The Beatles were aboard a National Airlines jet bound for Miami and their second “Ed Sullivan Show.” Their course to the southwest plotted by a flight engineer in a Beatle wig. On landing, they were greeted by four bathing beauties a chimpanzee and a crowd of 7,000, which in its emotion smashed twenty-three windows and glass doors within the terminal precincts. The bathing beauties (from now on a regular fixture of all American journeys) each began furiously to kiss her apportioned Beatle. Police intervention was necessary to stop them from being kissed all the way to their limousines and beyond.
At the Hotel Deauville. a dimly lit Versailles turned endways into the sky above Miami Beach. each was decanted into his own lofty, luxurious three-room prison cell. For the Deauville, like the New York Plaza, was in a state of screaming siege. Two enterprising girls had themselves wrapped in two parcels addressed to the Beatles, but were apprehended on delivery.
George Martin, coincidentally in America, came down to Miami to see them, bringing his wife-to-be, Judy Lockhart-Smith. Martin watched the Beatles rehearse in bathing trunks in the hotel ballroom, and later repay Ed Sullivan’s $3,500 with a performance destined to break every record in audience ratings for televised entertainment. So far as such things can ever be computed, seventy-five million Americans watched the “Sullivan Show” that night. During the broadcast, from the hotel’s Mau Mau Club, a girl next to George Martin broke off sobbing and bouncing to stare at him in surprise “Do you like them too, sir?” she asked.
Ed Sullivan nearly smiled. Cassius clay flourished Ringo Starr aloft like a talisman against Sonny Liston, against whom he was shortly to contest the world heavyweight title. Clay, a peerless siphoner of publicity, had invited the Beatles to visit him at his 5th Street gymnasium. He gave his opinion that they were the greatest but he was still the prettiest.
Their only escape from the crowds and press was a day spent at the beach-side mansion of a capitol Records executive. Sergeant Buddy Bresner, a Miami cop who had befriended them, arranged for them to escape from the Deauville in the back of a butcher’s truck while other policemen brought decoy guitar cases out through the front lobby George Martin and Judy joined them for that first real respite since they had sunbathed on the seafront at Margate.
Brian Epstein was there too with his temporary assistant, Wendy Hanson. The householder, though absent, had left an armed bodyguard to look after them. Their protector barbecued steaks for them with a cigarette in his mouth, his shoulder holster clearly visible. “Brian was complaining about all the bootleg records that were coming out.” George Martin remembers, “Suddenly, this tough-looking guy who was barbecuing our steaks leaned forward and said, “You want we should take care of them for you, Mr. Epstein?” It was a very sinister moment.