Klaus Voormann, left, and George Harrison are shown painting George's house
Kinfauns in 1967.
The photo was taken by Eileen D'Angelo, who allowed us to use it here.
I was reading John Winn's "That Magic Feeling" last night and came across the "Speech" entry from July 12, 1967 (p. 114, page 125 in the first edition): it's actually two fans, Leslie Samuels and Donna Stark, who approach George outside his home at Kinfauns and tape their conversation with him. They had done the same earlier in the day with Paul outside of his home.
What struck me was this passage: "In turn, [Leslie and Donna] show [George] a snapshot of George and Klaus painting the exterior of Kinfauns with psychedelic scribbles, which one of their friends had taken a few months earlier."
That friend is a friend of mine named Eileen, and, after confirming with her today, it turns out that this is that very photo.
We got in touch with Eileen, actually Eileen D'Angelo, to ask her if we could use the photo and give us the background on how it came about.
Not much of a story, really. It was 1967, I went to England on my own and met up with a British fan who knew where they all lived, and one day we did the pilgrimage to all their homes. Today we'd be considered stalkers, but back then, there was no security around any of their homes.
We'd been to George's house earlier in the day, rang the bell, and his housekeeper answered, told us George and Patti were still asleep, we should come back later.
So that's what we did. We came to the driveway and there were George and Klaus, painting the house. That's when I took the photo. We slowly approached, George saw us, said a word or two to Klaus and graciously came to greet us. I have no recollection of the conversation other than when I asked if I could shake his hand. He let us take a few photos of him, excused himself to return to his work and we left.
We'd done a lot of walking that day, miles and miles, and our feet were killing us. After we met George, my friend said to me, "Do your feet still hurt?" I wasn't feeling a thing, other than my heart beating so hard I thought it would burst out of my chest.
I was reading John Winn's "That Magic Feeling" last night and came across the "Speech" entry from July 12, 1967 (p. 114, page 125 in the first edition): it's actually two fans, Leslie Samuels and Donna Stark, who approach George outside his home at Kinfauns and tape their conversation with him. They had done the same earlier in the day with Paul outside of his home.
What struck me was this passage: "In turn, [Leslie and Donna] show [George] a snapshot of George and Klaus painting the exterior of Kinfauns with psychedelic scribbles, which one of their friends had taken a few months earlier."
That friend is a friend of mine named Eileen, and, after confirming with her today, it turns out that this is that very photo.
We got in touch with Eileen, actually Eileen D'Angelo, to ask her if we could use the photo and give us the background on how it came about.
Not much of a story, really. It was 1967, I went to England on my own and met up with a British fan who knew where they all lived, and one day we did the pilgrimage to all their homes. Today we'd be considered stalkers, but back then, there was no security around any of their homes.
We'd been to George's house earlier in the day, rang the bell, and his housekeeper answered, told us George and Patti were still asleep, we should come back later.
So that's what we did. We came to the driveway and there were George and Klaus, painting the house. That's when I took the photo. We slowly approached, George saw us, said a word or two to Klaus and graciously came to greet us. I have no recollection of the conversation other than when I asked if I could shake his hand. He let us take a few photos of him, excused himself to return to his work and we left.
We'd done a lot of walking that day, miles and miles, and our feet were killing us. After we met George, my friend said to me, "Do your feet still hurt?" I wasn't feeling a thing, other than my heart beating so hard I thought it would burst out of my chest.
