Daily Breeze, Nov. 8, 2002

GOOD WILTERN HUNTING

Our adventurer tries to score a $2000 Stones ticket for $10

BY COREY LEVITAN 

PHOTOS BY SCOTT VARLEY/DAILY BREEZE AND COREY LEVITAN

      If you try sometime, you just might find, you get what you need.

      Heeding Mick Jagger's advice, I have come to L.A.'s Wiltern Theatre, trying to see a very rare, intimate Rolling Stones concert. Tickets, $56, were reselling on eBay for $2000, at least until they disappeared this morning.

       Even if $2000 were readily available to me, I would probably use it for something more sensible than a Stones ticket, such as a gold-plated throne toilet seat or 100 Beck tickets.

      So I'm offering considerably less than market value.

      "WILL PAY UP TO $10 FOR A SEAT," reads my sign.

      There is actual logic to this. Most people who scored Wiltern seats are rich, I figure. And rich people don't schedule their lives around a concert.

      So a few of them will blow it off, leaving extra tickets with their rich friends, to whom $2000 means nothing. When these people see my sign, they'll laugh and invite me with them.

      "I will give you ten dollars right now!" I announce, walking down a line that snakes for two blocks up Western Ave. "I have the money in my possession!"

      Most get the joke. They point and snicker (not unlike the reaction I receive from girlfriends in private). And they tease back.

      "I got tickets," says one man. "To 'The Lion King!'" he continues.

      Another man offers me a $10 seat to see the Stones at Edison Field in Anaheim, two nights earlier.

      Still another offers me a ticket for $11.

      "I'm sorry," I respond. "I don't have that kind of cash on me."

       Actually, I don't. I specifically limited my wallet to $10, just to remain true to this assignment. Unless someone has a credit-card swiping machine handy, Alexander Hamilton is the only connection I have.

      A few fans are considerably more than a stone's throw from perceptive, however.

       "You (expletive)!" yells one man. "You're not gonna get a ticket for that price!"

      Another woman attacks me with more intensity than she apparently has the English language.

      "You selling ticket for 10 dollar?" she yells, gleefully grabbing my arm. "You selling ticket for 10 dollar?"

      One group I clearly do not amuse is the sign people. These are the individuals you see at most public events. They wear old clothes, end every sentence with "man," and constantly suggest things for you to do, such as giving them money or not bombing Sadaam.

       Tonight I walk among them.

      "Nice sign, man," one of them sneers, as though I have made a mockery of the dignified profession of standing in front of a theater and begging for tickets.

      Truth is, my sign is not only bigger than most of theirs, which makes them jealous, but I also know how to use it.

      "NEED A TICKET," reads a sorry slab of cardboard cradled by a guy who stands silently against a nearby video store. Another guy has pasted "NEED ONE!" to his jacket and hopes people will notice.

       Please! Only one other sign person had some creativity.

       "Girlfriend ditched you?" reads the message flashed by Joanna Congleton, 26, of Topanga. "Need extra ticket."

       Strangely, a man who appears to be Congleton's boyfriend stands at her side.

      "Hey, she's a woman of free will," says the man, who identifies himself only as J.B.D., 25, of Topanga.

      One guy does have a bigger sign than me, but he's hoping for a ticket into something bigger than a Stones show. It is a man with a giant Jesus placard.

       "I think people put a little too much emphasis on rock 'n' roll and not enough on Jesus," says the man, who identifies himself as L.A. resident Steven Christian, "over 40."

      I ask whether he thinks Jesus can help me get a Stones ticket for $10.

      "I don't think so," he says.

      It is 9 p.m., 30 minutes before the Stones roll on stage, and I haven't had a single offer. Neither have most of the sign people.

      "Where are all the scalpers?" asks Gail Kettering, 34, of Hollywood, whose "Need one" sign is adorned with a little Stones lips logo.

      Usually the number of "Need tickets?" inquiries equals the number "Got tickets?" inquiries. But tonight, the laws of demand apply exclusively; supply has deserted his old companion, probably because he went to see the Stones. I have not even seen a scalper.

      "I actually met one," says Kettering. "It was some slimy guy who offered me tickets for $1500 apiece. I wouldn't know to bring with me $1500 in cash."

      Kettering, like most of tonight's sign people, brought only about $300.

       "I wouldn't pay any more than that," she says.

      Unfortunately, her offer isn't any more attractive than mine, considering the going rate. Rumors fly of the $1500 ticket scalper doing a brisk business.

      "I'm hoping things will change once the show starts," says Bill Moore, 52, of Huntington Beach, who arrived at 2 p.m., also with about $300. "I've been to every World Series game, and I didn't have a ticket to any of them."

       Yoshiya Sawano, 35, came all the way from Tokyo to see the Stones' three L.A. appearances. He now sits on a nearby stoop, cradling his head, dejected after having lucked out at the Staples Center and Edison Field.

      "But this was the show I wanted to see more than any," he says.

      The worst-night winner, though, is the couple who paid $1000 on Ebay for two tickets. They were told to meet the seller tonight, to pay the remaining $1000.

      The seller never showed up.

      They tell their story to guards, over and over, who turn deaf ears. Then they leave.

      I take another stroll down the line, which is now only a quarter block long. This time I have crossed out "$10" and written "$5." I've already missed the opening act, Solomon Burke, and am growing tired from all the walking.

      "You people made me mad," I announce. "You didn't act quickly enough. But there's still time to make money off the deal before I go down to $2.50."

      This really cracks them up, and hope is briefly restored for what sign people refer to as a "miracle" ticket.

      "Corey?" I suddenly hear.

       It is Tim Young, the Stones' publicist at Virgin Records. He got me a terrific seat to review the Staples Center show four nights earlier, at the last minute, but he is not my miracle-ticket provider tonight.

      "What are you doing?" Young asks.

      That was probably the last free Stones ticket I will ever receive.

      "You worry me," Young says after I fail to adequately communicate the hilarity of this article's premise.

      This is probably a wise place for me to commend Young on how many of the ticket-holders I met appeared to be fans and not industry VIPs.

      On my left, I expected to see the cast of "Friends"; on my right, all the Wiltern representatives who turned down my ticket request, claiming that "even we can't go."

      Yet all I've seen on line are strangers.

      Steve Lundahl, 41, of St. Paul Minnesota, said he purchased two $56 tickets the day they went on sale in May.

      "Within a minute and a half," he said.

      And he got them from Ticketmaster. According to reports, no Wiltern tickets made it to Ticketmaster -- they were held back for VIPs and only a "miniscule" amount were even available through two expensive pre-sale promotions.

      But a woman who identified herself as Joni said she also got face-value Ticketmaster seats.

       There was a smattering of famous people, but nothing disproportionate. I saw Stephen Stills enter with his singing/songwriting son Chris, Ray Manzarek of the Doors, Oscar-winner Benecio del Toro, Cameron Crowe. (Well, he's almost famous.)

      The couple of industry types I did recognize were trying to scam tickets themselves.

      A lawyer friend of mine -- who requested to remain nameless if I wish to continue receiving free legal advice -- offered $300 to no avail. Bruce Duff, production manager at the Knitting Factory, waited on a separate line for the box office to reopen.

       "The old rule, and it was true when this was a Bill Graham house, was that they always held back 50 tickets, no matter who played," Duff said. "Graham's theory was for true fans to at least have a shot of getting a ticket the day of the show."

      Duff got on line at 1 p.m., received a number from some lady (53) and was told to return later.

      "We'll see what happens," he said. "The worst thing is I'll go home."

      Oops, I may have spoken too fast regarding the celebrity quotient. I stumble upon a backstage entrance, where girls dressed in tight clothing glare at the gate-guarders. This is where most of the major celebs have been entering all night, I realize.

      "This is Tom Petty's car," says a man in a jacket and tie. "How do I get him around so he can walk right in the back?"

      He is ignored.

      "Guys, I got Tom Petty in the car!" he yells.

      Finally, he is acknowledged.

      "Thank you very much, Saheeb!" he drops to his knees and bows in mock appreciation.

      At 9 p.m. comes an announcement for everyone who isn't Tom Petty.

      "There will be no tickets released tonight!" yells a man with a megaphone to the 100 people waiting for that possibility.

      "It was just a long shot, no big deal," says Duff, trying to hide his disappointment. "Anyway, I saw them in the '70s, when they were happening!"

      The gates that formed the lines are removed as the cops close in.

      "Folks, you have to clear this area," they say.

      The line people disperse, but the sign people defiantly remain -- every single one I saw earlier in the evening. None has scored.

      Desperate for another angle, I walk alongside the theater and spot it. Rolling Stones producer Don Was is about to enter the bar next to the Wiltern, Atlas, probably to pick up his concert companions. (All those years of reading the captions in Rolling Stone finally paid off.)

      "Don, Don, can you get me into the show?" I ask as he opens the door.

      "I'm not Don!" he lies, retreating.

      Outside the Wiltern, the situation grows grim as the severely muffled notes of the Stones' first song can be heard. I sense growing hostility from the sign people. We are all now in more direct competition than ever. And even though my plan is hopeless, it is now a precise fit for the situation. So it could just work.

       I can sense them plotting my death should I land that miracle ticket.

      Suddenly, applause breaks out by the entrance. The couple who got ripped off on Ebay went home to retrieve credit-card receipts documenting their transaction. And the guards have let them in.

       If anyone deserved miracle tickets, it was them, not us.

      "Isn't that nice?" asks one sign person.

      Moore excuses himself to head home.

       "It was the first show since I've been on the planet that I've never been able to get into, and that's a bummer," he says. "But it was a lot of fun and I met some nice people."

      He's right, I tell myself. Besides, I wasn't dying to go. I had seen the Stones four days before, for free.

      And even if I had landed a ticket for $5, I was going to turn around and make some real fan's night.

      By giving it to him for only $300.

      Click here to read Corey's review of the Stones' Staples Center show

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