(This was written by me and originally published Dec. 3, 2003, in the Eastsider newspaper, which is part of C&G Newspapers, where I am a staff writer. I am posting it today, Dec. 18, 2020, in honor of Keith Richards’ 77th birthday. It’s only rock ‘n’ roll.)

With Keith, it’s a gas, gas, gas 

It looks like the bacon sandwiches and nicotine paid off.

Congratulations, Keith Richards, you made it through another year.

While the world already has your obituary carved in stone, you keep throwing us off. 

Good for you.

I’ve always been on your side, Keith.

        Although we have never met and probably never will, I just wanted to write a few words in honor of your 60th birthday this December. (Note: he is actually 77 today. Again, this was first written in 2003.) 

        So, “start me up,” Mr. Rolling Stones, because you are a 60-year-old rock star now. Be prepared for more wisecracks about how you’re too old to rock ‘n’ roll and that you’ll spend your birthday counting the lines on your forehead. Blah, blah blah. At least you don’t hide behind plastic surgery, expensive barbers and Botox injections like so many celebrities. With Keith, what you see is what you get.

        I’ll never forget your birthday because it’s the same day as mine, Dec. 18. Maybe that’s why I have this weird fascination with you, an admiration that very few people have ever understood. I even dressed up like you this past Halloween. 

        My infatuation dates back to my Holly Junior High School (now De La Salle) days in 1981, when the sun rose and set on my designer jeans and feathered hair. The Rolling Stones were in town for two shows at the Pontiac Silverdome and it seemed like everyone was going...everyone but me.

        I first glanced at you, Keith, during the evening news. You glided across my parent’s television set and I took it all in: the loud guitar, unkempt hair, skinny elbows, wicked grin and dangling cigarette. From that point on, I read magazine article after article about you, and spent my babysitting money buying albums featuring your mug shot on the cover and guitar riffs inside.

        You were wild and reckless, fearless and carefree. You strummed your guitar around the world, broke the law and threw television sets out of hotel rooms. Trouble was your middle name. I wanted to be bad like you, but I just didn’t have it in me, not at age 12 and certainly not now. I guess you were bad enough for the two of us. Sorry to have put it all on your shoulders.

        Between math and science, the awful bus ride and not being part of the “in crowd,” junior high for me was really junior hell. But Keith helped me cope. Hey, we all need someone we can lean on. 

        I used to carry rock magazines with Rolling Stones articles to class. I’d tuck them in my folders and occasionally glance at them throughout the day. Just knowing Keith was nearby made sixth grade a little more bearable. At the end of the day, I’d play my vinyl Rolling Stones records and secretly wish that I could move to New York or merry ole England so I could live where you lived. I’m sure you would have never had time for me, being a big rock star and all, but I wanted to make the move anyway. 

        Although I could never pick a favorite song, somewhere along the way, I got more and more into your music. I’d play “Out Of Time” over and over again every time I got my heart broken in the game of love. I can feel myself shopping through the streets of London whenever I hear “She’s A Rainbow.” Despite what others think, I know you have a soft side because I hear it in “Winter,” a song too pretty and sweet for radio.

        If I ever meet you face to face, I'm sure I would be too nervous to even look you in the eye. My voice would get caught in my throat and I may need help standing up. 

        So, in the meantime, have a great 60th birthday, mate. I’m sure your birthday will rock a lot harder than mine. Keith, just make sure you blow out the candles on your birthday cake and you don’t accidentally smoke them. 

       In harmony, Maria Allard 

Making Spirits Bright 

“Pretty paper, pretty ribbons of blue.”

“Wrap your presents to your darling from you.”

Whenever I hear Roy Orbison’s falsetto perfecting “Pretty Paper” during the Christmas season, memories of slinging cassette tapes, CDs, concert tickets and other stocking stuffers at Harmony House Records and Tapes filter back to me wrapped neatly in a bow.

The Christmas rush at store No. 15 at Macomb Mall in Roseville, Michigan, would have made a great holiday music classic with plenty of colorful characters and a never-ending soundtrack of seasonal songs. Sometimes I wish I could don my Santa hat again and take a sleigh ride back in time to the late 1980s and early-to-mid 1990s when I worked for the retailer.

The morning usually started off rather peacefully but by noon sparks were flying off the cash registers, and the frenzy continued until the final purchase of the night. The Christmas shopping madness began the day after Thanksgiving and rock ‘n’ rolled until New Year’s Day. 

There were always the moms coming in with the X-mas wish lists their kids filled out, people lining up for gift certificates, and the “older” crowd looking for Bobby Vinton Christmas music on tape. It was one of those times when customers stocked up on music accessories, and everyone seemed to be in a merry mood, well, minus a few Grinches. 

The store would be so messy by the end of the day because of all the foot traffic. Whoever closed with the manager that night would try to straighten everything out for the very next day. Ho! Ho! Ho!

Certain things stick out in my mind. One kid out there wasn’t going to find Jane’s Addiction’s “Ritual de lo Habitual” under the Christmas tree. This was when the CDs were packaged in long boxes. His mom decided not to buy it because of the cover: it featured animated people and they weren’t wearing any clothes.

One year, our biggest seller was “To the Extreme” by Vanilla Ice. We all remember the hit “Ice Ice Baby.” So many customers said his name wrong. Instead of Vanilla Ice they would ask, “Do you have ice?” We all knew what they meant though because he was hot that X-mas.

We played so much Christmas music in the store during the holiday stampede. More and more artists released seasonal music each year. Some was traditional, some more modern. 

  One of my favorite CDs was “A Very Special Christmas.” The compilation raised money for the Special Olympics and had some great stuff on it. Whitney Houston’s “Do You Hear What I Hear” was da bomb, and “Silent Night” by Stevie Nicks gave me goosebumps. With all its horns and thumping bass lines, I loved Run D.M.C.’s “Christmas In Hollis” not to mention the down beat of Bob Seger’s “Little Drummer Boy.” Good times.

The Supremes Christmas album was classy and I really got into the ‘60s bands on “A Christmas Gift for You from Phil Spector.” His life took a different path than expected. At the Ticketmaster booth, the Kenny Rogers Christmas show at the Fox Theatre always sold out. 

I liked most of the Christmas music with a few exceptions like “Grandma Got Run Over By Reindeer.” While it’s kind of catchy, I feel so badly for grandma. I can just picture her laying in the snow in her gaudy Christmas sweater holding on to her jello mold. Did she survive? Am I the only one who feels sorry for her? And what happened to grandpa? Did he hook up with Mrs. Claus while Santa was away? 

Outside Harmony House, the mall hustled and bustled. Glittery garland decorated the stores, kids sat on Santa’s lap, and determined shoppers ventured in and out of Sears, Kohl’s, Foot Locker and other spots. The whole scene would make the ideal snow globe, and I really miss it.

Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, everyone! Oh, and rock on!

In Harmony, Maria Allard