Hendrix and Home from Woodstock

“What the hell is that?”

“It’s ‘50’s music, Sha Na Na.”

“Tell me I didn’t sleep through Hendrix.”after rain at woodstock

“Nope.” Leona peeled her blanket up. The population of Woodstock had thinned during the night. The campers on the crest and half the audience had gone, believing as we did, that Hendrix was a no-show.

What a bummer.

Tired, dirty and completely spent we trekked over masses of abandoned stuff to the top of the hill. We turned to take one last look at the stage and the mess that we’d made as we abandoned what was the third largest city in New York State.

hendrixIt was still raining lightly…and then Jimi Hendrix took his Stratocaster… a right handed guitar held upside down and played by his left, the best lead guitarist of our time played his convoluted rendition and forever changed the way guitarists viewed guitars… and what a Fender sounded like in the hands of a genius.

He played to half a hill, half filled with waste, a day late, hyped up on something and game for anything and he sliced it. We stood on the crest in awe.

Our lost people waited by the car and we left for home. The roof of my Mother’s Buick had been danced on and the roof bent inward. Leona drove past the State Troopers who waited to bust for freaks for driving badly. I guessed that they were pretty pissed off that we had wrecked their state.

Hours later I pulled in front of our home and Mom greeted me as if I had been abducted and was finally returned safely, happy I was alive. She peeked into the trunk. “Everything will have to be thrown out,” she said, including all of my clothes and the almost white pillow case flag. But I kept my mud smeared posters.

I bathed and slept, just long enough for her to get an estimate of the damages to her car and then I was grounded forever!

“You are grounding me for this?” I was indignant. “I didn’t dance on your car! Look at this poster. It says music and art fair. How was I supposed to know it would be a disaster? It wasn’t MY fault!

 

It was a rough time to be a parent.

 

Over the years I have heard many accounts of the Woodstock experience and I can tell you this for free. We were one nation… under God and Nixon…  and the phenomenon that was Woodstock validated hippies as the lovers of peace.

 

I still hold out hope.

 

The thoughts and opinions expressed, herein, have been relegated to the Doors of Perception. This blogger does not, in any way, condone the use of illegal substances nor does she condone the operating of motor vehicles while under the influence of said substances. Moreover, she does not encourage the skipping of summer school classes, swimming in water intended for human consumption, engaging in unprotected sex with teenage boys or the benefits of LSD for weight loss. Do not attempt to recreate this festival while selling capitalist-pig-like promotional items, i.e. T shirts, coffee cups, guitar straps or cozies and please don’t try this at home. They don’t call it a mind altering drug for nothing.

Thanx for visiting,

Jonna

6 Comments

  1. Bravo to your terrific trilogy! I have to go back and read them all in one sitting. Just returning from visiting kid #2 who has discovered what today they call vinyl (whatever happened to album?). I brought my entire album collection and we listened to The Who, Big Brother and the Holding Company…and more. Ah, Woodstock. Yes, I gave him my beloved Woodstock album. It’s his turn now. -Jennie-

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  2. Great reading your story. Very different from what my big brother and sister told me when they came back from Woodstock. My brother is/was a full-fledged hippy who took the festival in a matter-of-fact way. My innocent sister was traumatized by it.

    Liked by 1 person

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