So, how does an 18-year-old girl, still in Junior College, end up backstage with the Rolling Stones at the Cow Palace tagging along with her friends from Jefferson Airplane? Long story short, I had met a guy from Canada, we became friends, he was friends with Signe Anderson Ettlin, also from Canada, she was the female lead singer before Grace Slick. They had invited me to their recording session in Hollywood and it ran all day, then they had to catch a 5 pm plane back to San Francisco. I offered to drive them to LAX, so as we pull into LAX, Spencer Dryden, drummer and Paul Kantner, lead guitarist, said, “Why don’t you come with us.”
My response was, I’m in a dress, I only have my camera and purse, how can I go to San Francisco? They said, we’ll get you what you need and you can stay with us (they shared a San Francisco flat). My response as I parked in short term parking, “why not?” Once inside the airport, I used a pay phone to call my boss and tell him I was headed to San Francisco and wouldn’t be in for a couple of days. This was never a problem since they encouraged me to “hang” with the rockers. In those days, if there was an empty seat on the plane, you walked onto the plane (zero security), then at some point during the flight they came down the aisle with a cart and ran your credit card (or accepted cash), $25 round trip LA to San Fran! That was back in the day.
Once we landed, we went to their flat, I had no idea what we’d be doing, except “hanging out.” This was a Tuesday, so after they changed, we were off to the Cow Palace, and it was on the drive there that they told me we were going to the Rolling Stones concert! I’m sure my response was “how groovy!”
They did not have tickets to the concert, but knew the promoter well and it was assumed we’d be hanging out backstage. There were no large laminated backstage passes on lanyards back then either. You were on the list to be admitted or you were a groupie on the outside of the backstage doors.
The supporting acts were on stage, then two sleek Cadillac limousines rolled in at top speed. Out jumped the Rolling Stones. They immediately ducked into their dressing rooms, so I figured that was that. They were such huge stars by this time; I assumed I would only be seeing them from a distance.
Spencer and Paul were chatting with people they knew when suddenly Mick comes out of the dressing room. He came out to meet Joan Baez, who had become friends with the Stones in England. Mick stuck his head into the dressing room and told the others. In a moment all five Stones were in a circle, talking to Joan. I just hung out by their dressing room door, out of the way as they all joked and talked among themselves. That’s when the biggest surprise of all happened!
Without warning Mick opened the door and peeped his head out. My eyes met his glance. “Hello, luv,” he said and then he came over to where I was standing. We chatted for several minutes about the movie Charlie Is My Darling the first documentary film about The Rolling Stones. The movie was shot during the band’s two-day tour of Ireland in September 1965, and was completed in the spring of 1966. He said he liked the final cut.
Before any more small talk, Brian, Bill, Keith and Charlie walked over, nervously lit cigarettes and joined in our conversation, asking me where I was from! When I told them I grew up in Anaheim, near Disneyland, but now I lived in Hollywood, Mick mentioned that Chrissie (his girlfriend, model Chrissie Shrimpton) was in Hollywood and after one more concert on this tour and some recording in Hollywood they were heading to Mexico for a “holiday.”
Then came the announcement over the loud speakers, “And here they are – The Rolling Stones!” They ran up the stairs to the stage. There were six-foot barricades and two rows of policemen surrounding the high stage. The security force did not seem to object when I placed myself just below Mick’s feet at center stage and began madly shooting pictures.
The concert was amazing, they were second in popularity to The Beatles, but their show was completely their own. No one like them before or since. It was a night I’ll never forget.
Photos by Ann Moses
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