The SIXTIES: Woodstock at 40: Everywhere a song and a celebration

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Woodstock at 40:
Everywhere a song and a celebration

http://www.usatoday.com/life/music/news/2009-08-15-woodstock_N.htm

8/15/2009
By John W. Barry, The Poughkeepsie (N.Y.) Journal

BETHEL, N.Y. Playing an electric guitar that seemed as charged and
as amped as the sold-out crowd of 15,000, 15-year-old Conrad Oberg of
Florida opened the 40th anniversary Woodstock concert at Bethel Woods
Center for the Arts Saturday by playing the instrumental version of
The Star-Spangled Banner that Jimi Hendrix made famous in August 1969.

The crowd of mostly Baby Boomers stood for the national anthem,
raised their arms and flashed peace signs with their fingers a
symbol of hope and defiance that has remained timeless for more than
four decades.

40 YEARS LATER: Havens performs iconic Woodstock song

Bethel Woods sits on the original Woodstock Music & Art Fair site in
Sullivan County and launched a weekend of anniversary events Friday
with two performances by festival veteran Richie Havens.

Another Woodstock veteran, Country Joe McDonald, served as master of
ceremonies for the concert and introduced Big Brother, then returned
later to read the names of local soldiers who died in the Vietnam,
Iraq and Afghanistan wars. McDonald, a U.S. service veteran himself,
then delivered his Woodstock anthem, the I-Feel-Like-I'm-Fixin'-to-Die Rag.

And just as he did at Woodstock famously captured in the Woodstock
documentary McDonald opened the song by asking the crowd to spell
out an expletive: "Give me an F." And just like in the movie, members
of the crowd stood up, clapped their hands and sang along, putting
particular emphasis on the lyrics, "Whoopee/We're all gonna die."

"It reminded me of the days when we were really protesting this sort
of thing," said Paul Salzberg, 57, of Lake Huntington, N.Y.

Country Joe, in between Canned Heat and Ten Years After, played the
1960s protest anthem For What It's Worth, Woody Guthrie's This Land
is Your Land and Coming Into Los Angeles, which Arlo Guthrie
performed at Woodstock.

One of the big showstoppers of the day, a song that spanned the
40-year chasm separating Aug. 15, 1969 from Aug. 15, 2009, was Canned
Heat's performance of Goin' Up the Country, which played during the
opening of the Woodstock documentary.

"It was fabulous," said Jean Hannigan, 46, of Beacon, N.Y., who
hopped to the beat. She wore flowers in her hair, peace-sign
earrings, a shirt with a peace sign and sunglasses with heart-shaped
lenses. "Awesome. Beautiful."

Asked why she turned out for the event, she said, "I was 6 when this
happened, and I'm 46 and I'm here. This is the greatest ever."

At the beginning of the show, Sam Yasgur, son of Max Yasgur, who
owned the farm land on which Woodstock was held, spoke to the crowd:
"He would have been overjoyed that four decades later, you and
hundreds of thousands of others continue to have fun and music, and
nothing but fun and music, on this beautiful site. "

A mellow tailgate scene was underway in the parking lots hours in
advance of the opening performance, and streams of people walked the
roads on the perimeter of Bethel Woods.

Several dozen gathered at the iconic Woodstock monument at the corner
of West Shore and Hurd roads, near where the stage sat during Woodstock.

Concertgoers spread out on blankets and relaxed in lawn chairs that
Bethel Woods rented for $5 each. Some in the crowd seemed oblivious
to the music, playing with children on a large field over a ridge
from the concert pavilion, or simply taking in what seemed like an
endless view of rolling fields.

Michael Lang, one of the promoters who staged the 1969 event,
introduced his 8-year-old twin sons the site and took them to The
Museum at Bethel Woods.

"I spent a lot of my heart and soul here," he said.

Interest in the anniversary has been "unbelievable," Lang said. "You
know why I think this one is so big because of what's going on in
the world and the country. Because of Obama being in the White House,
the similarities in the times and the wars, it's resonating pretty
strongly for people."

Hours before he was scheduled to close the concert, Levon Helm, who
played Woodstock with The Band, recalled, "The first time we came, it
was just another gig.

"This many years later, it's an event it's a historic event. I'm
happy to get to play."

--------

3 Days of Peace, Love and Music: 40 years later

http://www.pnj.com/article/20090809/LIFE/908090305/1006/NEWS01

Troy Moon • tmoon@pnj.com
August 9, 2009

They came by the VW busloads, nearly a half million strong, to the
little burg of Bethel, N.Y., to sit in a pasture, smoke a little
weed, drink a little ripple, and groove to the music.
It was the Woodstock Music & Art Fair in upstate New York, and 40
years later, it is as much a part of American history as the Apollo
11 moon landing that was just a month earlier. In fact, more young
people born after the fact probably can name three Woodstock
performers maybe Crosby, Stills & Nash before they can name the
three Apollo 11 astronauts Armstrong, Aldrin & Collins.
But what was the big deal?
It was just a concert after all.
Sure, there was some great music at the muddied, storied festival.
But not all of it was so memorable.
Yes, Woodstock gave us Jimi Hendrix's war-ravaged electric version of
the Star-Spangled Banner, complete with the maestro coaxing sounds of
"bombs bursting in air'' out of his guitar. Sure, Woodstock gave us
standout performances by the Who, Canned Heat, Santana, Country Joe
McDonald and Mountain.
But for every great performance, there are less memorable ones like
the six-song set by the Keef Hartley Band or the 40-minute, four-song
set by a forgotten band called Quill or the 10-song set by someone
called Bert Sommer. Woodstock isn't remembered for Melanie's
performance, or Ravi Shankar's sitar tinkering, so it wasn't just the
music that makes Woodstock a part of the modern American experience.
It was the experience itself that set it apart.
Teens and young 20-somethings sleeping in mud. Highways closed down
for miles. Army helicopters dropping flowers and dry clothes to the
soggy thousands. Young kids without food sharing what they had with
strangers. Middle-aged townspeople, the so-called "squares,'' feeding
and caring for the so-called "freaks.'' Young men and women
frolicking naked in nearby ponds, either unaware or not caring, that
they were supposed to be ashamed.
Maybe we remember Woodstock and celebrate its legacy only because it
couldn't happen today.
We tried to re-create it with Woodstock 1999, but most remember that
event for its violence and mayhem.
The mantra of the original Woodstock might be Country Joe McDonald
and a supporting cast of thousands singing "One, 2, 3, what are we
fighting for?'' The resounding slogan of the 1999 "recreation'' was
Limp Bizkit urging obliging knuckleheads to "break stuff.''
Sure, many of the idealistic counterculture types of the 1960s sold
out their ideals to the highest bidder as they later eagerly embraced
the establishment they railed against as youngsters. And sure, they
won't let those of us who came afterward forget their accomplishments
the politically aware young generation did raise enough of a ruckus
to help end the Vietnam War.
But enough already, many young people complain. Just let it go.
But something special went on during the dog days of Summer 1969. And
if you take a deep look at the festival, and the context of the
war-torn times, it was special indeed.
Northwest Florida is now home to at least a few people who were
there. Here are their Woodstock "memories,'' though some will argue
that if you remember Woodstock, you weren't there:

Stephanie O'Connor

Stephanie O'Connor, 60, of Gulf Breeze was one of those who purchased
a ticket to Woodstock, though soon after the festival started,
organizers dubbed the event "a free concert'' and allowed any and all inside.

She still has the weathered keepsake.

O'Connor was living in Buffalo, N.Y., and went to the festival with a
few friends. (One friend from a private school was forced to take a
"basic black dress'' to the concert at the urging of her uptight
mother who didn't quite understand what kind of event the girls were
attending. The friend did not wear the dress, O'Connor said.)

She admits to drinking "a lot of ripple'' but won't divulge too much
about that long, grungy weekend.

"What happened at Woodstock,'' she said, "should stay at Woodstock.''

She does remember sleeping in the fields and listening to Hendrix.

But most of the experience "is just a memory now.''

She said that despite the activist nature of the festival, filled
with anti-war songs, slogans, chants and banter, she was there solely
for the music and fun.

"I don't know that I was into saving the world,'' she said. "Though
later I did get a degree in environmental science.''

She didn't use it much though. O'Connor moved back to Northwest
Florida in 1996 she previously lived here in the 1970s and worked
as a bartender at various locations.

"Woodstock,'' she said, "was just a magical convergence.''

Jim Downey

Jim Downey, 81, of Milton still has the "love beads'' from Woodstock,
which is kind of strange considering he was a 41-year-old Orange
County, N.Y. deputy at the time, working as a backup officer for the
Sullivan County Sheriff's Office. (The festival was in Sullivan County.)

"There were little or no problems,'' he said. "I do know the people
of Bethel and the surrounding areas were aghast, they were terrified,
because they did not know what was coming. But the amazing thing is
that within a day, those people accepted those kids. They put food
and water out for them, invited them into the house to shower. They
treated them like they were their own kids, and that always stuck with me.''

As for the hippies and youngsters themselves?

"I have never seen a more polite bunch of kids,'' Downey said.
"Everything was 'Please' and 'Thank you.' I'm a country-and-western
boy, but I was impressed. Even with those big crowds, there was no
pushing or shoving or anything like that.''

One of the festival-goers even put a string of "love beads'' around his neck.

"They were so peaceful,'' he said. "You had that many people, yet no
assaults, no robberies. It was something special.''

Yes, there was some dope smoking, he said.

"It was reported there was mass use of drugs untrue,'' he said.
"Yes, there were some smoking a joint, only very few that would be
considered stoned. The kids came to hear the concert.''

Rusty Shaw

Rusty Shaw, 58, of Pensacola was living in Massachusetts, had just
finished high school, and drove to the festival in his father's Buick
LaSabre with a few friends. By the time he closed in on the festival,
the roads were closed and he had to park miles away. It took three
hours to walk to the festival site, with coolers and gear in tow.

And once he found Max Yasgur's farm?

"It was quite a shock for a 19-year-old middle-upper-class country
club kid,'' he said. "It was a culture shock to see that sea of humanity.''

Shaw now owns his own pest control business.

Though his memories are hazy, Shaw said he went for the more
well-known names Hendrix, Jefferson Airplane, Creedence Clearwater
Revival. But the bands he wasn't that familiar with made the biggest
impression.

"Santana, Country Joe, Mountain, Ten Years After, those acts just
blew us away,'' he said. "Hendrix was unbelievable too, but we
already knew about him.''

Shaw remembers that despite the crowds, the mud, and the lack of food
and water, everyone seemed happy and the vibe was peaceful.

"The town people chipped in and helped take care of people,'' he
said. "The police didn't bother anyone. Sure, there was a tremendous
amount of dope smoking, and that wasn't something that was completely
foreign to me, but it was all wide open and no one was even trying to
conceal it. It was just part of what was happening.''

Despite the political undercurrent of the festival, Shaw said he went
only for the music and the camaraderie.

"The Army helicopters came by and dropped off blankets,'' he said.
"That was ironic.''

Nevin Shaffer

Nevin Shaffer, 61, of Gulf Breeze, the son of a two-star admiral, was
a junior at the U.S. Naval Academy in Annapolis, Md., when Woodstock
rolled around. He traded in his military uniform for civvies for the
weekend and headed up to New York in his MG.

"There were all these rugged individuals there,'' said Shaffer, now a
patent attorney. "And there I was with my short hair. I've always
said the two weirdest things at Woodstock were Sha Na Na and me.''

There was some anti-war sentiment at the festival, he said, but most
people were there for the music and the people.

"I didn't participate in any of the anti-war stuff,'' he said. "But I
did participate in the whole mudslide deal.''

One other thing that separated Shaffer from many in the crowd he
passed on the pot and the acid, brown or otherwise.

"There was plenty of that around,'' he said. "But I had a bottle of
bourbon and worked on that instead.''

William (Bill) Weber Sr.

William (Bill) Weber Sr., 58, Pensacola had just graduated from high
school in Pittsburgh when he and his friends headed off to Woodstock.

"We left with all the supplies we thought we needed several bottles
of wine and beer. We figured we would buy food along the way.''

As they closed in on the festival, the only food they could find at
the crowded little stores and supermarkets were jars of peanut butter
and apple sauce and a loaf of bread.

Weber and his friends had to park a mile away from the festival
grounds but said the walk through the little neighborhoods of Bethel
might be the most memorable part of the experience for him.

"The people who lived in that area came out, set up tables and passed
out sandwiches and drinks for free to anybody who needed them,'' he
said. "It was one of the most amazing and loving things I ever saw.
There were middle-class and middle-aged people who saw a need to do
the right thing. They were so kind and giving. It was basically the
America we were looking for.''

Another aspect he remembers?

"There was a lot of nudity and mud-pit playing, but my girlfriend and
I were a little bit more modest and walked up the hill through a corn
field'' to a secluded location. Or at least they thought it was secluded.

Naked and, well, in full throttle, the couple were interrupted by a
sound nearby.

On the other side of the trees was a medical evacuation center.

"There was a helicopter taking off just on the other side of the
trees,'' said Weber, who now owns his filing and storage businesses.
"We must have been obvious because the helicopter circled several
times around us, and I'm sure we are on some soldier's camera.''

The SIXTIES

Thursday, August 27, 2009

Woodstock at 40: Everywhere a song and a celebration

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