It was Thursday August 15, 1969 and I was at the gas station watching the attendant fill up my mother’s yellow Dodge Dart Swinger.  This car was known for its less than powerful acceleration up any hump in the road. The sun was starting to set, and I checked my pocket for tickets to The Woodstock Music and Arts Festival and they were still right there in my jeans pocket.

This trip was planned for weeks and the trunk held a cooler with meat and water inside.  A tent, grill and sleeping bag were also packed.  I was accompanied by an acquaintance   named Gerald (not his real name).  I should have not included him on this journey because he was moody and not really skilled socially. He complained all the time and was infringing on my good vibes.

This concert had an unbelievable line up:  The Who, Jefferson Airplane, Jimi Hendrix, Canned Heat and the Grateful Dead to name a few of the acts.  This was to be my last days living in New Jersey.  I was leaving for college in Kansas in another two weeks or so.  I was preparing to say goodbye to my friends and start a new life.  I wasn’t excited about that, but I was sure as hell enthralled by the possibilities of Woodstock.

The traffic started getting heavy on the New York Thruway and we hit stop and go once we hit the small towns in upstate New York.  Gerald was complaining non-stop and his bitching and moaning never ended after that.

We set up the tent and decided to walk with the heavy cooler, grill and sleeping bags to the festival site. Gerald kept yelling at me because I wasn’t going fast enough.  I was frustrated, tired and it started to rain.  We reached the festival site and somehow, I ran into a number of friends from my home town.  Kenny Shure, Kenny Brown, Kenny German, and Jimmy Farkas. (I’m sorry if I left anyone out or added anyone who wasn’t really there.)

I laid down on my sleeping bag and feel asleep.  I awoke to see miles and miles of people sitting in front of the stage.  Wavy Gravy (who I met later in life) announced that what he had in mind was breakfast in bed for four hundred thousand.  I had never been in a group that large and I’m sure I shared that with everyone.

This was a time where the country was in turmoil over the Vietnam War and the lack of civil rights for people of color. I was just beginning to immerse myself in these struggles.

I fired up the grill to cook the hamburgers and shared them with friends and strangers alike.  There was this love feeling in the air where strangers greeted others with smiles and the usual being on guard American way was lifted.  We felt freedom and joy.  That was all before the first act came on.

Gerald decided to go home because he was not having a good time and I wished him luck.

The first act was Richie Havens and I was captivated as soon as he sung his first lyric and strummed his first chord.  His message about peace, love, and war moved from the stage to my ear to my heart.  He finished with his signature song called Freedom and I was a fan forever after.  I was devastated when he died a couple of years ago.  His music was a favorite of mine and Gail’s.  His album Stonehenge was all scratched up from being listened to ten times a day in the early 70’s.

Arlo Guthrie came on stage a few hours later and although he didn’t cover Alice’s Restaurant, he did sing one of my favorites, Coming into Los Angeles.

The next singer that was memorable was Joan Baez. It was already dark when she stepped on the massive stage.  I remember being moved by Drug Store Truck Drivin’ Man.

The rain poured down on and off all night, but we remained in great spirits even though our clothes and sleeping bags were totally soaked.  Maybe it was the weed.  Maybe it was just easy to fall asleep once Joan Baez’s set was over.

The second day of the festival memories begin with Country Joe McDonald’s Fish Cheer and most of all his Fixin’ to Die Rag. “ And it’s one, two, three, what are we fighting for don’t ask me I don’t give a damn, next stop is Vietnam And it’s five, six, seven, open up the pearly gates ain’t no time to wonder why, whoopee we’re all gonna die.”

The military draft was the main method the armed forces used to fill its ranks.  Others chose  to enlist.  We college students got deferments from serving in the military.  Heroes like Dick Cheney and our current president collected them like trophies.

Anyhow Country Joe had most of the crowd singing along with him.

Santana hit the stage after John Sebastian and Keef Hartley.  I don’t remember their performances, but I certainly remember Santana.  I wondered, “What the hell is going on here with these hand drums and guitars?”  The rhythm transported through my body and the Afro-Cuban beats along with Carlos’s searing guitar lifted me to a new level of consciousness that never left.  When Soul Sacrifice came on, I almost lost my mind.  The song was like two hours long and the drums playing off the guitars was an experience I never had before.  The story is that Carlos dropped the psychedelic drug, mescaline before his set.  He definitely took me along his trip, and I am honored to have joined him and a half million others.

Somehow, I fell asleep and was startled awake by Sly and the Family Stone’s I Want to take you Higher. This sounded like a thunderstorm and the whole place was up dancing.  The Who played next and had the confrontation with Abbie Hoffman where they threw him off stage.  They played amazing songs from their upcoming rock opera Tommy.

Then the sun started rising.  Then Jefferson Airplane walked on the stage with Grace Slick in a long flowing white dress with the sunrise in the background.  I wondered if this was what heaven was like.

The first notes of Volunteers played, and I started crying at the beauty and the message of that song. We need to stick together and fight back; a lifelong anthem.

The next day was Sunday and we were all exhausted.  I got in the car and was ready to start the long trek home until I turned on the radio, WABC and listened to the news.  This Woodstock thing was making international news and the newsman was saying,” It is unbelievable that there were no reports of crime or violence.  How could that be? We must not be getting the truth.”  But the world was getting the truth.  I can bear witness.  Cops light our weed pipes and joints.  People were friendly to each other. The peace and love generation found its moment in time never to be repeated.

Once I heard the radio news, I decided to stay because I wanted to remain a part of American history a little bit longer.

I was refreshed after falling asleep standing against a tree for a half hour or half day.

Joe Cocker came on and sang the Beatles hit With a Little Help with my Friends.   His soulful approach became an anthem for many of us and I listen to it often today.

I drove home after Joe’s performance and missed Jimi Hendrix but did get to see him the next New Year’s Eve at the Fillmore East, but that’s another story.

It took hours to get home mostly because I got lost and was mesmerized.

When I finally returned home, my mother told me I needed to take a shower because odors were coming from my body.  I knew I smelled like mud, weed and the memories of Woodstock so off to the shower I went.

Today:  I suggest you purchase the new Santana Album, CD or MP3 titled Africa Speaks.  Spanish Singer Buika accompanies him beautifully on almost every track and his guitar is searing.  This is the best Santana record in years, and I am proud to live in the same town as him, San Francisco.

I have learned to play guitar and play Afro Cuban Percussion on congas.  One of my child clients looked at my long hair and said, “Bob, did you use to be a hippie?”  I replied, “Used to be?”