I may have already told this story here. I dunno...I find myself repeating certain things now and then. (Hey, sorry, but it's what we older folks do, right?)
Anyway, a friend was telling me recently about "first concerts", and how she used to follow a certain band in the '70's, and ended up dating a famous rock guitarist. True story. I told her about my first concert.
It was fall 1975. Approaching the Bi-centennial year. Things were kinda upbeat; Ford was out, Carter was in. We officially made it more than halfway through that ugliest of all decades. We were 15, going on 16. Me and Ralph "Crash" Fasano, Farley King , Scott Rumery and KD-then-known-as Bones were in my parent's basement, doing whatever we did in that dank sub-terranian hole with faux wood paneling, maroon shag carpets and a built-in bar (replete with spinning stools).
At that point in time we were fans of the band KISS. (Cue: Groans.) Ralph turned us on to them; his older cousin Philip, a totally cool dude who hailed from an area known as "The Hill" in Yonkers, exposed Ralph. Philip was a tough guy from a tough hood: he used to regale me and Ralph with stories of participating in real-live gang warfare, the Rumbles on The Hill.
Believe it or not, it was actually semi-cutting edge, almost cool to follow KISS back then; they were still relatively new and doing something avant garde with their over-the-top costumes and make-up and pyrotechnics. Go figure.
So Ralph tells us KISS is playing on New Year's Eve at the Nassau Coliseum on Long Island, and he knows how to call this new fangled phone service (Ticketron) and get tickets sent to us via mail. Right to our mailbox. We were like "Right. I don't think so. Tell us another". So he dials (my dad, ever practical, installed a phone in the bar), speaks briefly, hangs up and says "We got tickets. We're going!"
We were amazed. Then thrilled. Then ecstatic. We had never been to a rock concert. It was KISS! On New Year's Eve!!
Now all we had to do was pay for the dang venture, figure out how to get there, and most importantly, get permission from our parents...
Mrs. King, wise, wise woman that she was, flat out said NO. Farley was out. This was almost a deal breaker: Farley was our Fun-Meister; wherever he was, wherever he went, good times automatically ensued. But it was our first concert...we had actual tickets...for New Year’s Eve...to see KISS. Sadly, we had to march on without our Pied Piper of Fun.
Mrs. Dahl, knowing KD was ahead of his years and could figure out whatever jam we might get into, said YES. Maybe Mr. Dahl, Saint of a man that he was, greased the wheels, I dunno. My mom said no, then yes, then no, then yes. I don't know how Crash and Rumery finagled it, but they were in.
So we are counting the days, hours, minutes, and finally the big day arrives. New Years Eve 1975-6. KD was the logistics man: don't ask me how, but he figured out how to get from Croton Train Station to Grand Central, then from GCT to Penn Station, checked the LIRR train schedule from Penn Station out to Nassau, the taxi situation out to the Coliseum, all without benefit of the internet. In short, he shepherded us morons all the way there. On New Year’s Eve. More importantly, he was also on top of the reverse process: the last train out on New Year's Eve to Penn Station from Nassau, then the last train from GCT to Croton. This was important: Mr. Dahl the Saint agreed to wait for and pick us up at Croton Station at 03:00h, or thereabouts.
So it's New Year's Eve, and we somehow make it out to the Coliseum, find our seats, and sit, rather impatiently, through two warm-up bands: Leslie West's Mountain and Blue Oyster Cult. We have no idea who they are and could care less. We are there for KISS, and KISS only. As the night begins to wear on we are wondering when the heck they are gonna appear. Sure enough at the stroke of Midnight the stage erupts with fire and light and bombs and...Magic. We are astonished at the granduer of the sight, the magnitude of the sound, pinned back in our seats as the band literally bursts onstage. It is our first concert, our favorite band, New Years Eve! We cannot speak for joy.
They open with our favorite song, "Firehouse". We are in awe. Thousands and thousands of black and silver balloons suddenly cascade down from the roof of the Coliseum, confetti and streamers are flying everywhere. It is mayhem, a cacophony of pleasure. It is the greatest show on earth, everything we could have imagined and much, much more and now we are up and jumping on our seats like fools.
The crowd is going absolutely nuts as Gene Simmons waggles his tongue and Ace Frehly and Paul Stanley romp around in their 13 inch platform shoes. It's only one song in and it's 12:04 p.m and....we have to leave. KD rouses us from our delirium and shouts "We gotta go NOW!!" We're like "Whaaaa....? Now? But...it just started!" This must be some kind of mistake, a cruel joke perhaps. But he is the only one who knows what is going on, who actually did the legwork, and true to form he is completing the mission. We (somewhat) dutifully shuffle into the aisle behind him, past the happy thronging masses and out into the cold dark empty night. KD somehow finds the taxi stand (the rest of us are too dejected to do anything but mope with our heads down), and gets us on the train back to the city. He sprints us up 8th Avenue from Penn Station to 42nd Street and we just barely make it to GCT in time for the last train at out 02:10h. The train ride is silent. We roll into Croton, stumble off the train platform and there is Mr. Dahl, chipper as always, cigarette dangling down off his lower lip: "Hello boys!!" he says, "How was the concert?" |
