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Graham Mitchell, he only son and elder child of Alfred Sherrington Mitchell, and his wife, Sibyl Gemma Heathcote, was born in Kenilworth on 4th November 1905. He was educated at Winchester College and Magdalen College, where he read politics, philosophy, and economics. As his biographer, Nigel West, has pointed out: "In spite of suffering from poliomyelitis while still at school he excelled at golf and sailed for his university. He was also a very good lawn tennis player, and won the Queen's Club men's doubles championship in 1930. He played chess for Oxford, and was later to represent Great Britain at correspondence chess, a game at which he was once ranked fifth in the world. He obtained a second class honours degree in 1927." (1)
After leaving Oxford University he worked as a journalist on the Illustrated London News. His next job was in the research department of Conservative Party central office which was then headed by Sir George Joseph Ball. On the outbreak of the Second World War, in September 1939, he joined MI5. It is believed that Ball arranged for him to join the service.
Mitchell's first post in MI5 was in the F3 sub-section of F division, the department headed by Roger Hollis responsible for monitoring subversion. F3's role was to maintain surveillance on right-wing nationalist movements such as the British Union of Fascist, the Right Club and the Anglo-German Fellowship and individuals suspected of pro-Nazi sympathies. One of Mitchell's first tasks was to investigate the activities of Sir Oswald Mosley and collate the evidence used to support his subsequent detention.
At the end of the war Mitchell was promoted to the post of director of F division, where he remained until 1952 when he was switched to the counter-espionage branch, D branch. Peter Wright worked with Mitchell during this period: "The head of D Branch, Graham Mitchell, was a clever man, but he was weak. His policy was to cravenly copy the wartime Double Cross techniques, recruiting as many double agents as possible, and operating extensive networks of agents in the large Russian, Polish, and Czechoslovakian emigre communities. Every time MI5 were notified of or discovered a Russian approach to a student, businessman, or scientist, the recipient was encouraged to accept the approach, so that MI5 could monitor the case. He was convinced that eventually one of these double agents would be accepted by the Russians and taken into the heart of the illegal network." (2)
Mitchell's staff of 30 officers monitored over 300 Soviet intelligence officers working under diplomatic cover. While in charge of D Branch he led the team of case officers pursuing the clues of Soviet penetration left by Guy Burgess and Donald Maclean, the two diplomatists who defected to Moscow in May 1951. He was also one of the chief architects of positive vetting, the screening procedure introduced in Whitehall to prevent Soviet agents "from penetrating the higher echelons of the civil service. In addition Mitchell was the principal author of the notorious 1955 white paper on the Burgess and Maclean defection." (3)
In 1956 Roger Hollis succeeded Sir Dick White as director-general of MI5 and he selected Mitchell as his deputy. Peter Wright has pointed out: "There were only two really striking things about Mitchell's career. One was the way it was intimately bound up with Hollis'. They had been contemporaries at Oxford, joined MI5 at around the same time, and followed each other up the ladder in complementary positions. The second was the fact that Mitchell seemed to be an underachiever. He was a clever man, picked by Dick White to transform D Branch. He signally failed to do so in the three years he held the job, and indeed, when the decision to close VENONA down was taken into account, it seemed almost as if he was willfully failed." (4)
This was a difficult time for the service. In December 1961, Anatoli Golitsin, a KGB agent, working in Finland, defected to the CIA. He was immediately flown to the United States and lodged in a safe house called Ashford Farm near Washington. Interviewed by James Angleton Golitsin supplied information about a large number of Soviet agents working in the West. Arthur Martin, head of MI5's D1 Section, went to to interview Golitsin in America. Golitsin provided evidence that suggested that Kim Philby had been a member of a Ring of Five agents based in Britain. (5)
An old friend, Flora Solomon, was also feeling hostile to Philby. She disapproved of what she considered were Philby's pro-Arab articles in The Observer. It has been argued that "her love for Israel proved greater than her old socialist loyalties." (6) In August 1962, during a reception at the Weizmann Institute, she told Victor Rothschild, who had worked with MI6 during the Second World War and enjoyed close connections with Mossad, the Israeli intelligence service: "How is it that The Observer uses a man like Kim? Don't the know he's a Communist?" She then went on to tell Rothschild that she suspected that Philby and his friend, Tomas Harris, had been Soviet agents since the 1930s. "Those two were so close as to give me an intuitive feeling that Harris was more than a friend."
Armed with Solomon's information, Philby's friend and former SIS colleague Nicholas Elliott flew out from London at the beginning of 1963 to confront him in Beirut, where he was working as a journalist. According to Philby's later version of events given to the KGB after he escaped to Moscow, Elliott told him: "You stopped working for them (the Russians) in 1949, I'm absolutely certain of that... I can understand people who worked for the Soviet Union, say before or during the war. But by 1949 a man of your intellect and your spirit had to see that all the rumours about Stalin's monstrous behaviour were not rumours, they were the truth... You decided to break with the USSR... Therefore I can give you my word and that of Dick White that you will get full immunity, you will be pardoned, but only if you tell it yourself. We need your collaboration, your help." (7)
Roger Hollis wrote to J. Edgar Hoover on 18th January 1963, about Elliott's discussions with Kim Philby: "In our judgment Philby's statement of the association with the RIS is substantially true. It accords with all the available evidence in our possession and we have no evidence pointing to a continuation of his activities on behalf of the RIS after 1946, save in the isolated instance of Maclean. If this is so, it follows that damage to United States interests will have been confined to the period of the Second World War." (8) This statement was undermined by the decision of Philby to flee to the Soviet Union a week later.
Arthur Martin, head of the Soviet counter-espionage section, and Peter Wright spent a great deal listening to the confession that Philby had made to Nicholas Elliott. Wright later argued: "There was no doubt in anyone's mind, listening to the tape, that Philby arrived at the safe house well prepared for Elliott's confrontation. Elliott told him there was new evidence, that he was now convinced of his guilt, and Philby, who had denied everything time and again for a decade, swiftly admitted spying since 1934. He never once asked what the new evidence was." Both men came to the conclusion that Philby had not asked about the new evidence as he had already been told about it. This convinced them that the "Russians still had access to a source inside British Intelligence who was monitoring the progress of the Philby case. Only a handful of officers had such access, chief among them being Hollis and Mitchell." (9)
Plans for Philby's interrogation were known to five members of the Service, of whom only Hollis and Mitchell had long enough service and good enough access to classified information to fit the profile of a long-term penetration agent. Martin, according to Christopher Andrew, was the "Service's leading conspiracy theorist at the time of Philby's defection, believed Mitchell was the chief suspect. Martin claimed that Mitchell "had the reputation of being a Marxist during the war". An "assertion, which, he later acknowledged, rested only on (inaccurate) hearsay evidence." (10)
Martin took his conspiracy theories to Dick White, the Chief of the SIS. White refused to believe Hollis was a Soviet spy but agreed to contact him about his suspicions concerning Mitchell. On 7th March 1963, Martin attended a meeting with Hollis. Martin later recalled that while explaining his theory that Mitchell was a Soviet agent, Hollis reacted in a strange way: "He (Hollis) sat hunched up at his desk, his face drained of colour and with a strange half-smile playing on his lips. I had framed my explanation so that it led to the conclusion that Graham Mitchell was in my mind, the most likely suspect... I had expected that my theory would at least be challenged but it received no comment other than I had been right to voice it and he would think it over." (11)
On 13th March 1963 Arthur Martin was told that he could make "discreet enquiries" into Mitchell's background, which he was to report to Martin Furnival Jones. As Chapman Pincher pointed out: "It had been decided, in order to dispose of the case against Mitchell one way or the other and as quickly as possible, he should be given the full technical treatment. A mirror in his office was removed and made see-through by resilvering so that a television camera could be hidden behind it, the object being to allow the investigators to see if Mitchell was in the habit of copying secret documents." (12)
Peter Wright was one of those involved in the surveillance operation. "I treated his ink blotter with secret-writing material, and every night it was developed, so that we could check on everything he wrote. But there was nothing beyond the papers he worked on normally... I asked him (Hollis) for his consent to pick the locks of two of the drawers which were locked. He agreed and I brought the lockpicking tools the next day, and we inspected the insides of the two drawers. They were both empty, but one caught my attention. In the dust were four small marks, as if an object had been very recently dragged out of the drawer." This made Wright suspicious of Hollis: "Only Hollis and I knew I was going to open the drawer and something has definitely been moved... Why not Mitchell? Because he didn't know. Only Hollis knew." (13)
However, Martin began to suspect that Mitchell had been told he was under investigation. "He wandered about in parks, repeatedly turning around as though to check that he was not being followed. In the street, he would peer into shop windows, looking for the reflections of passers-by. He also wore tinted spectacles, which might enable him, from the reflections, to see anyone who might be on his trail. The 'candid camera' in his office revealed that whenever he was alone, his face looked tortured as though he were in deep despair." (14)
The investigation was unable to find any conclusive evidence that Mitchell was a Soviet spy. Hollis wanted to keep the investigation secret. However, Dick White, the head of the SIS, pointed out that this would break the Anglo-American agreement on security. White told the prime minister, Harold Macmillan, and he was forced to tell President John F. Kennedy. Hollis was sent to Washington to have a meeting with J. Edgar Hoover of the FBI and John McCone and James Jesus Angleton, of the FBI. Hollis told them that "I have come to tell you that I have reason to suspect that one of my most senior officers, Graham Mitchell, has been a long-term agent of the Soviet Union." (15)
Mitchell's biographer argues that after the investigation Mitchell was a broken man: "The evidence accumulated against Mitchell was all very circumstantial, and centred on the poor performance of MI5's counter-espionage branch during the 1950s. During this period MI5 experienced a number of set-backs, failed to attract a single Soviet defector, and only caught one spy on its own initiative. "During the last five months of his career Mitchell was the subject of a highly secret and inconclusive ‘molehunt’ which was eventually terminated." (16) As a result of the investigation, Mitchell decided to retire early from MI5.
Arthur Martin was disappointed when it was discovered that Roger Hollis and the British government had decided not to put Anthony Blunt on trial. Martin once again began to argue that there was still a Soviet spy working at the centre of MI5 and that pressure should be put on Blunt to make a full confession. Hollis thought Martin's suggestion was highly damaging to the organization and ordered Martin to be suspended from duty for a fortnight. Martin offered to carry on with the questioning of Blunt from his home, but Hollis forbade it. As a result, Blunt was left alone for two weeks, and nobody knows what he did... Soon afterward, Hollis picked another quarrel with Martin, and though he was very senior, summarily sacked him. Martin believes that Hollis sacked him because he feared him, but his action did Hollis little good, whatever his motive." (17)
Dick White, the head of MI6, agreed with Martin that suspicions remained about the loyalty of Hollis and Mitchell. In November, 1964, White recruited him and immediately nominated Martin as his representative on the Fluency Committee, that was investigating the possibility of Soviet spies in British intelligence. The committee initially examined some 270 claims of Soviet penetration, which were later whittled down to twenty. It was claimed that these cases supported the claims made by Konstantin Volkov and Igor Gouzenko that there was a high-level agent in MI5. (18)
In 1974 Harold Wilson asked Lord Burke Trend to investigate the possibility that Graham Mitchell and Roger Hollis were Soviet spies. He was unable to reach a definite decision. Trend concluded: "Mitchell's curious behaviour is reasonably explicable on the assumption that it represented the natural reaction of a highly strung and rather odd individual to the strain of working for a DG (Hollis) with whom he was increasingly out of sympathy." (19)
Graham Mitchell died at his home, 3 Field Close, Sherington, Buckinghamshire, on 19 November 1984.
The head of D Branch, Graham Mitchell, was a clever man, but he was weak. He was convinced that eventually one of these double agents would be accepted by the Russians and taken into the heart of the illegal network.
The double-agent cases were a time-consuming charade. A favorite KGB trick was to give the double agent a parcel of money or hollow object (which at that stage we could inspect), and ask him to place it in a dead letter drop. D Branch was consumed every time this happened. Teams of Watchers were sent to stake out the drop for days on end, believing that the illegal would himself come to clear it. Often no one came to collect the packages at all or, if it was money, the KGB officer who originally handed it to the double agent would himself clear the drop. When I raised doubts about the double-agent policy, I was told solemnly that these were KGB training procedures, used to check if the agent was trustworthy. Patience would yield results.
If there actually was such a fifth man, the pool of serious candidates, with the requisite access and seniority, is very small. Indeed, it probably consists of no more than three people.
One is Guy Liddell, who was the deputy director general of MI5 from 1947 until he retired, in 1952. He, Burgess, and Blunt were friends, and Liddell was very much a part of the hothouse wartime circle revolving around Victor Rothschild's 5 Bentinck Street flat, in which Burgess and Blunt both lived. During the war Liddell ran MI5's counterespionage division, where Anthony Blunt was his personal assistant. Philby had a high regard for Liddell, whom he described in My Silent War - with Empsonian ambiguity - as "an ideal senior officer for a young man to learn from." In 1944 Liddell assisted Philby in the successful bureaucratic knifing of Philby's then superior, Felix Cowgill, so that Philby could become the head of SIS's expanding counterintelligence effort (which Philby terms his "Fulfillment"). Liddell, however, was greatly admired, professionally and personally, and has many staunch defenders. These include Sir Dick White, Philby's nemesis in both MI5 and MI6, both of which White headed, and Peter Wright (of Spycatcher fame), one of the most avid of all mole-hunters.
The two others are Graham Mitchell and Sir Roger Hollis. In 1951 Mitchell was in charge of counterespionage; he became deputy director general of MI5 (under Hollis) in 1956 and retired in 1963. He drafted the patently mendacious, demonstrably erroneous 1955 white paper on the Burgess-Maclean defection. On the strength of that document the Foreign Secretary, Harold Macmillan, gave Philby what the latter would call the happiest day of his life by publicly affirming Philby's innocence in the House of Commons - declaring, in a statement that Mitchell helped draft, that Philby was not the third man ("if indeed, there was one"). Hollis became deputy in 1953 and moved up in 1956 to be director general until his retirement, in 1965. Mitchell and Hollis were the subject of a series of investigations during the 1960s. Both were eventually declared innocent of any wrongdoing.
We turned to the tapes of Philby's so-called "confession," which Nicholas Elliott brought back with him from Beirut. For many weeks it was impossible to listen to the tapes, because the sound quality was so poor. In typical MI6 style, they had used a single low-grade microphone in a room with the windows wide open. The traffic noise was deafening! Using the binaural tape enhancer which I had developed, and the services of Evelyn McBarnet and a young transcriber named Anne Orr-Ewing, who had the best hearing of all the transcribers, we managed to obtain a transcript which was about 80 percent accurate. Arthur and I listened to the tape one afternoon, following it carefully on the page. There was no doubt in anyone's mind, listening to the tape, that Philby arrived at the safe house well prepared for Elliott's confrontation. He never once asked what the new evidence was.
Arthur found it distressing to listen to the tape; he kept screwing up his eyes, and pounded his knees with his fists in frustration as Philby reeled off a string of ludicrous claims: Blunt was in the clear, but Tim Milne, an apparently close friend of Philby's, who had loyally defended him for years, was not. The whole confession, including Philby's signed statement, looked carefully prepared to blend fact and fiction in a way which would mislead us. I thought back to my first meeting with Philby, the boyish charm, the stutter, how I sympathized with him; and the second time I heard that voice, in 1955, as he ducked and weaved around his MI6 interrogators, finessing a victory from a steadily losing hand.
And now there was Elliott, trying his manful best to corner a man for whom deception had been a second skin for thirty years. It was no contest. By the end they sounded like two rather tipsy radio announcers, their warm, classical public-school accents discussing the greatest treachery of the twentieth century.
"It's all been terribly badly handled," moaned Arthur in despair as the tape flicked through the heads. "We should have sent a team out there, and grilled him while we had the chance..."
I agreed with him. Roger and Dick had not taken into account that Philby might defect.
On the face of it, the coincidental Modin journeys, the fact that Philby seemed to be expecting Elliott, and his artful confession all pointed in one direction: the Russians still had access to a source inside British Intelligence who was monitoring the progress of the Philby case
(1) Nigel West, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (2004-2014)
(2) Peter Wright, Spycatcher (1987) page 120
(3) Nigel West, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (2004-2014)
(4) Peter Wright, Spycatcher (1987) pages 197
(5) Peter Wright, Spycatcher (1987) pages 170
(6) Flora Solomon, Baku to Baker Street (1984) page 226
(7) Genrikh Borovik, The Philby Files: The Secret Life of the Master Spy - KGB Archives Revealed (1995) pages 344-345
(8) Roger Hollis, letter to J. Edgar Hoover (18th January 1963)
(9) Peter Wright, Spycatcher (1987) pages 170
(10) Christopher Andrew, The Defence of the Realm: The Authorized History of MI5 (2009) pages 502-505
(11) Security Services Archives
(12) Chapman Pincher, Their Trade is Treachery (1981) page 28
(13) Peter Wright, Spycatcher (1987) pages 200-201
(14) Chapman Pincher, Their Trade is Treachery (1981) page 28
(15) Chapman Pincher, Their Trade is Treachery (1981) page 32
(16) Nigel West, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (2004-2014)
(17) Chapman Pincher, Their Trade is Treachery (1981) page 34
(18) John Costello, Mask of Treachery (1988) page 598
(19) Christopher Andrew, The Defence of the Realm: The Authorized History of MI5 (2009) pages 510
Joni Mitchell's '70s Suicide Attempt
This is no April Fools' story: in the early '70s, singer-songwriter Joni Mitchell was so distraught about breaking off a romance with Jackson Browne that she attempted suicide.
It’s just another example of how the current crop of junior music celebs in Hollywood have nothing on the great rockers of the '70s. Britney Spears and friends should take solace in that the much more talented older crowd of that era did everything under the sun and survived.
This serious and sad incident happened circa 1972, while Mitchell was composing her album, "For the Roses." It’s reported by journalist Sheila Weller in her new book, “Girls Like Us,” which was excerpted in the April issue of Vanity Fair.
Weller’s book chronicles the rise and fall of Mitchell, Carly Simon and Carole King, subtitled “the Journey of a Generation.”
A couple of weeks ago, I told you about King’s many husbands as recounted by Weller, including the tragic drug death of one of them.
The Mitchell story, however, is something of a shocker. What’s worse is that Weller reports that prior to the suicide attempt, Mitchell confided in a friend that the normally placid Browne had struck her. The pair had gone on the road as a performing duo just before Browne’s second album, his first bestseller, took off. (It’s the one with “Doctor My Eyes”).
Mitchell had been bunking at producer David Geffen’s house, Weller writes. At the end of 1972, she got her own place as her relationship with Browne had become strained.
One night, Joni claimed that Browne had “dissed her” on stage at the Roxy. Later, as he was walking downstairs and she was going up, she said they had a verbal altercation. She told her friend it resulted in him “hitting her.” Mitchell was so distraught she ran barefoot out on Sunset Boulevard.
But it’s what happened next, Weller reports, that really rocked Mitchell’s world. Browne did not repair his romance with her, but took up with another woman who would become his wife and mother of his son, Ethan. Mitchell was so despondent that Weller says she told friends of a “suicide attempt.”
Weller writes: “One confidante says ‘[Joni] took pills. She cut herself up and threw herself against a wall and got completely bloodied — glass broke. She vomited up the pills.’”
The incident, Weller says, is recalled in Mitchell’s song, “Car on a Hill,” the stark number from Joni’s watershed album, “Court and Spark.”
There’s a lot more about Joni Mitchell’s wild youth in “Girls Like Us,” including the news that she, like Carly Simon and several dozen other pretty stars of the era, had a fling with Warren Beatty.
One of Mitchell’s exes, Dave Naylor, tells Weller that another “Court and Spark” song, “Same Situation,” is about Beatty. And “People’s Parties,” the song that precedes it, is about Mitchell’s brief adventure with Beatty in his life of “Shampoo”-era socializing up on Mulholland Drive with Jack Nicholson and pals.
Weller’s book, by the way, is not just a gossipy tour through the lives of these three most important artists. There’s lots about their work. In Mitchell’s case, Weller also gives some good rethinking to the mixed reviews of the singer-songwriter’s “jazz” albums, beginning with this reporter’s favorite: the brilliant "The Hissing of Summer Lawns."
If you’re interested in more trivia, Weller picks up on a column item I reported here back on April 12, 2002: that the song “Coyote” was an ode to another of Mitchell’s ex-lovers, playwright Sam Shepard. He’s referred to in the lyrics as “a prisoner of the white lines on the freeway.” An amazing performance of “Coyote” is featured in Martin Scorsese’s classic film, “The Last Waltz.”
Fans at this past weekend’s Beatle Fest convention got a jolt when none other than Rolling Stone Ronnie Wood turned up in New Jersey for the fan gathering.
He arrived at 2 a.m. on Saturday morning just to say hello to his old pal Patti Boyd (Harrison Clapton) after she had told him by phone she was too tired to leave the Crowne Plaza Hotel in the Meadowlands and meet him in the city.
The shocked fans in the hotel lobby broke out in a spontaneous version of “I Wanna Be Your Man,” the Beatles song that was the Stones’ first single. Boyd told Martin Lewis that Wood said: "Nothing's changed. It's still always about the Beatles vs. Stones!"
I told you on Feb. 1 that superstar rock group U2 was in deep negotiations with Live Nation. At the time, my source thought it was possible the group would do a Madonna-like deal, including record/CD distribution. Universal Music Group insisted U2 was staying.
Monday, Live Nation announced a 12-year deal with U2 that includes literally everything but the record/CD part. UMG dodged a bullet on this one, but I think in the long run it makes more sense. Watch for more “older” acts to start doing Live Nation deals, many with the CD component. Kudos to U2’s forever manager Paul McGuiness. .
”Rush Hour"/"X-Men"/"Family Man” director Brett Ratner’s elegant 39th birthday dinner Saturday night at Cipriani Downtown is still getting raves. Among the guests were model Alina Puscau (Brett’s girlfriend), Ronald Perelman, actress Gina Gershon, hip-hop record exec Andre Harrell, director Allen Hughes (“Dead Presidents”), art mavens Larry Gagosian and Tony Shafrazi, actor Frank Grillo and actress wife Wendy Moniz, famed Miami attorney Al Rosenstein and New York cop/Harvard grad Edward Conlon, whose memoir, “Blue Blood,” Ratner is producing for NBC as a series with Grillo as one of the leads.
Producer Emmanuel Benbihy is also very excited about Ratner’s segment in “New York, I Love You,” which stars James Caan. Guests dined on Cipriani’s delicious cuisine, but the ice cream birthday cake was from Carvel! .
Two good guys from the movie biz will be honored this month by the (American) Museum of the Moving Image: Showtime’s Matt Blank and Focus Features’ James Schamus, who’s also an award-winning screenwriter. The black-tie event, on April 30 at the St. Regis Hotel, is usually a blast. The honorary chairmen are Universal Pictures chief Ron Meyer and CBS head honcho Les Moonves. .
Condolences to Eddie Levert, the founder and lead singer of the O’Jays, and all of his family. His 39-year-old son, Sean, died Monday after falling ill during a short jail stay in Cleveland for nonpayment of child support.
Sean, like his late brother Gerald, who died in 2006 at age 40, was a member of the hit-making '80s group Levert. Reports indicate that Sean, who was overweight and suffered from high blood pressure, began to hallucinate in jail. A major investigation should be under way. .
Mama Cass Routinely Held Picnics At Her House
In stories of the Laurel Canyon scene, Cass Elliot, a.k.a. Mama Cass of the Mamas and Papas, is lovingly described as the “Gertrude Stein” of this circle of singer-songwriters. She loved to have everyone over to her home to jam, shoot the breeze, and of course eat. During the heyday of the Mamas and Papas she told Rolling Stone :
One such get together was notable for featuring David Crosby (on a hunt for deli food), Joni Mitchell, Micky Dolenz of The Monkees, and Eric Clapton.
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Whatever happened to . KNAK and KCPX?
This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2015, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.
Editor&aposs note • In this regular series, The Salt Lake Tribune explores the once-favorite places of Utahns, from restaurants to recreation to retail. If you have a spot you&aposd like us to explore, email [email protected] with your ideas.
In the 1960s and &apos70s in Salt Lake City, teens turned to AM stations such as KMOR, KNAK and KCPX to hear hits by the Beatles, Beach Boys and Rolling Stones.
Disc jockeys such as Lynn Lehmann, Wooly Waldron, Skinny Johnny Mitchell, Sleepy Gene Davis, Ray Graham, Chad O. Stevens, Big Daddy Hesterman, Michael G. Kavanagh, Johnny Rider and Jordon Mitchell became local celebrities.
They introduced big concerts, such as the Beach Boys at Lagoon or Glen Campbell opening at the old Salt Palace. In the song "Salt Lake City," one of the Beach Boys probably Dennis Wilson shouted out "KNAK" in the background after the lyric, "The No. 1 radio station makes the town really swing."
Barry Mishkind, writing on his blog "The Eclectic Engineer," praised the stations for knowing what their listeners wanted.
"By the mid &apos60s, 1280 KNAK had become the dominant rock station in town," wrote Mishkind, of Tucson, Ariz. "Morning jock Lynn Lehmann and night jock Skinny Johnny Mitchell gave the station a very distinctive sound, and program director Gary &aposWooly&apos Waldron had his finger squarely on the pulse of the Salt Lake audience."
"The golden age of AM radio coincided with the golden age of the Beatles and the Beach Boys, who helped make AM what it was," Lehmann said. "It was a symbiotic relationship."
But eventually, music stations drifted to the FM dial, where songs could be played in stereo. Though some local radio personalities are on the air today, most stations were gobbled up by corporate owners and many formats use Top 40 songs loaded on computers, for playlists homogenized nationally with little local input.
AM radio became synonymous with talk radio as national personalities such as Rush Limbaugh and Jim Rome found their audiences there.
The station numbers of KNAK and KCPX of the 1960s 1280 and 1320 are now sports-talk channels. KNAK is now a station based out of Delta, while KCPX are the call letters for a Moab-based station.
Rise of KNAK • Lehmann, fondly remembered for his humorous Lehmann Lemon Awards, today writes books and teaches a class on the history of rock &aposn&apos roll in Utah for the University of Utah&aposs Osher Lifelong Learning Institute. He worked as a television producer for Dick Clark in California after he was fired from KCPX on Dec. 5, 1980, the weekend John Lennon was shot and killed in New York City.
Lehmann began his career spinning records as a 17-year-old at KMOR in Murray in 1966.
That year, he met Bill Hesterman through Graham. Waldron and Mitchell were in the KNAK lineup. Davis, now a Democratic state senator from Salt Lake City, did the night show.
The station was at 1042 S. 700 West and had a big window in front. "Kids would pull into the parking lot and watch us," Lehmann recalled.
The station was owned by Howard Johnson not the Howard Johnson of motel and ice cream fame. Johnson owned a Thunderbird, which Lehmann said Johnson&aposs daughter Shirley took joy rides in. According to the disc jockey, that was the inspiration for the Beach Boys&apos hit "Fun, Fun, Fun."
"The year 1967 was a seminal year. It was the summer of love. By 1969, it probably had reached another peak that extended until the early 1970s," Lehmann said. KNAK "had the biggest ratings, and we owned the market."
Jumping ship • But at that point, KNAK&aposs equipment wasn&apost working well and Lehmann asked Will Wright, who was the manager of KCPX, if he could be that station&aposs morning show host. He got the job but had to wait until his KNAK contract was up Waldron and Mitchell had already moved to the rival station.
According to Waldron, KCPX an asset of Columbia Pictures was the only station that was not locally owned.
"It was a dream job at a dream time," said Waldron, who still does some weekend work for KRSP FM. "We had free health care. We worked for a gigantic company with tens of thousands of employees. Corporate only came to town twice a year to get our budget approved. They sent us money and left us alone to do as we wished."
Waldron remembers staging a bathtub race on the Great Salt Lake, where he and Lehmann competed in one of KCPX&aposs biggest promotions. Lehmann won.
"We had wireless telephones, which we had to sign up to get a week in advance, that were gigantic, so we could go on the air live. It garnered a lot of attention. People talked about it for years."
But probably no promotion was remembered as much as the Lehmann Lemon Awards. Lehmann took nominations and usually announced the award, which came in the form of a plaque with a lemon on it, at the end of the week.
Loving Lemons • Lehmann remembers a couple of favorite Lemons.
He gave a Lemon to The Salt Lake Tribune for a headline about Democratic Utah Gov. Scott Matheson, who kept vetoing Republican-sponsored legislation. The headline read, "Governor&aposs Pen Is Busy." As Lehmann remembers it, there wasn&apost much of a space between the words "pen" and "is."
Another Lemon involved a young teacher who, while skiing with a friend at Alta, needed a restroom. There wasn&apost one at the top of the lift, so she found a clump of trees and dropped her drawers.
Then she began flying down the hill on her skis.
The same day, Lehmann recalled, "There was a guy at a clinic at Alta being treated for a broken leg."
The teacher, who also had ended up in the clinic after losing control, asked the skier what had happened.
He said he was laughing so hard at a woman who came down the hill with her pants down that he skied into a tree.
"I gave the award to the woman," Lehmann said.
After Lehmann, Mitchell and Waldron left KNAK for KCPX, the station stayed with a Top 40 format for a few years. Then KNAK went away. KCPX became Stereo X on an FM sister station. The AM station became nothing more than a fond memory for the teens of the &apos60s and &apos70s.
In 'Wild Tales,' Graham Nash opens up about sex, drugs and music behind Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young
In "Wild Tales," Graham Nash tells a few about the supergroup constantly at each other's throats in drug-fueled rages while the world grooved to the harmonies of Crosby, Stills, Nash and sometimes Young.
CS&N still tours, and Neil Young's career as a living legend is thriving. The wonder is not that they are all still making music — it's that they are all still alive. Of course, David Crosby had to be reconstituted with a new liver, but this band seemed destined for a drug fatality or two.
Nash is provocatively honest in this memoir, out Sept. 17, and the moments he recounts range from glory scenes in rock history to sordid flashes from the past.
Take the night in 1969 when the band's eponymously named first album, "Crosby, Stills & Nash" ("Wooden Ships," "Suite: Judy Blue Eyes") was still in the offing and they joined Joni Mitchell and Kris Kristofferson at Johnny Cash's Nashville mansion for a party honoring Bob Dylan.
It was just another evening of gold cutlery and reigning music royalty until Cash stood and announced that the family tradition was "you have to sing for your supper."
Dylan, who hadn't been heard from in a year after his motorcycle accident, rose up and crooned a new song, "Lay Lady Lay." The table was in tears.
Contrast that with a moment of recall from the infamous 1974 CSN&Y tour when Crosby hit the road in the company of two warring women. One of them was a lady — Goldie Locks from Mill Valley — whose favors Nash had previously enjoyed.
"Often I would knock on his hotel door, which he kept propped open with a security jamb, and he'd be getting b---- by both of those girls, all while he was talking and doing business on the phone and rolling joints and smoking and having a drink. Crosby had incredible sexual energy.
"It got to be such a routine scene in his room, I'd stop by with someone and go, 'Aw, f---, he's getting b---- again. Oh, dear, let's give him a minute."
Nash was still contractually bound to his band, the Hollies, in the late '60s when he met up with Stephen Stills and Crosby at Peter Tork's house in the Hollywood Hills. The Monkee habitually threw parties that were "legendary, days-on-end affairs with . . . plenty of music, sex, dope."
But before anything happened musically with the guys, Nash got with Joni Mitchell while playing Ottawa. Though Nash was married, they spent the first of many nights together. He had cheated before — "beautiful women are hard for me to resist," he writes — but this was different.
"Meeting Joni did a number on my head that reverberated through my entire life."
When he flew to Los Angeles to start the band, the plan was to stay with Crosby, where the "party was in full swing: Who knows, maybe it was an ongoing affair. Beautiful young women all over the place, some clothed, some not so clothed. Plenty of weed. It was hippie heaven."
But Mitchell took him home to her cottage in Laurel Canyon.
Crosby himself had just recently ended things with Mitchell, but he was generous with his women, one night even asking his girlfriend, Christine Hinton, to head downstairs to share Nash's bed.
Later, Stills' "beast of a place" in the Hollywood Hills would provide another sprawling hippie haven. There was a "storehouse" of drugs on site and lots of "nubile young women." Jimi Hendrix and Eric Clapton would routinely stop by. One night, the boys threw their rising-shark manager, David Geffen, in the pool.
Those were such innocent times, soon to be much less so.
It was in the making of that brilliant first album, holed up in a cabin in Sag Harbor, L.I., that the guys graduated to cocaine. "Stephen and David loved cocaine, and I wasted no time acquiring their appetites," Nash writes.
The album hit big, a "game changer" — but to support it with a tour meant bringing in another musician. "Neil Young: It was like lobbing a live grenade into a vacuum," Nash writes.
Stills and Young had their own history — mostly bad — from their days in Buffalo Springfield. Graham writes that Young used bands as steppingstones and never fully committed to any. But the guys brought him in anyway.
Their second gig together was at Woodstock in 1969. The helicopter malfunctioned and brought them down on site with a hard landing that somewhat presaged their futures together. Over and over, they'd come together only to crash again.
Their prolonged descent began after Crosby's girlfriend Hinton died in a car crash that September. They continued making the album, "Déjà Vu," tormented "and coked out of our minds."
The scene in the studio was always risible, the rages fueled by cocaine. Young distanced himself, sometimes showing up, sometimes recording from another location. At one point, Nash started weeping uncontrollably.
"We're f------ losing it," he sobbed. "It's over."
Not by a long shot. The band played Altamont, but got away without incident before the notorious stabbing. Nash ended it with Mitchell, but not until he'd written the classic "Our House." Needing a new ride, he and Crosby strolled into a showroom in San Francisco and bought two Mercedes-Benzes on the spot. The salesman, who didn't want a pair of longhaired hippies near his gleaming cars, had to hand over the keys.
While everyone was off working their own projects, Crosby and Nash together, "Déjà Vu" exploded on the charts. Then came the shootings at Kent State University, and Young wrote the protest song, "Ohio," in minutes. They cut it immediately and had it out in two weeks' time.
But on tour in 1970, things erupted. Young was seriously "p------" about Stills' cocaine use. High and ragged onstage, Stills would showboat, and that goaded everyone. Nash, Crosby and Young called off the tour in Chicago. They took the first flight out and didn't tell Stills. He only found out when he came back for the show.
"What can you do with someone who's blasted out of his skull?" writes Nash.
They lost the better part of the $7 million that was to be made from the tour.
When things had cooled, Stills made the mistake of inviting Nash to sing on his first solo album, the one that would produce "Love the One You're With." At the session, Nash made a date with backup singer Rita Coolidge. But Stills wanted her, and called and canceled in Nash's name, taking her out instead.
Coolidge was with Stills for all of a couple of weeks before Nash maneuvered himself between them. When Nash broke the news that Coolidge was now with him, Stills spat in his face. Nash isn't sure that Stills has forgiven him to this day.
Stills nursed his ego with two "insanely gorgeous sisters who . . . were always naked" and always at Stills' Shady Oaks home.
"Those girls were incredible playthings," writes Nash. "They were available to whomever they fancied. They were with the house. It was a crazy time."
Indeed it was. At Stills' house in Surrey, England, Crosby and Nash summoned the doctor that brought Stills back from an overdose. At Nash's San Francisco home, Crosby looked and saw someone messing with his Mercedes, reached into his bag, pulled out a handgun and fired at him through an open window.
But the drugs were really beginning to cost them. Crosby strong-armed Geffen into bringing some dope from L.A. to New York, telling him he wouldn't go on at Carnegie Hall that night if he didn't get it. Geffen was arrested at the airport, and even so, made bail and made it to New York.
All Crosby cared about was the dope. "I'm gonna f------ kill you!" he screamed at Geffen when he showed up sans drugs. The powerful Geffen soon dumped the band.
The last of the good times came with the 1974 tour. Young was up to his old isolationist tricks, and Stills had to be mothered onstage or he would lose it and rage. Everyone's mood swings were extreme, so much so that Crosby named it the Doom Tour.
Crosby wasn't yet deep in the throes of his drug addiction and brought two beautiful women with him. And when things weren't totally out of control, it worked.
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David Crosby says he still loves his ex-girlfriend Joni Mitchell: ‘She’s quite a lady’
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David Crosby said he still has great love for his former flame Joni Mitchell.
“I had dinner at her house a couple of months back and we talked,” the iconic singer-songwriter recently told Closer Weekly. “And I love her. I don’t think she’s happy with me, but I don’t think she’s really happy with anybody. I love her dearly, and I think she certainly was the best singer-songwriter of all of us.”
Crosby, who recently recounted his “checkered” history in vivid detail for the documentary “Remember My Name,” described how Mitchell, 75, broke up with him.
David Crosby holding Joni Mitchell while both are seated at an upright piano, seen from the back, through the control room window at the recording studio. — Getty
“‘That Song About the Midway’ — it was her goodbye song to me,” the founding member of the The Byrds and Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young told the outlet about how Mitchell played the track for him. “The look on her face when she finished singing the song, looking right at me, and then she started and sang it again… Yeah, that was a very definite message there. She’s quite a lady.”
According to the New York Post, Mitchell began dating Crosby around 1967 and he produced her debut album. Music journalist David Browne shared in his book “Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young: The Wild, Definitive Saga of Rock’s Greatest Supergroup,” that Crosby would reportedly "revel in presenting her to his friends, treating her like a prized, talented possession.”
The outlet shared Mitchell later told biographer David Yaffe, “It was kind of embarrassing… as if I were his discovery.”
David Crosby and Joni Mitchell, surrounded by Neil Young, Graham Nash and Stephen Stills. (Photo by David Warner Ellis/Redferns)
As the relationship crumbled, Crosby reportedly took up with an old girlfriend. When Mitchell found out, she made her disappointment known to Crosby and others at a party at Monkee Peter Tork’s house in the one way she knew best.
“Joni was very angry and said, ‘I’ve got a new song,’” Crosby told Browne.
It was then when Mitchell played the “That Song About the Midway,” which had “references to a man’s sky-high harmonies and the way she had caught him cheating on her more than once,” Browne wrote. “There was no question about the subject of the song.”
“It was a very ‘Goodbye David’ song,” added Crosby. “She sang it while looking right at me, like, ‘Did you get it? I’m really mad at you.’ And then she sang it again. Just to make sure.”
David Crosby in a January 2019 photo promoting the film "David Crosby: Remember My Name" during the Sundance Film Festival in Park City, Utah. (Photo by Taylor Jewell/Invision/AP, File)
Mitchell went on to date Crosby’s bandmate Graham Nash — but Crosby insisted there are no hard feelings today.
“I do see her and talk to her,” Crosby told the New York Post in July of this year. "Our relationship has always been thorny but good.”
Closer Weekly shared Crosby ultimately had falling outs with Stephen Stills, Graham Nash and Neil Young. However, he stressed the documentary “Remember My Name” was far from an olive branch to them.
“No, definitely not,” he said. “I think all of us were horrible to each other many, many times. And we probably should all apologize to each other repeatedly.”
“Some people read it that way,” he continued. “I’m not really … I’ve already apologized to those guys for most of the things that I think I should have apologized for — the biggest one, of course, being me turning myself into a junkie. That was the worst thing I did to any of them. But I don’t think there’s an entity there to apologize to. That band is history. It’s done. We did good work. I’m proud of it and I’m doing what I’m doing now. I’ve got no bad stuff in my heart for any of those guys. They’re all OK and I wish them well. I want them to have good lives.”
Crosby said that today he’s proud of his children.
David Crosby in a February 2015 file photo. (AP)
“Erika has three kids, lives in Florida and is an incredibly smart, wonderful woman who I visit regularly because I love her dearly,” he said. “Donovan doesn’t really talk to me. Django lives with me and is an absolute joy. I didn’t parent Bailey and Beckett, the two with Melissa [Etheridge and her ex-partner Julie Cypher], but I do love them. Beckett’s somewhere in Colorado and Bailey just graduated from NYU today. They all apparently learned from my mistakes, because none of them are interested in hard drugs. I think they saw what happened and have avoided it, which certainly is a wonderful thing.”
With everything Crosby has endured in his lifetime – drug addiction, health woes and even a prison stint – he’s just grateful to be alive and pursue his passion for music.
Crosby has been married to Jan Dance since 1987.
“I think a lot of it has to do with the French code of raison d’être — it means ‘reason for being,’” he said. “A lot of people don’t have a really good, strong reason that they believe in for their life to go forward. Me, I do. I’ve got a wife I love and a family that I love and a job that I love. So I had every reason on Earth to beat the dope and get to here… My friends who are really good singers, people that I really trust, tell me that I’m singing probably better than I have in my life, and they’re as baffled by it as I am. None of us can figure it out.”
Gareth Southgate and Jogi Low will have a number of problems to solve in their respective sides before Tuesday's high-profile clash
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BRIAN JONES, ANITA PALLENBERG, KEITH RICHARDS
Anita Pallenberg first crossed paths with the Rolling Stones in 1965, when she snuck into one of the band&rsquos concerts in Munich, Germany. The exquisitely beautiful 21-year-old model was able to talk her way backstage, where she hit it off with Jones, the enigmatic rhythm guitarist and founder of the group. At their first meeting he apparently told her, &ldquoI don&rsquot know who you are, but I need you.&rdquo
Pallenberg and Jones quickly became an item. Or, as she later recalled, &ldquoI decided to kidnap Brian. Brian seemed sexually the most flexible.&rdquo By 1967 they were one of the hottest couples in London, but their drug use took a toll on the relationship. Jones was prone to jealous rages that often turned violent. &ldquoHe was short but very strong and his assaults were terrible,&rdquo she later said. &ldquoFor days afterwards, I&rsquod have lumps and bruises all over me. In his tantrums he would throw things at me, whatever he could pick up&mdashlamps, clocks, chairs, a plate of food&mdashthen when the storm inside him died down he&rsquod feel guilty and beg me to forgive him.&rdquo At one point he punched her face with such force that it broke his own hand.
It was during this emotional maelstrom that Jones' bandmate Keith Richards moved into the South Kensington home he shared with Pallenberg. Richards also found himself drawn to the enigmatic model&rsquos worldly nature. &ldquoShe knew everything and she could say it in five languages,&rdquo he once marveled. &ldquoShe scared the pants off me!&rdquo
That March, the threesome decided to make a trip to Morocco, where Jones had previously fallen in love with the music, food and laid back lifestyle. Unfortunately, on this trip, Richards fell in love Pallenberg. &ldquoWe went by car, a Bentley with a driver, and Brian got sick and ended up in the hospital,&rdquo she remembered. &ldquoHe had asthma. He was very sickly, fragile. So Keith and I drove on and left him there, and that was when we had a physical relationship.&rdquo Richards says the affair began in the backseat of his luxury car as it cruised through southern Europe. &ldquoI still remember the smell of the orange trees in Valencia. When you get laid with Anita Pallenberg for the first time, you remember things.&rdquo
Pallenberg split with Jones for good soon after, straining relations within the band. Jones, alienated from Richards and lead singer Mick Jagger, sought solace in drugs and alcohol, wreaking havoc on his health. By the following year he was a shadow of his former self, abdicating his role as a co-creator in the Rolling Stones. In the summer of 1969 he was found dead in the swimming pool of his East Sussex estate, a farm formerly owned by Winnie-the-Pooh author A. A. Milne.
Pallenberg and Richards had three children together: son Marlon Leon Sundeep in August 1969, daughter Dandelion Angela in April 1972, and son Tara Jo Jo Gunne in March 1976. Tragically, their youngest child died of SIDS at just 10 weeks old.
The romance between them had cooled by the dawn of the &lsquo80s, but their friendship remained warm for the rest of her life. &ldquoShe&rsquos still one of my best friends,&rdquo Richards told Rolling Stone in 2010. &ldquoWe&rsquove been through the mill. And she admits she could be Vampirella when she wanted. It was tough. At the same time, there is an underlying love that goes beyond all of that other stuff. I can say, &lsquoI love you, I just won&rsquot live with you.&rsquo&rdquo She died in June 2017.