A Night to Remember With Mick and Keith

Baby boomin’ rock ‘n’ rollers in Connecticut were treated to two special events on Wednesday of this week: a commemoration of the 50th anniversary of Toad’s Place and, an hour or two later, a ceremony honoring Keith Richards with the Governor’s Award of Excellence.

I haven’t figured out yet how to be in two places at once, so I missed seeing the revered Rolling Stones guitarist — who has lived in the tiny Connecticut town of Weston for 40 years — get his award at the Westport Public Library. But I was called upon to speak briefly, with a half-dozen other grayhairs, at the Toad’s “press event” in New Haven.

Brian Phelps, who has kept Toad’s running for 49 of its 50 years (he joined the club’s founder Mike Spoerndle there in 1976), invited me to that fabled stage because I wrote with him “The Legendary Toad’s Place: Stories From New Haven’s Famed Music Venue.”

In addition to Phelps himself, the other speakers included Andy Billman, who is overseeing a documentary on Toad’s; Connecticut Gov. Ned Lamont (before he high-tailed it down to Westport); New Haven Mayor Justin Elicker and Jimmy Koplik, president of Live Nation for Connecticut and New York. Lamont, who correctly noted “Keith ought to be right here” instead of at the library, joined the others in praising Phelps for his hard work and perseverance.

I too credited Phelps. But I also decided to tell a story.

I began my allotted five minutes by noting the many nights I had enjoyed at Toad’s. Billy Joel! The Ramones! Meat Loaf! David Crosby! Stephen Stills! Cyndi Lauper! Johnny Rotten! And yes, I added, I was there in January 1990 when Bob Dylan delivered his marathon four-hours-and-20 minutes, 50-songs epic, his longest performance anywhere.

“But that wasn’t my most memorable night here,” I said. And I proceeded to tell the story of the biggest night.

Aug. 12, 1989 was my wife Jen’s birthday. We were lazing around our home in New Haven that afternoon, wondering how to celebrate her day. I asked her what she wanted to do that night and she replied, “I’d like to go out dancing.” But when we checked the listings in the New Haven Advocate, we came up with nothing worthwhile. We concluded New Haven, at least for that night, was a boring place.

And then I noticed a blinking red light on my phone’s answering machine. (Some of you might remember those). I hit a button and heard this, delivered by a D.J. friend of mine at WPLR: “There’s a real good chance the Stones are playing at Toad’s tonight. Just thought you oughta know. Don’t tell anybody where you heard this. You can call me — Deep Throat.”

Jen and I stared at each other, wild-eyed and gaping. Could it be true?

We decided to head down there. Of course we did.

When we got to the front door we saw the band advertised for that night was a local group we had never heard of before: Sons of Bob.

“Sons of Bob?” I said to the guy selling tickets. “Come on! Who’s really playing tonight?”

“Sons of Bob,” he dead-panned. “You comin’ in or not?”

The charge for the show: $3.01. We paid and went inside.

There was a weird buzz in Toad’s, especially for that early, 7:45 p.m. I spotted other reporters, D.J.s and record company types. For Sons of Bob?

Seeing another WPLR D.J., I asked him: “Is it true?” He smiled and whispered in my ear: “Ten o’clock. Eleven-song set.”

I rushed downstairs to the pay phones (remember those?) so I could tell my friends to get down to Toad’s. But every phone was taped down, not usable. And this was before cell phones. And we were told that if we left to spread the word, we wouldn’t be allowed back inside.

The Sons of Bob really did play a set that night because Mick Jagger wanted an opening act. Mick also wanted to play this surprise show to see how the Stones would do in front of a live audience before going out on their first tour in eight years.

During my interviews for the Toad’s book, I learned the Sons got up close and personal with the world’s greatest rock ‘n’ roll band. After they did their 30-minute set, they beheld the Stones coming down the back stairway. The Stones shook hands with the awed local musicians. One of the Sons, Rob Guadagno, said to Richards: “Keith, we just opened for you guys. You missed us!” Keith smiled and said, “Aw, shit!”

The Sons’ bass guitarist Ted Canning told me he and his bandmates spent a few minutes hanging out with Stones guitarist Ronnie Wood. Canning: “Ronnie was nervous as hell. They hadn’t played live in eight years. He asked us, ‘What’s the crowd like? Do you think they’re going to be into it? Do you think the crowd will like us?’ And I said, ‘Are you kidding? They’re gonna tear the fucking roof off this place!’”

Finally, finally at 10:45 p.m., Spoerndle and Koplik came onto the stage and approached the lead microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen,” they said — “Please welcome the Rolling Stones!”

And there they were — Mick, Keith, Ronnie, Charlie Watts and Bill Wyman, right in front of us! They launched into “Start Me Up” and we all started to dance.

As I told the folks at the Toad’s anniversary event, my wife got her wish that night. Yes indeed, she danced to some fun live music. But she could never have imagined that she’d be dancing a few feet away from the Rolling Stones. That’s a nice birthday present.