Woodstock

I was 18 when my 15 year old brother Patrick told me about a concert in upstate NY. What mattered to me at the time was that The Who were going to be performing their Rock Opera Tommy. For the first time in my life I called in sick (when I wasn't.) On that Friday morning we stuck out thumbs on the NY Throughway. It was not long and we were on our way with a car full of stoned teens. The highway was packed with hippie-mobiles decorated with psychedelic peace signs and painted slogans of peace, love, drugs, and instant karma. All were heading to a weekend of music at a little known place called Woodstock.

By the time we got there cars clogged the roads and were parked everywhere. We finally found a spot on the access highway and hiked the remaining 10 miles to the concert site. Half way there we began to feel and hear the music. Our tired feet began to dance.
Police were there but were unusually friendly, even with open use of marijuana and other drugs. By the time Patrick and I got to the gate we were floating. Though we had purchased tickets, the fences had been trampled and admission was now free to all!

The scene: mobs of kids, bell bottoms, head bands, tassles, running madras, mini-skirts and leotards, tie-dye, leather hats, buttons proclaiming peace and free love. People everywhere, no where to sit but the rain moistened ground, the smells ... of mud, moist leather, insense, pot, latrines. There was cold air, thunder, wind, rain, humidity ... your basic elements. I remember sitting down in a small island of dryness, opening a pack of Oreo’s, passing it to my brother who passed it to the next guy and watching the package as it traveled from one excited face to the next. All kinds of things were passed around that huge natural amphitheater of grassy pasture, forest, lakes and streams.

The music blasted forth from amplifiers set on large scaffold towers that also provided some cover for the bands. The emcee spoke in hippie. "Hey man, you guys are great!" "We're makin history!" "The world is watching!" He was a great source of information and a calming force. He'd say things like "Watch out for the acid that comes on the blue paper," and announce all kinds of information ... births, lost and found, the weather, what the NY Times was reporting about the Rock Festival at Woodstock. The mood was festive but the setting was primitive. Rock music and drugs, dancing in the mud, hunger and fatigue, lightening and icy mountain rain ... we laughed through it all and remained peaceful. I saw no fights, no arguements, no dissapointment.

Friday night Peter Townsend and the Who closed their lengthy performance of the Pin Ball Opera by smashing their instruments. Somehow I felt the destruction didn't fit in! It was the third time I had seen the Who and I am still surprized that I fell asleep during their performance. Thank goodness there were so many talented groups at the concert. Sly and the Family Stone shook the crowd awake. Electric organ music so loud it vibrated your chest got people dancing to their soul beat. There were also new sounds to be heard. Santana was my favorite with that intoxicating rhythm and smooth electric guitar. When they played You've Got to Change Your Evil Ways, the crowd went bezerk. Young joined Crosby Stills and Nash at Woodstock. They thrilled the crowd with their smooth psychadelic sound! Though the ground became a muddy mess, people grooved and rocked and got naked all night long. Inevitibly we got cold, hungry, tired and wet. When the concession stands ran out of food we burned them to stay warm.

The bands played till sunrise. There were many sounds to appeal to different tastes. I remember some vividly ... like Sha Na Na! ... but have no recollection of others. Who can say how many stayed awake the entire night. I do remember coming to the awareness that it was Saturday morning at Woodstock. It was wet, cold, and curiously quiet. From the crowd of five hundred thousand people came sounds of snoring and coughing. Every now and then a baby cried. Like most of the crowd, the PA system was turned off. Some chopping of wood and other camp sounds could be heard. There was no point searching for food because none was to be found. I did like most of the guys and found a spot to relieve myself in the woods. There had not been adequate planning for things like that. The few port-a-johns were nothing but a bunch of blue cabins in a sea of stinky mud. At times like that I thanked God for external plumbing.

As Saturday morning progressed, so did the growing rumble of conversation. Soon came sounds of laughter accented by those hip words of the day. Peace! Wow! Groovy! It wasn't long before the massive amplifiers sputtered alive. Instead of music came news. There was word of lost souls, bad acid, calls for medical help, reactions from the World Press, birth announcements, storm warnings. With no place to go and nothing much to do I laid back in the mud and slept through the din.

I awoke to music. Loud music. The vibrations made my teeth tingle and rumbled in my chest. The throng quickened. Soon even the most disgruntled were able to forget their discomforts. Only the electrical storms interrupted the music once it began.

When it rained and thundered, we hid under makeshift shelters. We huddled for warmth. Cold water ran down the hills and chilled us. Wind flapped our little tarps and blew rain drops into our shelters. We were a herd of happy hippies ignoring a storm of discontent. We managed to enjoy those memorable moments as the astonished world looked on.

Jimmy Hendrix was the last performer. Many people had already headed home so it was possible to get up close. He was dressed in a green outfit that made me think of Robin Hood. I couldn't understand how people could be walking out on what some say was his best performance. It was one of his last performances and for me his electric blues were a poignant ending to that weekend fantasy.

The sun was rising on Sunday morning as the concert ended. What had once been green pasture land was now acres and acres of garbage strewn mud wallow. Tired but triumphant, legion upon legion of exhausted kids found their way up the slippery slopes and out of the festival site. It was our good fortune to be picked up by some hometown frieds not long after we set out. The only thing I remember about that ride was getting out of the car at my house in White Plains.

Wow! How many people can say they went to Woodstock? People usually roll their eyes in disbelief when I tell them. I feel lucky that I got to go. Still in a way everyone was there. For sure it was a climax, a culmination of one heck of a time called the 60’s.