My last article focused on the segregation clause in the group’s tour rider and how it related to their Jacksonville visit. This time, let’s look at high altitude, crowd counts, and a prediction that the Beatles would die in a plane crash while touring America.

The first involves the Fab Four’s visit to Red Rocks Amphitheatre near Denver, Colorado. For the purists out there, the venue is actually located in Morrison, just outside Denver. Unlike most American cities the Beatles visited, Denver sits at an elevation of 5,280 feet. Morrison is even higher at roughly 6,450.

Because of the thin air, stories have circulated for years claiming oxygen tanks were placed in the side wings of the stage for the Beatles to use between songs during their fast-paced set—much like NFL players catching oxygen on the sidelines after a long series.

Even reputable, fact-checked outlets like NPR once repeated the oxygen tank theory, although the reference has since been removed.

But after examining numerous photographs and film footage that include views of the side-stage areas, there is absolutely no evidence the tanks existed—or were ever needed.

Paul McCartney did later acknowledge that performing at Red Rocks was unusual because of the altitude.

Still, myth busted.

Another story tied to the Colorado stop is that the 9,500-seat Red Rocks venue failed to sell out.

In reality, Brian Epstein had already made a conservative choice.

His original preference was the much larger 22,000-seat Bears Stadium—home of the then-upstart AFL Denver Broncos and later known as Mile High Stadium.

Photos taken earlier in the day may have helped fuel the idea that Red Rocks was only partially filled. But later images taken shortly before the Beatles took the stage show the venue nearly full.

It’s also well documented through interviews I conducted with fans that security and ticket enforcement at Red Rocks in 1964 was remarkably lax. Many fans simply climbed fences or slipped into the venue without tickets.

So whether paid for or not, nearly every seat was occupied by showtime.

Myth busted again—Red Rocks was full on the night of August 26, 1964.

Moving on, another story emerged during the tour—that the Beatles would all die in a plane crash while traveling across America.

The rumor gained traction after journalist Larry Kane confronted George Harrison with a story he had heard about an astrologer predicting the Beatles’ plane would go down during the tour.

George, who was known to dislike flying, responded in typical British fashion:

“Uh, normally, I just take it with a laugh and a smile and a pinch of salt, thinking, you know, she’s off her head. But, y’know, it’s not a nice thing to say, especially when you’re flying almost every day. But, just hope for the best, and keep a stiff upper head, and away we go. If you crash, you crash. When your number’s up, that’s it.”

The lingering question is: who made the prediction?

Over the years, many have pointed to famed astrologer Jeane Dixon. But George’s sister Louise later claimed she received a letter directly from Dixon denying it was her.

George does reference the predictor as a “her,” but never identifies the woman with certainty.

What is certain is that one of the two aircraft chartered by the Beatles for their 1964 and 1965 tours did, in fact, crash in 1966.

American Flyers Airlines owner Reed Pigman was piloting the aircraft when he reportedly suffered a medical emergency, causing the plane to crash and kill 81 people—many of them servicemen.

In an interesting twist, Beatles management switched to American Airlines for the group’s 1966 North American tour. Perhaps they had a premonition of their own.

So perhaps this myth isn’t entirely solved.

Whoever made the prediction may have been wrong about the Beatles—but not entirely wrong about the airplane.

In future articles, I’ll continue digging into some of the myths, stories, and lesser-known moments from the Beatles’ North American tours from 1964 to 1966.

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“They refused to perform if the audience was segregated.”
“The promoters caved at the last minute.”
“It was the only stop on the 1964 tour where segregation had to be addressed.”

Some of these claims are true. Many are not.

Over time, the story has grown bigger, oft repeated, and mostly reshaped— becoming increasingly difficult to separate fact from fiction.

So what really happened?

The story actually begins on February 10, 1964—the day after the Beatles made their debut on The Ed Sullivan Show.

At that same moment, Congress began debate on what would become the landmark Civil Rights Act of 1964, eventually signed into law on July 2.

The United States was in the middle of rapid change. Questions of segregation—especially in public venues—were no longer being ignored.

Shortly after the Sullivan appearances, Beatles manager Brian Epstein and General Artists Corporation’s Norman Weiss began assembling the itinerary for the group’s first full North American tour.

At the same time, articles began appearing in the New York Times highlighting Black entertainers calling for an end to segregated venues—often with the support of major white performers.

The climate was shifting.

While there is no documented conversation, it is entirely possible that Epstein and Weiss were aware of these developments. GAC, headquartered in New York, would have been closely attuned to the concerns of Black artists and the growing pressure for change.

What followed was a quiet but important decision.

When performance contracts were sent to promoters in the early spring, a clause in the attached rider was included:

“Artists will not be required to perform before a segregated audience.”

This “desegregation clause” was put in place months before the Civil Rights Act became law.

And it applied everywhere.

Every promoter, in every city—including those in the Deep South—agreed to it as part of the contract.

That included Jacksonville.

The idea that promoters were forced at the last minute to integrate the Jacksonville concert is simply not supported by the record.

The Brennan brothers, who promoted the show, had already agreed to the clause when they signed the contract on April 16.

In interviews I conducted for Some Fun Tonight!, one of the promoters was emphatic that they never intended to segregate the concert and in fact organized many integrated concerts throughout the south as rock and roll took hold. He did, however, acknowledge that segregation was firmly in place and there was some “skirting” of the law.

In fact, the clause appeared in every performance contract for every Beatles show in North America—from their opening concert at San Francisco’s Cow Palace on August 19, 1964, to their final performance at Candlestick Park in 1966. The clause was only needed in North America.

It was also not unique to Jacksonville.

It was policy.

That doesn’t mean there weren’t obstacles.

Some Southern cities likely proved problematic during the planning stages. Montgomery, Alabama and Charlotte, North Carolina were initially considered but ultimately dropped.

Political realities—particularly in Alabama under Governor George Wallace “segregation today, segregation tomorrow and segregation forever”—likely made those markets too difficult to navigate given the new contractual requirements.

GAC understood its markets and, recognizing the significance of the clause, likely advised Epstein to avoid unnecessary conflict. Weiss and Epstein were both Jewish and Epstein himself was gay. Both men had most assuredly encountered discrimination and both men should be credited for including the provision. The Beatles should be commended for publicly and forcefully deriding segregated audiences.

Journalist, Larry Kane who traveled with the group for the entire tour was amazed that despite being very young and visitors to boot decided to “blow back” the entire system and dismiss it entirely.

Those dates on September 12 and 15 were replaced with Boston and Cleveland respectively.

So why, then, has Jacksonville become the focal point of this story?

Why is it remembered as the moment when the Beatles “took a stand”?

That answer lies not just in what happened—but in how the story has been told ever since.

The Beatles first encountered segregation during their initial visit to the United States in February 1964. George Harrison had visited his sister in Illinois the year before and may have seen hints of it, but it likely became most apparent while the group was in Miami for their second appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show.

While staying at the Deauville Hotel, the Beatles saw firsthand the separation of the races in the use of facilities.

Jacksonville stands out in the segregation story largely because it was brought up by the press early on. During their second stop on the tour in Las Vegas on August 20, 1964, the Beatles were asked directly whether they would perform if the audience was segregated.

Their answer was firm: no.

Notably, they weren’t asked about New Orleans or Dallas—only Jacksonville.

For reasons that are still not entirely clear, Jacksonville quickly became the focal point, even though the promoters themselves had nothing to do with the narrative being pushed in the press.

Its location in the Deep South likely played a role. Newsmen may have assumed that segregation would be enforced—particularly since the Gator Bowl was municipally owned.

But that assumption wasn’t entirely accurate. Integrated seating had already been introduced for college football games there as early as 1960.

Jacksonville’s mayor at the time, Haydon Burns, was a known segregationist, but he never publicly intervened in the situation.

Most likely, the controversy grew out of assumption rather than fact.

The dismantling of Jim Crow laws after the Civil Rights Act was slow—especially in the South—and Jacksonville remained a city deeply rooted in segregation.

At the same time, hosting its first major rock concert at the Gator Bowl was something new.

Put those factors together, and Jacksonville became the story—whether it fully deserved to be or not.

What is clear is this: The Beatles performed before more than 20,000 fans—just days after Hurricane Dora struck the city.

The storm had caused widespread damage, power outages, and lingering winds that continued to gust during the performance itself. Despite the conditions, the show went on.

But a lesser-known part of the story unfolded offstage.

GAC had arranged for the Beatles and their entourage—including Black performers such as the Exciters and Clarence “Frogman” Henry—to stay at the Hotel George Washington.

At some point, hotel management objected to the integrated group and informed GAC that they would not allow the mixing of races. Even Brenda Reid’s mother, who accompanied the Exciters on the entire tour, wasn’t allowed to stay.

The Beatles still held their customary press conference at the hotel, and Ringo Starr even alluded to the situation, remarking that the “hotel didn’t have room for us…”—a pointed comment of the hotel’s segregation policy.

The reservation was ultimately canceled, and after the show, the Beatles left the city, heading to their next stop in Boston.

So while the story of Jacksonville has often been told as a dramatic, last-minute stand against segregation, the reality is far less dramatic than the version that’s been told. The city of Jacksonville had nothing to gain, and the promoters had no need for that kind of negative publicity.

The inclusion of the clause had already been decided months earlier—and enforced contractually. Had the Beatles cancelled their show due to a segregation issue, they would still be due their $50,000 guaranteed appearance fee.

In the end, the story grew over time—casting doubt not only on the integrity of the promoters, but on the city of Jacksonville itself.

On September 11, 1964, the audience sat together—just as the Beatles had already insisted.

I’ve always been fascinated by the Beatles’ visit to Las Vegas in August 1964 during their first full tour of the U.S. and Canada. Why? For one, it was by far the smallest city on a packed schedule that included 23 others in just 34 days. Just as importantly, Las Vegas itself was still in its early stages of becoming one of the world’s premier entertainment destinations. In 1964, Vegas was a playground for adults—and the Mob—not for acne-faced teenagers swooning over long-haired singers from England. And yet, their visit—and pair of concerts—left an indelible impression.

In 2014, I was invited by the Las Vegas Convention and Visitors Authority to give a talk marking the 50th anniversary of those shows. It took place at the new Convention Center, just a few feet from where the original stage once stood before it was demolished in 1991 to make way for the current facility.

Las Vegas has never been particularly sentimental about its past—implosion in the name of progress is practically a tradition—so it felt somewhat unusual to be speaking to a room full of invited guests and press. But on that occasion, Las Vegas made an exception—and decided this was a moment worth remembering. The LVCVA even installed a permanent plaque at the site to commemorate the Beatles’ visit and performances.

Fifty years earlier, that moment was far from certain.

As Beatles manager Brian Epstein considered the many possibilities for where to stage his boys’ first full tour of America, he confidently checked “Las Vegas” as the second stop on the six-week itinerary. In doing so, he bypassed several larger cities in favor of the Strip’s growing allure—and perhaps a bit of curiosity.

By comparison, Las Vegas had a population of just over 64,000 at the time (roughly 125,000 including Clark County), while other stops on the tour—such as Denver and Jacksonville—each had populations exceeding 500,000. Yet since the early 1950s, Las Vegas had been building a reputation as a must-play destination for top entertainers.

Rock and roll, however, had yet to take hold there.

Elvis Presley got the ball rolling when Colonel Tom Parker booked him for a two-week residency at the Frontier Hotel’s Venus Room in the spring of 1956. The shows were met with a cool reception—the city simply wasn’t ready for what was billed as the “Atomic-Powered Singer,” a reference to the nearby nuclear testing grounds.

It’s also possible that the decision for the Beatles to perform in Las Vegas was something of “what came first the chicken or the egg?” type situation.

When GAC presented Epstein with a list of prospective cities, it’s far from certain that a firm deal was already in place for Las Vegas. More likely, the city was included to gauge his interest and GAC could test the rock and roll waters again after the Elvis debacle.

There were clues in the way it was stated in the planning sheet—particularly the insistence on two shows. GAC may have been betting that if Epstein committed to the date, they could secure the necessary arrangements afterward.

By checking August 20 off the list, Epstein didn’t just agree—he called their bluff.

GAC talent agent Roy Gerber—later the inspiration for the character Oscar Madison in Neil Simon’s The Odd Couple—was immediately dispatched to Las Vegas to find a promoter willing to present the Beatles at the city’s largest venue, the Convention Center.

Gerber started at the southern end of the Strip and worked his way north, visiting every major casino. One by one, they passed.

His final stop was the Sahara, at the far northern end of the Strip, where he met with the hotel’s entertainment director, Stan Irwin. Irwin didn’t quite understand the Beatles’ popularity, but as a favor to his old friend, he offered to book them into the Sahara’s 700-seat Congo Room.

Gerber pushed back. The boys from Liverpool, he insisted, were a phenomenon—and far too big for a showroom of that size. Irwin countered by offering his friend two shows. Gerber just shook his head in disbelief.

He put Gerber on hold and to get a better sense of what he was dealing with, Irwin reached out to Las Vegas powerbroker Herb McDonald, who happened to be in England at the time. Calling him in the early hours, Irwin urged him to go see the Beatles perform.

McDonald’s response was blunt:

“Stan, I’m not an exterminator. Who are the Beatles?”

Nonetheless, McDonald attended a show—possibly the New Musical Express Poll-Winners’ All-Star Concert at the Empire Pool. What he saw changed his mind completely. The crowds, the energy, the reaction—it was unlike anything he had experienced.

He called Irwin back and gave his approval.

With that, the decision was made. A $25,000 guaranteed appearance fee was agreed to and Irwin now needed to fill not one but two 7,500 seat Convention Center performances and make it a successful event.

Once the Beatles were secured, ticket sales began in earnest—but initially, there was little interest. Irwin knew that The Beatles’ audience didn’t fit the traditional Las Vegas model. The city catered to adults—gamblers, high-rollers, and nightlife seekers—not teenagers.

After giving it some thought, Irwin did what Las Vegas has always done best—he took a gamble.

At the time, Las Vegas operated with a remarkably cooperative spirit. The Hotel Association and the Publicity Directors Association worked together to bring what Irwin called “traffic” into the city, often from Southern California. Competition between resorts took a back seat to a shared goal: promoting Las Vegas as a destination.

As Irwin later explained:

“We all believed that what was good for Vegas was good for the hotel, and what’s good for the hotels is good for Vegas.”

That philosophy still holds today. Las Vegas continues to take the same approach when it hosts major events like the Super Bowl, Formula 1, and the National Finals Rodeo—citywide efforts designed to benefit the entire city.

Years later, Irwin reflected on it simply:

“I just knew it would be a hit to the Sahara, the Strip, and ultimately Las Vegas.”

As the month’s progressed towards the concerts, Irwin grew concerned. His contacts at other hotels declined his offers of ticket blocks for their customers, friends, and family.

Worried, Irwin took a more aggressive approach—placing a full-page advertisement in the Los Angeles Times, targeting Las Vegas’s most reliable market: Southern California.

It wasn’t until just a few weeks before the shows that word began to spread—these would be the hottest tickets in town. Hotel managers, pit bosses, and service personnel flooded Irwin’s office requesting seats and a stream of Southern California traffic headed to the desert.

The shows ultimately sold out, and Irwin even managed to squeeze in an additional 500 seats per performance—much to the fire marshal’s chagrin.

In the end, Epstein, the Beatles, Irwin, and the city of Las Vegas all came out winners—a feat not often accomplished in a city built on hunches and lucky guesses.

The question still begs: why did Epstein want to book the band into an emerging entertainment mecca that had initially frowned on rock and roll?

He almost certainly ran it by John, Paul, George, and Ringo when he received the planning sheet from GAC—perhaps even interrupting a recording session, filming for their soon-to-be-released movie, A Hard Day’s Night or after a concert somewhere in the English countryside.

“Listen, boys…we’ve been offered some cities in America—what do you think?”

The simple answer seems clear: Brian and the Beatles wanted to see Las Vegas for themselves—the “desert dug up where casinos stand.” Perhaps there was even a bit of naivety at play, imagining they might sample some of the city’s trappings and decadence. Even today, Las Vegas is considered a must-see destination the world over.

The shows went off as planned, much to Irwin’s—and the city’s—relief. The Beatles delivered, and the crowd—mostly girls—responded as expected: with screams.

Over the years, stories have persisted. Some claim Paul was spotted at the Desert Inn trying his hand at the craps table. I even interviewed a longtime resident who said his father, a casino executive, hosted the group at his home between shows. The Beatles, having forgotten their bathing suits, were reportedly given “tighty-whities” to swim in and even claimed to have pictures.

Stories like these exist for nearly every city they visited in America.

In reality, what the Beatles saw of Las Vegas was limited—the airport, a limousine, a hotel room, and the Convention Center. Their entire visit lasted barely 48 hours before they were on to the next stop: Seattle.

But during their stop in Las Vegas in August 1964, the city saw something it wasn’t quite prepared for-an early glimpse of a cultural force that was still being understood, even as it was happening.

And like so many moments from the Beatles’ touring years, what really happened is far more complex—and far more interesting—than what’s been told over the years. I’ll continue to explore them, and I hope you’ll come along.

We credit the World Wide Web for most everything we consume and learn while scrolling, but so many myths have cropped up over the years about the three tours the Beatles did of North America from 1964-1966.

One of the many myths is that every concert the Fab Four performed was in fact sold out. But were they?

Most point to their historic concert at New York’s Shea Stadium on August 15, 1965. Why “historic?” Well, for starters, 55, 600 people were there-a record for the times. Large scale concerts were pretty much non-existent still and really only the biggest band in the world at the time could perhaps accomplish that feat. From that concert, the myth was born in that every show they did was sold out.

But the reality actually lies in the numbers.

When the group broke out in 1964, Brian Epstein agreed to do a massive tour of North America-32 shows in 24 cities, in 26 venues and in just 34 days. The tour would become a blueprint for major bands to follow.

The sold out myth would had never perpetuated to begin with if Epstein had thought the band was a flash in the pan, because he was offered massive amounts of money by tour operators to fill enormous venues in 1964. Most managers would be keen to take the money, but Epstein was different.

Epstein was offered cavernous venues such as Detroit Tiger Stadium’s 50,000 seats, NYC’s FreedomLand hoping to attract close to 200,000 over a three-day period and the Los Angeles 80,000 seat Coliseum, a show in conjunction with Disneyland. The Beatles and the famous mouse as partners? That’s another Substack.

Epstein, however, didn’t take the bait and instead chose smaller venues across North America to present his boys, a decision that was sound, somewhat conservative and quite genius. By March and April of 1964 when the manager was considering venues for the tour, the Beatles largest crowd to date was a recent tour in Australia where in one venue they performed to 10,000 people. Even in the U.K., their performance at the Empire Pool was the largest venue at only 8,000. This tour would be a test to ramp things up.

Venue and city selection was deliberated on and Epstein decided, with the help of GAC’s Norman Weiss, to select smaller places like Amphitheaters, indoor coliseums, civic centers and even a state fair. The average size venue on the 1964 tour? About 17,000 seats.

So, were those concerts sold out?

For the most part, yes.

When ticket sales began in May 1964, demand was overwhelming. Some promoters even requested second shows—Toronto’s Maple Leaf Gardens and the Indiana State Fair among them. A few were granted, most not.

But Epstein was careful. Overexposure—or worse, a half-empty arena—could quickly turn headlines from triumph to doubt:

“Beatles play to small audience—is the magic already fading?”

1964 was a resounding success—with a few notable exceptions.

Epstein did book a couple of larger stadiums (Shea was not the first). The 60,000-seat Gator Bowl in Jacksonville drew about 32,000 fans, while Kansas City Municipal Stadium, with a capacity of 47,000, attracted roughly 20,000.

Still impressive crowds for a burgeoning new industry—but far from sold out.

By 1965, with the Beatles now a global phenomenon, Epstein felt more confident moving into larger venues. The tour included Shea Stadium, Atlanta Stadium, White Sox Park in Chicago, Metropolitan Stadium in Minnesota, and a late addition at San Diego’s Balboa Stadium.

Shea was the largest crowd the Beatles ever performed to—and they never matched it again.

The other planned shows did not.

Why?

America still loved the Beatles. Records were selling. Their songs dominated AM radio. But the concept of the massive rock concert—like Woodstock or Live Aid—had not yet fully developed.

There were also concerns from parents, educators, religious leaders and even government agencies about large gatherings of young people for a Rock and Roll show. The idea of tens of thousands of teenagers converging in one place was still new—and, to some, unsettling.

Even the FBI took notice.

So while crowds of 25,000 to 30,000 might seem modest today, they were remarkable for the time—especially considering Epstein’s 1964 “sweet spot” of around 15,000.

At the same time, the business of large-scale concert touring was rapidly evolving. Promoters, managers, and venues were still figuring out how to present rock concerts to mass audiences. There was no established model—no blueprint for how to consistently fill venues or manage crowds of this size.

Even so, the economics were quickly scaling. The Beatles’ guaranteed fees rose from $25,000–$30,000 per show in 1964 to more than $50,000 in 1965—all while touring for a shorter period. The demand was undeniable, but the infrastructure to support truly massive concerts was still catching up.

By 1966, Epstein once again pushed toward the largest venues available, hoping to build on the previous year’s momentum.

But this time, something beyond his control intervened.

The tour is often remembered as the “Bigger than Jesus” tour, following John Lennon’s controversial remarks earlier that year. The backlash affected ticket sales across multiple cities and Epstein even considered cancelling the entire tour.

Venues such as Shea Stadium (again), Cleveland Stadium, D.C. Stadium, Crosley Field, JFK Stadium, Busch Stadium, Dodger Stadium, and even their final paid performance at Candlestick Park fell short of capacity.

The Beatles’ North American tours were, by any measure, a success.

Drawing crowds of 30,000 to 55,000 was extraordinary for the time—especially in an era before modern sound systems, lighting, and large-scale production.

But the idea that every show was sold out?

That’s a myth.

And as with many aspects of the Beatles’ touring years, the real story is far more interesting than what’s on the web.

In future articles, I’ll continue to explore and debunk myths from those historic tours, while also sharing lesser-known stories along the way.

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Welcome to my Substack. I hope you enjoy it and follow along.

It’s been just over 10 years since my book Some Fun Tonight! was published, and I thought there’s no better time than now to revisit and expand on that story.

When the Beatles arrived in America, they didn’t just perform concerts—they created a phenomenon. Over the next three years, from 1964 to 1966, their North American tours reshaped live music and left behind a trail of stories that still fascinate fans today.

Most people know the headlines: the screaming girls, the sold-out stadiums (well, not really), and the cultural explosion that followed. But what happened behind the scenes is just as compelling—and often far less understood, especially with so many myths created along the way.

Who organized these tours? What challenges did promoters face? How did the Beatles and their team manage the chaos that followed them from city to city? And what really happened at some of these historic shows?

These are the questions that led me to write Some Fun Tonight!, a detailed account of the Beatles’ North American tours from 1964 to 1966. Through years of research, I uncovered the people, decisions, and moments that shaped those tours—many of which rarely make it into the usual retellings.

This newsletter is an extension of that work.

Here, I’ll be sharing stories, photos, memorabilia, and lesser-known details—along with deeper insights into the Beatles’ touring years and occasional additional reflections.

If you’re interested in what really happened when the Beatles took America by storm, you’re in the right place.

— Chuck Gunderson