Urban Art Association

Friday amusing anecdote Keith Moon & Steve McQueen, by onemandown72 on May 30, 2008 14:18:17 GMT 1, In the nature of spreading happiness and joy on the forum today found this, which is a great snippet into the complete mental state of Keith Moon's mind
This is priceless, extract from Dear Boy the Life of Keith Moon. Outlining when Moon lived next door to Steve McQueen, this outlinging what happened when Keith Moon moved next door to Steve McQueen:

"Keith planned a house warming. After all why build a beachside palace for $350,000 if you can't let your friends share the spoils? (especially after twp years of reluctantly keeping htem at bay whilst in Sherman Oaks.) Somewhere in the middle of arranging the event, Keith Moon walked the 50-odd yards next door to the McQueens’. The intention was apparently to issue an invitation. But encountering only Chad, McQueen’s 16 year old son form his previous marriage, Keith succeeded in antagonizing the boy no end through offers of – or a request for – drink and drugs. \there were reports that Keith pushed into the house, that a fight broke out, that the McQueens’ dog bit Keith and Keith bit it back. Certainly a confrontation took place.
Steve McQueen didn’t like anyone knocking at his door at the best of times. An addled Keith Moon f*cking with his kid was beyond forgiveness. It’s a wonder he didn’t come round and personally flatten the diminutive drummer. Perhaps he paused to register the publicity it would attract. Besides, like many with money, he had his own way of doing things. He called an ex-FBI agent.
In Los Angeles where connections are everything, a connection saved Keith from prosecution or worse> McQueen’s personal business manager Bill Maher was a friend of Moon’s personal lawyer, Mike Rosenfeld. At Maher’s suggestion, a sit down at te Malibu District Attorney’s office was arranged. Moon was to be hauled in and raked over the coals. Hopefully the matter would rest there.
The night before the meeting Keith got dressed up in his Rommel uniform – jodhpurs, binoculars, Kneelength boots, leather coat and cap – and hit the bars. When Miek Rosenfeld came round to fetch Keith at Malibu in the morning he found his client dressed as a Nazi.
“You’re not going out like that, are you?” the lawyer inquired like the most of exasperated mothers.
“The only way I go,” replied Keith with hungover obstinance, “is if I go like this”
So he did. He marched bleary eyed into a police station to meet Steve McQueen, an ex-FBI agent, the local DA and a handful of lawyers, looking like Field Marshall Rommel after a heavy night on the town.
He was greeted with an almost collective sigh of dismay.
“Is there any significance to your clothing?” the DA eventually asked.
“My client is shooting a commercial this morning” replied Rosenfeld before Moon could think up any other, less plausible excuse.
Steve McQueen just laughed. He didn’t want to ruin it for the lawyer, but had seen Moon in his Nazi uniform perhaps a dozen times already, marching his troops up and down the beach, in and out of the ocean. It was almost to be expected.
Nonetheless, Moon came out of the DA’s office with a rare understanding that a boundary had been crossed. He never went knocking on the McQueens’ door again.