Some of them had not even heard of Barnes, as they were younger than Jimmy's kids - who were on stage with him for his walking-talking-singing-shouting show at ASB Stadium.
Not that it mattered. It was free, it was flash-as in their minds, and they were going - with their best gear on.
We all arrived hours before kick-off - such was the excitement of going somewhere special where only paid-up people could afford to go. Sure, a few had seriously considered the value of the ticket and the temptation to flog them off for a few nights food would have crossed their radar more than once.
And what a great gig they got. The entire show is based on Jimmy's best-selling book, Working Class Boy. You get to see and hear past the hits and you don't necessarily feel like singing along to your favourite party lines, because you want to zone in and listen to the "braveheart boy", who was born in Glasgow and brought up on biffo and booze; and he told his story page by page - punch by punch.
Besides me, none of our crew had read Working Class Boy - but they knew it from cover to cover. because it was their story - and they walked every step with their working class bro.
This is a life-saving, life-changing story. One that could and should become the social workers' bible.
"I couldn't put it down because, above all, it is also a story of bravery and resilience," said Sam Neil, of the book.
There were so many highs for me, far more than last time I heard Jimmy up on stage with John English - at an impromptu gig he did for staff I worked with on a tropical Queensland Island in the late eighties. This time there was not a puff, a pill or a pint on board - on both sides, and we connected on a level that a green room could never get close to.
If you were laughing at the start, you were not laughing for long.
Jimmy's korero brought out the boo-hoo juice - if you were brave enough to cry in public, and many of our streeties were crying like refugees, who had finally found a way home from their working class bro.
They - whoever they are, say a family who plays together stays together and Jimmy and the kids were tighter than a street fighter's fist.
Daughter Mahalia was the ying to Jimmy's yang. She had his back and he knew it, like a lioness with her handbrake on - ready to pounce to papa's side should he need her.
I had met Mahalia before as a gorgeous little girl post the staff party with her dad and John, when I took her for her first swimming lesson in the huge island swimming pool.
She got off light when comparing it to the swimming lesson Jimmy describes in his book his father gave them. For Barnsie, it was sink or survive - pretty much the life lesson he lived.
Like any concert or live theatre, there are deja vu moments.
Largs Pier Hotel - the cult venue in Adelaide, where Jimmy first gigged, is where I first came across a group called Mississippi - who morphed into Little River Band. The Apollo theatre, where he used to kick in the back door and walk in for free, was where we paid to walk into our first ever concerts - Cat Stevens and Jo Cocker.
The irony of Jo Cocker performing on stage at Apollo - with a bottle of the best in his hand and Cat Stevens singing Tea for the Tillerman - was not lost, when watching Jimmy and his kids sipping from cups of best English breakfast on stage.
Jimmy Barnes shoots from the hip and the lip; with double-barrelled, no bull delivery.
The show was a security blanket of empathy and therapy, all sewn together for the homeless to take home and hold on to when times are tough.
A gift given by a working class bro and "aint nobody gonna steal their night away".
Tommy Kapai is a best-selling author and writer.
broblack@xtra.co.nz
