Bob Dylan, Joan Baez and Keith Moon

My career writing celebrity interviews was brief, although many years later and after I’d retired from my advertising career I found myself doing interviews of extrodinary people for a lifestyle magazine in Aotearoa New Zealand.

However, a lot happened during that brief period in the mid-60s and one of the most striking was at a Hollywood party I’d been invited to.

The party was in a house up in the hills overlooking Hollywood. It was winter and quite cool so I dressed for it and parked my car on the street rather than turn it over to one of the valets. After all, it was a 50s Nash Rambler and I didn’t want to make a bad impression.

The house was on its own at the end of a cul de sac with a big turning circle and I’d somehow managed to sneak my car into a spot quite close to the top.

I flashed my embossed invitation at one of the doormen and entered the world of more money than taste. The street level entry area was strange. It curved to the right, which I later learned was the living area. Almost straight ahead was a railing that overlooked the large area below down a curved staircase. That’s where the party was taking place.

It was quite warm in the house and I realized I’d overdressed and should have gone for layers instead of my heavy, long-sleeved shirt (worn in the Sonny & Cher photo) and a high turtle neck underneath.

The music was pulsating and I noticed a few famous faces on the dance floor below. Joan Baez, looking beautiful and enjoying dancing with a tall, handsome black man. Peter Fonda was sort of dancing off to the side and quite a few Hollywood types schmooozing.

I was about to go down the stairs when I realized I’d left my cigarettes and lighter in the car and walked out to get them. Making sure the doormen knew I’d be back I nearly walked into a stretch limo that was pulling into the turning circle and stopped. The rear door opened and out stepped Bob Dylan dressed completely in white. A white pants, white boots and white cape or coat with a white fur collar. Or maybe it was a white fur coat. I stopped in my tracks and stared.

He swept by without a glance and in past the doormen without a word. I followed as closely behind as I could.

He was standing at the railing in the entrance hall looking down at Joan Baez who looked up. I couldn’t see his expression at that point but her’s was one of ignore followed by pleasure as her attention switched back to her handsome dancing partner.

Dylan swirled around dramatically. I could see his expression now and he looked angry as he stormed out across the turning circle and into the waiting limo. For awhile after it drove off I stood there going over what I’d just witnessed and asked myself some questions I’d never get answers for.

Was all that staged? If not, why didn’t someone close the limo door when he arrived? Why was the limo still waiting? Was this some sort of publicity stunt for the gossip columnists. I’m sure there were a few at the party.

I got my cigarettes and lighter and returned to the party.

There was nobody there I knew or felt comfortable talking to and I quickly became overheated. So I wandered out the door onto the outside swimming pool area. What a view! Not the pool, but down over the nighlights of Hollywood and beyond. It was beautiful. It wasn’t until later that I wondered why I hadn’t found it odd that all of the cruise liner style lounge chairs around the pool were facing outwards towards the view. In any event I stretched out in one of them and smoked a couple of Sherman’s (my party cigs) enjoying the cool air.

I barely noticed when someone sat next to me and introduced himself. “Lovely view … Hi I’m Keith.”

We talked for awhile. Things like wondering which stars, if any, where still there … wherever “there” is. It was one of, if not the most, far reaching conversation I’ve ever had with a complete stranger. But then I felt that I knew him.

A brief lull and he whips out a joint and says, “Care for a puff?” And we shared that and another one just sitting back watching the night sky, ruminating and bouncing off the verbals like two old friends..

Suddenly someone (I think it was Roger Daltry) rushed over and said, “Inside quick! We got to do our thing.” Keith got to his feet slowly, offered me his hand and held on to mine as he smiled down and said, “Got to pay the piper. See you again.”

I wish he’d been right.

Bob Dylan, Joan Baez and Keith Moon © Robert R. Feigel 2022 – All rights reserved