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Crossing Abbey Road • Gregory Smith And in the end...

Abbey Road looked so peaceful.  Shady trees lined the sidewalks on either side of the street. Passersby gazed at the recording studio up the block. The quaint structure could have been easily mistaken for an office building or a home. Tourists snapped pictures of the iconic building. The iron gates opened every so often, allowing a car to come or go. There was always something happening here. This day was no different.
 
Groups gathered on the sidewalk, talking pictures, hoping to be lucky to get a glimpse of an emerging celebrity or recording artist - maybe even Paul McCartney himself?

London was bustling as red double-decker buses rolled along the street. An occasional bicycle or scooter followed. Children wearing backpacks walked home from school. Women carrying white bags strolled home after a day of shopping. The postman, delivering a package, waited for someone from the studio to open the gates.

 Down the block a bit, fans and tourists posed in the street. It must be just right, like on the album cover. This may be their one and only time visiting the most popular crosswalk in the world… better get it right. These photos will last a lifetime, to be shared, viewed and talked about again and again.
 
Traffic stopped abruptly. Occasionally the patience of motorists wore thin, and a too lengthy pose was met with relentless honking from automobiles and buses. Londoners knew the routine, as exasperating as it could be.
This routine happens constantly, no matter the time or day, no matter the weather. There always seems to be someone at the crosswalk of Abbey Road. People crossing from left to right, just like The Beatles did on the Abbey Road album cover.

People ran out to the middle of the road when the coast was clear, while a nearby friend took a picture. “I’ll get yours first if you get mine.” At all hours, people stand awkwardly like statues, their moment frozen in time, before scurrying back to the sidewalk. Those Londoners who didn’t care about Abbey Road Studios (formerly known as EMI Studios) or who recorded music there, or even the famous crosswalk, simply went about their daily business, oblivious to the crowds and the sightseers.

Chuck always wanted to see Abbey Road. It would’ve been wonderful to cross that road, to be in the studio where The Beatles and their producer, George Martin, created their iconic music. Dreams of going to Liverpool and visiting the site of the old Cavern Club, where the band started, and walking the same streets where John, Paul, George and Ringo traveled were also on his bucket list. For now, they were only unfulfilled dreams.
 Earth Cam was the next best thing to traveling to England. It was a way of keeping tabs on Abbey Road anytime- day or night- and feeling a part of it. Keeping in mind that London is five hours ahead of the Eastern United States time zone, fans made the pilgrimage to the crosswalk even in the middle of the night, and fans in the States, like Chuck, could watch them.  A visit at three a.m. was the least congested time to take a photo. An Earth Cam camera was perched next to the front gates of the studio, angled perfectly to capture the action where the crossing was located; it was live and unpredictable fun.

Chuck’s love for everything Beatles had started in the sixties. He was a journalist, an illustrator, and ran a record shop. His hobby was collecting records- thousands and thousands of records- specifically albums. At one time he had as many as ten thousand albums in his collection, maybe more. Much of his collection consisted of British Invasion music, from groups like The Rolling Stones and Pink Floyd, the Byrds, and the Yardbirds, the Kinks and the Who. Chuck found the rare stuff, including boxed sets and special hard to find editions of records.

But the Beatles were in a class of their own. He owned all of their records - vinyl, cassette, compact disc, even eight-track- all in duplicate copies. He owned all their special Christmas recordings to members of their fan club and the infamous, rare “Butcher Cover”, of which there was a limited quantity. Anything Beatles…from memorabilia to books… Chuck had it. Whatever he didn’t own, Chuck would swap with other fans or collectors. He was an avid reader, so any book, newspaper or magazine article devoted to the Fab Four would be immediately devoured. He saw every Beatles cover band and viewed every Beatles documentary and movie.
 Safe to say, he lived and breathed The Beatles. Thinking about it, the Fab Four had been in his life longer than anyone else he knew, including his wife.

When I came into Chuck’s life seven years earlier, we hit it off right away. From the first telephone conversation, we talked Beatles. I was a fan too, but not like Chuck. Few were. When I joined the family by marriage, I was his “Beatle Buddy”, so to speak.  We grew even closer after he received his stage-IV pancreatic cancer diagnosis. I was someone he could talk to anytime, day or night.
 
I clued him into watching Abbey Road via Earth Cam. Whenever he couldn’t sleep, he could always check the webcam on his phone and see Abbey Road. Imagine the millions of people who visited this hallowed ground of music every year. You never knew who was watching from anywhere around the world.

On this day, while it remained hot and muggy near Philadelphia, it was a cool and refreshing sixty-one degrees on Abbey Road. How he wished he could be there right now. Anywhere but in this damn hospital bed.
We had quite a few chats that week about life and the Beatles. He told me his dreams, and many were about John, Paul, George or Ringo. Thinking about what he loved most of all- music, especially Beatles music- took his mind off any pain he was experiencing. Listening to every Beatle album again renewed his love of the band. There was a freshness and appreciation for their music like never before. Each lyric, each chord was savored.
 “It’s good to listen to ‘Rubber Soul again,” he commented to his wife, Lola. “I’ve played this album a thousand times, but I’ve never really listened to the songs until now.”

Chuck spent that week watching Beatles Anthology once again. Watching the documentary of his favorite band was in many ways a recap of his own life. He remembered where he was and what he was doing every step of the way on his own journey of life. For instance, The Beatles were in India when he was in high school. Those were good days. The first day he heard the Sgt. Pepper album was also the first day he started his new job with the newspaper…and so on and so forth.

With sleep came relief from the worry and the pain, and with it, deep, intense dreams, often about the Beatles. One vivid dream he told me about found him walking along the streets of Liverpool, England. He was young, in his twenties. He was with a group of other young people, two females and a man, heading into the middle of the city. He may have worked somewhere with this group, judging from the conversation and their sixties attire, fashionably dressed.
 It was November, 1961. A chill was in the air as the wind blew dry leaves along the narrow street.
“I’ve heard this new band is quite good,” Julia said as they walked. “They’ve been playing at The Cavern Club for a bit now. “
“Yes, I’ve heard good things, too,” the other woman said. “Cyn from accounting often goes there for a bite and claims they are fab. What are they called?”
“I believe she said ‘Beatles’?” the gentleman added. “What an odd name.”
“Not really,” disagreed Julia. “Consider ‘The Crickets’. There’s another bug name for you. Oh, here it is, The Cavern.”

The group walked down the eighteen stony steps to the subterranean club below where they found three archways made of brick overhead of a trio of narrow tunnels. This constituted the club. Dank, dark and musty, the joint was packed with young adults. Most were gathering around the stage, waiting for the lunchtime show to begin. Some sat at small tables, wolfing down soup and sandwiches, while others drifted around and mingled, waiting to dance.

Chuck and his co-workers managed to squeeze their way to the front, so close that Chuck could touch the raised stage. Suddenly four young gentlemen emerged from the back. They were all dressed in black leather, from their pants to their jackets, which had to be sweaty in such a close, humid atmosphere. More people had somehow crammed their way into the club as The Beatles plugged in and tuned their instruments.
John Lennon came over to the side of the stage to check on an amplifier. He looked down and said “Hello, Chuck!”
Wait, thought Chuck, how did he know my name?
 
Then all hell broke loose: joyous rock ‘n’ roll, young people going wild and dancing, girls screaming as the band hit their first notes.  Screaming from the crowd matched the screaming from the stage. “Some Other Guy”, a song Chuck knew well, kicked things off.

 Funny, Chuck thought, I can remember all my life worshipping The Beatles. I was there when they started out and Beatlemania invaded America; I was there through the sixties, when The Beatles topped the charts and influenced culture on both sides of the Atlantic; and I was there when it was somberly announced that they had broken up. Yet, here I am, witnessing one of their early shows at the famed Cavern Club… which no longer exists… and I know what an incredible ride is ahead for these lads on stage, and for their millions of fans all over the world.

The Beatles played continuously for forty-five minutes. There was little or no banter between songs, just music, mostly rock ‘n’ roll covers, everything from Chuck Berry to Little Richard to Buddy Holly. The crowd went even wilder with the increased excitement, wonderful chaos threatening to burst into the daylight above the street. The music, the fury couldn’t be contained, and it soon wouldn’t be. Their future manager, Brian Epstein, would discover them in this very club, and the world would never be the same again.
 Who knows, perhaps Brian was lurking in the back even now?
When The Beatles closed their set with the raucous “Twist and Shout”, Chuck yelled and screamed along with the other delirious fans in the Cavern, exhausted yet exhilarated from the experience. If only the rest of the world knew about The Beatles, he thought. He felt like running out of the Cavern Club and telling everyone on the Liverpool streets about this wonderful band.
 In time…in due time.

When the band finished their set, John came over to Chuck’s side of the stage and surprisingly gestured to Chuck, urging him to follow. The band disappeared into a tiny broom closet-sized room in the back. Chuck snuck away from the other crowd and found John backstage; Lennon invited his loyal American fan to enter the off-limits room. There he found the other sweaty but ecstatic Beatles sitting together, sipping on Coca-Cola.
 Paul looked quizzical. as did Pete Best, their drummer at the time, when Chuck walked in after John.  Chuck had noticed during the set the absence of Ringo Starr. Poor Pete Best would soon become a footnote in history.
 John and George Harrison greeted Chuck like they were old friends who had met before.
“Chuck!” John greeted him. “Good to see you again! You know the boys, especially George.”
Immediately Chuck wondered how John Lennon knew his name, but he didn’t bother to ask why. Things were happening much too quickly to stop and wonder why.
“Chuck is from the future, aren’t you, Chuck?” John stated.
“The future, is it?” said George. “Are we to be rich and famous someday?”
“Very, on both counts,” Chuck informed.
“I like this guy named Chuck,” chimed in Pete.
With that came a knock on the door.
 “Go away! We don’t want any!” John said, opening the door. Everyone looked stunned at the visitor.
“And what brings you here, Mr. Epstein?” asked George.
“I better go,” Chuck said before Brian spoke. “I know you have important business to discuss. Just one thing: Please, don’t ever break up!”
“Break-up?” said Paul. “That will never happen.”
Chuck woke up. His hospice nurse had arrived.

There was so much he wanted to tell the Beatles, so much he could tell them. Perhaps it was better not to know one’s destiny. Perhaps it was better to allow life to run its natural course, for better or for worse. Perhaps that’s why his dream ended so abruptly.
 Some things in life were meant to be.
                                                                ********
There were many times when Lola would catch Chuck watching Abbey Road on his phone. “Look, honey,” he called to his wife, “an entire group of people crossing Abbey Road just now, fifty or more, all posing together. It never ends. Come see this with me.”

Lola loved sharing this time with her spouse, as they reminisced about their love for The Beatles. They bonded their relationship through music over the years, from the time they met as journalist students in college to forty years later, here in their living room, watching Earth Cam together.

 “It was my eighth birthday,” Chuck reminisced wistfully, “and I was sick as a dog. I lay on the living room sofa all day. I wasn’t going to miss the Ed Sullivan show that Sunday night. It was the first time I ever saw them. “I Want to Hold Your Hand” was all over the radio. Their first American album, ‘Meet the Beatles’ was selling like hotcakes. I loved their music from the start. After I saw them on Sullivan, I became a collector of everything Beatles. Hard- to- find British records, books, stickers, Beatle wigs, you name it. But it was always the music for me. Perfect pop. Great rock ‘n’ roll. I was hooked.

“I do remember the afternoon I saw ‘A Hard Day’s Night’ at the movies. People were screaming in the movie theater. Girls were crying and going up to the screen and touching the Beatles on the screen. They had never seen the group up close like that before. It was delightful and nuts.
“I had planned to take the train up to Grand Central Station, then ride the subway out to Flushing, New York to see the Beatles play Shea Stadium. But I was sick, so I couldn’t go. I read all about it in the papers the next day. I bought three different Philadelphia papers, plus the New York newspapers. Then I had tickets to see them perform at the old JFK Stadium in Philly. One hundred thousand screaming fans there. All but me. This time, the piece of junk, otherwise known as my car, broke down on the expressway. By the time they towed me away I had missed the concert. Another missed opportunity.
“By the way, I had another dream last night. There I was, in a small, intimate theater somewhere in Northern England. It was January 1963. The Beatles were on the bill, along with Roy Orbison and Gerry and the Pacemakers. Several Beatles records were climbing the British charts. ‘Please, Please Me’ was number one. The band was still unknown in the States. I was watching them on stage, listening to all their early songs, just me and a few hundred other loyal, screaming, delirious fans. When they sang ‘She Loves You,’ I couldn’t hear myself think; it was so loud! I closed my eyes, taking it all in, the perfect acoustics, the banter between the band, the thunderous applause. Somehow, I knew their future. And I knew what an influence they would have on my life. To think I was there in the beginning!

“I remember the day that ‘Sergeant Pepper’ came out. I listened to that record over and over until I wore the needle out on my stereo. By then I was investing in quality music equipment. I laid back in my father’s soft recliner, closed my eyes and was transfixed. And I remember how mortified I felt the day they announced the break-up. I always believed they would get back together. But they never did.
 “Try to sleep now,” the nurse advised.
“I was always there,” he said, closing his eyes. “I was always there in spirit.”

                                               *****            
 While the evening light lingered in London, a scattering of fans duck-walked across Abbey Road. They arrived in packs, accomplishing their goal, then dispersing from view. Chuck wondered who they were as he watched, how far they had come, how long they had been Beatle fans, where they were off to now.
 Oh, to be happy and healthy and young again! Friday night in the summer. The fun he used to have on weekends. He wanted to get out of the hospital bed so badly, free from the limitations and restrictions and the pain. He vowed never to take his freedom for granted again.
 
The portable cassette player was turned on beside his bed. The Abbey Road album- Chuck’s favorite- was playing.  Lola kept vigilant on the couch as the hospice nurse read a book, at times checking Chuck’s vital signs, asking if he needed anything. He fought sleep now, afraid to let his guard down, but exhaustion won.  He started to dream again, a dream so lifelike, so real.
 
He was somewhere dark and foggy. It had to be London when he saw a red double-decker bus rolling by. Otherwise, there was little or no traffic. Few people were out on such a miserable night. Light rain spritzed on his head, just enough to make it even more miserable. The red, yellow and green of the nearby traffic light glistened on the shiny, wet road. Then he saw it, in the flash of the traffic light- a crosswalk, but not ANY crosswalk.

This had to be Abbey Road. Finally, he was here.
 He saw two figures emerging from a gated building up the street, walking toward him in the misty rain. Both wore dark overcoats, with their hands in their pockets. One carried an umbrella.
“We’ve been waiting for you, mate,” John said, greeting Chuck.
“Don’t be afraid to cross. You’ll find it much brighter on the other side,” George commented, handing Chuck the umbrella.  “Let’s get you out of this drizzle.”
“Yes, the drizzle must fizzle,” John joked.
“A hot bath and a cup of tea is what you need,” George said.
“Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of you,” John assured.
They walked with Chuck across Abbey Road, stopping midway to pose- John in the lead, Chuck in the middle, and George behind. They continued, laughing, making light of the moment. The group briskly strolled away from Abbey Road, disappearing in the fog.
Chuck passed away that evening. He did indeed find it “much brighter on the other side.”

 On lonely nights when Lola couldn’t sleep, she found herself checking on Abbey Road, often seeing a shadowy, silhouetted figure crossing the street, again and again, always disappearing into the English mist before dawn. Somehow she knew that Chuck was where he wanted to be- finally at peace.

© Gregory Smith March 2025
Crossing Abbey Road – a collection of thirty tales about destiny and fate

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