by Maria Mirsky, Newtown, PA

I have a lot of Main Point stories to share (The venerable Bryn Mawr-small-no-alcohol-permitted-folk-singer-songwriter-showcase-nightspot-owned-by-the-passionate-legally-blind-Quaker-woman-known-to-most-as-Mrs.Campbell-opened 1962-closed 1981).

My stories could include Springsteen, Elton John, Billy Joel, James Taylor, Joni Mitchell, Cat Stevens and others who came to debut an album, find some fans, or rehearse for a national tour. Not to mention those who came to pay professional tribute to Mrs. Campbell, who operated the club on the tightest of budgets, or maybe no budget at all, and could use the help. But, I will tell the story of Ginger Baker and Blind Faith, because it speaks to the power of the tiny night spot.

I worked for the Main Point indirectly from their telephone answering service down the street, a part-time high school job. Main Line Telephone serviced the Main Point with a telephone destination (switchboard) and operators who answered callers request for reservations and information. We read lists and took names. We were their outside link to the world. Because the Main Point operated on the thinnest of margins, there was no phone service inside the club, except the pay phone on the wall, which was used for calling in emergencies only — a non-private land line.

Blind Faith, often described as “a still birth of 60’s music” was comprised of Cream Alums Ginger Baker and Eric Clapton, Steve Winwood (Spencer Davis Group, Traffic) and Ric Grech. BF played the MP in the summer of 1969 — some time during their 7 month tumultuous existence. It was an exciting moment for any Cream fan, Blind Faith was new and pretty decent.

In the afternoon before their first evening show the answering service received a call from a manager trying to find Ginger Baker. He was not at his hotel and he assumed he was inside the club rehearsing. Back in England, Baker’s wife had just given birth and Baker needed to be told. I called the pay phone inside the club, but no one answered. I phoned Mrs. Campbell’s apartment, our emergency backup plan, still no answer. So I walked up the street and knocked on the door. I remember it was Steve Winwood who answered and I told him why I came calling, he motioned me in. I entered the room with four leaders of blues rock and gave Ginger Baker his news — he had bushy red hair so he was easy to recognize. It was likely the first child born between the four of them and for a few moments they were all excited. Baker went to the pay phone to call his manager. I looked around, cigarettes, but no alcohol, no joints, no roadies, no pending disasters as in some other venues. The Main Point was the place where some artists respected the rules. I saw four guys take a break from jammin’ in what would be their last few months together. I left quietly and returned to work.

They played well, concentrating on Blind Faith tunes which probably made them happy. And Baker announced the birth. I often wondered if this moment was one of their fonder memories of being together, or if it was the beginning of the end.