A Hard Day’s Afternoon - with the Rolling Stones in 1966

(I figured it was time to get this story down on paper while I can still tell it.)

It was impossible for me to see the early Stones living in NJ. The few shows they did sold out quickly. I had strict parents who wouldn’t let a 12 year out late. But in 66 I was a daring 14 years old and the group was coming to NY to play the Ed Sullivan show that early September. A schoolmate friend and I decided to skip out of school early, take a series of trains to JFK Airport and finally see our idols in person.

Since this was 54 years ago, names and dates are sketchy at times. Not sure if arrival was on a Thursday or Friday. All I remember is standing on a sunny outdoor observation deck when the Stones plane pulled up on the tarmac maybe 200 feet away. There wasn’t a great many screaming fans. Certainly not Beatles numbers. Door opens. Group of people come out of plane waving. Can’t really tell who is who except for one golden haired individual who stood out. You could not miss Brian Jones. They quickly walked down stairs, got into waiting cars, and took off into the bowels of the airport. As went back inside, nobody had a clue where to look for them, so it was off to ride the trains home. Still, we could actually say we had seen the Rolling Stones in person!

Overnight, we did somehow learn the group was scheduled to do a midday tv rehearsal at the Ed Sullivan Theater on Saturday afternoon. So once again my friend and I decided we’d head over to NYC, dreaming that somehow we’d find a way in.

Saturday finally arrived.  Don’t dare tell my parents where I’m going. Anyway, they’ll just assume “I’m out.” More endless trains take us 53rd ST and Broadway. Surprisingly, the crowd isn’t by the front Marquee entrance. Instead about 200 or so young people are on the side street entrance, hovering around two unmarked metal doors . Nervously pacing, sharing rumors, some carrying 8 transistor radios, and when the new single  plays – HAVE YOU SEEN YOUR MOTHER …- there’s cheers followed by discussion on the merits of the song. Unlike anything they’ve done before – do you like it, was it a hit, what does it mean, etc., etc. (Note, sometime between their arrival and this rehearsal the Stones had filmed a video dressed in drag for it in the city. If you haven’t seen it, check it out on You Tube.)

Now almost two hours have gone by and people are getting tense. People are closing in around the doors. Bodies are packed tighter. The Stones have got to be close. The crowd can feel it.

Sure enough, a black limo zooms around the corner and forces its way through and makes a curbside stop. The unmarked doors fly open, security people forcibly create a path, the Stones jet out and make a mad dash for the theatre. There was an audible group scream. Again, only the golden mop of Brian Jones is discernible, the others are blurs. The crowd recovers and surges forward, but the doors have slammed shut. No one gets in. I was on the outskirts. Viewing was over in less than half a minute. The crowd is stunned. Disappointed people stand in the street not knowing what to do next. Slowly the majority start to drift away. My friend and I have no idea how long a rehearsal lasts, but we hang around for an hour with a small group, hoping to catch another glimpse when they leave. Then the word goes through the diehards that the Stones have taken a different exit to their hotel which is a few blocks away. (I draw a blank on its name.)

Now things will get interesting. And despite having only seen the group for a short time, it was still pretty cool to see them again live and in person. So why not march over to the hotel. Its front is made up of a block long row of tall glass windows and doors. Surprisingly, no one is stopping kids from walking into the lobby. A crowd of mostly high school girls are buzzing around. They’ve taken all available seating.  Small groups have grabbed courtesy phones and are begging, pleading, screaming to unknowns  on the other end. I overheard a sobbing girl promising to do things I had only dreamed about and even things I hadn’t heard of yet. Whoa!  That was first time my eyes were opened to the unspoken benefits of being a rock star

Hotel personnel just went about the business of booking guests ignoring the craziness. The girls had no interest in me or my friend. Worse, we were making no progress in our goal to party with the Stones. Latest rumor was that they were up on the 30th floor, but security guards were visible blocking all lobby elevators. All looked lost. But then some kid said there’s an unguarded side elevator and that they – a small desperate looking mob -were going to storm the Stones floor. Wow! My friend and I hook up with them, and push our way in as the elevator door closes. We’re actually going up! Unbelievably, we reach thirty, a bell dings, doors open AND - about a dozen large security guards rush forward and block anyone from even thinking of stepping out. No luck. And to add to our disappointment, some little old guy who was obviously a hotel porter, wearing a red, gold braided jacket with an official looking cap, steps into the elevator doorway, back to the group, stretches out his arms to block any escape attempts, and presses the “Lobby” button. His next big mistake was announcing that “You’re all under arrest!’ as the doors closed.

Things got even worse for our hero as someone pressed every floor button as we headed down. On the first stop, his cap gets tossed out the door. At every stop after that, kids ran out under his arms. He firmly held his position, never turned around as spit was now running down his jacket; he just kept threatening more arrests and jail sentences in between curses. We bailed halfway down and took the stairs. I’m sure when he reached the lobby there wasn’t a soul left behind him. One thing we did know was that no one was going to visit the Stones that day unless they had a personal invite.

So back to the lobby, much less frustrated fans milling around. Just about ready to head home, when we catch the drift of ANOTHER rumor. Supposedly one of the Stones is leaving the building via limo. A quickly formed fan group immediately heads downstairs to the underground parking lot. Might as well join the fun. Down an unguarded flight of stairs, we exit into a large dim car garage where’s there’s about 20 teens, mostly anxious girls. No sign of any Rolling Stone. Fake news?

Suddenly a side door opens and a large security person walks out, followed by a short, long haired shuffling individual wearing sunglasses. “Holy shit! It’s Bill Wyman!”  I’m right next to him. He’s generously listed as 5’6”. I’m six feet and felt like I was towering over him. First thing that came to mind was, ‘That’s my idol?’  Next thing I saw was a swarm of girls sweeping past the security guard who couldn’t stop them all and watching Bill Wyman get tackled by a rather large young lady who towered over him. I thought I heard him beg, “Please” before he disappeared from sight. His security person finally pulled people off and the crowd apologetically stepped back and allowed them to escape to their car. Bill’s glasses were bent and sagging and he looked shaken. He fell into the back seat and they sped off. ( I later read somewhere that Bill was feeling ill and was going to see a doctor. Now he really had a good reason to go.)

That face to face “personal” meeting made the day even more special! Still the only time I’ve stood beside a group member. Figuring our day with the Stones was finally over, my friend and I left the hotel and started toward the subway station. BUT there was one more surprise on the tour! Coming up next to us was a middle-aged black lady wearing a maid’s uniform. She obviously worked at the hotel. Was it my imagination or was she checking us out like we were criminals or something. Finally, she stopped and asked, “Are you fans of the Rolling Stones?

I’m wondering where this is going. But the woman looks harmless and I don’t think we’re in trouble, so I answer, “Yes, we’re big fans.” The woman then reaches into her purse and pulls out – A PLASTIC BAG!
What the . . . ? Then she explains that she was cleaning one of the Rolling Stone’s room after they had gotten a haircut this afternoon. She had put some of the clippings in the bag, probably thinking of how Beatles fans had pursued their idols with scissors for a lock of their mops. She was  making a nice gesture and offering the prize to us. Of course, I asked, WHOSE ROOM WAS IT? but she had no idea. I still took the bag, thanked her and she walked on. My friend didn’t know what to think and had no interest in it. Playing detective, I examined the contents closely. They weren’t blonde or dark so that eliminated Brian, Bill and Keith. It was a light brown, too light for Mick, so I went with Charlie.

Needless to say, we were home in a few hours, excited about the craziness of the day and the fact that the Stones would be on tv tomorrow night, playing a new song that in the stores a few days later. I had “met” the fantastic  Bill Wyman and ended up a with a decent sized clump of a group member’s hair that put in a shoebox. I still have the unopened plastic bag in that same box to this day. I pulled out of a closet and looked at it for the first time about two years ago. Looking at the Sullivan show video, you can see that Mick has a very bad haircut with too short bangs, and Charlie looks like he got a trim. (I’m up to having it DNA tested and still think it would belongs to the always well groomed drummer!)

I still remember the day as a short movie with the Sullivan show songs as a soundtrack!

Great story...thanks for sharing...

As a side note, my friend's dad, who was a highly regarded NYPD cop...always got VIP detail...he was there when the Beatles landed and walked off the plane...you can see him in al the archival footage...and he was there as well for the Stones...and others...Elvis...dignitaries, etc.

Arguably, he was the first person to meet them as they arrived in the US as he was always at the bottom of the air-stairs...He passed away many years ago but we laugh as whenever my friend wants to see her dad, she simply goes to You Tube.

great!