08/22/1989
BETHEL, N.Y. -- There'd never be a Woodstock II, we'd all agreed. It couldn't happen in this age of liability and big-ticket stars. The '80s weren't spontaneous enough.
But it happened, and except for the absence of Jimi and Janis and a star-studded lineup of musical geniuses, Woodstock II was better.
It was a populist event, a spontaneous gathering that built to 30,000 people and 150 bands over the course of a week. In the age of arena rock and lining up for wristbands that entitled you to line up again to buy tickets, we pulled off another Woodstock, this one much more comfortable - plenty of food and ice and shelter - attended by more kids and dogs and families.
If we were helpless in '69, a disaster area fed by airlift, in '89 we took care of ourselves.
Woodstock Village had its own economy, its own recycling center, and even voluntary taxes. As the crowd swelled, Woody Harding, 39, of Hamden, Conn., and an ever-changing group of assistants roamed the crowd collecting for more portable toilets. He raised $700 Friday, and three new Roto-Rooter privies appeared at stage left.
Stage announcers frequently praised the audience for its willingness to clean its own messes.
Firewood, watermelon and beer were sold from pickup trucks on the field, and vendors hawked crystals, T-shirts, jewelry and original Woodstock tickets, posters and buttons. At campsites, artists offered tattoos and airbrushed custom shirt designs while you waited.
Woodstock Village fed its hungry from free kitchens at three separate locations run by the Rainbow People, a wandering New Age tribe that travels with its own band, an all-percussion octet called Psychedelic Kitchen. They arrived in Bethel after observing the lunar eclipse at an all-night drumfest at the Magic Meadow outside the town of Woodstock, N.Y., 50 miles away.
People, especially the hungry, were urged to redeem cans and bottles from the recycling center for cash.
At one point I counted 57 American flags in the field, some accompanied by flags featuring peace signs, Greenpeace symbols and rainbows. If Vietnam was the issue 20 years ago, the common ground now is the earth, our very literal common ground. Bands urged us to work for the planet, save the rain forests and encourage recycling.
A drug bust Friday was reportedly for selling bad acid. A few unpleasant experiences at the medical tent were all traced to the same source, and police took the offenders out quickly, picking up their still-standing tent and carting it away as evidence.
The following day, four more dealers were arrested, in two groups, but drugs seemed less a problem than young men getting stupid from too much alcohol. Saturday morning, the medical tent was deluged with requests for aspirin. A hawker moved through the crowd shouting, "Anybody got cotton mouth? Soda here."
In an alcohol-related incident, one minor stabbing was reported. Things went well enough, however, that a more organized event is expected to win approval next year.
Woodstock rain
My favorite moment of Woodstock II came as the skies opened and a classic Woodstock downpour arrived at 6:35 p.m. Saturday. The music played through it all, and my 13-year-old daughter rushed to join the soaked folks at the stage. As someone in the band of the moment called out, "It wouldn't be Woodstock without rain," I was curled in the back of my Aerostar van, hatchback serving as an awning, warm and dry and hearing it all. I paid my rain dues 20 years ago, and got to enjoy "luxury Woodstock" this time.
My neighbors included Gene, 30, a salesman from Liberty, N.Y., on our left, who came because "it's been so long since people have had anything for free." He's worried about the ozone layer, cutting down the rain forests that give the earth its oxygen, and making ends meet. "I can't afford a house, can't afford a $1,200 a month mortgage payment, and when I see what my taxes are going to . . . " he shakes his head. He loaned us a tarp to cover our tent during a downpour; we gave him a trash bag and some extra ice.
Terry, 40, from Monticello, N.Y., in front and down the hill a bit, had been here 20 years ago, and brought the family this time. They flew a rainbow flag from their main tent, and hung out a dinner bell. After the three kids were tented down for the night, he and his wife danced cheek-to-cheek under the stars, even after the music stopped.
Instant producer
Rich Pell, the kindergarten teacher who started the spontaneous concert a week ago Sunday by playing John Sebastian's I Had a Dream on folk guitar by the Woodstock monument, found himself a week later being hailed as the producer of Woodstock II. "I've had four people want to be my agent and and an invitation to be on Johnny Carson's show," he said, looking a bit overwhelmed. "I just want to do the right thing. I've been playing gigs for $30 a night."
Over at the Imperial Hotel in Swan Lake, the final concert of the $30-a-day Woodstock Remembered concert was canceled Sunday for lack of attendance. Some stars came over from the Imperial after their scheduled sets, including Melanie, who first played Max Yasgur's farm 20 years ago, and sounds stronger now than she did then.
The oddest moment in the festival came Friday night, when comedian Wavy Gravy came over from the Imperial show, where he was emcee, to Bethel in full rainbow clown dress, complete with bulbous nose. Saying, "They'll bury me a hippie," he sat on the edge of the stage and began droning a poem to a crowd that was already rocking. The audience listened respectfully to the man who had encouraged, fed and succored the half million 20 years before. Then, from the back of the stage, a burly young musician dressed entirely in black stepped on Wavy's manuscript and growled "Only rock and roll here, man." The crowd seemed stunned. A beefy security guard grabbed the offender, shouting "You've just insulted a legend, man."
Wavy retreated to stage right, then came forth and spoke to the musician, "Hey, I'm the guy who offered breakfast in bed for 500,000, man," he said gently. They both took the stage, and the musician offered a public apology, saying "I was only 8 years old last time, and I guess I have a lot to learn."
Friday night, it had appeared that the entire Imperial concert would move to Bethel, where the people were. But Woodstock Remembered's sole investor, Al Pellulo of Banner Productions, refused. He said allowing the bands to play Woodstock would weaken his planned lawsuit against Sullivan County for allowing more than 10,000 people to gather in Bethel, a law enacted nearly 2 4years ago.
The town had quietly supported the renegade event with police, a traffic plan, medical personnel and an attitude of noninterference. This seemed unusual until Alan Scott, Bethel town supervisor, took the stage Saturday night to say, "They used to call us hippies, now they call us doctors, lawyers, businessmen. We've turned Flower Power into Economic Power, and it's just beginning."
Pell summed it up Saturday night, gazing out at the approximately 30,000 who filled the flats.
"There are no leaders here," he said. "The producers aren't
making this happen, the musicians aren't, it's you people who've spontaneously
gathered here who keep the Woodstock spirit alive.
