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The Lincoln Squire Motor Inn at 66th Street and Broadway, New York City, was surrounded by teenage girls, most of them waiting rather breathlessly for just one little peek at the objects of their affection - Herman's Hermits. Inside the room where a press conference was taking place, I could hear an occasional scream coming in from out front. Herman didn't seem to notice for he was too involved answering the questions that were thrown his way. "The kids in your New England states are a lot wilder," he was saying. "I don't know why, really, but they seem to be louder and more exitable than anywhere else." As the conference progressed, I noticed that Herman was not quite his usual jovial self. His face was slightly flushed with a reddish color and he seemed uncomfortable. I asked his Publicity agent, Connie De Nave, about this and was told: "He just had a tooth pulled and the poor boy's in pain every minute. Actually, it just stopped bleeding a short while ago but he's still feeling pretty badly." In addition to that, they were pretty exhausted because, the day before, they'd attended another press conference. That plus his tooth being extracted and losing their luggage made the day a hectic one for Herman and company. "This is the only suit I have," Herman joked feebly. "No, I'm not kidding. All our clothes were left on another plane, during a switchover. And I was the one named to a 'Best Dressed List!'" Throughout the rest of the proceedings, Herman showed that he was a very tired young man indeed. Yet he still endured the flashbulb jungle that was part of the not-so-magical world in which he found himself. He was an assembly line star, introduced to the public, promoted, appearing at press conferences, giving interviews, all very professional. Yet somewhere beneath the glitter of exploding flashbulbs was a tired 17-year-old, a teenager who'd just lost his clothes and whose jaw was aching painfully. Still he had to smile and be charming despite everything else to the contrary. He had to force himself to answer the same, stupid |
and inane questions that had been asked countless times before. "I'm almost dropping on my feet most of the time," Herman once told me. "The glare of spotlights, long hours, constant traveling wears a bloke down but nobody seems to realize that. Nobody seems to understand that you can get tired of living in dressing rooms, packing and unpacking, smiling when you feel like going in a corner all by yourself. Your skull may be splitting from a headache but you still have to appear cheerful and pleasant. Sometimes, it's bloody hard!" Those of us who see the glamour and the tinseled excitement and the thousands of dollars demanded for each performance can only say to ourselves: Brother, why isn't he satisfied? But a surface analysis, when one is blinded by the gaudy facade of it all, cannot be an objective one. The necessity exists of digging beneath the surface, or emerging from the flashbulb jungle to find out exactly why no human being could possibly endure, for long, what Herman finds himself faced with day after day after - That's right. It's not quite so loverly as you would guess. Being a star means hard work, boring press conferences and a heck of a lot of sacrifice - mostly the sacrifice of your privacy as reporters dig into your life and career, exposing every little fact, thought, feeling and event. Truly, it is a jungle, a jungle of lights and clattering typewriters and an endless outpouring of articles and stories, some based upon factual occurrences, others dreamed up for the benefit of justifying a headline. The interviews and personal appearances can mean stardom, albeit temporary stardom, along with plenty of money and a superficial, ultimately passing kind of security. The things required of Herman are the things of fame, of fortune, of building an "image" that is presented to the public. But happiness? ... and peace of mind? No. |
