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I finally got to Woodstock. Peace

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Turning on the lights at Woodstock's 50th anniversary.
Turning on the lights at Woodstock's 50th anniversary.
(Image by Bob Gaydos)
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By Bob Gaydos

By the time I got to Woodstock, I was 78 years old and walking with a cane. I fit right in.

And it was fun.

Unlike the ill-fated Woodstock 50 concert that was apparently planned with the same "whatever-I-think-of-next" model Michael Lang used 50 years ago, the Woodstock 50 celebration at Bethel Woods, site of the original festival in 1969, was a well-organized, enjoyable tribute that attracted fans of all ages, although it definitely trended geriatric. The gray-haired easily outnumbered the tie-dyed, although some were both.

I missed the original festival of peace and love, even though I was within striking distance, working as city editor for The Sun-Bulletin in Binghamton at the time. It was about an hours' drive away and I've kind of regretted the missed opportunity as the Woodstock mystique grew. As I vaguely recall, we didn't think it was worth the time (and money) to send someone to a hippie fest on a farm for three days.

Anyhow, the Middletown paper had it covered and, as the fates would have it, I wound up working for that paper (for 29 years), living and retiring in Sullivan County, not far from Bethel and Yasgur's farm and available as an emergency fill-in for a friend with an extra ticket who called and said, "Want to see Santana at Bethel Saturday?"

Which is a run-on sentence on how I got to Woodstock.

I said yes. Honestly, not because I'm a big Santana fan, but because of the history and the quiet hope that it would be an event to remember in the spirit of the original. It was

The Doobie Brothers as an opening act did a great job of loosening the crowd of 15,000. Women danced, beach balls bounced, the Doobies rocked and everyone sang. The early rain stopped, the later lightning went away. No rain.

Also no arguing. No loud drunks. No fights. A faint aroma of pot from time to time. "A mellow Woodstock," a tie-dyed Social Security recipient strolling by said to no in particular.

Which was what I was hoping for. We are not a mellow nation at the moment. Nor were we 50 years ago when nearly half a million mostly young, many stoned individuals brought traffic to a standstill, then enjoyed and eventually survived an utterly unprepared event thanks to the kindness of countless strangers. Peace and love.

It's what Santana talked about when he come to the front of the stage to welcome the crowd: "Unconditional love. Compassion. Peace."

That's what this anniversary concert was about, he said, and in my mind I agreed with him that, at least that's what this concert ought to be about.

He had only gotten a few bars into "Turn Your Lights On," when the hillside came alive with thousands of swaying lights, as cell phones added a new dimension to the song, which for me had a message of hope for trying times: "There's a monster living under my bed, whispering in my ear." But also: "There's an angel with a hand on my head. She says I've got nothing to fear."

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Bob Gaydos is a veteran of 40-plus years in daily newspapers. He began as police reporter with The (Binghamton, N.Y.) Sun-Bulletin, eventually covering government and politics as well as serving as city editor, features editor, sports editor and (more...)
 

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