THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Saturday, August 13, 1994 TAG: 9408120079
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Interview
SOURCE: Interviews by TERESA ANNAS
LENGTH: Long : 223 lines
Woodstock was my first concert.
We were driving there in a VW bus and stopped in the mountains to get gas and a soda. This country cop said, ``Well, if you folks are going to Woodstock, you're never going to get there. But I know another way.''
He showed us on a map this country way to take that circled along the back of the festival, a way you would never know unless you lived there.
We ended up parking a half-mile from the stage. By the time we got there, there was no gate. The concert was free.
My generation grew up experiencing bomb drills in elementary school. Then there was the Vietnam War, where boys you have gone to school with are not coming home.
So, it's not a wonder to me that you have that many people in that age group who got together. And the main theme of that generation was peace and love. This was a generation that grew up scared to death that the government might go to war.
It seems completely natural that you'd have a generation of kids who feel as though, ``Why can't we live in peace and love each other?''
I don't mean free love. That was one thing that really upset me about the media coverage of Woodstock. The famous pond where people were swimming? The media made it seem like everybody was swimming nude. They slanted it to sound like everybody was walking around naked and making love. I went down to that pond. And, yes, there were some people skinny-dipping. But some had on bathing suits or all their clothes on.
Up in the woods, people set up tables and whatnot where they had jewelry or oils, perfumes, beads. If you liked something, you could buy it. If you couldn't afford to buy it, they would give it to you.
There was a big tire swing up there, to get wound up on and unwind, put your head back and look up at the trees.
The bad acid story. There was no bad acid, just extremely good acid. And some people weren't prepared for that.
There was no prejudice. No one hurt anyone.
At one point, just before or after a huge downpour, a plane circled above a big hill and sky-wrote a huge peace sign in the sky.
It was incredible, fantastic. Everyone was just going crazy.
I was a total hippie. My hair was long and straight. Of course, I wore a headband most of the time. I wore beads, bracelets, lots of rings. I wore hip-hugger bell bottoms. Ruffled blouses and T-shirts, sandals. I was the complete picture. I was an anti-war protester, and I still wear a POW-MIA bracelet.
Woodstock: That was the way my life was like then. Spontaneous. I didn't have a plan.
That's one of the big things that have changed. Now I have a plan.
For the last three years, I have owned my own business, Lettering by Cheryl. I'm a glass painter. I do a lot of car dealership windows.
I have two children, and I'm the head of my household. I want to pass along to my children how important it is to be good, kind people. And to take care of each other, love each other. And to talk about feelings.
And when my children are graduated from school, their mother is going to live on an island. And that's where I'm going to be. And this government can do whatever it wants.
I'm going to sit on my island and be at peace finally. Winder Bill, 46, a Virginia Beach CPA
I was in summer school at the University of Virginia. A friend called and asked if I wanted to join a group going to a concert in upstate New York.
For me, the whole experience was an aberration. Maybe it was the culmination of the naivete we had. But to get that many people together and have it be nonviolent . . .
Midday Saturday, in front of the stage. It was crowded beyond your comprehension. Everyone squeezed together. Two guys squared off. They had just gotten into a belligerent posture. And 700,000 people, in an immediate reaction, gave a crowd communication of ``no way.''
The guys looked real sheepish and sat down quickly.
Normally, in a crowd, people would have egged them on. Go get 'em. But that day, it was unacceptable behavior.
It was an interesting period to go through. You make your mistakes. Some people are still paying for those mistakes. I do believe the drug culture was a mistake.
At Woodstock, drugs were very open. People were selling LSD and pot. The supply was not all that great. There wasn't someone sitting there with a ton of marijuana. And not too many people were dumb enough to take some pill from someone they didn't know.
After Woodstock, I couldn't find anything in the culture I wanted to aspire to. A month later, I became a vegetarian, which I still am. Two years later, I found yoga. And that really fit. I did it full time for 10 years, until I left to support my family.
In that time, I worked for a yoga organization, running retreats and city yoga centers - in the Bahamas, in the Catskills, in Hollywood, in Vancouver, in New York City.
It took 10 years of that life to really get any sense of myself, of peace of mind.
I can now work in the CPA world. And I play competitive tennis. I am currently No. 1 in the 45-and-older division in the mid-Atlantic region in doubles.
So I did find something positive. And I rejected the pot culture.
What brought the Woodstock gathering to a feeling of community was that we were a community of people that rejected some things.
And here are some things we've accepted - music and nonviolence.
Out of that wasn't enough to make a life. You have to do something. Then there's the search for something else. I was fortunate in finding it, in yoga. Andi Helfant-Frye, 42, a Virginia Beach real estate broker
I was 17 and lived on Long Island. All the local stations were talking about this great concert that was going to happen. Driving upstate, I don't think any of us thought it would be more than just a New York thing.
We took sleeping bags, the clothes we wore and bathing suits. We figured we'd come back the next day.
We were stopped by the police 17 miles from the site. They said, ``If you want to go to Woodstock, get out of the car; start walking.''
We didn't have any idea how far we were. We were walking and walking. All you could see for miles and miles were cars parked in every direction.
At this point, we realized it was a little bigger than we thought.
Some cars got through. Somebody said, ``Hey, pile in!'' So we jumped in this van. There were a whole bunch of guys in it, and we all hit it off. The van eventually got stopped, too.
Then we all got out and started walking. I started walking with one of the guys from the van. His name was Charlie.
I've been real good friends with him for 25 years, since that day.
My friends turned around and said, ``See you at the concert.'' I never saw them again.
I was there by myself, with this guy who had hair down to his waist and a half a million other people I didn't know. Actually, it was scary. And actually, I wasn't real happy all the time.
I was by myself, and I didn't know how I would get home.
Charlie lost all his friends, too. We had a sleeping bag and the clothes on our backs. That was it. And we were really hungry.
We passed this bungalow colony, which is like a bed and breakfast. We went up to these people, who happened to be related to people on my street, and they gave us sandwiches.
I don't remember hearing that much music. And I was in an all-girl rock 'n' roll band at that time.
It didn't seem like the music was where things were happening. Things were happening around it. I have never seen so many people. To me, it was unnerving. You really couldn't get out.
We left before the end of the concert. We got in a station wagon with a guy and a girl. They dropped us off at an exit in East Orange, N.J.
There was a bus stop there where you could catch a bus to the (New York City) Port Authority. But we had no money. It was pouring rain, midnight and I was crying.
A bus stopped. We told him we had no money, and he closed the door on us. I put my hands in the door and screamed, ``No, you don't understand!'' He let us on the bus, and we got to the Port Authority.
Then we panhandled. We got enough money for the subway. Charlie was looking out for me and rode home with me to Long Island.
When I walked through that door, I went straight into the shower. All I did was take off my clothes and stand under the water.
I was such a mess. And I was so glad to be home, you wouldn't believe. Lure of great music kept some there to the end [This interview appears on page E5.]
Chris Conley, 42
Virginia Beach band leader and promoter
I was 17 and living in Clinton, N.Y. My interest in going to Woodstock was to hear the music. They had an incredible lineup. Every band you wanted to hear was there.
I went with three friends who bailed out after a day and a half. Got sick of sleeping wherever they could find a space on the grass and getting caught in rainstorms.
I brought with me one change of blue jeans. I threw away the first pair, they were so covered in mud. It wasn't for the meek.
But I paid my money, and I wanted to stay around.
It was a sea of bodies before a big stage with constant music. This was like I died and went to heaven, for a young musician.
All the great bands. Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young; Creedence Clearwater Revival; Canned Heat; Richie Havens; Melanie.
It was quite an experience being there by myself, once my friends left. I just kind of hung out, watched music, slept and tried to get a Coke now and then.
One of the more exciting segments occurred on Saturday night when Sly and the Family Stone, Jefferson Airplane and The Who all played back to back. That was an awesome three hours.
Three days of that sort of thing became a blur.
Sure, the drugs were widespread, as they were throughout the '60s. I didn't experiment with any drugs that would really mess me up. But it was common for somebody to pass you something.
I put that in the same category of hitchhiking. It was safer back then.
There were naked people climbing on scaffolding, open sexual activity in clear sight. Everybody just kind of escaped there for three days. That's a good word. They escaped from the establishment, from everyday life.
Keep in mind what was going on politically back then. People enjoyed an experience where they didn't have to think about what was going on in the world - assassinations and wars. People wanted to kind of drop out.
As Timothy Leary said, ``Turn on, tune in and drop out.''
By Monday morning, when Jimi Hendrix played ``The Star-Spangled Banner,'' the crowd had thinned out a bit. You had to be very stubborn to stay there through to the end.
And my picture was in Life magazine. Just a picture of the crowd at Woodstock, and I was close to the photographer. Close enough to be recognizable.
Yeah, I'm glad I was there. It was only a few hours from my home. Just kids, going down to hear every band we liked.
I think I feel a lasting impact, not so much from Woodstock as from growing up in that whole era. My political feelings have always been to the left of center.
I'll always try to have a little social consciousness. And I'll always think a little about what's good for everybody, as opposed to what's good for me. Especially what's good for me financially.
This is my 30th year of playing in a band. My band is called Chris and the Classics. My wife, Jeanne, sings in the band and has sung with me for almost 20 years. We have three kids.
We play a lot of oldies. And we do a Woodstock medley.
I'm teasing, teasing. ILLUSTRATION: [Photos of those interviewed]
LAWRENCE JACKSON/Staff
Chris Conley says Woodstock and its era had a lasting effect on
him.
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KEYWORDS: WOODSTOCK by CNB