On the way home from Berkeley, California, visiting the cousins, three siblings of my mom’s long-gone brother, I ran into someone who was kissed on the mouth by Mick Jagger. She was just a kid in New York City, only 19, doing some singing herself in her own band and meeting tons of up and coming performers, some of whom became famous later on. This was the '60s after all. Kristen was part of the scene, an east coast hippie, around when people began living communally and smoking weed openly. She participated, though without the drugs, she says, never enjoying the feeling of loss of control. Her second husband died last year, suddenly, of a heart attack, and strangely enough, her first had died also years before.

When I did see him performing up close from the first row at the B-stage, I fell into a fake faint, falling back into a cushion of audience arms and a chorus of ooohs matching mine. Mick looked a little worried for a second. -Andee Baker