Kathleen
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It suddenly dawned on me that Stu needed none of my help at all,
and only a little from Kathleen, in order to scout out a club suitable
for a surprise appearance of the Rolling Stones.
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Somewhere toward the middle of the Stones' stay at Long View Farm — I
think about the time that Keith fell off the deck
1
—
the radio station 'KNX in Los Angeles called Long View and got Kathleen on the
phone, and Kathleen gave a very sweet interview about the horses and
cows at Long View, and how we loved to cater to our guests —
particularly famous ones — and how Stanley's cows down across the
valley are giving more milk ever since the Rolling Stones came to stay.
Only, they asked her one question which she had no answer to, and which
she chose to save for me.
"Gil," she said to me that evening, "what's this about the surprise
club date that the Stones always do, usually in a small bar, just
before their concert tours are supposed to begin? Are we going to have
to deal with this, too?"
Ian Stewart, the unofficial, extremely influential and "sixth" member
of the band, happened to be within earshot, as was not uncommon during
those rare moments when Kathleen found the time to take a few sips of
wine, and laugh about things, and he gave an audible grunt and cough
from the next room which startled us both.
Kathy and I exchanged a terrified look, wondering if we'd been
overheard saying something wrong.
Stu coughed again, and lumbered down the library stairs into the office
where Kathy and I always hung out. Stu is a most affable, friendly, and
unflappable fellow, and he's said to be the best Boogie-Woogie piano
player in all of England. He loved our Baldwin, and liked us a lot.
"Not to worry," he said. "You're not going to have to worry
about that.
But you could
help
me a bit, the two of you." (He was looking
mostly at Kathleen, and not at me.)
"What, Stu?" she said, taking him by the arm and looking up at him with
her brown eyes.
"Just thought I'd take a spin around town tonight — see a club or two
— and get away from the craziness for a while. Don't know the area
too well, and thought you'd like to come." (He was now looking
directly
at Kathleen, and not at me at all.)
Kathleen had an extremely good relationship with Stu, through whose
good offices much reliable and inside information about the band was
passed to us day-to-day, and it would have been inappropriate, maybe
even professionally dangerous, for her to refuse. And Kathleen liked
Stu, besides.
"Not him, though," Stu continued, hooking a thumb in my direction,
"otherwise they'll know what we're up to. Him they all know."
"I'll need to do something with Robert," Kathleen said, not looking to
me for any sign of encouragement, much less permission. "I know, I'll
leave him with Julie."
"Kathleen," I said, "are you sure that Julie's free, and what clubs are
you going to, anyway? You can't just bring Stu anywhere you know. And
besides . . ." But no one was listening to Gil. Kathleen was already
moving toward the phone to call up Julie, and Stu already had an
ignition key in his hands, and it suddenly dawned on me that Stu needed
none of my help at all, and only a little from Kathleen, in order to
scout out a club suitable for a surprise appearance of the Rolling
Stones.
That was the night that Ian Stewart decided on Sir Morgan's Cove, a
dark, dank, and fairly unknown bistro on Green Street, deep in the
bowels of Worcester. He might have chosen Ralph's — the chic and
trendy club owned by friends of mine — but Ralph had packed the bar
that night with a deliberate hint to a reporter that the Rolling Stones
might put in a surprise appearance, and Kathleen and Stu couldn't get
near the place. There were hundreds of people mobbed outside, all
grumbling and exchanging Stones rumors. And so they went down to Sir
Morgan's Cove, the two of them, where they might not have gone
otherwise, and had a wonderful time. Kathleen was talking about it for
days.
As it turned out, the world's most famous rock 'n' roll band played Sir
Morgan's Cove some ten days later, and under circumstances which caused
such great upheaval, consternation, and excitement throughout the
entire Northeast as to deserve greater elaboration in what follows
here.
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1
I've found out what Gil is referring to here. Seems that Keith did twist
his ankle one morning, careening off the porch just outside his room. They
thought it was broken for a while, which would have been very bad for the
upcoming tour. The whole thing
was hushed up. No one, except Woody, knew about it until it was clear that
Keith was all right, and just a bit hung over. B.S.
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