The Rollers In Detroit: Punks In Sheep’s Clothing

The Bay City Rollers arrived at Metro Airport to be greeted by a small mob of tartaned teens (around 50) on the lam from school. About half of them had been driven down from Marquette by two parents, one of whom clucked "Aren't they wholesome boys?" as her child pasted Derek (the blonde one) with a soul kiss.

Then it was back to the Pontch to "freshen up". The boy photog and I wandered around and came upon a touching scene: In their manager's room Eric was laboring over the shag haircut of a barechested Woody (the baby of the troupe at eighteen). Aha 1 The secret of those bristly mops 1 Eric had a chunk of his buddy's hair dunked in lotion and pinned back, and was blowdrying it with a hand-dryer. He unpinned it and — zap — it bounced right on end. Then Woody retired to the bathroom! (door a|ar) where he doused himself with Monsieur Rpchas, gave a few final pats to his carefully tousled locks, and donned a tartan-trimmed shirt with "Woody" spelled out on the back. Just as we were about to attack some hot chocolate and cookies, the call came. Back to the limos.