|
Woodstock
Saturday, August 16, 1969 (Second Day) They had told me Woodstock was going to be big, but I could not have anticipated just how to big. I arrived early Saturday morning. I hitched a ride as far up the road as I could, but there were damn near a thousand cars blocking up the road; Cars of every shape and size, every make and model, dragging from all across America for three days of peace and love. It appeared I would have to continue my pilgrimage on foot. The blaring summer heat poured over me like a wave crashing over the shore. The black asphalt stretched on over the horizon, decorated with the shine of chrome and glass as far as the eye could see. It was truly a sight to see. It was truly a journey. Beads of sweat raced down my face, and my feet pounded with every step. Yet I pushed forward. It was all apart of the experience, the wonder and awe of the whole thing; you had to earn your way into Woodstock. The longer I walked along the crowded roadway, the more people I met. I became acquainted with a man who called himself “Catfish”. I doubted that was his real god-given name, but who am I to tell him what to call himself. “Catfish” was from Houston, Texas. He wouldn’t tell me much about Houston other than “It’s Hell and a half” He had a bushy auburn beard and was balding pretty badly. He told me he had simply misplaced his shirt for the time being. His gut hung over his pants in the saddest fashion, but it didn’t seem to bother him at all and to be honest, it didn’t really bother me either. As “Catfish” relayed stories from his long journey to me, I realized that he was by far the most fascinating man I had ever met. Never have I heard a man speak so enthusiastically about sleeping under over-passes and eating stale food. The man was near homeless and a hundred times happier than any man I’ve known. I envied him for his simplicity. I envied him for his happiness. As we grew closer to the pasture, the smell became unavoidable. It was a peculiar mix of human filth, sweat, blood, drugs, old food, and good ol’ rock ‘n’ roll. No one was playing. I must have arrived to the mass between services. I couldn’t see the stage over the sea of people. The cracks of stereo speakers and microphones seemed miles away. Finally the wait was over, my prayers had been answered. The music began. The heart of Woodstock began to beat. I couldn’t make out who was playing, but I could hear the crash of the drums and the scream of the guitar. I could actually feel the music. The beat of the drum took hold of me; I began to move. I began to groove. It was almost tribal the way the music entranced the crowd. We were swallowed up by the experience andthe boundries of who we are were soon surpassed. I was surrounded by bodies. Asthe wild calls of the guitar and beating of the drums crashed together andblended into the beginnings of a song, the crowd erupted. They say that therewere actually two performances at Woodstock: the performance on the stage and the performance that took place in the crowd. It was a truly unique experience.It was a never ending machine, constantly changing and moving. Not machine. Machine is too cold of a word, it is lacking. Woodstock was warm, Woodstock was close, and Woodstock was like an animal: alive in its own way. It wasn’t long after I had entered the crown that I had lost “Catfish”, and I couldn’t bring myself to go out and find him. I assured myself that he was fine, probably off entertaining a young couple with his stories of travel. Or maybe he was off trying to skim food from some young blonde. But in my mind, he was always okay. It was difficult to tell when one song ended and another began. They wall of sound began to grow dull and monotonous in an odd sense and my body became accustomed to the vibrations of the music and the hum of the music. It was peaceful. I found myself lost in action rather than thought. Woodstock was simple. There was no room in my mind for doctorial thesis, news reports, quotas, bills, marital problems. It was human and free. I was free. That is what Woodstock was about; freedom.It was about becoming familiar with ourselves outside of the constraints of modern society. It was about music. It was about people. It was about freedom. |