16th Street

I guess like most people I started working back in my teenage years. Work either meant flipping burgers and "you want fries with that shake". Or shoveling pieces of meat that resembled chicken into a bucket. The 'cool' kid in class was a night manager, had a plastic name tag and everything. I did my time in the grease pits, hamburger grease, and started working on cars, the best kind of grease. But the coolest job was working for the city of St. Louis at the Kiel Auditorium as an usher.

Now quit your laughing. The money was great, got to see all the rock shows for free and get paid. The real bonus came when the head usher asked if I would learn to operate the telephone switchboard. Almost twice the amount per show and I could do homework while answering phone calls. Yeah, we'll have some of that.

There was some kind of crazy City ordinance that if there was an event in the convention center or Opera House then the office phone network had to be manned. This was way back in the misty past, 1978, and any money was better than no money. The inflation and fuel shortest, hoax or not prices did go up, meant more of your dollars spent just to get around. Disco was making it tough for local bands to get gigs, so I worked the switchboard.

This thing was a throwback to the time of dinosaurs, it was old. A light lit up you pulled a cable out of the desk and plugged it into the socket under the light. Then if you could understand the person on the other end you pulled out another cable and made a connection. When this monstrosity was installed, I believe in the 1930's ( could've been the 1830's) it was state of the art.

You are asking yourselves what exactly does some kid working an antique switchboard at an aging concert venue have to do with meeting the Rolling Stones. Good question. The Opera House side of the Kiel had a seating capacity of around 4000, a very small place for the likes of the Stones. They were on a tour that year playing smaller venues and St. Louis made the grade for a concert date. Tickets sold out so fast it was scary. Scalping tickets was a big business that summer leading up to the night.

I really wanted to work the show as an usher. Believe it or not, there was talk back then that this might be their last concert tour. But as luck would have it I got the switchboard that night. Now it's not a bad thing but sitting in the office just a few steps from the stage is not the same as being in a smoke-filled room listening to some guy get off a cloud. ( For the younger generation please consult your folks as to what constituted the "smoke" in the room.)

There was some kind of delay with the show, I was getting calls from backstage, people were worried. The band wasn't there yet. I passed a call through to the backstage artist room. Now it was strictly forbidden to listen in on phone calls, but since the talkers had no idea you were listening, eh what the hell, I listened in. The band had left the hotel over an hour ago. Seeing as the hotel was less than 15 minutes away, this was not good news.

I passed the info around to all the other ushers so they could panic about the crowd, what would happen if the crowd found out? I know it wasn't a nice thing to do but sure was fun.

I heard a noise outside the office, someone was yelling. The office was on the second floor and the opposite side from the stage door, nobody should have been outside on that side of the building. I opened the large window and leaned out to see the street. To accomplish this simple-sounding task meant climbing a bookcase to reach the window, ah youth. Below me was a white Rolls Royce limousine; Kieth Richards standing on the curb. I swear I just about fell out of the window.

"Mate, we're the band, how do we get in?" Keith hollered up at me. It took a while for my teenage brain to engage but it did finally.

"Your Kieth Richard!" I blubbered.

"Yeah, I know, we can't get to the stage door, the crowd has the street blocked, can we get in this side?" Mick Jagger looked out from the limousine, if he was trying not to laugh; he failed.

The blood finally ran back to my brain and reality sank in. The stage door was on the 18th street side of the building and the office was on the 16th street (there was no 17th street). Funny that.

I told them to hang on a second and I would get the doors opened for them. After managing to get down from the bookcase and repressing the very urgent need to whoop and holler just a bit, I knew just what to do.

I called the stage door and they sent the guard over to unchain the doors on that side of the building. He escorted the group past the office on their way to the stage. I still remember Mick Jager laughing, Keith shaking his head, rock's greatest drummer, Mr. Watts just looking cool as always and Bill Wyman gave me a wave.

In the grand scheme of things this little event doesn't really mean much, I went on to join the Navy (yes ours), operate Nuclear Reactors, had a decent career in design.

But come on this was the 'Fucking Stones' man!

Laters.