We Loved You (Yeah, Yeah, Yeah)

John, Paul, George and Ringo, together again in my living room, were performing in their first live American television performance on the Ed Sullivan Show.

Surprise, pleasure, happiness and a bit of cheek, all came through the screen. I don't remember their first appearance per se, although I do have a vague recollection of my older siblings wanting to watch the new sensation from Britain and my folks being less than enthused.

The date was February 4, 1964, and the British Invasion had begun.

When all was said and done, my dad hated them and my mom liked them. So my brothers were allowed to play them in their room, nearly non-stop (it seemed to me) for the next several years.

That's why I'm a Beatles fan. Why I can still sing along to most of their songs. (I Am the Walrus is still a bit sticky for me, I admit.) And why I re-watched that first show last week and felt so much that I could never describe adequately to my son or anyone else who wasn't there.

Here was the playlist, performed in two different sets on the show:

All My Loving

Till There Was You

She Loves You

I Saw Her Standing There

I Want to Hold Your Hand

At one point, they put captions under each mop-topped band member. Beneath John's, it said, "Sorry, girls, he's married."

As well as musical groups, Ed Sullivan showcased comedians, jugglers and all manner of performers. Much like Vaudeville, it really was a mixed bag of "wow" and "not so much."

The Beatles' first appearance was no exception. In fact, it was touch and go whether the upstart British band was even going to get top billing.

One of the other acts was the London cast from the play Oliver, which performed two songs. In the first, the Artful Dodger and his compatriots belt out I'd Do Anything. And whom, you might ask, played the Artful Dodger? None other than Davy Jones, who a few short years later would go on to play one of the Monkees in the hit TV show that started out as a spoof. Then it turned out the Monkees really could play their instruments.

But I digress.

Other fun facts from this first episode...George had tonsillitis and missed the rehearsals for the show. Standing in for him was Neil Aspinall, their road manager in the early days. He didn't play, his guitar wasn't plugged in, but a few days later, an American magazine proclaimed he "played a mean guitar."

Ed Sullivan announced the Beatles had received a telegram from Elvis Presley. In truth, it had been sent from Colonel Tom Parker, who wanted to jump on the Beatles bandwagon early. Elvis did not like the Beatles.

Other performers that night included a pair of comedians, Charlie Brill and Mitzi McCall, who bombed. Fred Kaps, an engaging magician who was quite good, despite having to immediately follow the then-toughest act in show business. (Although, I believe his segment was taped, so that helped.)  Frank Gorshin, soon-to-be TV's The Riddler, then a talented impressionist. (Are there still people who do impressions?) Wells and the Four Fays were "comedic acrobats," who vaulted about the stage, contorting their bodies in ways mine has NEVER been able to.

And then there was Tessie O'Shea, a 50-year-old Welsh singer, whom, on any other night, would have stolen the show. She played a banjolele and sang, Two Ton Tessie from Tennessee (the reference was to her talent, not her weight). I thought Tessie was amazing. Online, I found a picture of Tessie with the four lads, and she autographed it, "Cheers & Love, Tessie O'Shea and her favorite boys."

Mr. Ginley and I went on to watch the remaining Beatles' appearances, which were great, but not quite as fascinating as the first, which was viewed by 73 million Americans in front an audience of 728.

Will we ever again experience something like Beatlemania?

It doesn't seem possible.