Authors: Stu Schreiber
August 9th
AUGUST 9th
Stu Schreiber
AUGUST 9th
Stu Schreiber
27th Street Publishing
Del Mar, CA 92014
AUGUST 9th
Copyright © 2014 Stu Schreiber
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, scanning, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or hereafter invented, without written permission from the publisher. Inquiries should be addressed to:
27th Street Publishing
P.O. Box 354
Del Mar, CA 92014
ISBN: 1500906786
ISBN 13: 9781500906788
This book is dedicated to my wonderful friends, Maureen & Rock Dime, Stan Silbert, Kim Fishman, Connie Shaner, Cynthia Bolker & Greg Rizzi.
Aug 10, Los Angeles Herald Examiner
For one crazy night, August 9, 1969, Anaheim, CA, became the center of the rock and roll universe. Two British groups, fresh off the release of their second albums, blew the roof off the Anaheim Convention Center. A capacity crowd of 9,100, in a city best known for Disneyland, orange groves, and conservative politicians witnessed Jethro Tull and Led Zeppelin at their raw, energetic, explosive best.
With raucous fervor fueled by the heavy cloud of marijuana, Tull’s front man Ian Anderson tripped around the stage with magical flute in hand as the band performed songs mostly from their new LP, “Stand Up.” Most of the audience, unfamiliar with Jethro Tull, became enthusiastic supporters by the end of the set that was the perfect opening for what was to follow.
When Plant, Page, Jones and Bonham walked out they didn’t just take the stage, they commandeered it and amped up the crowd into a hysterical frenzy. The standing, gyrating, screaming fans ignited Jimmy Page’s guitar that fired right back with a performance
somewhere between Hendrix and Clapton. Plant’s rendition of “Dazed & Confused” was a vocal scream as his voice soared higher than the crowd. The more Zeppelin gave the more the audience gave back. The exhilaration was amazing.
By the time the band returned for their encore, “Communication Breakdown,” the auditorium was euphoric. It was now one big party as everyone danced, yelled, screamed and stomped their feet to Bonham’s pounding bass.
Every so often, we are lucky enough to watch greatness unfold before our very eyes. Last night, Jethro Tull and Led Zeppelin helped define rock greatness.
Dear Tess,
I hope this letter makes sense to you.
I’m not exactly sure why I’m writing you because I really don’t know how to explain what happened at the Anaheim Convention Center a year ago today. Twice that night, for just a few seconds each time, our eyes met and I was overwhelmed by a feeling I’ve never felt before. I apologize if you’re not sure what I’m talking about, but you’re the only person in the world who might be able to tell me what happened. Was it something caused by the emotions from the unbelievable concert? Did Led Zeppelin’s pounding beat and the pot filled arena affect me or us?
We never spoke but our eyes and the smiles we shared were, at least for me, totally overpowering and unexpected. It reached something deep inside me. I left Anaheim confused, trying to understand something I
couldn’t explain and my hope is that you can shed some light on what you felt—if anything.
Before I go any further let me explain that I discovered your name and address by accident. Although I can’t erase the image of your beautiful smiling face from my mind, I assumed it would pass with time and you would always remain a mystery since the only information I had was your seat number, Section B Row 23 Seat E. That was easy to figure because I was in the row behind you, two seats to the right, or 24 C.
Then in March, I was having a burger with the boys in Westwood and a guy stops at our table and says, “Hey, that concert was outta sight!” At first I wasn’t sure who he was talking to or what concert he was talking about. Then I realized I was wearing the concert t-shirt from Led Zeppelin. This guy’s name is Mark and like me he’s a Business major at UCLA, but he’ll be a sophomore and I’m a junior. My girlfriend Maggie and his girlfriend Sheila are both Delta Gamma’s, Maggie at UCLA and Sheila at USC.
Mark, who knew one of my buddies at the table, sat down and joined us and we relived the epic Zeppelin concert agreeing it was the best concert we’d ever seen. He went with a big group of thirty who were scattered throughout Section B. When I told him that’s the section we were in I desperately wanted to describe you, but how could I explain you? I certainly didn’t want to share the question or an answer with my friends at the table who all know Maggie. Before we left the restaurant
Mark and I talked about getting together for dinner or a concert with the girls.
In July, Maggie and I joined Mark, Sheila and several other couples for a Ten Years After/Grand Funk Railroad Concert at the Forum. Before the concert we started to relive Led Zeppelin and where everyone was seated. When Sheila said her friend Tess Davis was seated in Row 23, she got my attention. Then, when she described you, as her tall, beautiful blonde friend I just about spit out a mouthful of soda. Sheila also said you were a DG, too, but at UCSB. I fought off my curiosity and also the uncomfortable feeling of guilt I had with Maggie sitting next to me and quickly turned the conversation to Grand Funk.
After hearing you went to UCSB I immediately thought back to January when I drove up to the campus with some friends to check out the demonstrations against the insane Vietnam War. Nothing, nothing is more important to me than stopping all the killing. It was brought home even more when a high school buddy of mine, just nineteen, was killed there. Because he drew a low lottery number he decided to enlist. Shit, he couldn’t vote but he could die for his country. I’m so lucky my lottery number is 347. I wasn’t at Santa Barbara to witness the burning down of the Bank of America but if that’s what it takes to stop the massacre of innocent victims then it’s well worth it. Then Kent State goes off and four students are killed for protesting our invasion into Cambodia. The world led by
America is on tilt. What was it like for you during all the protests?
Speaking of a massacre, I still can’t believe the Sharon Tate murders, which occurred on the same date as the Zeppelin concert. I’m glad the trial has finally started and hope justice is soon served. If a man can give the appearance of the devil it surely must be Charlie Manson.
That’s enough of the killing talk. Back to why I’m writing this letter. Tess, I kept telling myself to let whatever we experienced go, but a day didn’t pass without flashing on the vivid image of your eyes and smile and now you had a name. I kept searching—for some kind of explanation.
Finding your address was easy and only took a few phone calls. I gave the DG House in Santa Barbara the excuse that I found a little phone book of yours that must have fallen out of your purse and I wanted to mail it back to you. It was a comforting relief you’re at UCSB reasoning the 100 miles between us is for the best.
For three months I thought about what to do with your name and address, and it always came back to the same two things. First, I didn’t want to freak you out or have you think I was stalking you or was some kind of weirdo. My second thought was for Maggie, who I’d never cheat on. I justified writing to you would be okay since I didn’t try to get your phone number and call you or just show up at the Delta Gamma house in Santa Barbara. I know my justification requires a rather humongous leap of faith.
I’ve started this letter a couple dozen times and I’m still not sure what to say or how to say it. I’m still searching and trying to explain what happened in Anaheim and why your image still remains so vividly clear. Yet, I don’t know what I expect or want to happen by sending you this letter. It’s also totally unlike me to write any letter which confuses me even more and probably explains why it’s been so difficult to write.
I know I’m fishing but I’m still puzzled over what I’m fishing for. I only hope you can help explain what happened and why it remains such an overwhelming feeling and vivid memory. Could it have been the same for you? If so, have you experienced the same sensation before? Or, maybe you didn’t feel anything? If nothing else, please accept this letter as a flattering gesture and accept my word that I will honor your privacy. I’m just searching for understanding.
