Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1959)

Record Details:

Something wrong or inaccurate about this page? Let us Know!

Thanks for helping us continually improve the quality of the Lantern search engine for all of our users! We have millions of scanned pages, so user reports are incredibly helpful for us to identify places where we can improve and update the metadata.

Please describe the issue below, and click "Submit" to send your comments to our team! If you'd prefer, you can also send us an email to mhdl@commarts.wisc.edu with your comments.




We use Optical Character Recognition (OCR) during our scanning and processing workflow to make the content of each page searchable. You can view the automatically generated text below as well as copy and paste individual pieces of text to quote in your own work.

Text recognition is never 100% accurate. Many parts of the scanned page may not be reflected in the OCR text output, including: images, page layout, certain fonts or handwriting.

with ALAN FREED N Pmm/AW1* P» HUGW l BfAT STAGE 1bI«SL N O xts& »»s “warvmT.n WILLIAMS PON ?-^t8<;{^S^lPlPP^r-'g>MP&E|.L .'iCuFTOMlS BACKSTAGE AT THE BIG BEAT I knocked at the big backstage door of the Brooklyn Fox Theater. Alan Freed, the big daddy of rock ’n’ roll, had invited us to a Big Beat session and then asked us if we’d like to go backstage to meet his singing stars. “No visitors,” a voice shouted back. “I have an appointment,” I said. I identified myself and the door opened. Quicker than a whirr of birdwings, three teenage girls ducked in behind me. “Hey,” a gruff voice shouted at them. “You can’t come in here.” The girls looked downcast, as if Elvis had left for Germany all over again— and Rick Nelson along with him. “Oh, that’s all right,” I chimed in. “They’re with me.” The man went back to guarding the door and the girls clustered around me. “Gee, thanks, Mister . . .” “Christy,” I said, “George Christy. And don’t mention it. I’m here to do a story for Photoplay. Why don’t you tag along?” The tallest one’s ponytail was bouncing with excitement as she gave me her hand. “Golly, we’d love to,” she breathed. “I’m Kathy and that’s Debbie.” She pointed to her blue-eyed friend, who was busy craning her neck up at the backstage maze of wires and pulleys, the beams of silvery light and midnightblue velour drapes. “I’m Sue,” piped up ( Continued ) by GEORGE CHRISTY i