Deb's Paul Meeting!!

Soooo...I have to take you all back to 88' or so. I was so incredibly obsessed with Paul. I'm still not sure why, or what causes obsessions with stars...it's weird behavior, and I was still a bit young to be so into someone.. but I'm sure you can all relate. Right? I collected every single article, interview, record, CD, that I could get my tiny hands on...Remember I live in America, and I did not have access to the great stuff you UKer's did. I ate, slept, breathed the man, and decided that one day, I would meet him.

I thought of ways I could accomplish this. I did have quite a few ties in the music industry, but I wanted it to be special, I didn't want it to be a two second handshake, and an autographed picture saying Best Wishes, Paul Young. I wanted to do it mostly on my own. An idea came to me about 3 in the morning. I decided to gather all of his CD's and records, copy all of the lyrics on to paper assess the situation, and write a letter from me to him, in his words, with him singing. I spliced together pieces of his songs, in a coherent manner, in a very amateurish way (tape player to tape player) and came up with something I was very proud of. So, I have in hand...a cassette tape of this letter to Paul. Now...how to get it to him.

Because I was such an avid reader of all Paul's articles, I began to recognize the names behind the scenes. I went to a concert in 85 in Miami, got a program and saw the name Ged Doherty, Paul's manager at the time. I decided that I'd use this somehow.

I called Mr. Doherty, my brother called Ged Doherty, and told him that he was Steve Grant, a record producer from A & M...(it was a total lie, but we were desperate) I had this tape I needed to get to him. So, Ged told us to come to the hotel Pier 66 in Ft. Lauderdale, FL and we'd talk. We went down, tape in my hand, big bro by my side, but in reality, with my hair spiked up perfectly like Paul's and my brother anything but a record producer, we looked ridiculous, and we had no chance in hell of meeting Paul. I dropped the tape at Ged's hotel room door, and wandered around the hotel. My brother wanted a drink, we were both underage, but we went down into the bar. We took the only two seats available. Mine was right next to Nik Kershaw. I tried to listen for valuable information, but got nothing..all I learned was that Nik used 1 entire can of hair spray to spike his hair up so high. My brother and I left the bar, wandered around some more, saw Jimmy Tony and the third backup singer, but I didn't want them...I WANTED PAUL. We met Ian, Paul's steampresser guy. His job was to make sure Paul's groovy outfits were neatly pressed. I told him I'd pay him double if he let me have that job. He just laughed and said that Paul was shopping that day and we most likely wouldn't get to see him.

Frustrated, defeated, depressed, I went home. I had to make sure he got a copy. Sure it was in Ged's hands (maybe) (If the cleaning crew didn't toss it..or if Ged didn't toss it) I needed more.

I put it on a back burner for a few years. I heard nothing to let me believe Paul ever heard it. But in 1989 I got a chance to go to England. I had one purpose. It was to hand Paul the tape. I didn't care about Big Ben, or castles, or cathedrals, or Buckingham palace...this was my goal. I located his management (Renegade maybe?) (cant remember the street now--) but walked there and asked if I could leave the tape for Paul. They thought it was cute, I guess, to see this pathetic American, so determined, and young, trying to meet her idol. They assured me, he'd get it.

I tried to find Millionaire's Row...(whatever that is) because I heard that was where he lived. I wandered past a guard gate, and heard..."S'cuse me..Miss? (who me--pretend you don't hear him, pretend you can't see him...RUN RUN) "MISS!! MISS!!!" He caught up to me. "And where do you think you're goin Miss??" I tried to give him my cute and innocent look."I heard Paul Young lives here, I just wanted to see his house." He laughed..."Paul Young, Paul Young...I thought he was American..." then he laughed some more. (I was happy he was enjoying himself) "No, love," he said "This is the Queen's property, you're no where near Paul's house. I don't think you've been invited to see the queen, and she doesn't fancy surprise visitors." Oh...I hung my head and walked off...he felt bad for me..."Keep tryin, you'll find him" he shouted after me.

Flew back to America...Paul wasn't putting out much in the way of cd's ..I kind of went my own way and forgot him for a while.

After flying to London in search of Paul..to no avail. I have to say, I gave up all hope. I had a best friend, at the time, who was the nephew of the President of CBS Records...but never wanted to ask him...that might have been much easier.

1990 I'm sitting home and I hear that a local radio station is having their 17th birthday or 20th birthday, a birthday none the less-- and in honor of it, they were having a concert featuring James Ingram, Wilson Phillips, yadda yadda yadda and Paul Young...WHO???? AHHHHHH!! My ears perked, I went numb and I jumped for glee. This all came to a halt, however, when I learned that in order to attend this "special" birthday concert, one had to win tickets by sending a birthday card to the radio station, and if they picked it, you'd go. I never win anything...Naturally I went out to the bulk birthday card store and bought about 500 cards...signed them all and sent them in. Then you had to listen for your name to be called, and call in within 15 minutes. Soooo, armed with portable radio, my mother's cell phone, a feeding tube and Depends I waited....and waited.....and waited........NOTHING!!

I called the station and explained my sad sob story to them. They were not sympathetic at all and said "Keep on listening!" @@##!#!@$@#~#!!! to them!!! I even rang them and played the only song I knew on keyboard with synthesizers and drums "Happy Birthday"…but nada.

My mother, sensing my frustration and wanting her former showered and nourished daughter back, used a connection that she had, and got me 10th row tickets to this bash. (Respect thy mother!!)

Soooo, the day of the concert arrives, I decide to bring a copy of the tape I had made years earlier. I bought one of those disposable cameras...in case it was confiscated, and my best friend, who could not understand my obsession. But she understood my determination and was willing to see me fulfill a dream. I was gonna meet the man damnit!

The day of the concert comes. It's set to start at 7:30, I get there with my friend about 5. I thought there might be the possibility of sound checks and a glimpse before the show. We got into the lobby of the arena, but the doors to the arena were locked. I tried them all. Finally, about 6 PM i hear a familiar sound coming from inside. It was Paul rehearsing "Oh Girl"...I shoved a 200 pound woman out of the way and peeked in through the crack of the locked doors. There he was..in overalls and a white button down shirt. My knees felt weak, my pulse got fast, and I was more determined than ever to meet this man.

My friend saw the determination in my eyes, turned to me and said.."I'm willing to go along with any plan you come up with as long as it doesn't involve killing anyone." To that I smiled big took her hand and said "follow me". Loooooosey you may have some splainin to do later!!!

We ran outside and around back to the back door of the arena. As we approached the doors, I saw a big burly security guard standing in front of the doors with his arms folded. I stopped short in my tracks and pulled my friend to the side. We hid behind cars and walls, doing our James Bond best to evade him, but he stood and watched us act like morons and basically laughed at us. "We've been spotted..." my friend said. I walked up to the guard and asked him if he had seen Ged Dougherty. (I wasn't even sure if he was still Paul's manager, but hell, it was a name)

"Who?" the burly man replied. "Ged Dougherty, Paul Young's manager, is he here, I need to speak to him." I'm this kid, with a fat envelope in my hand, containing the tape and a long letter to Paul inside, looking much like a crazed fan would, so the guy replied..."Who's Paul Young?" I was ready to mace this big lug, but I just sighed. "Please go in, and tell Ged that Debbie Singer is outside and she needs to talk to him and that its very urgent." Now I was a lot bolder then. If Ged remembered my name from a few years ago when I delivered the same tape with my name inside, I would have been floored, but I thought I had a one in three gazillion chance.

We waited about ten minutes, meanwhile having total access to the door, if we wanted to go in, we could have. But we remained professional. The guard came back with a man. I put my hand out to shake his. "Hi, are you Ged?" "No," he replied, "Ged isn't here, I'm Bill Beaty from CBS Records, how can I help you?" "Well," I said (yikes i said to myself) "I have this here for Paul-(showing him the envelope) and I'd like to give it to him" "Sure," he said "Give it to me, and I'll see that he gets it." "NO!" I startled us all. "I've already tried to get it to him twice, and failed, I have to put this into the man's hands myself, this is more important than breathing to me." He saw how serious I was and must have felt pretty sorry for me. "Why don't you come back after the show and I'll try to get you back to see Paul." My eyes lit up, my pulse shot up to about 210 and I bowed to him. "What a strange bird"...he must have thought.

Laughing, I sounded like a rambling fool. And if I was like this meeting him, what in the world would I do when I met Paul?

"By the way," I said to him.. "Do you know so and so" (I mentioned my other friends uncle who is the pres. of CBS records) now Mr. Beaty looked alert. "Yes, of course I know him, how do you know him?" he asked "He's the uncle of one of my best friends" I said "Really...." Bill retorted..."ok, come back after the show and I'll see what I can do." He now looked impressed. I felt nauseous.

We went back into the arena and found our seats...Paul was on first, i can't remember who he had with him in his band, but it was no one I really recognized. I was in the 10th row, but had my binoculars so I could see his pulse, and kept them perched upon my nose through his whole set. Which was...Heaven Can Wait - Oh Girl - Come Back and Stay - Every time You Go Away - and Little Bit of Love. My friend kept a constant reading of my pulse, she was amazed that I maintained about 150 through the whole thing. I noticed that Paul had a quarter sized hole in the crotch of his blue jeans. I tried to peer in for more, but damn those binoculars were not that strong >:)

His set ended, I wasn't sure if Bill meant come back after the entire show, or after Paul's set. I didn't want to take any chances, so I grabbed my friend and we headed outside to the back doors again. The usher said that we would not be able to re-enter if we left. I explained to him that my friend was a diabetic and her insulin was in the car, and we had to go get it or she would die. YES it was a lie, but he let us out, and held our ticket stubs, until we returned...if we ever did.

We walked to the back doors with much more confidence this time. One of Paul's back up singers was standing outside. "You were great.." I told him "Yeah, you think so? Thanks" he replied "Do you know if Bill Beaty is back there he told us to come and ask for him." I asked in an as innocent a voice as I could muster. "Hold on, I'll go get him..." He disappeared for a few minutes. Pulse 240.

While waiting a girl came up to us and asked if Paul had come out yet. I panicked. I didn't want a bunch of groupies to be waiting when Bill came back. I told her that I just saw a limo pulling out and it might of been him. She looked extremely upset. She kicked a wall..."5 Years!! I've waited 5 years to meet him, and he's gone!!" I felt for the girl, but I was in my selfish phase. She left and Bill Came out. I looked at him with anticipation, he did a "c'mere" with his finger, and my friend and I walked confidently back stage through a maze of people, past Wilson Phillips, to a door that said PAUL YOUNG. He smiled at me, and opened the door.

Bill opened the door to Paul's room, I held my breath and walked in, my friend following. I quickly scanned the room. A few members of Paul's band were sitting around the table eating. Paul was not there.

"Paul's doing an interview for MTV, " said Bill, "you can hang out here and wait for him." I nodded yes. One of the guys at the table said..."Friends or fans?" I didn't answer, I wanted to be cool, if I spoke I might have lost my lunch...so I just nodded. I was doing a lot of nodding. My friend and I stood way on the other side of the room, away from the band. I hadn't really expected to get this far, but here I was. I had no words. EGADS!!

"You guys sounded really great." "Thanks," replied one "Yeah, I couldn't tell if it was Live or Memorex." They all cracked up. This was around the time of Milli Vanilli and the lip synching craze. I thought it was apropro. "What do you mean? I was lip synching perfectly," said another one. "No, you were about three words off, but that's ok, you still sounded great" We were just being goofy...I was glad that thick chunk of ice was broken.

Then........................the door opens. In walks Bill, followed by Paul. I bowed my head down so he couldn't see my face turn green, and I certainly didn't want to puke all over him. He walked directly up to me and stood in front. "Ooo do we 'ave 'ere? (that is a Lutonesque accent for those of you who didn't know) I looked up slowly, and standing before me was a man I'd only seen on tv, magazine covers and cd cases...here was my idol.

I held out my hand.."Debbie Singer, nice to meet me..uh you" He smiled. "Pleased to meet you Debbie," said Paul. I guess by now the band had determined that we were in fact fan, not friend, but the two are not mutually exclusive. I took a breath and said to the 5 or 6 guys stuffing their faces, "Can I have a few minutes alone with Paul?" Everyone looked a little perplexed, especially Paul. "What are you gonna do to me???" Paul asked slightly nervous "I need to talk to you.., here's the payoff." I gave him the fat envelope with the cassette tape and the band members stood up one by one and single filed out the door. I was impressed. My friend was speechless, Bill was hiding his amusement, and Paul just looked tired, but very very very good! He pulled out a chair for me and for himself, and we sat..face to face.

I was trying to remember the number for emergency in case I needed to be revived. I think it was 911. I double checked with my friend, she nodded from across the room. Paul seemed genuinely entertained by me. He opened the letter, I watched his to see if there was any recollection of it. This should have been his third time seeing it.

"Does that look at all familiar to you?" I asked hopefully. "Yes...you took pieces of me songs and spliced them together in a letta, yes, I've seen this before. I really liked it" "WHAT??" I replied. "and you never wrote me, or acknowledged me....I'm deeply deeply hurt! (of course I wasn't but a little guilt might have gone along way.)

"You see..(he thought fast) ..when I receive things like this from fans that are special...I put them aside and plan on responding to them...I lost this though." He looked sincere, and I accepted that answer, but I would have accepted "Yeah i got this, it sucked, and I hated it." The fact was he was talking to me and what he was saying was not all that important.

"Can I have your autograph?" I asked. By now the band had returned. "Surely", said Paul. Long pause. I guess he was waiting for me to give him a pen or a piece of paper to accomplish this mission. I had nothing. I wanted him to sign my ticket stub, but it was in the hands of the usher at the door, waiting for me and my diabetic friend to return. One of the band members threw him a hand towel.

"Here Paul, sign this for her..." He took it and said ok. "Wait a minute," I said..and took it from his hands, then proceeded to wipe his brow and chest for any sweat that I could also have as a souvenir, at least he laughed. He sat down to sign it, with a fat tipped magic marker. "I can't write on this it's too fluffy.." he remarked. That and I guess the moisture from his sweat was causing the ink to bleed. He looked around for something else to sign and grabbed the set list from the counter, "ows this?" My eyes lit up "Perfect!" I said. "Just don't write Best Wishes or anything like that." He chuckled..."Then what am I supposed to write??" "I don't know," I said..."you're the creative one." Bill was watching the whole interaction and was thoroughly entertained. He was my second favorite person in the whole world now. Paul began to write...I chatted with the band some more. It seemed like Paul was writing a novel, I couldn't wait to see it. Finally he handed it to me. It said: To Debbie, Thanks for the tape, This time I won't lose it!!! Lots of Love, Paul Young x

I thanked him, i wanted to marry him. I then asked if I could get a picture. He said of course. Earlier that night, before I entered the arena, I unwrapped my disposable camera, so I'd be ready to take a picture in an instant, should the opportunity arise. This was my first disposable camera and little did I know that you aren't supposed to remove ALL the wrapping. I took it out of my bag and was about to hand it to my friend so she could get a pic.

"What's that??" Inquired Paul "That's my disposable camera." I said proudly "Can I see that?" I gave it to him. "this is very odd looking, I just bought one of these and it didn't look like this. Did you take the wrapping off or something? "yes...I wasnt supposed to do that?" Uh Oh!! "No, I think you've exposed the film." Tears came to my eyes. He handed it back to me and I flung it across the room. Startling everyone. "Don't worry, maybe it will still work," he said trying to comfort the insane girl (me) My friend snapped some pics, we all knew it was futile. "Wait a minute" I ran out of the room and grabbed a guy with a camera that I saw passing by the door. I asked him to take our picture. He did, and Bill told me to call him to get it. That picture is now in my wallet, on my wall and every other place you can put a picture. Maybe as soon as the CIA stops looking for me, I will post it on this page, for now though, I am not allowed to show by the rules of the Witness Relocation Program.

"Did you like the show?" asked Paul "Yes...I loved it. Uh, Paul, do you know you have a little rip right there?" I pointed to his crotch. He turned red. Everyone else laughed. "I'm sorry, I had binoculars, I couldn't help myself." He just sighed. He introduced me to a former member of Streetband...why he was there I don'tknow, but that guy said..."I don't remember Streetband, how does she? "Paul said, "yeah, she has it all, Streetband, Q-tips, all of it." I felt proud. "Yeah," I said "I even have that streetband album where Paul's hair was doing that Shawn Cassidy thing." (I'm not sure what came over me that night, but nervous energy mixed with a generally sarcastic person creates these types of responses)

"Ooh wha'd she say?" asked Paul. Everyone else heard and laughed...I backed away, I didn't want to get clocked in the eye by my idol. We exchanged a few more words...Bill told me that when I got a little older I should get a job as a publicist because I had a lot of balls. Bill gave me his card and told me to call for the picture.

Then it was time to go. They all stood at the door, I shook everyone's hand individually and told them they did great, I hugged Paul, and we left. As we were walking out his bass player told us that he needed a hug and opened his arms. Who were we to deny anyone a little love? So we hugged and left the building. I passed the girl who approached the doors earlier, the one who had waited five years. I told her to go try to get in, Paul was still there.