09/1/1999
In late 1968 -- when Jimi Hendrix played on plywood-covered ice at the R.I.
Auditorium -- and through the summer of '69, it was possible to walk Thayer
Street and know that every long-haired young man was a kindred spirit.
Eyes met and nods of recognition passed: Shared values, safe vibes. The music
was the message.
And then came Woodstock, and this scattered tribe -- a tribe of consciousness
-- gathered in far greater numbers than its members knew existed. Not only was
our secret out, we were suddenly hip, we freaks.
"How can we sell it?" came next, and soon wrinkled Indian cotton dresses hung
from racks at Bloomingdale's. Freakdom was in fashion.
By fall of '69, boors and bad guys had long hair.
Woodstock was, as Arlo Guthrie says, a frame of mind, not a place.
If there's ever a real Woodstock reunion, it'll be at the Old Folks Rock 'n' Roll Rest Home. See you there
