Bill German - Under Their Thumb: How a Nice Boy from Brooklyn Got Mixed Up with the Rolling Stones (and Lived to Tell About It)

BILL GERMAN was majoring in journalism at NYU when he realized school was interfering with his education. He dropped out to go on the road with the Rolling Stones, and hasnt looked back. For sev enteen years, he published Beggars Banquet, the Stones official newsletter, while co-authoring a book with Ron Wood and con tributing to magazines such as Spin and Rolling Stone. He was an on-air correspondent for the ABC Radio Network, and has hosted programs for various FM stations across the United States. He lives in New York City, where he is currently working on a memoir about his teenage years in 1970s Brooklyna time full of chaos, knishes, the Stones, and the Ramones.

www.billgerman.com

This book was set in Cheltenham, a typeface created by a distinguished American architect, Bertram Grosvenor Goodhue, in 1896 and produced by Ingalls Kimball of the Cheltenham Press in New York in 1902, who suggested that the face be called Cheltenham. It was designed with long ascenders and short descenders as a result of legibility studies indicating that the eye identifies letters by scanning their tops. The Mergenthaler Linotype Company put the typeface on machine in 1906, and Cheltenham has maintained its popularity for more than a century.

Writing a book can be tough. And getting one published can be tougher. So Im grateful to Jim Fitzgerald, my agent, and to Claire Tisne, at Random House, for making the process so painless. Jim showed enthusiasm for this project the minute he learned of it, and Claire championed it through thick and thin. (And I do mean thick. Like War and Peace thick.) Their faith in me is something Ill always treasure.

I thank my editor, Ryan Doherty, for helping me trim the fat from my manuscript and for keeping this book on track. And I thank all the good people at Villard/Random House who gave a thumbs-up to Under Their ThumbLibby McGuire, Kim Hovey, Brian McLendon, Steve Messina, and the original mensch on the scene, Adam Korn.

I couldnt have finished this book without the unflagging support and love of Dessie Marinis, Nora Lieberman, the Germans, and Jerry Schulman. Words cant convey my gratitude and indebtedness to them.

I must acknowledge the friends whose names were obscured in the pages of this book and/or who listened to me kvetch while writing this thing: Harriet and Pat Argentiere, Celeste Balducci, Bruce Barch, Christine Baronak, Kevin Barry, Angie and Bill Bechtold, Lisa and Barbara Bechtold, Shirley and Jerry Birenz, the Blue Paradisos, Claudia Boutote, Patty Butler, Sarah Butler, Phyllis Canning, Deb Charych, Sally Cook, David Dalton, Robert DiSalvatore, Stephen Dunkle, David Dunton, Pam and Chris Eborn, Bibi Farber, Mark Felsot, Ed Finnell, Donna Gaines, Anne Garrett, Charlene and Mo Goldner, Arnie Goodman, Meg Griffin, Bob Gruen, Lynnsey Guerrero, Tamara Guo, Iris and Michael Haas, Raquel and Jason Hagen, Jim Hartley, Eva Harvey, Estelle Heifetz, Gregg Heifetz, Ed Hemwall, Rick Hind, Ilana and Howard Horowitz, Andrea and Dale Horstmann, Yuji Ikeda, Charlie Jennemann, Brit Johnson, Scott Jones, Theron Kabrich, James Karnbach, George Kazepis, Jack Kelleher, Linda Kelly, Theresa Kereakes, Jane Kessler, Mayumi and Steve Klapper, Rochelle and Ron Klempner, Koos Kokhuis, Rich Kolnsberg, Mike Koshitani, Susan Krakenberg, Mike Krowiak, Diane and Arnie Landau, Teri Landi, Shelley Lazar, Chuck Leavell, Matt Lee, Jeff Leviton, Joel Levy, Nat Levy, Allen Lieberman, Gerardo Liedo, Leah Lublin, Jo Maeder, Clare Magee, Rhonda Markowitz, David McGough, Ian McLagan, Ian McPherson, Diane McWhorter, Rhonda Mills, Mayumi Motouchi, Marilyn Murray, Lynn OBrien, Debbie Palan, Donna Petrozzello, Tony Pigg, Ken Podsada, Doug Potash, Janet and Jeff Prushankin, Chuck Pulin, Marilou Regan, Brett Regenbogen, Carla Rhodes, Ebet Roberts, Denise Root, Norman Ross, Lynne Rossi, Beverly and Bob Rossman, Dagmar Schaefer, Alain Schinassi, Bernd Schonebaum, Carrie Schulman, Jesse Schulman, Lisa Seifert, Andrew Slayton, David Van Sise, Bjornulf Vik, Mark Voglesong, Sue Weiner, Josh Weingust, Miriam Weiss, Eliot Wien, Alan Wilensky, Carrie Woods, and Ed Wright.

Id like to thank the Stones employees and hangers-on who helped me during my zine days. Especially Jane Rose, Alan Dunn, JC, Tony King, Video James, and the late Freddy Sessler. Id also like to thank the Stones employees and hangers-on who gave me a ton of headaches during that time. Especially Jane Rose, Alan Dunn, JC, Tony King, Video James, and the late Freddy Sessler. Their headaches provided lots of material for this book.

Of course, I can never repay Patti and Keith Richards, nor Jo and Ronnie Wood, for their immeasurable kindness and hospitality. Mick Jagger, Bill Wyman, Charlie Watts, and Ian Stewart were no slouches, either. It was an honor to be in their presence, and I still cant believe they let me hang around for so long.

Lastly, it pains me to no end that Alan Heifetz, Art Collins, Bruce Bechtold, Chuch Magee, Karen Rose, Kathy Voglesong, Michael Woods, Quenby Schulman, Ruth Rosenberg, Vinnie Zuffante, and Virginia Lohle are not here to read this book. I think they would have been proud of me for getting it done.

The first two covers of Beggars Banquet, compliments of my high schools mimeo room.

Id like to welcome President Clinton, Mick Jagger tells the VIP crowd. And I see shes brought her husband.

The Rolling Stones are at New Yorks Beacon Theatre, and Martin Scorseses shooting it for a documentary. Its October 29, 2006, and, after decades of drug busts, paternity suits, funerals, divorces, rehabs, and chemotherapy, the Stones can still put out. I mean, damn, these guys are good. But as my eyes and ears fixate on them at the Beacon, my mind wanders to another time and place.

My eyes see Mick onstage, but my mind sees him in his house, blotting the orange juice I spilled on his rug. My ears hear Keith Richards plucking Im Free, but my mind hears him offering me bourbon on his terrace. And Ronnie Wood? Im peeling potatoes with him in his kitchen.

I used to pal around with these guys. And if this were ten or twenty years ago, Id have begun my night backstage. Id tell Keith and Ronnie to break a leg, and then Id visit them after the show.

But thats not happening tonight. I finagled my way into the crowd, and the Stones dont know Im here.

For me, theres never been a world without the Stones. They came into existence two months before I did. But I didnt hear them until I turned ten. To that point, if you didnt have a Saturday morning TV show, I didnt know you. The Monkees, Beatles, and Jackson 5 were the only bands I could name.

Life changed in 1972, when an announcement came from my sisters bedroom: Everything seems to be ready... Are you ready?... Sorry for the delay.... Is everybody ready?

What followed were the strangest words and most violent sounds Id ever heard: I was born in a crossfire hurricane! And I howled at my ma in the driving rain! Followed by: I think I bust a button on my trousers.... You dont want my trousers to fall down, now do ya? I had no idea what it meant, but it was impossible to ignore.

My sister said it was the Rolling Stones. She showed me their album cover, and they looked pretty tough. Like they could definitely beat up the Monkees.

Until recently, my sister had listened only to Build Me Up Buttercup and I Think I Love You. But somehow, in the summer of 72, she switched her allegiance from Keith Partridge to Keith Richards. She ditched her 45s and bought some Stones albums. One was shaped like a stop sign. Another had a zipper on it.