Part 1: Richards the Rocker Overthrows The Village
It was the fall of '92 and I was living in Manhattan. My friend told me Keith Richards was going to be signing autographs Friday evening at the huge Tower Records in Greenwich Village - it is like the original Tower - it takes up like a whole city block. I couldn't believe why THE Ayatollah of Rock n' Rolla would subject himself to slobbering fools like myself at close, closed range. He's sooo sexy, even more so than in those gaunt black-toothed early 70s....anyway I headed down the ol' creeky number 6 train to Astor Place, not even thinking he would show.

When I got out of the subway, the streets surrounding Tower were packed, like a friggin' riot was going on..oldies, punkers, dirty people, johhnie ryalls, Wall Street tassled yuppies (remember when, The Spin Doctors ruled the airwaves) - all gathering round the store..all chanting 'KEEF KEEF KEEF'. A definite BUZZ. It was like a MidWest city - rarely do New Yorkers get wet over anything.

The Tower employees didn't expect this output either - understaffed mayhem in the store...they were trying to get an organized single file line...Where's Keef? Where's Keef? everyone turning there heads. I hate lines - at least waiting in them..in the confusion, I followed a couple of Tower employees up some stairs to the second level and just kinda hid in the corner while they shuffled all the other gunthers out of the store and made them wait outside in the frigid New York air.

Moments later, with my 'bird's eye view' over the proceedings, I noticed this elevator open up in the back of the store, and out ambles the dirty ol' man himself with a bunch of handlers..he takes a seat at a table..and BOOMBOOMBOOM..these freaks outside start banging on the windows..bonafide freakazoids..like worker bees to their queen. I loved just watching the fans in line, all with their records, guitars, babies, bare tits..everythang for Keith to sign. I do like to watch. This is 1992, not 1972!

so anyway, the best part of this rambling note is that from above, I could look right down to sitting Keith's boots, where in between signatures and smiles he would periodically reach down and pour something into his black coffee mug...well it sure wasn't coffee..it was a friggin bottle of Jack Daniels. Nobody in line could see it cuz the table was draped in black.

Still nippin' at the bottle on the job. Rockin Richards.

Post Script: Richards The Soccer Mom
Recently, a friend of our family's, Clarence, who is an aging babyboomer in his early 50s (and really does not know rock n roll..he was like a special op for the CIA in Vietnam...not that that is mutally exclusive with knowing rnroll, but I digress) was out one Saturday afternoon enjoying rooting on his son in a soccer match in the suburbs of Connecticut. Standing next to him was an similarly wrinkled gent who was chain smoking like crazy. Well, Clarence struck up a converstaion with the man, talking whatever parents talk about on the sidelines of their children's sandlot games.

Anyway, Clarence asked the man with the 'polite English accent' what line of work he was in, to which the man said "I'm in the rock and roll business" Hmmm, Clarence thought, that's a different industry than most of the parents on the sidelines...so he prodded further to what exactly he did in the 'biz', to which the gent subtly replied, "I'm in a band called the Rolling Stones."

Well, Clarence didn't get lobotomized in 'Nam, and his jaw dropped, and he finally figured out who this guy was...Keith Richards, watching his kid kik it around on the pitch, just like the rest of the parents.Who woulda thunk?