From:  "Dik de Heer" 
Date:  Sun Jan 2, 2005  9:56 am 
Subject:  This Is My Story : John Kennedy (UK)
 
The Magician in the Wings: JOHN KENNEDY (+ re Tommy Steele)
(By Colin Kilgour)

Here is a re-run of John Edwards' article in the Daily Mail August 4, 2004.
Possibly Edwards overstates the import of Mr. K but he was an interesting
figure, nonetheless.

'The First Man to Rock the Nation'
Any kind of white powder on the tables was either sugar or dandruff. Nobody
knew much about cocaine yet. It was around. But not at the Two I's on Old
Compton Street, Soho. The place was only ever full of cigarette smoke and
the smell of instant coffee. A night out was almost healthy. Teenagers hung
around, listened to music, drank coffee and wandered home late but never got
stabbed.

The Two I's came out as one of the best places on earth. And this
particular night, the street was being washed down by the scream of a loud
guitar exploding through the open door. John Kennedy, Heathrow freelance
photographer and curious about the noise, pushed his way off the hot,
crowded pavement and squeezed himself on to a stool by the bar.

The night became distinguished. Write it down, September 14, 1956. It was
the one when rock 'n' roll began in England. Kennedy had no more of an ear
for music than a tree. What he knew about, and knew a lot, was style and
promotion and a teenage kid they could look on as a hero. So he didn't look
at the blond youth dancing and singing on the stage too much.

He stared first at the faces of all the girls at the tables with their drinks and
cigarettes. It was layer after layer of adulation. Now he turned to the lively
kid banging out some new Elvis number. Presley was only heard here on
record shows and jukeboxes. Paul Lincoln owned the Two I's. He was
a pro wrestler who called himself Dr Death. Paul moved around the wall
looking at the great business. Kennedy tried to talk to him through the
noise. `Who's the singer?' he shouted in his ear.

Not much went on at Heathrow for a good photographer to get excited about.
There was a PanAm 101 flight from New York which flew film stars. After that
almost nothing.

Kennedy spent a lot of time thinking about a switch from newspapers to show
business. At least show business was more fun. This boy on stage at the Two
I's would be the push he needed. `You want to go into serious show
business?' Kennedy asked him when they met after his set.

He said he was only on leave as a steward on Cunard ocean liners. He had
two weeks to go. If Kennedy could show him a deal in that time then sure, he
would like to become a star. And that's how Tommy Steele started. In six
months he was a solid gold sensation.

Kennedy did the talking. He wheeled and dealed, snagged a record contract
and found another unknown to write songs. This one was Lionel Bart. Down the
line he wrote Oliver!, one of the greatest musicals ever.

There hadn't been a man like Kennedy before. Show business was part of the
Establishment. Now there was this tall, slim, handsome guy strutting around
cutting deals in the offices of people who wouldn't take a phone call from him
before. He was the first one of that kind of agent/manager and afterwards they
came along like rain.

Steele made £1,000 a week on stage (equivalent to around 15 grand weekly in
2002, the last year I have a comparison for: CK). Then there were royalties.
It was fabulous money. Kennedy had a partner now, Larry Parnes, a rich
investor and night clubber. He brought in some business plans. Tommy was
performing at the Cafe d'Paris straight after Noel Coward. He was now an
industry with movie contracts and international recording deals.

Kennedy prospered. He bought Jaguars and had his suits cut in Savile Row.
The newspapers put the rise of rock down to him. Tommy was out front pushing
it. John Kennedy was the magician in the wings. Life became a roar. He liked
the jewellery of the good times. So it was out of a bed-sit into Dorothy
Foxon's great and fabled drinking club next to Harrods and into a penthouse
on Half Moon Street, Mayfair. Nothing in between.

He gambled, sat there at four in the morning opposite Sammy Davis Jnr. in
Dorothy's betting three queens against two pairs. There wasn't a second of
the day which wasn't touched by fun and glamour. Rock 'n' roll was down to
him and Tommy. History has to rate the two of them as the people who brought
it from America. One million cigarettes and late nights drove John Kennedy
to the California desert 20 years ago so he could breathe the hot, dry air
and help his chest. It was a restless time. With a new partner he opened a
market for outdoor air conditioning. Sounded crazy but it worked.

But that didn't challenge him. He was an artist at heart. A photographer, a
painter, someone with that kind of talent. And one day around the swimming
pool of his house he said he was going to be a sculptor.

You don't know anything about it, you told him. `I'll learn and be good at
it,' he said with his booming confidence. He did and he was. His artistry is
all over the south-western states, right there in the entrance halls of banks
and in special places in wealthy people's homes. Rock 'n' roll, sculpturing,
semi-pro gambler, industrial entrepreneur - it's hard to put much more into
one lifetime.

So there was a lot to remember of him when people gathered in the chapel of
Palm Springs Mortuary for his funeral last week. He was 73. On the street
the temperature got to 110 degrees. That was also a hot night outside the
Two I's, Soho, long ago. The night Kennedy had a little bit of inspiration
and a youth revolution began and it genuinely changed the culture of the
whole country. Doesn't show any signs of stopping either.

Colin Kilgour Dec. 2004 - from John Edwards' article