On August 15, 1965, my friend Ricky Duryea and I rode the number 7 subway train to Shea Stadium to see the Beatles. The next-to-last song the Beatles played that night was “Help.”
“Help, I need somebody
(Help) not just anybody
(Help) you know I need someone, help.”
Those lyrics were accurate then and are even more so now.
Beatles tickets back in 1965 were five dollars. The band played for about 30 minutes. Hey, what do you want for five dollars? That was over 22,000 days ago. Some things you never forget and that’s one of them. (Separately, I’ve met John, Paul and Ringo.) The screaming that night, mainly by the girls, was so loud that it might be part of the reason I now have tinnitus and hearing aids.
Fifty-nine years later, on September 29, 2025, Nancy and I, along with our friends Mark and Rachelle Berger, attended a Paul McCartney concert at the Acrisure Arena in Palm Desert. As a performer myself, seeing Paul still energetic and vigorous at 83 years old was awe-inspiring. We paid about $500 per ticket and drove our electric car to hear Paul sing for almost three hours.
Paul opened with a rousing pounding rendition of “Help.” This one I could hear:
“… and now my life has changed in oh so many ways/ my independence seems to vanish in the haze/ but every now and then I feel so insecure/ I know that I just need you like I’ve never done before.”
Paul’s right: my age group’s independence is sometimes slowly, and sometimes quickly, vanishing into haze. Just watch my group as they get out of a chair.
Paul’s songs, the films, and the photos he showed that night in Palm Desert took us by the hand through 60-plus years. I quietly cried “into the light of the dark, black night” during his acoustic of “Blackbird.”
Back in Los Angeles, and because of the Jewish holidays, I have spent a lot of time in synagogue, and I have seen what happens to people, including myself, as the haze creeps forward.
When I was younger, so much younger than today, my boys would hide with me under my tallit during the blessing of Birkat Kohanim. There are many reasons why we don’t look at the Kohanim. One I like is that it’s about awe, respect and focus. The moment is treated as one of the holiest in the service, and ducking under the tallit helps preserve its spiritual intensity.
Back then, I was taller and stronger than my boys were. They would slip under my tallit and would hold on to me for protection. There are places I remember all my life, and that is one of them.
This year, my 34-year-old son (wow, 34), Jacob, went under my tallit with me. Now he is much taller and stronger than I am. I felt small and fragile in a way I have never felt before. In the dark, I found myself holding on to him like he used to hold on to me. That moment spoke the truth; it told what I was and wasn’t anymore.
Not only was I not upset, but I felt a surge of gratitude and security for having him and the rest of my family. I know they will be there for my wife and me if need be. If we live long enough to ripen, we may need their help.
When I looked around the synagogue, I saw many people I’ve known for decades. Some have already reached the stage where they need help, and some, if they are lucky, will be there soon. One of my friends has recently had to give up his driver’s license because his reflexes are almost nonexistent. Someone who last year walked to synagogue, this year rode there in an electric scooter. And another was going for treatments to hopefully save their life. Eventually, we all vanish in the haze.
Nobody knows what their third act will bring. What we can do is try to stay vital and enjoy our lives. Spend your children’s money as freely as they love spending yours. Of course, keep going to see Paul McCartney, who reminds us “Here Comes the Sun.”
Mark Schiff is a comedian, actor and writer, and hosts, along with Danny Lobell, the “We Think It’s Funny” podcast. His new book is “Why Not? Lessons on Comedy, Courage and Chutzpah.”
