I Met Met Mick Jagger Twice in New York

"Here, Mick, you're going to need this," I said. He took the helmet from me. He did his lip-sneer thing and said, "Thanks."

The first time I met Mick Jagger was in 1978. My girlfriend Meryl and I had graduated from our funky wine-drinking, cigarette-smoking, hippie-teachered, rich-white-kid-with-problems "alternative" high school in New Jersey, and we liked walking around the city.

When we needed to use a bathroom, we went to a hotel, because they wouldn't kick you out like in a restaurant. We must have been walking around Central Park, because we decided to make a pit stop at the Plaza. Somewhere along the line, I had picked up a motorcycle helmet from the trash. It was kind of beaten up. If it had been black instead of red, I could have seen a Hell's Angel guy wearing it.

As we walked past the front desk, Mick Jagger was there registering. When you see a celebrity that you revere, you just recognize them right away, and then they start to glow and seem bigger than life. Wanting to make an impression on the glowing rock star, I went up to him and handed him the crash helmet. The lyrics to "Shattered" from the _Some Girls_ album were running through my head: "What a mess, this town's in tatters / I've been shattered / My brain's been battered / splattered all over Manhattan."

"Here, Mick, you're going to need this," I said. He took the helmet from me. He did his lip-sneer thing and said, "Thanks."

The second time I met Mick Jagger was a few years later, in some little club on the Upper West Side. It was an invitation-only performance by some up-and-coming band, and it was rumored that the Stones would be there. The only problem was that my two friends and I were not on the guest list. I used all my charms sweet and obnoxious to get in, but to no avail.

As I was talking to the bouncer, I read a couple of names off the list. I went back to the end of the line and told my friends the names. They got in! But where did that leave me? Somewhere on Broadway.

I decided to go across the street and have a beer and wait for them. As I drank my beer, I told my tale of woe to the guy sitting next to me. "You want to get into that club?" he asked. "I got a buddy that works in the kitchen--we can go through there."

Well, I was reunited with my friends just as Mick Jagger sashayed into the room. As I walked up to him, he was lighting a cigarette from another cigerette. The Devo version of "Satisfaction" began to play in my head: "But he can't be a man / 'cause he doesn't smoke / the same cigarettes as me."

This time, I did not have anything to give to Mick--all I had was an idea. "Hey, Mick, do you know about fire- f*king? It is when you light your cigarette off another one.?"

Yes,you can
be sure that Mick Jagger sneered at me again.


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