arrived there in the wee hours of the morning with a large crowd gathered and fans even on top of the small terminal building.
Key West turned out to be the safest and most relaxing city we visited. The city put a curfew of something like 8pm on teenagers so we relaxed in peace and quiet. The hotel had a small nightclub that our group took over the following evening. With a piano and various instruments, the group put on an impromptu show for ourselves. There was dancing, and a lot of laughing, joking and kidding. Outside of the Beatles’ visit with Elvis Presley and my spiriting them away to the airline ranch, Key West offered the only rest and respite from the grueling tour the Beatles had.
Often the Beatles told me that long flights were the best part of the tour. The flights were, in reality, the only time the Beatles could relax and feel safe – 30,000 feet in the air. A graph of the flights show how we zigzagged back and forth across the nation and into Canada and British Columbia. There were no long hotel stays and for all the time they were in hotel rooms, The Beatles were virtual prisoners. They could not leave their rooms. On board the plane, they ate, drank, visited up and down the aisle and played poker with supporting cast members. They amazed me with their knowledge of the States, wince they had had no opportunity to see any of the country, and with questions regarding the plane and any number of other subjects. They were extremely well-read and I realized they must spend a lot of time reading and studying during all those long hours shut up in rooms. As young as they all were in 1964, from 20 to 24, it was obvious that both John and Paul were geniuses. With different personalities, so were George and Ringo.
By then John had already published a small book of poetry. He spent a lot of time writing on the plane, and amazed me with the method he used. While relaxing, John always wore a sports jacket with patch pockets on both sides. In the left coat pocket he kept loads of tiny squares of blank paper. Lost in deep thought, he would take one of these, scribble a few words, and then place it in his right coat pocket. A writer myself, and around other writers all my life, I’d never seen another person write in this manner. But I suppose John adopted it for the circumstances. I never asked him, but I’m sure that once in a hotel room, he put the tiny squared in order and copied down the song or poem he was working on.
Though we had asked, no one could tell us what sort of food The Beatles liked. The only information we received as “juice and cornflakes.” A small truck load of those were put aboard, then eventually thrown off. They drank orange juice, occasionally, and they mentioned eating cornflakes in hotels, but they didn’t eat it on the flights. The stewardesses were responsible for mixing drinks and for ordering and serving the meals. Not long after the tour began, though, I became concerned because the Beatles weren’t eating as well as I thought they should. I questioned them about what they lied to eat back home in England, then took over ordering the catering myself. Our American food was too spicy and too different in lots of ways. Whenever possible, I visited catering companies, checked everything they had and managed to get lamb, roast beef, potatoes, and similar foods, watching happily as the Beatles began eating better. They told me the only time they ate was on board the plane. .
The hotels where we stayed shamelessly took advantage of our being there. Menus had the regular price just crossed through by pen, with new prices written in by hand, double or triple the original cost. This was true of drinks, food, room service and their restaurants. It was true of their room prices too. Rooms that had been $40 rose to $100 or even $200. Even so, every room was sold out way in advance, though we never publicized where we were staying. The hotels did. At least two or more even sold the rooms long reserved for our group, which could have lead to all sorts of problems, even security threats to the Beatles.There was a lot of hate and jealousy among young men in those days. The Beatles had a great many male fans, but girls outnumbered them astronomically. Outside the crush and frenzy of the crowds, always numbering in the thousands, and out of control for the most part, I never felt the girl themselves ever meant to harm the Beatles. In Dallas, a girl managed to pull out a handful of Ringo’s hair causing him pain. Except for the girls’ unpredictability, the crush of the crowds and their penchant for grabbing for souvenirs, worship was the dominant emotion displayed by the girls. For some of the boys, or young men, it was something else.
Mingling with the crowds of girls, they posed threats in every city. Ambulances, armored trucks and every sort of subterfuge had to be used to transport the Beatles to and from their performances. In Houston in 1965, with my heart in my throat and sick at my stomach with fear, I watched an out of control mob made up for boys and men in their twenties, throw huge rocks, bottles and shoes at the Beatles. And it was male voiced that phoned in the bomb threats.
The first of these came a few hours before we were to leave Seattle. An airport executive called, asking if I would take a cab and come immediately to the airport. He didn’t mention the problem on the phone but his voice was somber and the request unusual. In his office, he explained, and then the two of us had to decide what to do. All such threats are taken with utmost seriousness. Luckily, the plane that flew us in had to depart immediately afterward. Another plane and crew was picking us up for the flight to Vancouver. In the meantime, the plane was busily flying forest rangers and firefighters to a raging forest fire some distance away. They would deposit a load of men, then leave immediately to pick up another load. The plane wasn’t sitting around an airport where someone could tamper with it. Only airline operating and myself knew this or which plane would come after us. After discussing the situation for some time, the security men and I felt that part was safe. We took all sorts of precautions with the rest. Every item of luggage was checked carefully, and each person was carefully checked. Then rather than use a terminal near the main airport, the group was put on buses and sent out to the center of the airfield. With all the other air traffic stopped, our plane landed just long enough to pick up and load the luggage.
While working with the security men that day, I received some chilling information. “Why on earth would anyone want to hurt the Beatles?” I asked. “Because there are people out there so lacking in identity that they would give anything to kill one or all of the Beatles just to get their name in the paper” the security chief answered. Horror stricken, his words made an indelible impression. From that moment on, the crowds seemed must more menacing.
There were other bomb threats; other threats of various kinds. I was so protective of them that I didn’t always tell the Beatles. I wanted them to be as relaxed and happy as possible. But I told others in charge, and I worked closely with all the security people. Within the first few days of the tour, before the threats even began, I issued an order that our planes be kept under guard at all times. Either police or Pinkerton men were engaged well in advance of our arrival, were always waiting when we landed and did not leave until we were airborne. This cost the airline money, but I didn’t care. At first, it was to keep souvenir hunters from stripping the plane, later it was from concern for the Beatles. Even with the guards, the silver belly of the huge jets was always covered with messages written in lipstick, “I love Ringo” “I love Paul” “I love George” “I love John.”
In those early morning hours, when I first learned of John’s death, I had trouble believing it was so in spite of those words, “There are people in this world so lacking in identity…” Back in 1964. He was so alive! I could still see him grinning, dancing around, his face upturned when he answered, “yeah yeah yeah” with a smile to some question I’d asked him. A thousand memories came crowding back and I thought of a statement I’d read: “The greatest monuments of all are those we build in the hearts of others.”
In the hours and days that followed, in spite of the fact I had an unlisted phone number and thus an unlisted address, reporters of all kinds called or knocked on my door. Just as with writing this, I really don’t know what I could add – but I talked with them. By way of persuasion, some reporters told me that I would have to have known the Beatles better than anyone else in the States. I’m not sure this is so, but I played a small part in their lives for a time in ’64 and ’65 and they became a part of my heart and of my life form then on. A part of my interests, concern, my thoughts, my conversation, my reading material, my memories, my delight, my pride in them and even my identification. Only because they were the type of people they were, I still remember my feelings of gratitude for all the many tributes given John. I’m grateful his genius was and is recognized.
It’s hard to put into words my exact feelings for the Beatles. Thought Ringo was to do something for me so kind I shall never forget him, nor cease feeling grateful, somehow it was Paul and I who developed the closest rapport. Each was a separate and distinct personality, with special qualities and characteristics all his own. In ’64 and ’65, they worked the played well together, and I never heard a cross word between them. But Paul seemed a little different. Perhaps it was my strong maternal instinct. Perhaps it was the fact Paul lost his mother early. I don’t really know. Thought all five of us developed a close, relaxed, easy relationship, Paul and I were, somehow, closer.
In 1976 Paul and his Wings group played in Fort Worth. The concert was wonderful; the music beautiful; the lighting spectacular and it was so very great to see Paul again. But it was from a seat some distance away. Thought I was in line early, no amount of money could buy a closer seat. A local reporter planned to meet me, take me back to see Paul if he could, but we never found each other in the crowd. When it was over, along with many others, I tried to tell the guards Paul and I were old friends knowing it was to no avail. I still remember the disappointment I felt as I slowly left the auditorium. The airline had been sold and moved away. It was no longer listed in Fort Worth. Paul had no way of knowing where I was. It was a frustrating experience.
At first the Beatles were concerned that I might leave. During their two day visit with Elvis in Los Angeles, I left the tour to fly home and check on things. The airline needed to know where I was at all times. While having my hair done, I was called to the plane. All adither, my secretary said, “the Beatles are on the line. They want to make sure you’re going to come back.” Laughing I told her, “Yes, I’ll leave this afternoon and be back tonight.” I never asked if it was the Beatles calling or someone calling for them. Before I could leave that day, Malcolm Evans called the president of the airline requesting that they please not assign anyone else but me to the tour. He had to assure him that I would be returning.
Mal and Ruby during one of the flights
Going through the American Airline terminal for that short trip home, I saw a sight my eyes refused to believe. Walking down a long carpeted corridor, I encountered area of human feces the entire way. While I had seen and heard a lot, this was something new – but I had not been in areas after the fans before. Stepping gingerly, I finally made it to the plane, still unable to believe what I‘d seen. On my return trip, just to find where our plane was hidden at the vast airport, I had to go to the airport manager’s office. I asked him what on earth happened? He told me that since no one knew where we were coming in, the thousands upon thousands of fans from the L.A. area had packed every terminal building on the airport. That they had been there day and night for 24 hours or so, jammed closely together. That he supposed each was so reluctant to leave their spot for fear of missing The Beatles, that they just relieved themselves wherever they were. He ended the explanation by lamenting. “We’ve hired hundreds of extra cleaning people to work around the clock, but they still can’t get the terminals clean.”
I just laughed. While the situation rather surprised and amazed me, it didn’t turn me off so far as the fans were concerned. Reporters, then and still, refer to that period as “The Beatles Invasion.” They were cornering psychologist and psychiatrists asking their opinion of what was going on. Though Frank Sinatra and Elvis Presley each drew crowds, the nation had never before (nor since) seen a phenomenon like Beatlemania. Though I had little time to read newspapers (we were too caught up in our fight for survival), I read such articles and laughed. Each expert had a different opinion.
The things that really made me angry were stories in newspapers and magazines that were total fabrication. One well known national publication ran a story on what went on in the Beatle plane. Not only was the material completely out of someone’s weird imagination, but the writer claimed to have been along on the flights. With keeping the manifest and with knowing everyone on board, no such person had been closer than a runway to the Beatles flights. I was amazed that a reputable publication would print it. Another had The Beatles sleeping with so many of the fans there would have been no time for travel or performances. Knowing the hotel arrangements, the security, etc. I knew this wasn’t so. It was impossible, in fact. But I also knew a man working for The Beatles was attempting to make as many of the girls as he could. Soon after the tour ended, he was gone. Sensationalism sells papers. If it’s missing, some make it up.
Anyone taking advantage of The Beatles or their friendship made me angry. And during those tours, I felt too many were using The Beatles in various ways. To me, ethics forbid taking advantage of anyone! Taking advantage of a friendship is even worse. Though I’ve never known a single shred of sensationalism about the Beatles, only good things, it has been impossible for me to even write about them previously. I’m writing this for free! Though publishing friends have asked me to write the story of my trips with the Beatles, I would not do it. I never wanted The Beatles to think I was taking advantage of our association. I was so happy to learn there were still Beatle fan clubs and fanzines, I offered to write this portion after almost 20 years.
Besides upping their prices and sometimes selling our rooms to the highest bidder, a few hotels took advantage of the fans. While the Beatles were performing and as I started to leave, I saw dozens of men ripping up the carpet from an entire hotel lobby to be cut in tiny pieces and sold as carpet the Beatles walked on. A small amount of the money could have gone to charity, I supposed, but the majority didn’t.
Since they seldom returned to the hotels, the Beatles developed a habit I laughed about. It began soon after the tour started then became a ritual. They would bound on board the plane then, very solemnly line up in front of me and drop their hotel keys in my hand. If any of us laughed as this went on, it would have been different. The fun, to me, was the somber solemnity in which it was carried out since the Beatles were very seldom solemn about anything.
They smoked Dunhills and other English cigarettes and I smoked American ones. Soon after the tour began, we began swapping them. One or the other would hold out their pack and take one of mine. I smoked so many of their Dunhills, I completely switched and smoked those expensive imported cigarettes for years. The Beatles did not drink a lot, except for one particular flight. Ringo was learning to drink bourbon, but John, Paul and George drank scotch mixed with 7-up. Once Ringo asked me, “How do men in Texas drink bourbon?” When I answered that most drank it straight without a mixer, he wanted to learn. I went to the galley and poured half a glass of bourbon. Ringo drank it down, like taking medicine. His eyes were shut and his face squinched for some time.
The one flight on which the Beatles drank more was from New York to Indianapolis. At some point, on the West Coast, a fortune teller had predicted The Beatles would be killed on this flight. As per custom, they finished their performan