In England during World War II many kids were transported from major English cities to the safer confines of the countryside. The tougher youngsters regarded the exercise as a great adventure and felt themselves impervious to the dangers of falling bombs. More rebellious youths pointedly refused to be evacuated and in their brash naiveté seemed not to understand the full meaning of mutilation and death. One such kid was Don Arden. Aggressive, confident and fiercely independent, Arden invariably went his own way and refused to knuckle down to anybody. By the age of 13, he has already dropped out of school and launched himself into a show business apprenticeship, later remembered as ‘20 years of rough and tumble’. It was certainly an exciting period which Arden embraced with all the enthusiasm of a starstruck kid who had run off to join a travelling circus. During a seemingly endless series of tours and revues, he developed his craft as a stand-up comic, singer and impresario. At 16, he was entertaining troups before finally being drafted himself. As soon as the war ended he was back in vaudeville - the classic hard-headed hungry trouper.

Arden spent most of the fifties working the boards as a singer comedian, given his later reputation as a strong-arm man, it seems strange to imagine Don as a comic. Yet, even one of his later adversaries, Peter Walsh, remembers him as ‘a tremendously funny man’. Arden had ambition and drive in abundance but lacked the necessary diplomacy to ingratiate himself with influential show business moguls, His uncompromising aggression and short temper alienated so many important contacts that eventually he decided to branch out from performing into promotion. He began modestly, organising Hebrew folk song contests before putting together his own shows.

By the late fifties, Arden had found his niche. As a master of ceremonies, he could still sing, crack jokes and keep audiences happy while his star attractions lay waiting in the wings. During 1959 he compared Gene Vincent’s first British tour and his organisational abilities ensured that the shows were a tremendous success. When Vincent decided to move to England, Arden agreed to assume managerial responsibilities, an arrangement not without it’s administrative headaches. Gene was a brilliant but erratic performer, subject to tempestuous outbursts brought on by alcoholism. His unruly behaviour upset many promoters and theatre managers, resulting in a gradual decline in earning and drawing power. Ever resilient, Arden kept the American in constant work, frequently sending him out on Continental jaunts. He even attempted to cure Vincent’s alcoholism, installing him in a Harley Street clinic where he was put to sleep and fed intravenously for several days. The ‘cure’ proved ineffectual, however, and Vincent’s alcoholism continued to worsen. He frequently railed against old friends and grew increasingly disillusioned about the state of his career. At one point, he even pulled a knife on Arden, but his manager was unfazed and advised the distraught Virginian wildcat to pull himself together. Shortly afterwards, Vincent saw a psychiatrist but there was no quick and easy cure for his self-destructive tendencies. As time passed, he became more resentful towards Arden and they eventually parted amid much acrimony in 1965. In later years, Arden still felt outstanding moral debts were owed by Vincent and his men made pertinent enquiries at selected box offices during the American’s final UK tour in 1971. Vincent’s caustic response to his former manager was effectively summed up in the words ‘How’s that Mr Arden!’ at the end of a song titled ‘Our Souls’, irreverently sung as ‘a***holes’.

By the mid-sixties, Arden has reached a crucial stage in his career. He had promoted many successful package tours involving a number of American acts such as Jerry Lee Lewis, Little Richard and Sam Cooke, but his progress in this area was thwarted by the dramatic emergence of the Beatles and their ilk. Suddenly, American stars were passé and as the beat boom reached it’s peak, attendance figures at Arden’s concerts revealed a noticeable slump. After losing approximately £100,000 in a disastrous 10-week run, Arden abandoned his fifties rock ‘n’ roll stars and set out in search of young pop groups, his first involvement in the beat group scene came through Mike Jeffrey, manager of the Newcastle-based Animals. Jeffrey, a notorious hustler and shady operator, was looking for an influential agent to get his group work in the South. Arden brought them to London and secured a residency at the fashionable Scene club. The Animals went down a storm and Arden immediately became their full-time agent, ensuring that he had sole rights to promote them worldwide. He also claims responsibility for recruiting producer Mickie Most, who proved instrumental in setting in motion the Animals rise to international fame. Following the transatlantic chart-topper ‘House Of The Rising Sun’, Arden made substantial profits from promoting the Animals, but with their association was relatively short lived. A dispute arose with Jeffrey and rather than involve himself in protracted legal action, Arden sold his rights to other parties. Jeffrey’s own managerial career was relatively short lived. Several years later, he died in mysterious circumstances following a plane explosion. The body was never recovered.

By this stage, Arden realised that pop group management could prove extremely lucrative, and he wasted no time in signing the Nashville Teens. The Weybridge sextet had already undergone a gruelling apprenticeship at Hamburg’s all-night Star Club and emerged as one of the most exciting groups of their day. Soon they were snapped up by Decca in a deal which offered seven-eighths of a penny for every record sold. While this meagre figure might have been acceptable for a solo singer, a group split meant that in order for each member to earn a modest £1,000, the disc would have to sell 1,600,000 copies! Of course, such abysmal recording deals were far from rare in the sixties. Even the Beatles had been signed on a one penny per record basis, though their royalty was successfully renogotiated after they charted. The Nashville Teens were not so lucky. They peaked with their first single, ‘Tobacco Road’ (No 6 in the UK and No 14 in the USA). A downward spiral followed with ‘Google Eye’ No 10, ‘Find My Way Back Home’ No 34, ‘This Little Bird’ No 38 and ‘The Hard Way’ No 45. Although the group worked with some excellent producers, including Mickie Most, Andrew Oldham and Shel Talmy, they never quite managed to transform the power of their live performances on to vinyl. In strictly monetary terms, however, chart success was a largely irrelevant issue to the Nashville Teens. Even if they had achieved a string of numer ones, the financial rewards would have been negligible. This can be demonstrated by a close analysis of the sales figures relating to their first three singles:

‘Tobacco Road’ UK sales: 200,000 @ 7/8d = £ 725.10s.5d.

‘Tobacco Road’ US sales: 600,000 @ 7/8d = £ 2,187. 1s.0d.

‘Google Eye’ UK sales: 100,000 @ 7/8d = £ 364. 1s.2d.

‘Find My Way Back Home’ UK sales: 65,000 @ 7/8d = £ 237. 1s.7d.

This grand total of £ 3,513. 14s. 2d meant that each member could reasonably expect a paltry £585. 12s. 4d. for three successive chart singles, including two in the top ten! Teen’s vocalist Ramon Phillips maintains that the group lost track of their royalty payments and did not fully understand various contractual clauses. At one stage they employed Arden’s solicitor David Jacobs to look into their business affairs, but midway through his research he was found hanged.

Like many sixties artistes, Ray Phillips perceives his recording career as a comedy of errors: The Decca deal was one of the big mistakes. They were a big label but they signed up so many bands that we had no personal attention. We didn’t release any original material, which went against us. Anything we had was just slammed on a B-side. The direction of the group was never determined...We never knew where we were going.

The Teens erratic career was further hampered by the unwieldy size of the group. All too often, six members meant six different points of view. What they needed was inspired leadership, but although Arden was firm, he seldom had time to discuss their long term prospects.

Arden’s main contribution to the Nashville Teens was keeping them in work constantly throughout their career. Ray Phillips remembers their gigging schedule with a mixture of pride and amusement:

We we working every night. The only money we really made was from gigging. We used to look at the gig list to see if we had a free day that month...The management opted for getting us as many gigs as possible rather than spreading us a bit more thinly and building up the image. I think the money then was about £350 - £400. That was good money. We got that on a lot of gigs, But with publicity there was never anything instigated from the office...It was hit-and-miss all the time.

Arden’s success on the live circuit was reinforced by the awesome presence of a former wrestler turned booking agent, Peter Grant. Working for Arden provided valuable experience which Grant later used to formidable effect in guiding Led Zeppelin to seventies superstardom.

Superstardom would never be a word synonymous with the Nashville Teens. Instead they became a workmanlike road group, struggling on through changing musical fashions, personnel upheavals and the disillusionment of observing lesser talent succeed in their place. In spite of the Teens’ intense gigging schedule, Arden occasionally found difficulty releasing sufficient funds to cover their various expenses. Ray Phillips recalls how Arden’s severe budgeting frequently frustrated the group:

We had to go up and barter for the money. If we were owed a grand he’d say, ‘Would you settle for £600?’ We’d be sitting in the office waiting for some money to get to a gig. He’d keep us waiting till the banks closed. ‘Oh, I’ve got no money now. I’ve got some here - would you settle for that?’ Little did you know, that’s it - you were paid off.

Although the group grudgingly accepted the ‘bartering system’ as a method of payment, pianist John Hawken insisted on challenging Arden’s absolute authority. Prior to a performance in Manchester, he arranged to collect £120 from his manager’s Carnaby Street office, but, upon arrival, he was handed a cheque for £20. Overcome by reckless indignation, Hawken raised his voice in complaint and demanded the full sum in no uncertain terms. Arden was evidently astounded by his impudent outburst, incensed, he leapt from his chair, seized Hawken by the throat and pinned him against the wall. Staring directly into his eyes, Arden screamed: ‘I have the strength of 10 men in these hands’. Feeling the pressure of Arden’s fingers on his neck, young Hawken realised that this was no idle boast. Within seconds, the agitated Arden had dragged the musician towards his office window, two floors above ground level, and exclaimed wickedly: ‘You’re going over, John, you’re going over’. Fortunately, Hawken managed to free himself from his manager’s grip and fled from his office in a distraught state. Suffice to say, Hawken learned the hard way that a manager of Arden’s stature always demands respect.

In the aftermath of their brief success, the Nashville Teens continued working with Arden, always hoping to re-establish their old reputation. As Ray Phillips now admits, it was not to be:

Working does increase your popularity, but we were doing nothing for the future. There was no help from the management end to get us back. We just kept working and working and working until we faded away... We tried changing management and agency and we came up against a few brick walls. They’d had a phone call saying, ‘You will not!’ It was a dog-in-a-manger attitude really. ‘We can’t do anything with you, but nobody else can have you either!’ It just saddened me that because of mismanagement and the bookings not coming in anymore, it had to fade away...I suppose it was inevitable in the end.

The fact that Arden kept the group on his books long after they were a lucrative proposition was some consolation and he would no doubt argue that without his involvement their life span would have been considerably shorter. Under the terms of their management contract he received one third of their gross receipts from live performances, so there was every incentive to sustain their flagging career. Although their business relationship was never ideal, there was no animosity forthcoming from the group when they finally left their long-time manager. In retrospect, Phillips portrays Arden as a highly successful business manager whose main deficiency was a lack of creative input: ‘I got on well with Don Arden. I liked Don. But he couldn’t manage a band. He couldn’t inject ideas... He was into buying and selling rather than making. The Teens needed guidance and direction.’

Phillips continued with the group and, remarkably, still leads them today. Over the years, he has watched the original members gradually drift away, the saddest departure being Art Sharp who quit in 1972. Overweight and unemployed, Art was given a lifeline by his former manager who offered him a job as a booker for Jet Records. It was poetic justice.

The minimal chart success of The Nashville Teens did not impede Arden’s progress as a pop manager. One of his employees, Ian Samwell, had spotted a young ‘mod’ group and persuaded Arden to audition them. Although the Small Faces had already attracted the interest of Who manager, Kit Lambert, lead singer Steve Marriot evidently preferred Arden, having previously known his son, David, at acting school. Prior to their all-important audition, the Small Faces had been involved in a brawl which culminated in Marriot receiving a bottle in the face and guitarist Ronnie Lane being struck across the head with an iron bar. Fortunately, Arden was not the type of manager easily put off by the sight of bruises and stitches. On the contary, he was much taken by their roughhouse street credibility and charmed by their cockney cheekiness. An agreement was immediately drafted and the Small Faces signed to Arden’s Contemporary Records management and production company. Their debut disc, ‘Whatcha Gonna Do About It’, an in-house composition/production by Samwell, was an instant smash hit, which came as no suprise to Arden, who had craftily hyped the disc into the charts. His fraternisation with chart fixers lasted two years and involved an outlay of several thousand pounds. (Arden’s breakdown of ‘hyping’ expenses, taken from a written statement, was as follows: £5,500 paid to two individuals to but Contemporary’s records from shops in order to boost the number of apparent sales to the public; £2,750 paid to chart fixers to hype Contemporary’s records into the hit parade and between £5,000 and £6,000 for extensive airplay on Radio Caroline. The chart manipulation was executed by a certain Tony Martin, who had successfully infiltrated the advertising department of the New Musical Express and had the lower regions of the chart at his fingertips. Apart from his successes with the Small Faces, Martin hyped, (among others, the Jimi Hendrix Experience’s ‘Hey Joe’ for manager Mike Jeffrey and Track label licenser Kit Lambert, and David Bowie’s ‘Space Oddity’ for Kenneth Pitt). Arden recalls his manipulative tactics with some pride:

I knew that for certain sums, any record I was associated with could be elevated to the charts. It got to be a habit. I paid out anything from £150 to £500 a week to people who manipulated the charts and who in turn shared the cash with people organising other charts so as to ensure they tallied...Neat little swindle, wasn’t it? Of course, the Small Faces had no idea what went on.

Indeed, the Small Faces were totally naive and showed little interest in their manager’s business dealings until it was too late. Much has been made of the Small Faces’ problems with Arden, who has been criticised frequently for keeping the group on £20-a-week wage. His detractors rarely acknowledge tha he also cocooned the boys in pop star luxury. An expensive flat was purchased for the group in Pimlico, including a full-time maid and an attendant chauffeur complete with a Mark 10 Jaguar. Arden even opened accounts for the group at most of London’s fashionable boutiques where they squandered a small fortune on whatever garments took their fleeting fancy. Arden has always regarded these extravagances as evidence of his affection for the lads: ‘...just to prove that the Al Capone of the pop world has a soft spot, let me tell you I felt these kids should have at least one year of enjoying the very best in life’. Unfortunately, such unbridled freedom merely exacerbated the group’s spendthrift indulgences, and they were soon brought down to earth with a resounding bump.

For one awful moment in late 1965, the Small Faces looked like following the downward path of the Nashville Teens. A line-up change, preceded by the failure of their second single, ‘I Got Mine’, suggested they were unable to thrive without the benefit of a hyped hit. Arden responded to the crisis by recruiting hit song-writers Kenny Lynch and Mort Shuman, whose ‘Sha-La-La-La-Lee’ brought Top 3 glory in early 1966. From that point onwards, Arden treated the act like fledgling superstars, adamantly refusing support spots and dragging them off the set of ‘Thank Your Lucky Stars’ when they were allocated only one showstopper. This confidence was reinforced by another Top 10 hit, ‘Hey Girl’, and completely vindicated by the awesome chart-topper ‘All Or Nothing’, which Arden himself produced.

The Small Faces could have conquered the world, but for their yobbish behaviour. Instead, British impresarios grew cool towards them and the final indignity occurred when they were banned from ‘Top Of The Pops’ after Marriot insulted producer Johnnie Stewart. Although Arden admired their brashness, he was understandably perplexed by their self-destructive streak and inexplicably carefree attitude towards their career.

As 1966 wore on it became blatantly obvious that there was a growing rift between Arden and his number one act. Prompted by their concerned parents, the group began to take a closer look at their financial state. With no accounts forthcoming from Arden and a history of extravagant spending behind them, the Small Faces were unsure whether they were millionaires or paupers. Eventually, the parents decided to pay Arden a visit and demand an explanation. For some reason, they never quite got round to talking about money. Arden fended off such questions by expressing his deep concern about the boys’ drug-taking habits. Not suprisingly, the parents were up in arms and left Arden’s Carnaby Street office convinced that their children were hardened addicts. According to Ronnie Lane it took a great deal of persuasion to convince them otherwise. On another occasion, Lane himself visited Arden to discuss money matters but his confidence was shattered upon being introduced to one of Don’s assistants, a certain ‘Mad Tom’. Arden alone was an imposing figure, but the selected heavies that hung around his office suggested that any criticisms of the man would best be left un-uttered. Following a group meeting, the boys decided to employ an independant lawyer and accountant to sort out their financial affairs. Battlelines were being drawn.

The Small Faces would probably have remained under Arden’s aegis but for their concern over unaccounted revenue. News of their disenchantment spread through the back lanes of Tin Pan Alley, but Don convinced himself that all would be well. His countenance grimly altered when he heard a rumour that one of Robert Stigwood’s associates had expressed an interest in the group. Inflamed by proprietorial zeal and a sense that some unwritten code of entrepreneurial etiquette had been transgressed, Arden decided to teach the unfortunate Stigwood a lesson that he would never forget. Marshalling his forces, Arden enacted a remarkable scene which will live forever in the folk-lore of sixties pop management:

I had to stop these overtures - and quickly. I contacted two well-muscled friends and hired two more equally hugh toughs. And we went along to nail this impressario to his chair with fright. There was a large ornate ashtray on his desk. I picked it up and smashed it down with such force that the desk cracked - giving a good impression of a man wild with rage. My friends and I had carefully rehearsed our next move. I pretended to go berserk, lifted the impressario bodily from his chair, dragged him on to the balcony and held him so he was looking down to the pavement four floors below. I asked my friends if I should drop him or forgive him. In unison they shouted: ‘Drop him’. He went rigid with shock and I thought he might have a heart attack. Immediately, I dragged him back into the room and warned him never to interfere with my groups again.

The shaken Stigwood, who had never personally contacted the Small Faces, took heed of Arden’s advice, as did many other figures in the pop world.

By this time, however, the Small Faces were soliciting interest elsewhere in the hope of acquiring a better deal. As Steve Marriot explained, ‘All it took to get away was money’. Unfortunately, nobody was willing to risk signing them for fear of being hung from an open window or worse. However, one manager who almost got involved was the eloquent Simon Napier-Bell, an entrepreneur whose background and demeanour contrasted sharply with that of Arden. Simon recalls the fateful day that the Small Faces arrived at his office and placed him in a compromising position:

I sat and thought, I’d love to manage the Small Faces - but what can I do? He’s only got to know they’re in my office and he’s going to be around trying to get me’. I wouldn’t even have let them in the office. It’s just that I opened the door and they were sitting outside in reception ... I got them in quick before someone walked by and saw them. Then I thought, ‘How do I get out of this?’

Napier-Bell could have ushered them out of the building but he was not particularly happy about the possible repercussions if Arden heard of their visit. Not wishing to be branded a poacher, Simon eventually phoned the mighty Arden and confessed the truth. Don was on the point of screaming abuse at the innocent Napier-Bell, but was eventually calmed down sufficiently to listen to an intriguing proposition:

I said, ‘Sooner or later it won’t work out for you, Don, but I’ve got a super idea. Why don’t they sign to me with your full knowledge, I’ll manage them and you’ll get half the commission? That way you don’t lose everything, they’re happy, I’m happy and the business goes on’. And he said, ****** hell, Simon, you and me, we’re the only honest ones left in the business, aren’t we?’

For a moment, Napier-Bell deluded himself that Arden might be an easy-going partner whose truculence could be kept in check. While musing on this, he suddenly realised that the Small Faces had yet to be consulted on the purported agreement. Without thinking he blurted out, ‘Hang on Don, they haven’t agreed to sign it yet!’ The indignant Arden jokingly suggested that if they didn’t he would come over and try and sort things out. Suddenly, Napier-Bell had this horrible vision of Arden bursting into his office and unwittingly terrifying half the street. realising the vast incompatibilities in their respective management techniques, Simon quickly made some excuses and talked his way back out of the deal. He has never regretted that decision.

The growing rift between the Small Faces and Don Arden reached crisis point in October 1966. With some justification, Don had voiced concern about the group’s lack of motivation in failing to record a follow up to their number 1 hit, ‘All Or Nothing’. In the mid-sixties, it was extremely dangerous for an aspiring group to leave long gaps between singles and Arden knew that unless the Small Faces released a single by November they would miss the lucrative Christmas market. In order to placate their manager, the boys sent a rough demo to the office and promised to complete the recording at the earliest opportunity. However, one night, while driving to the gig, they switched on their car radio only to be greeted by the strains of their new single, ‘My Mind’s Eye’. Although the recording was far from poor and climbed to number 4 in the charts, the group bitterly resented Decca’s decision to release the song. By Christmas, Arden and the boys had terminated their relationship, During the succeeding months, the Small Faces moved on to Harold Davison, Robert Wace and Andrew Oldham, respectively. Clearly, their problems were far from over.

Although Arden had sold the Faces’ agency contract for a reputed £12,000, his company still owed the group royalty payments in respect of record sales. Retrieving those sums was to prove extremely difficult. An intriguing dispute ensued during which Arden demonstrated his predilection for drawn-out court proceedings. During the summer of 1967 an action was brought against Arden’s Contemporary Records for an amount of royalties due to the Small Faces. On receipt of the order, dated 9th June 1967, an account was filed which revealed that £4,023. 7s. was owed to the group. Several months later, on 11th October 1967, the Small Faces obtained judgement in their favour and Counsel for Arden stated in Court that his company had sufficient funds available to pay the debt. Having battled for nearly a year, it seemed as though the group had won a hard-earned victory against their former manager. Unfortunately, the Small Faces had underestimated Arden’s tenacity and, within a week, their premature celebrations came to an abrupt end. On 16th October, Arden’s solicitors, M.A. Jacobs & Sons, wrote to the Small Faces’ legal advisers stating ‘... with regard to the judgement which you have obtained against our Clients, our Clients are not in a position to meet this fully and in one payment. Therefore, they would suggest that they should discharge the debt by instalments of £250 per month...’ Of course, this meant that the group would not receive their full £4,023. 7s. until as late as January 1969. Reluctantly, they accepted this instalment plan, but after proffering £500, Contemporary Records suddenly ceased payment. The Small Faces were left with no option but to petition for the winding up of Arden’s company and an order was duly granted on 5th February 1977, approximately 10 years after payment was due, that the group finally recovered the full sum of £4,023. 7s. Arden’s mastery of litigation was to remain a constant throughout his future management career.

The loss of a major group such as the Small Faces might have proved a severe blow to a minor-league manager, but Arden always ensured he had acts in reserve. His strength lay in the success of his agency, Galaxy Entertainments, which booked over a hundred groups in it’s heyday including the Nashville Teens, the Applejacks, The Action, Neil Christian, the Fairytale and the Skatellites. In his role as starmaker, Arden carefully chose to manage those acts whom he felt had the strongest change of achieving success. His decisions were generally sound, but raw talent and strong potential could not always be translated into stardom. One promising group that failed to prosper under Arden’s regime was the Attack, featuring David O’List, who later achieved success in the Nice. Arden had great hopes for the boys but it spite of some impressive singles, including a cover of ‘Hi Ho Silver Lining’, the desired breakthrough proved elusive.

While waiting the emergence of a new act to rival the chart feats of the Small Faces, Arden temporarily revived his own singing career. He was probably influenced by the dramatic rise in sales of ballad material in the UK during the first half of 1967. With Tom Jones, Engelbert Humperdinck, Vince Hill, Frank Sinatra and even Harry Secombe all scoring massive hits Arden must have felt that he stood an outside chance. He even hired a well-known ‘promoter’ to exploit the sales of his single, investing £250 in the process. ‘Sunrise Sunset’, released on Decca, failed to chart, though it is doubtful whether many people expected to see Arden on ‘Top Of The Pops’. Don later boasted that the single sold approximately 27,000 copies, though if such a figure is accurate, it is suprising that he decided not to release further material. Perhaps he was distracted by the formidable hit machine which fell into his hands in 1967.

When Arden took over the management of Amen Corner from agent Ron King, they had already achieved some chart success. Don was intent on continuing their hit run and it was bizarre to witness how uncannily their career paralleled that of the Small Faces. Lead singer, Andy Fairweather-Low quickly emerged as a pin-up hero in the same manner as his predecessor, Steve Marriot; both singers hit the headlines by collapsing during rehearsals for important television programmes; both groups failed to crack the US market while managed by Arden; both were involved in disputes with their mentor; both prompted Arden to threaten a potential poacher; both left him and signed to Andrew Oldham’s Immediate label. For Amen Corner, 1967-8 was a tremendously exciting and frequently frustrating period which they will never forget. Signing to Arden appeared to guarantee drama and intrigue and under his tutelage they served the equivalent of a university course in the politics of the pop world. By the summer of 1968 they had notched up four hits, ‘Gin House’, ‘World Of Broken Hearts’, ‘Bend Me Shape Me’ and ‘High In The Sky’ and were regarded by the media as a cut above the average pop group. What the press did not reveal was the intense power struggle that served as a backdrop to this group’s short career. Guns, threats of physical violence and even a proposed assassination were just some of the happenings during Arden’s term of management.

Events reached a head when Don learned the by now familiar tale that his group were searching for new management and had been approached by certain individuals. On this occasion, however, Arden found himself up against a consortium of wealthy and influential figures backed by a powerful pop music entrepreneur. The aims of the consortium have never been made clear, though Arden suggests that they may have regarded themselves as an independant trade union in search of better deals for pop artistes. However, the involvement of the mysterious pop mogul implies that their prime motive may have been to pressurise Arden into surrendering his more important assets. The first signs of trouble occurred when an intermediary of the consortium phoned Arden and suggested that he might release Amen Corner from their management contract. Arden’s reply was characteristically blunt and intimidating;

I warned him that committing suicide might be better than causing trouble for me...The story was that £3000 had been put up to get me ‘fixed’. I know full well that it is possible to hire someone to maim or kill for a few thousand pounds. But this time I was scared because there was talk of getting me through my one weakness - my family.

Arden has always been strongly protective of his family, so it is not suprising to learn tha he acted quickly. Three bodyguards were employed for a three-figure sum to provide round-the-clock protection for Arden’s wife and children and children while a counter-plot was being hatched. Don then hired a further six bodyguards and briefed them of his plans for frightening off the consortium. Their focus of attention was a patsy whom Don suspected had some connections with the consortium and seemed the single weakest pawn in their richly-funded Mafia-style vendetta. In broad daylight, Arden’s henchmen set out to his mews flat armed with sawn-off shotguns and revolvers. When the potential victim saw these thugs from his upper window, he screamed his lungs out. Having terrified this character out of his wits, the heavies casually returned to their car and drove away. Arden had presented his visiting card and effectively persuaded the consortium that it would be folly to risk taking this dispute to it’s logical extreme. Of course, Arden’s intimidatory retaliation was itself a dangerous ploy which might have backfired on him in various ways. Indeed, during the aftermath of this incident, he was contacted by a senior police officer investigating complaints concerning guns. It took all of Arden’s rhetoric and cunning to persuade the police that their informant was a crank. In spite of flexing his muscles, Arden could not retain the confidence of Amen Corner who left him for another manager shortly afterwards. There was much talk in the press about Don taking legal action to retain his interests in the group, though nothing came of it. Arden later claimed that he had sold Amen Corner’s contract for a profit of £50,000.

The employment of minders and persuaders and the frequent disputes with managers and artistes soon earned Don Arden the title ‘The Al Capone Of Pop’. An absurd rumour spread that he had been appointed by the Mafia to supervise their activities in London. Amused by the anxiety this caused in some quarters, Don actively perpetuated the myth by refusing to comment on the matter. The notorious reputation he acquired in the late sixties may have alarmed some of his acts, but many others were flattered by their association with such a powerful entrepreneur. Such was evidently the case with Skip Bifferty, another of Arden’s rare failures. During the early stages of their career, the group harboured ambitions of achieving overnight success. However, the grinding toll of endless one-nighters that Arden so favoured frustrated and disillusioned them. Arden was less than impressed by their seeming lack of commitment and endurance:

They weren’t tough enough to make it.... They wanted to become stars, but just when we got them from £10 to £100 a night, they went to pieces. They seemed to forget that nothing comes easy, you’ve got to work for what you get. They had no staying power, no patience and they wouldn’t accept guidance. And artistes have to co-operate with me.

Skip Bifferty not only refused to co-operate with Arden, but actively sought to terminate their management contract, a course of action guaranteed to inflame their mentor’s wrath. Following a disagreement, they spent most of their time outside London, unsure of what to do next. Frightened and emotionally intimidated, they confessed their worst fears to Beckenham police and were advised by Detective Inspector John MacNamara to report any threats, unexpected visits or disturbances. Shortly afterwards, two cars pulled up outside their house and they were confronted by several thugs brandishing firearms and threatening dire consequences. Wisely, they telephoned MacNamara and after a lengthy chase one of the cars was stopped in London’s Tottenham Court Road. Several offensive weapons were discovered in the vehicle and the heavies were duly charged. It was another astonishing episode in the career of an Arden group who found themselves hopelessly out of depth in their dealings with the all-powerful Al Capone of Pop.

It was inevitable that Arden would one day become involved with an already highly-established group and, rather fittingly, his choice was the controversial Move. When Arden first entered their lives, the group were in a transitional state, having still not recovered from their first year as pop stars. The Move had created more short-term controversy than any of their contemporaries, bar the Rolling Stones. In many respects, they were the brainchild of manager Tony Secunda, one of the great sensationalists of the sixties. Tony appeared to thrive on the chaos that the Move created and during his stay with them he masterminded their public image in a series of outrageous publicity stunts and instant happenings that took the pop world by storm. Secunda played upon the media’s ever-present fascination with scandal and used stock shock tactics involving nudity, drugs and violence. Strippers were employed to add spice to live performances and Secunda even had a publicity shot taken of the group signing a contract on the bare back of model Liz Wilson. During that session, the group were decked out in thirties mobster-style suits, a clear suggestion of their violent image. Even their gigs included orchestrated acts of aggression such as smashing television sets or demolishing American cars. Although the group were not involved in any drug busts and probably preferred pints to pot, the papers still managed to point out supposed LSD influences in such songs as ‘Night Of Fear’ and ‘I Can Hear The Grass Grow’.

As a publicist and creative force, Secunda seemed peerless and successfully navigated the Move through a series of different images and musical styles, but his lust for sensation inevitably brought about his downfall. When he promoted the Move’s ‘Flowers In The Rain’ with a scandalous cartoon postcard of Harold Wilson, the British Prime Minister successfully sued for libel. As a result, the Move were forced to surrender their royalties from the disc to a charity of Mr Wilson’s choice. The loss of earnings annoyed their songwriter Roy Wood and considerably weakened Secunda’s position.

When the Move elected to appoint Don Arden as their new agent, Secunda bitterly opposed the motion and forced them to choose between himself and his elder rival. Eventually, they took on Don, but the decision was far from unanimous and almost split the group. Bass guitarist Chris ‘Ace’ Kefford was already on the way out having been reduced to a nervous wreck during the previous eighteen months. Trevor Burton switched from guitar to bass and lasted several months more before leaving to join the supergroup ‘Balls’ after his relationship with Bev Bevan became strained, he also became disillusioned with the Move’s music, considering their most recent offerings ‘Blackberry Way’ and ‘Curly’ lightweight pop. The Move were clearly in disarray and the failure of their fifth single, ‘Wild Tiger Woman’ only made matters worse. Arden needed their full support in order to revitalise their career, yet they remained strangely uncommitted. One might have assumed that Don could at least rest easy in the knowledge that no manager would dare attempt to ursurp him. Remarkably, however, some managers chose to ignore the tales of sawn-off shotguns and were not frightened by the possibility of being hung from a fourth-floor window. Like the Small Faces and Amen Corner before them, the Move soon found themselves in the centre of an entrepreneurial feud, this time involving Arden and Peter Walsh. The violence, threats and subsequent police intervention were horrendous. The drama began during a Top Of The Pops appearance when one of Walsh’s assistants approached the Move about a possible change of management. When Arden learned of this invitation he was understandably furious. He had already expended much effort in persuading potential poachers to stay away from his groups. Although Walsh was a powerful and respected pro with a good track record, this did not prevent Arden from once again taking drastic. Peter recalls the eventful day when Don Arden and his men paid a suprise visit:

He didn’t hang anybody out of a window in my office. He just came in and beat up a guy that was working with me called Clifford Davis, who was then managing Fleetwood Mac. He beat him up in this chair actually! When I say ‘beat him up’ I mean he slapped him around the face a little and threatened what he would do if he didn’t lay off the Move...I don’t know why he came around when he did. I was out at lunch, fortunately, so he got Davis and gave him a good going over. When I came back it had all finished.

Walsh was incredibly lucky to have missed the drama. He later re-upholstered the famous chair in order to remove some cigarette burns. After considering Don’s threats, he decided to inform the police about the incident and this proved sufficient to prevent further trouble, as Peter explains:

I got police protection against him...In fact, if anything, Don Arden was my protector because the police warned him, and this came from very high up at Scotland Yard, that if anything happened to me, he would be dragged in immediately and whether it was him or not, he would be charged. We got his accusations and what he was going to do to me on tape. So he never did anything at all. He was warned off in a big way, a very big way, because I had a lot of muscle at Scotland Yard...He doesn’t speak to me anymore, but he’s very wealthy now.

Following all the commotion, Arden eventually decided to sell the Move’s contract to Walsh. It was hardly the bargain of the year for the group were entering a tricky transitional period. Following the departures of Kefford and Burton, Walsh persuaded the remaining members of the Move to venture into cabaret in order to maintain a regular income. It proved a disastrous move. Relations within the group worsened and, following an embarrassing fracas at a Sheffield nightclub, lead singer Carl Wayne quit in disgust. Disillusioned, the group abandoned the supper club circuit and sought a release from Walsh. As if to prove nothing is ever predictable in the topsy-turvy world of pop management, the Move ended their days back with Don Arden.

In his second spell with the Move it seemed that Arden had inherited a dying group, but he always retained faith in the Move, who struggled on as a trio, with Roy Wood as lead vocalist. Having flirted with acid rock, pop art, flower power and psychedelia, they next emerged as a heavy metal band with ‘Brontosaurus’ and ‘When Alice Comes Back To The Farm’. Wood even adopted a startling new image and appeared like a tribal warrior with multi-coloured backcombed hair and a painted face. For some critics Wood’s theatrics smacked of desperation but, in reality, the Move were already formulating new plans, punctuated by the arrival of singer-composer-guitarist Jeff Lynne. Soon, there was talk of an off-shoot group whose grandiose music required oboes, violins and cellos as well as standard rock instrumentation. Although Arden was initially sceptical about such a radical move away from the pop mainstream, Wood and Lynne’s enthusiasm remained unquenchable.

The grandly-named Electric Light Orchestra was finally launched in Early 1972 and Arden booked an impressive tour, spending lavishly on billboard and trade announcements. After 18 months of preparation, however, the group was still not ready and the tour was postponed. When they eventually made an uneasy debut at the Fox and Greyhound, Croyden, the audience merely registered perplexity and Arden expressed concern about the over-ambitious nature of the project. ELO stuck to their guns, however, even as the final Move single, ‘California Man’, climbed into the Top 10.

By the winter of 1972, the creative teamwork that had launched ELO was replaced by infighting and rivalry between Roy Wood and Jeff Lynne. The bickering culminated in the departure of Wood, who went on to form Wizzard. Arden prophetically described the split as ‘the next best thing that could have happened to ELO’. During the next year, both groups stormed the charts, but it was Wizzard that won the psychological battle for supremacy with two number 1s, ‘See My Baby Jive’ and ‘Angel Fingers’. The prolific Wood even found time to score solo hits with ‘Dear Elaine’ and the brilliant Brian Wilson/Neil Sedaka/Phil Spector tribute, ‘Forever’. Suddenly, Arden was poised to reach a new peak in his managerial career.

Arden was confident that both groups would be world-beaters, but Wood proved too restless to stick with an easy formula. During the next few years he abandoned pure pop in favour of such fleeting fancies as rock ‘n’ roll revivalism and classical jazz-rock experimentation. In spite of his obvious brilliance as a singles specialist, he has not registered a chart entry with a new song since 1975. Ironically, it was the less adventurous ELO that ultimately fulfilled Arden’s ambitions by establishing themselves as consistent hit-makers throughout the decade. By the mid-seventies they had achieved remarkable success on the US stadium circuit and sold millions of albums worldwide. Throughout this period, their relationship with Arden remained exemplary and his paternal guidance played a major part in ensuring their long-term popularity.

While ELO thrived under Arden’s aegis, singing star Lynsey De Paul suffered contrasting fortunes which were to end in bitterness, tears and near suicide. Their relationship began amicably enough in May 1973 when her previous manager/agent Harold Davison fell ill. Arden recommended himself as a replacement and De Paul was pleased to sign a three-year management and initial one-year recording contract with his company, Dartbill, on 6th April 1974. Under the terms of the agreement, Dartbill promised to pay a signatory advance of £12,500, to be followed by £7,500 six months later. For the first year all went well and by 6th March 1974 Dartbill has exercised its option to extend the agreements for a further year. This required them to pay a £10,000 renewal advance to be followed by a further £10,000 within six months. By this stage, Arden’s company had invested £30,000 in Lynsey De Paul’s recording career and, confident of her future success, they decided to extend the contract to its limit covering the tax year 6th April 1976 to 5th April 1977. By a letter dated 23rd June 1975, it was agreed that two payments of £12,500 became due on 21st March 1976 and 21st September 1976, respectively.

In the autumn of 1975, Lynsey had to meet certain financial obligations and found herself in need of the £10,000 due on 6th September. Accordingly, in November she visited Arden’s house in Wimbledon to seek payment of the overdue amount. Lynsey later said she felt apprehensive about visiting Arden because of his notoriously aggressive reputation but, strangely, such fears had not prevented her from signing with him in the first place. Given her uneasiness, it was doubly odd that she chose to attend their meeting unaccompanied. On one level, the visit proved extremely successful, for Lynsey left clutching a cheque for £10,000. Yet she also felt frightened, upset and intimidated by what she perceived as Arden’s unfriendliness towards her. Precisely what prompted Arden’s tetchiness remains unclear; he could hardly have justifiably begrudged paying the singer her advance since at the time of the visit she was in the Top 10 with one of her biggest hits, ‘No Honestly’. Whether the events of winter 1975 constituted a misunderstanding or a genuine rift between the parties remains debatable, but there is no doubt that their business relationship subsequently suffered. Once a manager and artiste lose confidence in each other, the effects are always problematic and this has seldom been better illustrated than in the battle royal between Arden and De Paul.

The spring of 1976 was a disastrous period in De Paul’s professional career. potentially triumphant season at the London Palladium was soured by financial wrangling and the release of her next album was delayed due to disagreements between Arden and AIR Studios. To make matters worse, the £12,500 payable on 21st March 1976 was now ominously overdue. Recoiling from these crises, Lynsey sought legal advice and instructed solicitors to threaten Dartbill with a termination of contract notice if payment was not promptly issues. The money was received in September 1976, but De Paul took exception to the six-month delay. Disillusioned, she decided to break free from Arden and by proceedings instituted in the Chancery Division of the High Court of Justice, a writ was issued against Dartbill on 10th November 1976. Predictably, Arden’s company chose to contest the issue, thereby setting the scene for another protracted legal argument. Arden’s company, Dartbill has been fighting a similar action in the High Court exactly 12 months before against Ann O’Dell’s group, Chopyn (who had played support to the Electric Light Orchestra). Under the terms of an agreement in late 1974, Dartbill had arranged to pay the group all costs in making sound recordings, plus £10,000 and specified royalties following the delivery of their album ‘Gram Slam’. Dartbill failed to pay the amounts due on receipt of the mastertape and in October 1975 Chopyn brought High Court proceedings claiming £14,411.35 plus £10,000 and damages for breach of contract. On 1st November judgement was given in their favour to the tune of £15,218.52 (representing £10,909.27 recording costs and £3,000 for breach of contract, plus interest). Arden’s company gave notice of appeal and the following August the parties agreed on a settlement by which Dartbill paid £10,000 plus legal costs.

The fight between De Paul and Arden dragged on throughout 1977. Although she had a strong case, Lynsey was dealing with a man for whom contractual litigation had become second nature. The protagonists were unevenly matched in High Court experience and as the solicitors’ bills mounted it was De Paul who felt most vulnerable. Her career took a slight upward turn when she represented Britain in the Eurovision Song Contest, duetting with Mike Moran on ‘Rock Bottom’. Even here, however success was tinged with disappointment and, in chart terms, the single fared worse than any UK Eurovision entry for 11 years. Intentionally or not, the words of ‘Rock Bottom’ reflected accurately the state of Lynsey’s artistic career. As the year wore on, the young singer was physically, emotionally and psychologically devastated by the seemingly never-ending struggle to defeat Arden in the courts. As a result of her anxiety, she was unable to sleep and even collapsed on two occasions in 1977. The pressure of work and constant worry caused her hair to fall out to such an extent there scalp became visible at the back of her head. At times, she even considered the possibility of ending it all and had to seek help from psychiatrist R.D. Laing. No wonder she looks back at the Arden years with regret: ‘It was a time in my life that I’ll never forget and I’ll never forgive him. And if anybody was near suicide, and if ever I was near, it was then, because it was awful.’

It was not until October 1978 that Arden and De Paul finally reached terms of settlement and terminated their contracts. However, as part of the settlement Dartbill retained world rights of recordings made under the agreements, including unreleased masters. As Lynsey later remarked, ‘I’m still not free.’

While De Paul scored her pyrrhic victory, the Electric Light Orchestra were enjoying the positive aspects of Arden’s management. Million-selling albums and stadium concerts were par for the course as Don took their earnings skyward. He frequently toured with the group, who leaned heavily on his vast experience as an impressario and promoter. While testifying to Arden’s hard-working efficiency, drummer Bev Bevan remembered one occasion when his manager’s fierce temper caused unforeseen problems, During an ELO gig in Italy, Arden was accosted backstage by a stocky individual who preceded to raise his voice and point at the concert platform. Arden ignored his ranting and continued conversing with a member of his party. Indignant at such treatment, the agitated Italian poked Arden in the chest with his finger, hoping to attract his attention. Such an irreverent gesture was guaranteed to unleash the entrepreneur’s aggressive streak, and without considering the consequences he lifted the mystery man up by his lapels, shook him violently and threw him aside. Don then returned to his interrupted conversation, unaware that he has just humiliated the local Chief of Police who had been attempting to stop the show for fear of a riot. A riot of a different kind almost ensued when Arden was surrounded by police officers and escorted to the local nick, following which he was ordered to appear in court. Luckily, the boys bailed him out and immediately booked him on a flight home before any further trouble occurred. Arden left claiming a moral points victory.

By the late seventies, Arden has established himself as one of the most successful entrepreneurs in the music business with an international record label, Jet. His son, David, helped run the affairs of the UK company while daughter Sharon served an equally tough apprenticeship on the road looking after ELO and others. Flamboyant, outspoken, garrulous and high-living, Sharon shared many of her father’s personality traits and was no stranger to the excesses of road life, which included loud parties, food fights and hotel room demolishing. Her ‘rock ‘n’ roll’ lifestyle was welcomed by ELO and applauded by her greatest admirer, Ozzy Osbourne.

Osbourne had re-signed with Don Arden as a solo artiste after splitting from heavy metal group Black Sabbath in 1980. At the time, he described Jet as ‘one big happy family’ and before long he joined the dynasty by marrying Sharon Arden. Unfortunately, his wife and father-in-law had a falling-out which resulted in Sharon taking Ozzy to Epic Records where she has since built a steady career under her sole management. What sounds like a ‘happy ever after’ tale has been marred somewhat by the sporadic and puzzling lawsuits that have plagued Osbourne since splitting from Arden. The most bizarre of these was served backstage a Live Aid after Ozzy had appeared briefly onstage with his old friends from Black Sabbath. The writ alleged that Osbourne was attempting to reform the original group as a performing unit and actively discouraging them from associating with their former manager. Ozzy was astonished by the implications of the legal document and could be heard fulminating: ‘If Don thinks I’m going back to Black Sabbath, he must be crazy!’ Clearly, with a solo career in bloom, the last thing he envisaged was a Sabbath revival. Osbourne still seems unsure whether Arden is genuinely aggrieved or merely playing some clever game. Who can fathom this entrepreneur who never forgets or forgives past transgressions and appears to regard management contracts as eternally binding?

For many, Arden remains the most notorious manager in the history of British pop music, justifiably feared by enemies and associates for his unbridled aggression. Such a heavy reputation has frequently proven advantageous since any manager, agent or promoter attempting to rip off or delay payment to the man knows that it will probably create more trouble than profit. Of course, such a controversial character is always likely to invite unwanted scrutiny and in 1979 Arden found himself under investigation by the BBC’s watchdog programme ‘Checkpoint’. Roger Cook’s team made some damning comments on Arden’s business methods which greatly upset the man. Faced by Cook’s relentless questioning, Arden became increasingly evasive and frequently appeared bamboozled by the sheer weight of the accusations levelled against him. He swore at Cook, conjured up spurious rumours of homosexuality, and even threatened on air, to break the neck of any person found tailing him! It was a remarkable and chilling confrontation.

Understandably, the most provocative and unflinching attacks on Arden came from his old adversary Lynsey De Paul who concluded: ‘He’s caused a lot of pain to a lot of people and he shouldn’t get away with it...and I hope he rots in hell!’ Arden’s retort to her catalogue of accusations was a tight-lipped aside: ‘Lynsey De Paul has a personal vendetta against me.’ In the wake of the programme, many news-hunting neutrals hoped that Arden would re-open the debate in the High Court, but he resisted the temptation, thereby robbing os of several new chapters in the annals of British pop music.

There was one final footnote to the Arden/BBC extravaganza which neither party had anticipated. One of Don’s sixties groups, the Nashville Teens, took advantage of his plight in order to promote a comeback single, ‘Midnight’, which they cheekily dedicated to the man. Extending the ironic gesture still further, they embarked on a ‘Be nice to Don Arden’ tour and even offered to play a benefit concert for the beleaguered rock mogul. It was a delightful spoof and a pleasing reminder that after all the financial disputes, harsh criticisms and bitterness, this hard-working, stoical group had somehow retained its sense of humour.

Don Arden assumed a lower profile in the eighties, leading to speculation that he had mellowed with passing years. It was a happy delusion broken by newspaper headlines in 1985 and 1986 suggesting that he was in more trouble than ever.

On 19th March 1986, David Arden appeared at the Old Bailey charged with carrying out his father’s instructions to blackmail and imprison Harshad Patel, an accountant who rose to power in the Jet organisation to become Don’s partner. Patel had fallen out with Arden, who accused him of extorting company funds in excess of $100,000. It was not a vast sum by Arden’s financial standards, but rather than pursuing his allegations through the courts, Don allegedly decided to take the law into his own hands using strong-arm methods. One evening, Don and David Arden, accompanied by two thugs, allegedly held Patel captive for over 24 hours. During his long ordeal, the unfortunate accountant was verbally abused by Arden Snr, who at one point allegedly flew into a rage and threw a cup of coffee over his victim. In an earlier hearing, it was suggested that Patel had been ‘beaten up’ and forced to sign a letter of credit for £69,000. Evidently, Arden had not bargained upon Patel’s indignation and willingness to contact the police about the incident. In the past, Don’s intimidatory tactics had attracted enquiries from the police, but these allegations were arguably the most serious yet, and, if proven, would almost certainly place Arden behind bars.

The Old Bailey trial ended with Arden’s son, David, being sentenced to two years’ imprisonment, albeit with one suspended. Meanwhile, Arden Snr remained in Los Angeles awaiting his fate. In open court, it was confidently stated that Arden would be brought back to England at the earliest opportunity to face these charges. An extradition order followed and, 20 months after his son’s incarceration, Arden arrived at the Old Bailey for one of the most dramatic court cases in pop history.

Don Arden was arrested in the US in late 1985 and prior to extradition proceedings voluntarily returned to the UK where he was charged under his family name, Harry Levy, on two separate counts of false imprisonment and blackmail. During November 1987, the Old Bailey heard a staggering series of accusations from Harshad Patel, Arden’s former book-keeper/accountant. Patel explained that Arden suspected him of misappropriating funds from Jet Records and during a stormy meeting in November 1983 allegedly attacked him with a hatstand, pulled a gun from his briefcase and threatened: ‘I’m going to shoot you’. The accountant was then dispossessed of several post-dated cheques and car keys before being unceremoniously sacked. He claims Arden demanded ‘substantial compensation’ for the supposed fraudulency and threatened to recruit Mafia associates to take care of matters. The perturbed Patel returned to England, but further trouble followed.

On 7th December 1983 at 1 a.m., Patel was asleep at his house in Harrow when an American heavy named Charlie Holbrook allegedly unless he accompanied him immediately to Arden’s Wimbledon home. There, Patel was supposedly interrogated by the son of a leading New York Mafia boss and physically assaulted by Arden, resulting in superficial injuries including a fractured rib. Following his alleged night of captivity, Patel claims he was taken to Arden’s accountants and persuaded to sign a bank draft for £69,132.37. That he assumed, was the end of the matter. Two months later, however, Arden discovered further irregularities. On 14th February 1984, Patel claims he received a second visit from Charlie. This time he was taken to Arden’s office in Portland Place and supposedly held prisoner for 24 hours, a period in which he claims to have been attacked by Arden, punched in the face and stomach, showered with coffee and water, consistently hit over the head with a 16 oz.paperweight, suffered danger from various flying missiles including an ashtray, prevented from leaving his seat or going to the lavatory for agonising spells in excess of 14 hours, and threatened with the possibility of being beaten with a baseball bat and chained up and done away with, along with his parents. The alleged presence of another Mafia persuader and the suggestion that David Arden alluded to Muslims chopping off the hands of thieves completed the accountant’s grim scenario. Eventually, Patel claims, he was released, bloodied and bruised, and warned that he must repay a further £10,000 compensation to Arden within one month, Soon afterwards, Patel contacted solicitors and police intervention followed.

During the two-week trial, Arden strenuously denied Patel’s allegations, flew in several star witnesses from the States and focused considerable attention on a separate civil action concerning Patel’s alleged fraudulency of Jet. On 19th November 1987, a jury of eight men and three women found Arden ‘Not Guilty’ on all charges. At the age of 62, his character remains unblemished by a criminal record.

The Don Arden Story was published in 'King Of The Universe' Fanzine in 1997 & 1998.