the time I didn't meet Mick Jagger

In 1965, when I was 15, my parents had some friends who lived in Hawaii on the island of Oahu. The father was in the service, the Navy more specifically. They had four kids in the same age range as my parents who had three kids and so that summer, my family went to Hawaii to stay for two weeks with my parent's friends. It was (and still is I'm quite sure) an exotic and beautiful place. My parents took us on many excursions on Oahu and the island of Hawaii.

We walked across the lava field of Moana Loa. This was a few years after it had erupted after a long period of dormancy.

We walked right up to the rim of Kilauea and peered down into the smoky sulfuric depths and looked for Pele's tears.

We saw black sand beaches.

We stopped on the road side on our way to Hilo to look at the wild orchids growing there. I heard laughter and pushed into the undergrowth a little ways and saw some teenagers swimming in a natural little spring fed pool. They called to me to join them and I did.

We went to all the famous beaches. I went surfing and quickly realized I was out of my depth.

We drove up to the mountain pass where King Kamehameha forced his enemies off the cliff and where the wind was blowing so strongly that it literally blew me over backwards (I was a scrawny kid and my calves were up against the parking rail).

I ate pineapple picked fresh from the field and it was so good that I have never been able to eat store bought pineapple since.

My mother and sister and I bought bikinis! This was before bikinis were de riguer for beachwear and were considered quite scandalous. We weren't actually allowed to wear them on the beach in Galveston when we returned but we could wear them at home around the swimming pool.

It was a most wonderful vacation.

You're probably wondering right about now what the hell this has to do with me not meeting Mick Jagger.

For some reason, my parent's friends invited me back the following summer, the summer I was 16. My parents allowed me to go, said they would pay my air fare but that I had to earn my spending money by doing the filing for my dad's lab for the nearly two months in the summer before my trip. When the time finally came, I was looking at a long plane ride from Houston to Los Angeles, a short lay over and an even longer plane ride to Honolulu. Coach class boarded first in Los Angeles and once we were all aboard, the curtain was unceremoniously closed between coach and first class and it stayed closed the whole time. I had flown several times before but not enough to think it strange that the curtain was kept closed.

Once we landed on the tarmac, we waited and waited and waited to disembark and then we waited some more. Finally, the curtain was opened and we were allowed to get off the plane. I was met by the family and a huge crowd of people. The tarmac was packed. Back then, the plane taxied near the concourse, a stairway was rolled up and you disembarked on the tarmac and walked into the terminal.

Immediately, the family, the kids who came to meet my plane bombarded me with questions.

“Did you see them?”

“Did I see who? And what are all these people here for?” I wanted to know.

“The Rolling Stones! They were on your plane! You didn't see them?!”

“Yeah right.” I responded.

“No really, the Rolling Stones were on your plane!” they insisted.

“No way, you're pulling my leg.” I refused to be taken in.

I didn't believe them until they dragged me over to where all the instruments and amps were being unloaded and they told me we all had tickets for the concert the next day.

So now all the delays and the closed curtain made sense. And, no, I didn't see them. At least not on the plane. But I did see them in concert the next night.