Woodstock
Counter cultural foot soldiers inching to Mecca
by Terry Gilbert
This summer, thousands of aging baby boomers and their children will commemorate the 40th anniversary of the greatest rock festival of all time- Woodstock. They will pack up their recreational vehicles and make pilgrimages to upstate New York in a nostalgic re-enactment of the rituals of youth--to be hippies once again. Being a survivor of the original three days of peace and music, part of me wants to relive those magical times; the other part wants to leave it to history.I feel there should be only one Woodstock, and no other imitations. It was a one shot deal - a confluence of cultural and political energy wrapped up in the exigencies of the particular moment. It cannot nor should not be recreated. I would prefer to watch a re-run of the movie on Blue Ray. It would feel better. I could point out to my kids and friends how Richie Havens reached our souls with the stirring rendition of "Freedom"and I can say- "I was there".
When I look back at Woodstock, I achieve a momentary respite from chronic cynicism wrought on me from years of dealing with a disturbed social order and incompetent political system. But it doesn't matter that the idealistic dreams once felt to be within reach have eluded us. Nor does it matter that despite a legacy of accessibility to the fruits of a sometimes prosperous society with occasional progressive moments like the election of Obama, we have also inherited a legacy of urban chaos, insidious racism, paranoia, intolerance for human differences, and sharper economic divisions. What matters is that the experience many of us had at Yasgur's farm was about the joy of possibilities. And when you've entered that realm, it has a way of staying with you.
Of course, Woodstock was a business and still is. But the mass movement of youth made it an event. I will never forget the emerging scene on the New York Thruway. At least five miles before the exit, vehicles of all types were parked on the median strip. And that was Thursday afternoon, a day before the first performance. Once on the two lane road ( 17B ) leading to the site, a psychedelic parade of multicolored vans, school busses and counter cultural foot soldiers -a generational procession- inched its way to the rock and roll Mecca.
We soon realized that this was not going to be your average outdoor concert. The gate and fences were torn down, and as history has noted, it became a free show . Once inside , there was a gradual formation of a tribal community, with a unique structure poised to keep a half a million people from either starving, getting disease or overdosing on drugs . Food and water was flown in, and free clinics were established. We were advised what drugs to ingest or not. Even the locals, predisposed to stop the concert, opened up to the strange happenings in what was once a sleepy town in the Catskills.
No other concert since, and I've been to hundreds, could match the spiritual energy lifting us. Woodstock was transformed into the promised land of the 60's and beyond, where anyone who was at all moved by the music, politics and culture of the decade was welcome. It was a time to take a look around, and assess ourselves - the student activists, the nature freaks, Vietnam veterans, Gay/Lesbians, the Buddhists, and of course the rockers - and lay claim to our rightful place in the American landscape. And beyond that, it was the party of the century! And without battalions of cops, ridiculous rules, and throngs of drunken punks making you wish you'd stayed home.
I have been asked - Why aren't you going to the 40th anniversary festivities? I tell them about waking up under a rain soaked car. Its dawn. The sun rays are creeping through a humid haze, part fog, part marijuana smoke . In the distance, I hear the strange screeching of a guitar which makes no sense and yet a lot of sense at the same time -- it was Jimi playing his haunting and prophetic version of the "Star Spangled Banner". I was never the same after that. Neither was America. I just want to remember the way it was.
By Terry H. Gilbert
Terry H. Gilbert, a partner in the Cleveland firm of Friedman & Gilbert, is one of the state's most prominent criminal defense attorneys, specializing in both high profile criminal defense and civil rights litigation. Mr. Gilbert has represented victims of governmental misconduct as well as persons accused of all categories of criminal offenses on state and federal trial and appellate levels.
His clients have included Russell Means and Vernon Bellecourt of the American Indian Movement, and Sam Reese Sheppard in his suit against the State of Ohio for the wrongful imprisonment of his father, Dr. Sam Sheppard. He is a cooperating attorney with the National Innocence Project, as well as the Center for Constitutional Rights.
He has lectured widely on DNA issues, the law and the media, and police misconduct remedies. In 2002, Mr. Gilbert received the John Minor Wisdom Award from the American Bar Association Litigation Section. Mr. Gilbert's B.A. is from Miami University, and his J.D. is from Cleveland Marshall College of Law. (:divend:)