I am not sure how I really feel about this story about Mal Evans. The personal relations between Mal and the fans is something that has been alluded to several books, but has always been a bit "hush-hush" and now just in the last week I have read two accounts of Mal having a relationship with fans. Mal is no longer around to answer to these stories, so we might not ever know what really was going on.
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The Mal Evans I met
By Beck
The Mess (issue 11)
It was on July 22, 1969, the day I first met Mal. Not surprisingly enough, I first met Paul, John, George and Ringo the same day. Beautiful!
The summer of Abbey Road. The wind gently teasing the trees. And all the first name-only best friends to the Beatles teasing the girls outside. One of them was Mal.
Before I encountered Paul, Mal introduced himself to me. I wasn’t the first to know, “if you really want to meet Paul, you’ll have to do it through me.” I was quite sure I could do it on my own, but some girls weren’t as sure.
I remember meeting a girl from the South who naively believed Mal’s words to be the truth. Rumor has it, she went home with him that night. I never saw her again. Initiation was too much for the girl.
For those of us who could handle the lines, meeting Paul came just as easy. But we didn’t get to know Mal as well, so to speak.
At any rate, my fondest memory of Malcolm did happen on that very day.
A notorious little green Mini came roaring and colliding into several fans and made a sudden halt in the EMI studio lot. When much to my surprise out popped Paul McCartney. At age 16 I was more than impressed at the great hulk of a hero and I was caught by surprise, speechless. I managed to throw some blossoms his way and received a “thank you” note.
I followed the man up the drive, leaped the steps closely behind and proceeded to tail him down the ivy halls of EMI. But alas, as fate has it, I met with the mighty hand of Mal Evans. It seems that not everyone is eligible to enter the EMI kingdom and I qualified. But I wasn’t easily convinced and got in a couple punches as I was dragged to the door. I gasped and muttled and fought the mighty Mal but he had a good grip on me. The fight paid off though because Paul had forgotten some pressing business with Mal and had decided to come back and see us. To this day I cannot recall a word that was exchanged between Mal and Paul for those few minutes that day. I do remember gazing lovingly at Paul and admiring the closeness of his being. As he turned to leave, he held some flowers up to me and waved acknowledgement that meant the very world to me. Thanks Mal. Thanks Paul. And in the end….