I never made it to Woodstock. By 1969 I was through with musical events filled with masses of stoned people. From a California perspective it seemed as though the era had ended. The hippies had gone home and masses of nuts and crazies were arriving from God-forsaken backwoods communities with long hair and a yin for acting self-absorbed and cool. I hated them.
But George Thoren has just written a great short story about what it was like to travel from a small conservative Southern California town to Woodstock, NY in 1969. Read it and you can almost smell the haze of sickly-sweet smoke as the bands start up. George finagled his way to the front -- right behind the wood fence, near where this image was taken. His story takes you back in time, to a place where people cared for each other -- and complete strangers.
Read George's The Road to Woodstock by clicking this link.
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