My friend Kathy and I took a photography class in a Wichita, Kansas, high school during the summer of 1969. Mark, one of the other students, told us about an outdoor three-day music concert he was going to in New York state after the end of classes. He was sketchy on the details, but it sounded like they’d have to sit on the ground. No chairs!
Always practical, I asked him: “Where are you going to stay?”
He shrugged. “We’re going to sleep on the ground, I guess.”
“That doesn’t sound like much fun,” I said. This is why I miss out on a lot of cool stuff.
Of course, afterward I was one of the millions who bought the album and watched the movie and lived the experience vicariously in my warm, mud-free living room.
Decades later, my friend Anita, who lived in upstate New York at the time, and I visited the city of Woodstock, a charming little town, where we tried to imagine what it would have been like to make the journey in 1969 and be a part of rock n’ roll history.