Woodstock

First off, I wasn’t there. I was a 20 year old service boy at fort Lewis Washington. I had volunteered for the draft, not out of a great sense of obligation to the ideals of our nation, but frankly, because I didn’t know what else to do. I had left home at eighteen, hitch hiked across the united states, intending to go to haight ashbury, but somehow headed north to Oregon, and once there, found the road to be rough and rocky. After a couple of years living on top ramen, horse meat, and the kindness of strangers, I hit a wall I couldn’t climb over, and ended up at the place where they mustered in the new recruits, signed the papers, and was welcomed into world I had never really understood existed, though my father, and his father before him had served. Honestly, I’d never considered it.

My first month in the army, I ended up in the army hospital, getting my tonsils taken out, and I got to see a little of what war was all about. Wards full of boys back from combat, missing body parts, and dealing with the unimaginable. The Vietnam war never made any sense to me before then, and it made less sense after that. I decided at that point to apply for conscientious objector status, not to get out of serving, but as a statement of conscience. At the time, I couldn’t see myself carrying a gun, or shooting at people, for any reason. Still, I felt it was un-American not to be willing to serve in the military, so I served as a medic, caring for those left broken or wounded by the conflict I did not participate in.

I loved being a medic, but I hated being a soldier. Didn’t much like people telling me what to do, and the world we lived in at the time didn’t much like soldier boys.

But I loved music, and I loved my guitar. It was a comfort in those confusing times, and music exhilarated me, and took me from the olive green drabness of barracks life, to a world of possibilities.

One day the movie “Woodstock” came to the cinema on post. I was surprised the army would allow it to play on military soil. But I went to see it, not really knowing what it was about other than rock and roll. And I remember as the screen showed the opening of the people gathering at Yasgers farm. Something about it thrilled me, touching my heart deeply.

Something about freedom. I’m not really sure I can explain it. I think it’s just something you’ve got to be of this generation to understand.

I remember Richie Havens, with his missing teeth, and his breaking strings singing freedom, and handsome Johnny, and how he summed up my visceral feelings about war and my place in America. I remember Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young singing, “Teach your children well”, and Country Joe McDonald’s “Feel like I’m fixin’ to die” rag. And let me tell you, That’s the way I felt. I expected to be shipped out at any minute, and I had seen first hand what happens when young boys go to war.

A lot of time has past since then. I’ve changed. If I had the same choices to make now, and it was necessary to go to war, I would carry a gun, and my take on freedom has changed some as I’ve lived more life. I now understand that there are things worth fighting for. And even dying for.

But don’t get me wrong. I still hate war. All rational people hate war. Even a morally justified war. Wars never end, even when the shooting stops.

And back to Woodstock: Peace and love. We talked a lot about it. And sometimes we’ve managed to live up to our high ideals. But this still ain’t utopia, and my guess is, in this world, it ain’t ever gonna be. Personally, I’m hoping for a better world to come.

But we still have this music. Maybe we aren’t rocking to Santana and Janis like we used to, Maybe we’re more likely to be picking a little Bill Monroe, but it’s still talking to our hearts, and bringing us together.

And that’s a good thing.

See you at the next festival!