Something happened during the summer of 1979 that still resonates with me today. It was a time when my group of high school senior friends, consisting of about five of us, shared an immense love for the Rolling Stones. We were die-hards, and we made it a tradition to gather outside Keith Richards' house on a beautiful winding country road in South Salem. For us, it became a rite of passage, a place where we felt a special connection to our musical idols.

As we stood there, leaning against the old oak tree that shaded the road, we couldn't help but wonder what was happening inside that grand house. We would let our imaginations run wild, concocting stories of wild parties, jam sessions, and secret recording sessions taking place behind those closed doors. But more than anything, those moments outside Keith's house became our sanctuary, a place where we could share our deepest secrets and personal stories with each other.
We would sit on the grass, forming a tight circle, and begin to open up. The warm summer breeze would carry our words away, as if nature itself was eager to listen to our youthful confessions. One by one, we would reveal our fears, dreams, and hidden desires. We were forming a bond that transcended our shared admiration for the Rolling Stones. But every once in a while, the allure of actually catching a glimpse of the iconic music legend would become too strong to resist. We would gather our courage and concoct elaborate plans to knock on the door, hoping to trick our way into a brief encounter with Keith Richards himself. We would rehearse our lines, trying to sound casual and convincing.

One sunny afternoon, our anticipation reached its peak, and we decided it was time to make our move. Hearts pounding, we approached the massive front door of Keith's house and knocked with a mixture of nerves and excitement. The door creaked open, revealing a middle-aged nanny, her eyes filled with suspicion.
"Can I help you?" she asked, her tone cautious. Stammering, we stumbled over our words, trying to come up with a believable story. But the truth was, we had none. Our plan, hastily put together in the heat of the moment, had crumbled under the weight of our nervousness. We stood there, a group of awkward teenagers, unable to articulate our purpose for being at Keith Richards' doorstep.
The nanny's gaze softened, perhaps sensing our genuine admiration for her employer. "I'm sorry, but Mr. Richards isn't home at the moment," she said kindly. "Can I take a message for him?"

Disheartened, we exchanged glances, realizing that our attempt to catch a glimpse of our idol had once again ended in disappointment. With a collective sigh, we shook our heads and mumbled something about returning another time. We turned away from the door, feeling a mix of embarrassment and resignation.
As we walked back to our familiar spot under the oak tree, we couldn't help but laugh at our failed attempt. The incident only strengthened our resolve to keep returning to that winding country road, gathering outside Keith Richards' house. It wasn't about meeting him anymore; it was about the bond we had forged and the memories we had created in that sacred space.

The summer of 1979 became etched in our hearts as a time of adventure, shared secrets, and the pursuit of our musical hero.
As the summer drew to a close and our college plans loomed ahead, we decided to pay one final visit to the house. We approached the door and knocked, but there was no answer. Just as disappointment began to settle in, a young man, about twenty years old, appeared around the corner. He was dressed in a sheepherder's frock, holding a staff above his head, reminiscent of Moses. It was a peculiar sight, but he greeted us with kindness and seemed genuinely willing to help.
We quickly fabricated a story, claiming that our car had overheated. Without hesitation, the young man assured us it was not a problem. Moments later, he returned with a jug of water, ready to assist us. However, as we looked into his eyes, a sense of honesty compelled us to confess the real reason for our visit. We asked him if Keith was home, hoping for a glimmer of confirmation that our idol might be within those walls.

The young man's expression turned serious, and he gently explained that Keith was not at home and that our actions would not be appreciated. It was as if he carried a wisdom beyond his years. His words struck a chord deep within us, awakening a profound realization. We understood that it was time to let go of our fantasies and move forward with our lives. It was an epiphany, a turning point that we needed.
Days later, as we perused the pages of a small local newspaper, a shocking headline caught our attention. The story reported the tragic death of a seventeen-year-old boy named Scott Cantrell. Supposed suicide. A single pistol-shot to the skull while lying in the Richard’s bed. It struck us with a shocking jolt of recognition—the young man we had encountered in front of Keith Richards' house. Scott, a young drifter, had somehow found his way to the house one fateful day. There, he became entangled with Anita Pallenberg, the once-glamorous model and Keith's wife. Anita's struggles with heroin addiction were well-known, and it seemed that Scott had been drawn into that dangerous world.

The house, which had once held so much allure for us, now revealed itself as a place that had taken Scott's life. The news of Scott's death shook us to the core. It was shocking, to say the least, to learn that he was just seventeen years old, the same age as us back then. As we delved deeper into the details, a dark and tragic story unfolded before our eyes. The news of Scott's death sent shockwaves through the small bucolic community of South Salem. It was a tranquil place, far removed from the darker undercurrents of the music industry. The tragedy disrupted the peaceful facade, forcing us to confront the harsh realities that could lurk beneath the surface.

As the weight of the revelation sank in, we were left speechless. Our encounter with Scott, as strange and fleeting as it was, had left an indelible mark on us. In his own way, he had offered us guidance and closure. It was a bittersweet realization that life is fragile, and the paths we choose can lead to unforeseen consequences.

Scott's untimely death served as a poignant reminder that we needed to embrace the present and pursue our own dreams. We carried his memory with us as we embarked on our separate journeys, forever changed by that summer of camaraderie, secrets shared, and the unexpected encounter that forced us to confront the transient nature of life.




For me, personally, it was a profound awakening. It shattered the innocence and idealism I had associated with the band I loved most, Rolling Stones. It took time to process the weight of that harsh reality. The experience exposed us to the dark side, the dangers that could come with idolizing and worshiping our musical heroes.

It made us realize that there were aspects of their lives we didn't know about, hidden shadows that could affect how we listened to their music. It was a sobering lesson in the complexities of fame, addiction, and the consequences that could arise from being too close to the flame.

As time went on, we carried the memory of Scott's tragic fate with us. It served as a cautionary tale, a reminder to approach our passions with a measure of caution and to be aware of the complexities that lie beneath the surface. It didn't diminish our love for the Rolling Stones or music in general, but it added a layer of maturity and skepticism to our appreciation.

In the end, our time outside Keith Richards' house became a defining chapter in our lives, a testament to the power of music, friendship, and the profound impact of chance encounters. And as we moved on, we held onto the lessons learned, forever grateful for the role that summer played in shaping who we would become. That summer held a deeper significance than we could have ever anticipated. It was a time of youthful adventure, shared secrets, and the pursuit of our musical idols. But it was also a time that exposed us to the harsh realities of life, reminding us that heroes are flawed and that the world of fame can be a treacherous path to navigate.



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 2023-10-22 16:48 by hbwriter.

I believe 1979 wasn't a good year for The Rolling Stones at all.

Mick Jagger grew a full beard because of personal problems, which he's never had since then.

I don't believe Mick wasn't trying to compete with ZZ Top either, who also had beards for the first time in 1979 when their album Degüello was released.







Edited 3 time(s). Last edit at 2023-10-22 07:34 by MrForeverMusicFan.

That story took a turn i did not expect

Impressive story, thanks

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Keep On Rolling

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PaintMonkeyManBlack
That story took a turn i did not expect

Yeah no happy ending as in : "I gave my phone number to the nurse and a few days later Keith called to say hello".
In a way it is a good bildung tale.

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MrForeverMusicFan
I believe 1979 wasn't a good year for The Rolling Stones at all.

Mick Jagger grew a full beard because of personal problems, which he's never had since then.

I don't believe Mick wasn't trying to compete with ZZ Top either, who also had beards for the first time in 1979 when their album Degüello was released.

Well he's never grown a beard since for sure but what makes you think it was connected to "personal problems"?

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IORR Links : Essential Studio Outtakes CDs : Audio - History of Rarest Outtakes : Audio

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gotdablouse

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MrForeverMusicFan
I believe 1979 wasn't a good year for The Rolling Stones at all.

Mick Jagger grew a full beard because of personal problems, which he's never had since then.

I don't believe Mick wasn't trying to compete with ZZ Top either, who also had beards for the first time in 1979 when their album Degüello was released.

Well he's never grown a beard since for sure but what makes you think it was connected to "personal problems"?

The personal problem I was referring to was the divorce from his first wife Bianca which occurred in 1979. Apparently he started growing the beard while in Paris. There's a past thread about this subject here.

Ok, thanks for the link

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IORR Links : Essential Studio Outtakes CDs : Audio - History of Rarest Outtakes : Audio

I wasn't a fan of the beard either. But even though it happened in the same year, I wouldn't consider putting it anyway near the tragedy of a young fan committing suicide.

A sad and memorable story, hb. Thanks for sharing.

That was quite the story, HBwriter. Do you still talk to the friends you hung around with at the time?

That was excellent storytelling HB. I remember those days. I was 25 in 1979 and was thrilled to see the New Barbarians 3 times that Spring; Pittsburgh, DC and MSG. Still have my blood dripping T-shirt.

HBK

I recall reading that Keith (Life) said the death of that young man was the straw that broke his back as far as his relationship with Anita Pallenburg. He knew he had to move on.

Fame, in particular at the international level that Mick and Keith have must be a burden at times. Strangers approaching them requesting all kinds of favors, can you call my niece it's her birthday.Can you sign this, can I take a picture with you? The ridiculous questions. The stares and whispers. The pundits taking out frustrations. The rumors and so on....

Yes, they walked away with a fortune. But they earned ever cent of it.

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HouseBoyKnows
That was excellent storytelling HB. I remember those days. I was 25 in 1979 and was thrilled to see the New Barbarians 3 times that Spring; Pittsburgh, DC and MSG. Still have my blood dripping T-shirt.

HBK

thank you

That’s great story telling/writing. Thanks for sharing.

I also wonder if Mick crossed the line in The Rolling Stones with growing a beard in 1979.

I hope that he wasn't secretly joining ZZ Top as a fourth member with being a vocalist.

hbwriter, thank you for sharing your story on this thread as well. I wasn't trying to divert from the original topic. As mentioned, 1979 was a strange year for The Stones in my opinion.



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 2023-10-23 22:55 by MrForeverMusicFan.