Woodstock Times

I heard about a music festival that was being held over the weekend in New York. As I had a couple of days before school began, I decided to go. I felt a bit like a speeding bullet as I dove along at sixty-five miles per hour on my little 100 cc, twin cylinder, Yamaha. Strapped behind me was an army-navy bag, almost dragging on the pavement. As I got closer to Woodstock, the traffic became heavier and heavier. Eventually cars were just left along the road and people began walking. Using my motorcycle clutch, I continued on at a walking pace. As the clutch cable stretched, I adjusted it and continued on until eventually there was no adjustment left.

I pondered what to do. Amazingly, I spied a motorcycle shop just ahead of me. I bought another cable, installed it, and kept going.

The crowds were enormous and I began to worry that I might not be allowed into the festival, so I stopped and paid seven dollars for a ticket to the Friday, August 15th performance. It turned out, of course, that I did not need the ticket as the crowds quickly overwhelmed any attempts to impose such structure on the festival.

While purchasing my ticket, I asked the clerk if there was a good place to swim. She told me there was a swamp there, but it was muddy and full of snakes and she certainly wouldn't recommend swimming there. (Later I was told that a hose was placed out in the swamp and the swamp became the Woodstock water source. I know it became a very popular swimming hole.)

The stage at Woodstock was at the lower end of a hill, which formed a natural amphitheater. Looking at the stage, the swamp was to the left. I motorcycled to a point above the swamp, almost within sight of the stage, and camped by a fence line and small tree. Snapping two army ponchos together to form a tent, I attached it the best I could to the tree and fence line. Actually, it wasn't easy to make a tent out of two army ponchos – I had to really concentrate.

The Woodstock music began around 5:00 p.m. with Ritchie Havens and during his performance I finished setting up camp. Just as I finished, a U-Haul truck drove up beside me. Out came a motorcycle gang and all of their large motorcycles. It dawned on me that I might be robbed, injured, or even killed. Just to be on the safe side, I dug a hole and buried one-half of all the money I had with me – twenty dollars. Unfortunately, I got so fractured at Woodstock that I left my buried twenty dollar bill. I fantasize that I planted a twenty dollar money tree, which is still bearing fruit to this day.

I wandered on down to the swamp and there saw an amazing sight – hundreds of naked people. I sat down at the edge of the water and just watched this tranquil, peaceful scene.

Two girls my age appeared by the water in front of me. One said, "Let's go swimming."

They proceeded to take off all their clothes and walk into the water. I'm sure my mouth dropped open. I was born and raised in Chattanooga, Tennessee and we just didn't do those things where I grew up! Without hesitation, I stripped off all my clothes and followed them.

I spent several hours in and around the swamp and met some really nice folks, many sharing their drugs with me. I saw things I had never seen before, such as using needles to inject drugs. Sometimes males and females would openly kiss and fondle each other, with an occasional pair engaging in sexual intercourse. In time I learned that being naked added to our intimacy; without clothes we were more open, less guarded. The walls around our hearts lowered. I discovered that nakedness really wasn’t that sexy; nakedness really didn’t turn me on. Every once in a while I'd meet a woman wearing a bathing suit. I found it was the bathing suit, the mystery, which was sexy. Naked bodies were just interesting to look at, as they were all so different.

I felt free being nude, so natural, so honest, and so comfortable. This was a life changing moment for me. From that point to this day I have preferred nudity to clothes.

While in the swamp I met Marsha. She was such a beautiful woman! She had long blonde hair, eyes filled with mystery and wonder, and a nicely shaped body. Her spirit was so gentle, so loving, and for a long time we played together in the muddy water. Marsha was traveling with a small commune, her "family." As they prepared to leave the swamp, Marsha asked me to come with her. I wanted to continue being with her and started to put on my clothes. Her commune members stayed naked and insisted I should also. I hesitated. A young man came up to me and said, "Marsha likes you. Come be naked with us and you and Marsha can make love later on."

Though I was tempted, I let them go and stayed in the swamp. I could not imagine walking naked through five hundred thousand people. I would be too embarrassed and feared I might be too offensive. The last thing I remember of Marsha was her cute little rear end waving back and forth to me as she walked away. During the festival I looked for her but never saw her again. It is easy to lose someone in a half million people....

(To be honest I wasn’t exactly totally naked in the swamp. During the Woodstock experience I wore a navy aeronautical hat/head net. It looked a bit like a Robin Hood cap and I’ve never seen anyone wear anything quite like it. In fact I was recognized in the months following Woodstock, when nudity became more common and prevalent.

During a march on Washington to protest the Vietnam War, several of us took our clothes off and went wading in the reflecting pool which sits between the Washington Monument and Lincoln Memorial. Hundreds of thousands of clothed people surrounded us, yet I felt quite comfortable being naked. Our presence in Washington and our nudity were political protest! Obviously, I was much more comfortable being naked in Washington than I had been at Woodstock. While wading and playing in Washington's reflecting pool, a naked girl approached and asked, "You were at Woodstock, weren’t you?" I secretly hoped it was the size of my penis that made me memorable, but then she explained that she recognized the hat.) From the Woodstock swamp we could faintly hear the music. It was muffled but filled the air. The first day was devoted primarily to folk music, of which I am particularly fond. After stopping by my camp for some food, I wandered toward the music.

Between acts announcements were made, many about folks separated and lost, some asking that people get down from the speaker/light towers because they might collapse from the weight. Regular announcements were also made about bad acid, especially bad brown. I wanted to visit the bad trip tent, especially given my own bad trip earlier in the summer. The tent itself was quite large, with several cots, and full of people. I couldn't believe what I saw there – people screaming, crying, and vomiting. It was like a trip to hell, and yet only a few minutes walk from the peaceful, joyous swamp. I felt great empathy and sympathy for all those tormented souls in the bad trip tent.

The Woodstock music continued and I decided to work my way towards the stage area.

Actually I spent hours moving toward the stage. The mass of people was incredible! Most were sitting and the closer I got to the stage the more closely packed together they became.

I would carefully step my way among the people, find some smoking a joint or pipe, and sit down and join them. I did this repeatedly, joining and smoking with numerous groups. I was always welcomed, always offered a hit of their drugs. I so enjoyed talking with everyone. Periodically the whole crowd would light matches and candles, which was really a beautiful sight.

Eventually, however, I became so wasted, so fractured, that I began to decompensate.

The night weather was turning wet. I was surrounded by this huge mass of humanity and, in spite of my efforts to reach the stage, I was still so far away that the performers looked like small dolls. It was now quite late and rain began to fall in earnest. I began to feel quite overwhelmed by it all. Then, like a heaven sent angel, Melanie came on the stage and sang "Tuning My Guitar." When, in a beautiful, strong, clear voice she sang her song, her words pulled it all together for me. I found my way back to my camp, very stoned and very happy!

Throughout Friday night at Woodstock it continued to rain and in the morning I awoke to quite a different world. Mud was everywhere! We had become a city where people were born and people died. To escape the rain one fellow crawled under a truck. In the morning the truck started up and ran over him.

I was glad I had made the journey to Woodstock but definitely felt wasted. I wanted out! When I spoke with a local farmer and learned of a back road out of Woodstock, I decided to leave and spend the night with Joan. She was nearby working as a camp counselor and had the night off.

I escaped from Woodstock, picked up Joan, went to a large waterfall, and settled in on soft grass overlooking the falls. There we made such sweet love, forgiving all the pain we had previously caused each other. We slept the night peacefully in each other's arms, enjoying the sounds of the large, nearby waterfall.

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