Yes, I was there that fateful day when heaven and hell collided. Now it's June 1999, almost 30 years since that great event. Yet, to me it seems as if only a few moments have passed due to its lasting effects. Let me tell some of the key events in my life leading up to my pilgrimage and those that followed. I will also share my own impressions, thoughts, and feeling during that strange weekend in August, 1969.
We left on Thursday from my home in Rocky Point, in Kurt's Karmann Ghia convertible. It was a tight fit in a small car, but the four us Kurt, Steve, Robin and I managed to squeeze in with all the food, tent and sleeping gear. My mother packed some fried chicken to have along the way. With the top down, we started our journey north on that beautiful, clear, warm, summer evening. Our spirits soared as we drove up-state anticipating three days of peace and music in the sun.
Earlier that summer, a few of us had gone to the Newport Jazz Festival, hitchhiking with little more then the clothes on our backs. We learned that it is better to be prepared than controlled by the environment. One night in Newport, I had to sleep in an open field filled with broken glass. I nicknamed it the pit because I got little sleep and injured my foot. Fortunately, there was a church near-by doing free first-aid and I was very grateful for the kind help they offered. This experience gave us the knowledge to be better prepared for our Woodstock trip. We had tickets, a car, food and camping gear. This would be a great festival!
I was excited and looked forward to enjoying great music and meeting the poetic artists leading this hippie movement. I was a true seeker of love, truth, peace, freedom and happiness. We were a lost generation dissatisfied with the world our parents were leaving us. We wanted change and we wanted it now! We were children of the post-World War II period and the cold war facing the constant threat of nuclear destruction. From an early age, we knew that our world could come to a horrible end at the push of a button. We were anxious to live life quickly and fully before the end. We saw the horror of a no-win war in Korea and then the possibility of the same in Vietnam. This was not a cause we wanted to give our lives for. Even then, violence and corruption plagued our nation with the assassinations of the Kennedy brothers and the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King,Jr. the great leaders of our civil rights.
I believed in God but not in the God of this world. To me, the religions of the day seemed corrupt and were the false prophets the Bible warn us to beware of. I thought that the music contemporary artists were very honest and prophetic in their lyrics. I longed to hear the voice of a true prophet and hoped to find the answer to my quest at Woodstock. I was caught up in a world gone astray and was looking for godly love on earth. Some believed we were looking for love in all the wrong places. The world was corrupt and evil and we wanted out. Music, drugs, sex and our strange fashion of dress were our way to demonstrate our dissatisfaction with the establishment. We were dropping out; refusing to be part of it. We put on our rose colored glasses and created a world of love and peace in the freedom of our own minds. At Woodstock, it was real people getting together who shared in the spirit of this dropout peace movement. The dream was coming together as a physical force. Everywhere people awoke and took notice for it was indeed history in the making.
Returning to that very day when we drove to Woodstock, brings to mind our experience along the route. We drove the Long Island Expressway, Throgs Neck, Cross Bronx, George Washington, Palisades, Rt.17 to Rt.17B. It was easy sailing from Rocky Point until we hit Rt.17B. There we got stuck in city traffic on a country road. We realized at that moment that this event was going to be a real happening. Cars were lined up for miles along the route to Yasgur's farm. Everybody was a little anxious to get to where they were going, hoping for a good site to camp on.
The local people were lined up along the road watching this endless parade of flower people. We were wild and free, listening to our loud rock n' roll, dressed in our colorful hippie attire, sharing our stuff and getting high. I often wonder what these country folk thought of us as we drove by. They seemed both solemn and amazed. There were husbands and wives with young children in hand, watching the worlds newest craze pass by their quiet country homes. Some appeared to be Amish farmers, as they were dressed in plain black and wore hats. As we waved and laughed, I was struck by their solemn looks. The black clothes and solemn looks, gave me a chill making me feel that we could be part of a great funeral procession. I quickly shrugged off those dark feelings and reminded myself that this was to be a happy time. We were, after all, seekers of love, peace, freedom and truth.
At last we arrived at a field alive with tents. We turned right and headed north driving about 30 yards into the grounds and set up our tent amongst the many other new arrivals. Darkness fell and our little campfire came to life. We sat around our fire and passed the pipe of peace with some of our new found neighbors. We shared our food and thoughts about this great celebration. It was then that I realized that different forces had brought us together. Some had come just to party, others to watch, and only a few to seek and find love, peace, freedom and truth.
Yes, I was there that fateful day when heaven and hell collided. Now it's June 1999, almost 30 years since that great event. Yet, to me it seems as if only a few moments have passed due to its lasting effects. Let me tell some of the key events in my life leading up to my pilgrimage and those that followed. I will also share my own impressions, thoughts, and feeling during that strange weekend in August, 1969.