The Willow Glen Resident

Point of View

Deborah Taylor-Hollis

A too-short love story of 10,617 nights

Ten thousand, six hundred and seventeen nights. That's how many nights (practically consecutively) Linda and Paul McCartney spent together--all of them. From the day they were married until she passed away quickly April 17 after a two-year battle with cancer, they spent every night of their married lives together (with the exception of the 10 Paul spent in custody in the Tokyo jail on marijuana charges). This is a testament to love, fidelity, commitment, dedication and family values of the highest order.

Way back when Linda first stole Paul from all of us (if you are between the ages of 38 and 60, and female, there's a good chance you're one of us) on March 12, 1969, there was a collective gnashing of teeth and rumbling of discontent among the crowd. Every Beatles fan in America--hey, the world--had some kind of stalker's crush on them and would do anything just to be near them, let alone catch one of them.

The movie I Wanna Hold Your Hand is a perfect re-creation of our hysteria over them. We would gladly have given up our lives, even our virginity, for them. And we hated the hussies who snuck in like thieves and stole them from us.

Those 10,617 nights are partly due to us, the great female hordes. Paul's first fiancée, Jane Asher, left him when she discovered his randy ways with the fans--in the bed they shared. All of the Beatles lost wives due at least in part to the uncontrolled libidinous young things hanging on their every move and at every door. The boys were so prolific in their wooing back then that regular, prolonged trips to the penicillin doctors were built right into their schedules.

More than once these groupies became famous just for their persistence, such as the Apple foursome who lived on the steps of the Apple store, just waiting for their chance to give of themselves to any Beatle who crossed their paths. The girls were commemorated by John in song.

Linda was no fool. A professional photographer and besotted divorcée, she stalked Paul like the rest of us. The book The Love You Make describes her two-year obsession with him, from her first meeting with him in 1967 at a party to 1969, when she finally caught up with him in L.A.

During that time, she kept a huge blow-up photo of both of them on her bathroom wall. Frantic phone calls, begging for information and his personal number, were her main activities during that time. But when she got called for an audition she stayed, and when she won him, she kept him for the rest of her life.

Their love did more than just last--it enveloped the rest of us. Sure, it took time. We wanted to vilify her and Yoko as the reason the band broke up, but the Fab Four was over long before these women actually had any say in things.

Linda had to weather the crisis, support her husband and keep a stiff upper lip as they sued their way out of the legal morass that the band had become. She had to become more than just lover as her famous spouse limped his way back into a solo career, suffering through a dismal premiere album and the vicious attacks of critics who went at them personally as well as professionally.

When she had to stand up there onstage and play that stupid tambourine while mouthing words to songs she wasn't a part of, she also suffered jibes like "What do you call a dog with Wings? Linda McCartney." But she stayed right there, learning, growing and eventually getting good.

We fans grew out of our obsessions and began to appreciate the unimposing two-bedroom farmhouse they lived in with their four children, and once we saw her photographic retrospective, we quit hating her so much. She had given our idol the love he had wanted, the peace he needed, the respectability he craved.

As their marriage persevered, we grew to love her. A funny, soft person who could stand up for herself and start her own business, a creative person who learned how to really play with the band and a truly great mom whose offspring never ended up splashed across the tabloids as they grew through puberty. Her most endearing quality was the love she inspired our hero to write about copiously. Most of the great love ballads we have were penned by Paul, and most of them were inspired by Linda.

Out of respect for him, I hope he gets through this and finds peace with her gone. Out of that long ago sophomoric crush I had, I cried when I heard she had died and left him, and us, alone.

Then it occurred to me that he's single again. And now, 30 years later, I'm finally old enough to qualify as a legitimate second wife. It's a crass thought--right now, anyway. It just goes to show, you never really get over your first love, and you never really get over the Beatles.

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