Jan Howes, who was 10 at the time but already deeply in love with the
Beatles, did not see the band when it played Dallas on September 18,
1964, but her father did. It was, after all, his job: John Mazziotta was chief photographer at the Dallas Times Herald,
assigned to cover John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison and
Ringo Starr from Love Field arrival to Memorial Auditorium blastoff.
Mazziotta thought briefly of taking his daughter to the show, but
reconsidered following news that girls, pressed against Cabana Motor
Hotel plate-glass windows that eventually shattered, had to be
hospitalized. “Dallas was another madness,” Harrison would recall years
later, and Mazziotta wanted no part of that for his little girl, not so
close to what had happened here just one year earlier.
“He felt really bad, but it was right after the Kennedy
assassination,” Howes says now. “But I absolutely loved the Beatles. I’d
gotten a transistor radio and was listening to them through that
scratchy speaker, and I remember Ed Sullivan like it was yesterday. But
after the incident at the Cabana, Dad said, ‘You’re not going.’ It
really was unprecedented, and they may have been nervous after Kennedy,
who knows. That was his excuse, anyway: ‘It’s too dangerous, no telling
what could happen to you.’”
So instead Mazziotta gave his daughter quite the consolation price:
every photo of the band and its fans he took during the Beatles’ one and
only trip to Dallas 50 years ago, along with every negative — more than
100 all told.
“It was compensation for not getting to go,” she says, laughing. “No
question he knew it was the biggest thing in my life and remained that
way for just about forever.”
But now, as the 50th anniversary of that Memorial Auditorium concert
approaches, Howes is willing to part with her father’s gift: One month
from now Heritage
Auctions will take her father’s photos and negatives to the Ukrainian
Institute of America at The Fletcher-Sinclair Mansion and send them home
with the highest bidder. The winner will take not only the photos, but the right to reprint and resell them.
Howes already knows what you’re thinking: But how could she …? The answer comes easy.
“My brother and I have had these photographers all these years, and
they were something we could show off, and people would say, ‘Oh, those
are wonderful.’ But beyond that, they were kinda …” She pauses. “Sitting
there. In the past we made copies for ourselves, so we have a few of
the ones we treasure. But with the 50th coming up, there’s that
opportunity there may be some value here — not having any idea
how much. But if there’s an opportunity for passing them on and letting
someone else enjoy them rather than just my circle of friends, this is
the time. The profit would be nice, I won’t lie to you. But they also
deserve a new life.”
Howes sells the occasional print of her father’s work:
Suitable-for-framing reproductions of Tom Landry, Roger Staubach and
Byron Nelson portraits are available here. And, until the photos were sent to Heritage, some of the Beatles images were available as well, including this Love Field landing and another from the press conference.
But the entire collections reveals heretofore unseen gems, including
several photos of the band on stage at Memorial. Those alone are hard to come by. Then there are the photos from the press conference, casual glances at bemused Beatles chatting up the locals who yukked it up like an audience well past its two-drink minimum. And among the negatives you will also find photos of fans pressed against chain-link at Love Field.
“My parents were both photographers,” says Jan, whose mother Peggie Spencer Mazziotta was one of the first female photojournalists at The Dallas Morning News, the Times Herald and the Fort Worth Star-Telegram.
“This was second nature to them as photographers to get the story, and
the story wasn’t just the object but what was sharing space with the
object. It was important to convey that — how out of their minds the
fans were. That’s the way they were as photographers, getting a sense of
the environment and the emotion.”
Jan doesn’t know who will want the collection — maybe someone who was
there and has spent 50 years chasing down memories, maybe a local
history buff, maybe someone needed some photos for a book. She has her
copies, and her memories. It’s time to let the hard copies go.
“You can hear my dad in the press conference,” Jan says. “He’s been
gone 20 years, so it’s amazing to hear his voice: ‘I’m out of film,’ he
says. There’s a lot of sentimental value to these photographs, and he
recognized how important they were to me.”
But in the end, she says, her dad was a newspaperman. He wanted his
work to be seen by an audience. “And now,” she says, “it’s time for them
to begin that new life.”
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