Peace, Love, and Rock and Roll

Forty years ago this past weekend, the greatest rock music festival in the history of the world took place. It was in every sense, “a happening.” Of course I’m referring to the 1969 Woodstock Music and Arts Fair, the ultimate musical tribute to peace, love, and rock and roll. Memorabilia and retrospectives are out and still coming out in every media, including some very expensive books and CD’s. Ironically, it was only eighteen dollars if you bought a three-day ticket in advance to see and hear some of the biggest names in pop, rock and folk music.

“We were half a million strong.” Joni Mitchell

In case you weren’t around at the time, it happened on Max Yasgur’s 600-acre farm in a muddy pasture in Bethel, N.Y., about 43 miles northeast of Woodstock, New York. When there were no more tickets, people just kept showing up, until more than four hundred thousand people had gathered there from all over the United States. Woodstock was an under-staffed, under-stocked, under-financed phenomenon that took on a life of its own. It was an orgy of epic proportions; the pinnacle of sex, drugs, and rock and roll—with no violent crimes. And it was also a mess of rain, mud, and bad acid trips.

Coffee, Tea or Me?

What was I doing between August 15th and August 17th in 1969? I was probably on an airplane, prancing around in white plastic go-go boots and a red, white, or blue mini dress. I would no more have showed up for a Hippie love-in than I would have attended a witch burning. I knew absolutely nothing about Woodstock until it was history. And of course, it was history in the literal and figurative sense.

This excerpt by Elliott Tiber, from a 1994 Times Herald-Record piece, sums up the event: “The last bedraggled fan sloshed out of Max Yasgur's muddy pasture more than 25 years ago. That's when the debate began about Woodstock's historical significance. True believers still call Woodstock the capstone of an era devoted to human advancement. Cynics say it was a fitting, ridiculous end to an era of naiveté. Then there are those who say it was just a hell of a party.”

“Talkin’ bout my generation.” The Who

If it was indeed the end to an era of naiveté, then I guess I was still very naïve. I wasn’t burning draft cards, bras, or illegal drugs. I was bringing bodies home in caskets in the bellies of airplanes for families to meet on the tarmac; and still the tragedy of the Vietnam war had not yet sunk into my small town, middle-America, middle-class psyche. Peace and Love was not my mantra—Eat and Pay the Rent was. I had no connection whatsoever with those young people. The me I was back then would have been shocked and horrified to witness the Woodstock spectacle.

My friend Trish was there. I didn’t know her then and I never would have understood her interest in going to Woodstock. She seems to have come through it all none the worse for it. She’s a successful professional, drives a Lexus, and her grown children are college graduates, (not that these things alone make a person a success). Trish was also there when the demonstrators were beaten by the police at the 1968 Democratic National Convention in Chicago. Talking to her about her youth is like rereading Michener’s The Drifters.

“Every life is a march from innocence . . .” Lyman Abbott

Even though I would not have enjoyed Woodstock, I recognize its momentous effect on our society. Like the old man who gratefully escaped war because of health issues or the sheer luck of timing, but looks back with regret for not being there, I now feel a sense of pride about Woodstock. Did it have an effect on human advancement as Elliott Tiber wrote? Did it herald the end of our naiveté? I’m sure it did both of these, plus it musta been a helluva party. There have been attempts to recreate Woodstock, to do it again, but I’m afraid the innocence that made it possible may be over the hill.

Donna