No. 235 – Bitch

Performer: The Rolling Stones

Songwriters: Mick Jagger, Keith Richards

Original Release: Sticky Fingers

Year: 1971

Definitive Version: Steel Wheels Live, 1989.

I might have mentioned that when I started at The Flint Journal in November 1989, the goal was to take off the training wheels as soon as possible. Apparently I made the grade, because I was given my first Saturday shift only a few weeks after I’d started.

You had to be up to speed to work a Saturday on the news desk, because it was only a three-person desk on those nights. (Typically, a dozen copy editors worked during the week.) Because Sports would come crashing in at the end of the night with a bunch of pages, to make deadline, News had to have its act together.

Working Saturday was OK, because it meant having a weekday off, but it wasn’t as much fun as working Saturday in Sports. There typically was far less going on as far as the actual content, and the News desk was more staid. We went out for drinks only once or twice as far as I recall.

One Saturday I worked with Randy and Sue (Dan, the usual Sunday editor, must have been on vacation), and the three of us went to Billy’s Pub. All I remember is I got a brutal headache that night and couldn’t wait till I could go home.

The most memorable Saturday I worked might even have been the first one—first or second, for sure. That night, The Stones were playing in the Pontiac Silverdome on their Steel Wheels tour. Our music writer at the time (not yet Doug) was covering the event, of course. We didn’t have to worry about his review—it would come in late and thus run Monday—but he was going to send in a scene-setter for the Sunday paper.

Let me restate that: Because this was before the Internet and we had few notebook computers that were capable of plugging into a phone and sending a story wirelessly, the only way the music writer could “send” his story was to dictate it over the phone. Being the new boy, my job was to take the dictation.

We expected him to call about 7:30 or so, but he didn’t call till about 8—just before The Stones were expected to take the stage. Sure enough, he was maybe one paragraph into his story, when, clear as a bell, I could hear the opening chords to Start Me Up.

I don’t know where our intrepid reporter was—I assumed in the Silverdome press box—but he had to shout his story to me as The Stones rocked it in the background. It made for a difficult dictation situation that worked in my benefit. They finished Start Me Up and promptly ripped into this song while we continued to work. I was loving it; it was almost like being at the show.

He finished up just as Bitch was wrapping up and asked if we needed anything else. I said if he just wanted to stay on the phone so I could listen to the rest of the concert, that was all right by me. He didn’t find the humor in that suggestion.

I had just gotten into The Stones that year through Steel Wheels—as in just before I moved to Flint—so it was cool to get a little taste of the show. Being a fast learner has its rewards.