Woodstock
Most of Saturday was a blur, stumbling around smiling and hugging people. Navigating through bodies and sleeping bags looking for the Food For Love stand, a guy smoking an Indian Peace Pipe told me it had been demolished, before offering a bite of his peanut butter sandwich. And everyone was sharing everything they had. I met Buddha, sitting in the lotus position, his stomach hanging out over his blue jeans; and Jesus, passing out bread from beneath a soaking white sheet; and Moses, leaning on his staff by the lake; and Mohammad, singing to his followers in a tent on the path to the portable toilets. The Gang of Four were out there preaching communism as army helicopters continued to airlift in musicians. Janis Joplin, Creedence Clearwater, the Grateful Dead, Canned Heat, the Who, Mountain, Santana and Jefferson Airplane, all converting violence into positive energy, pulsating through the massive body of disciples, 250,000 strong, becoming one with the music. Abbie Hoffman grabbed the microphone at one point in a political tirade, and Pete Townsend actually bopped him in the head with his guitar. And at sunup, with Grace Slick singing “One pill makes you larger, and one pill makes you small…” Some guy was yelling back “Hey man, stay away from the purple acid, that shit ‘ill kill ya!”
By Sunday I was pretty burned out. With visions of dry clothes in the trunk and Twinkies in the glove compartment, I made my way back to the Nash, still wedged in under the tree, and slept most of the day. That night, too exhausted to make it back for The Band, Crosby, Stills & Nash, Joe Cocker, Ten Years After, and Jimi Hendrix, I worked instead on my own protest song. Actually more of an anti-protest, called “Part Of It All:”
I have stormed all the walls burned by fiery speeches
As I fought to change the laws but now time it teaches
I’m much too small
And the walls are way too tall
And life’s not for that at all