I met Mick Jagger at writer George Plimpton's Bastille Day party in East Quogue---2 weeks before Mick's 36th birthday---July 14, 1979. Here he is the day after his birthday that year, at Studio 54 with new paramour, Jerry Hall. He looked decidedly scruffier at Plimpton's party than he does here.
"The Hamptons" were very different in the '50s, '60s, 70s, from what they are today. Today, the Hamptons showcase supermodels, glitzy loud pop stars, their entourages, papparazi, and people crying out for attention for whatever reason...but back then it was far simpler. This summer spot was not closely monitored by the media--more a getaway where artists, writers, creatives, well-known and wealthy people could let their hair down around each other (more or less), without drawing too much attention.
Plimpton's party was covered in the NY Times Sunday "Styles," and maybe a squib in Time magazine, but not written up in a covetous or mean-spirited, voyeuristic/celebrity way -- just that it was a fabulous party!
How all that informs Plimpton's party...
George Plimpton loved to throw parties. He'd gather together the most eclectic collections of humans and toss them together--and fun would ensue. He made everyone (including young teenaged me) feel not only comfortable but as if your presence was indispensable to the evening's delights. His Bastille Day Party was an annual fete, looked forward to by many. Among other high points was the fireworks display (he adored fireworks to the point of being a bit of a pyro).
In contrast to today, the Hamptons then (until maybe the late '80s?) were inhabited and visited by many of the same people who were in attendance at George Plimpton bash, namely: New York old-monied aristo patrons of the arts, the abstract expressionist painters whose work they bought and who lived out there--fashion designers like Halston and Dianne von Furstenberg, writers like Norman Mailer, Kurt Vonnegut, and Truman Capote, poets, photographers like Dick Avedon, personalities like Dick Cavett, politicians who enjoyed socializing, like Teddy Kennedy, Broadway and film actors and actresses (Joel Gray, Roddy McDowell, Lauren Bacall, Lauren Hutton, Candice Bergman, Margaux Hemingway), Frank Sinatra, Liza Minnelli, classical musicians and conductors.
It was just beginning to be a place where younger people---making their fortunes thru pop culture--were buying houses where their kids could play out in front, on the beach, unwatched by media or gawkers. So people like Paul Simon and Chevy Chase were at the party, and I think may even have come together. Also, invited to Plimpton's party were members of George's beach club---and their houseguests .I was one such houseguest, landing at Plimpton's party for 3 summers, with my friend Laura. This is us a few years later, graduating from high school.
Over the years I've read Mick isn't much of a drinker, and not as much into drugs as other members of the Rolling Stones. At Plimpton's party there was much in the way of distinguished joint passing, and undoubtedly coke, and serious boozing going on (Mick did seem to stand out somewhat, in that regard, that night, tho who's to say). But more, Mick seemed out of sorts...surly and cranky, agitated and unfocused. I wish I knew more about that night for him. What was going on with him. etc.
At the party I was having a blast, talking to all sorts of fascinating people. As a young person, I intended to be a stage [possibly also movie] actress, and felt completely at ease with My People, whose company I was absolutely certain I'd be among for the rest of my life--and whose apparent acceptance at Plimpton's seemed to confirm that.
At this exceedingly merry soiree, where no one stuck out particularly, Mick was sort of pouting off to the side, or strutting around by himself, wearing a jacket made from an American flag (has anyone ever seen a picture of that jacket? I haven't, but it was semi-scandalous, even as late as 1979 to be wearing an item of clothing made of a real American flag -- I don't think it was modeled after Brian Jones' American flag jacket -- but can't recall).
At one point my friend and I were talking to Buck Henry, a writer at the time for Saturday Night Live, and my friend remarked matter-of-factly: "Mick Jagger's right behind you." I turned around as he was passing by. I stepped toward him, and took his jacket in my hand and gave it a tug. He turned around and said something like "YESSS???" making a wide-open-eyes face, and I gaped and smiled, and he made a noise like blaaaaaaaaagghhhk, stuck out his tongue, and made a face and strode away. (a la Dan Ackroyd in Trading Places dressed as Santa after the Duke's Christmas party).
My friend and I howled with laughter. Not giggling, but laughing, because it was just CRAZY!
It wasn't cool to gawk at or follow anybody around--and Mick was comically unpleasant--plus there were so many other people who did want to talk to a blond teenaged girl twirling around in a strapless aqua/white polka dotted dress, so I didn't cross Mick's path again.
What was it like being face-to-face with Mick Jagger? He was slight, probably 4 inches taller than me, but did carry himself with a sense of the internally-formidable. He did seem like someone who would and could do absolutely anything, and have the capacity not to care. Mick was not "on" at this party. Not performing at all - no Mick Jagger "persona," but definitely a force majeure. A member of Roman aristocracy having a sulky bad night, and not bothering to hide it. Not so far flung that he seemed a dramatic prima donna. Just restless, and out of sorts. This was at a time he is said to have been on the rocks with Bianca. Maybe that had something to do with his seeming grumpy. As said, most of the people present were light-hearted and high-spirited---and Mick was not the most famous person there, and no one was bugging him.
The party went on until at least 4, a cavalcade of well-known people stayed late (and little me and my friend Laura, who was having an engrossing tete-a-tete with Lauren Hutton, who took out her front-teeth gap-filler for Laura). We headed inside, around the piano, and Joel Gray led us in singing rollicking show tunes...Sadly, Mick wasn't among the gathered.
Was Frank Sinatra? I can't remember...he and I had a fine conversation in George's kitchen. He were entering the kitchen at the same time--just him and me. I wanted some water. He was pretty bombed, and asked me to join him in a glass of scotch. We rummaged through George's cabinets until we found tumblers that suited Frank. They were lovely, heavy-leaded glasses. Frank Sinatra showed me how to pour "three fingers." It was the first whiskey I'd ever drunk....and I liked it.
