The Sacrifice
Night passed quickly. In the morning, we investigated the concert grounds. Not far from our camp ground was a dirt road which ran north and south from Rt.17B to the concert grounds. It was about 200 yards through the woods. It was north along this dirt road that we found the "grassy bowl." Our tickets were worthless. Fences had been started but never finished. Crowds were roaming the area like ants. The scene was amazing. Everybody seemed to understand one another and we moved about in perfect harmony checking things out. The field was wet and muddy in places because it had rained the night before. People were busy working on the stage and we were told that the concert wouldn't begin until that night or maybe even later because of the delays caused by the rain. We returned to our campground, had lunch and then took a hike in the nearby woods. It was very hot and we were getting very dirty, so we hoped to find a place to bathe. We found a stream and washed ourselves like innocent children in a garden. There was a peace and innocence about us that Friday in the woods. The whole area was alive with people getting along in a friendly way. Things weren't perfect and we all had some gripes. The weather was hot and muggy. The mud was the pits, but complaining wasn't the cool thing to do. There was a very special spirit there for those who had ears to hear and eyes to see.It was strange to be in a country setting surrounded by a city population. The dirt road was alive with barkers selling their stuff. It reminded me of Yankee Stadium with its vendors shouting "peanuts here, popcorn here, hot dogs here, etc." However, the shouts on the road to Woodstock were very different. They were "pot here, downers here, hash here, acid here, etc." Strange days were upon us, and with no police around, we were free to do our own thing openly. That there were little or no violent crimes is a miracle. Everybody was in awe and wonder during this great event. They were high on the excitement of being together, the music and the fellowship. That or they were under the spell of bad drugs. We wanted to be the flower children of love and peace. We had a reputation to live up to. This was our moment in the sun. California, San Francisco, the west coast had always been the Mecca of this movement. However, this day it was New York, Woodstock, the east coast. We wanted to prove we were part of this movement and maybe the real heart and soul of it.Here is an example of what I mean. In 1967 while attending Suffolk County Community College, I had an English professor criticize my writing and thinking publicly. He gave our class the assignment to write an essay on what the "in kids" were doing. I had observed some of the more intellectual students on campus openly smoking pot in the Student Center. I thus wrote my paper about how this seemed to be the new trend for the so called "in kids." A few days later, the professor decided to read parts of various essays to the class not mentioning names. I was one of the lucky ones he decided to read and criticize before the class. He ripped apart my poor grammar with a vengeance, and then turned upon my thoughts. He said, "I can't believe this is happening here on this campus. You are sons and daughters of farmers, clerks and factory workers. You students are not sophisticated enough to use drugs like the Berkeley students." Those remarks cut me deep and pushed me over the edge. I began to associate myself with this cause to prove him wrong. The naivety of my youth and the power of a twisted teacher set me up for this adventure. Woodstock became my personal victory. We had been following the movement and that day we became the movement. We had "arrived" but, what had we become ? Most of us believed in peace, love, freedom, truth and were against the war and the establishment. How would we define and sustain our dream. In our music and drugged state we created a world of make believe. In reality, we had all the problems of our parents, our nation and the world. We were the children of Peter Pan; wishing never to grow up but to remain forever young in a state of endless innocence. Woodstock changed that for me. It fulfilled a dream and ended my childhood in a very dramatic way. I wanted to be experienced and Woodstock made me a veteran of the cosmic war.That Friday night as we returned to the concert site, we noticed a carnival set up in the woods. I was amazed and offended, being the ideal hippie purest. This reeked of material commercialism. I had come for the music and hoped to rap with its leaders. I wanted answers to the heavy questions concerning the meaning of life. At the concert site they were still having problems on stage with equipment. We decided to retire early and get well rested for the next day. Saturday was a mob scene at the concert grounds. We arrived before noon to a pasture covered with people on blankets. Again, I thought about how worthless our tickets were and got a little mad. How ironic, at the Newport concert we had no tickets but we got in and found good seats. At Woodstock, the shoe was on the other foot. We were paying customers who felt we deserved better then we were getting. We had to find some seating arrangements among the great multitude. It pained me to think how petty we were becoming. Walking around trying to find a place to sit was becoming a hassal. It was very hot and humid and my temper began to flare. I got some hard looks from people in the crowd as Robin and I argued about where to sit. Peace and love sometimes have their limits, if our hearts and creature comforts are not right. Finally, we came to an agreement and laid our blanket down almost dead center in the "grassy muddy bowl."Once we settled down, things improved . I recall Richie Havens singing "Freedom" which truly soothed my soul. A short time later, we opened a gift given to us, by my Jewish friend Mark, who attended college at Stony Brook. It was a freak coincidence that we bumped into him in the middle of Woodstock. Mr. Destiny was knocking at our door and his gift was gladly received. This whole trip was beginning to blow our minds. Overnight, we had become a city of almost half a million strong.Our little blanket was right in the heart of all this confusion. Then things started to speed up as Santana began playing a set. Robin and I decided to go to the top of the hill to get water. This, too, was ironic for the government had sent aid to our camp in the form of food, water and medicine. At the top of the hill, there were 3 or 4 large water tankers. Here we were protesting the war and our government, and they were helping to feed and care for us. I saw America in a new light. Maybe I was an ungrateful 19 year-old brat who was still wet behind the ears. These were the thoughts of my mind and heart as I climbed Woodstock hill for water as Army helicopters flew overhead. For once in my life I realized that we were the children of America and America still loved us in spite of our waywardness.Robin and I filled our gallon jug with water and began to dance down the hill between the people to the sound of "Soul Sacrifice." As we danced down to our blanket, we shared our jug of water along the way. The jug seem to have a life of its own as it moved from person to person following us down the hill as many partook. Soon we arrived at our blanket and rejoined our friends. Two strange hippie chicks had opened a can of sliced peaches and offered some to us. They glistened in the orange sunshine and we partook. Never had I felt so strange as the slice slid into my mouth and down my throat. It seemed as if I had swallowed a knife. I thought that I had died. I looked to the northeast and saw the blue sky and green scenery melt into nothingness. The music seemed to stop and I was alone by myself. Again I thought "is this my end to die at 19 in the middle of Woodstock? What is death?"That was the end of all my conscious thoughts for the next 10 hours or so. Like a drowning person, I saw my life fly before my eyes. I began to see death in all its horror and terror over and over again. It seemed as if I was dying from every means possible. They say a coward dies a thousand deaths and it felt like I was dying a trillion times over. I saw myself a pathetic naked wretched little man, who had wasted his life in the pursuit of selfish pleasures. I felt I was in the fires of hell, trapped in the devil's endless eternal pit. I felt as if I had always been there and could never escape. I seemed to be everywhere and nowhere all at the same instant. My mind and identity were gone into the oblivion of outer darkness. Words could not describe or express the horror and pain I felt, saw and heard. 