Someone posted this a few weeks ago. 1968 was an awesome year, a true stand out. My abusive father died, leaving me free to not be a Witness and not die. We breathed for the first time. I never attended a KH after that. 1968-I sneaked out of the house to work in Gene McCarthy's campaign. Attended demos in NY and DC. My university, Columbia, was completely shut down. Sorbonne in France and German universities also shut down. Columbia's riots spread to Harvard and Yale, other elite schools. It was a competition to be the most radical.
I was a junior in high school. Martin Luther King Jr. and then Bobby Kennedy were slain. I waited hours to pay tribute to Bobby at St. Patrick's Cathedral. Some space things were happening. If a male student screwed up, the vice principal would call the local draft board.
Without my father, we lived normally. We watched the first human walk on the moon on the Great Lawn of Central Park. When we went to get picnic boxes they were selling for the massive crowds, I ran into David Peel and the Lower East Side, performing on the periphery of the crowd. He announced a very cool music festival was going to happen at Woodstock, NY. The next morning I bought tickets. B/c I was so young, my mom drove my friend and I up. We went up the weekend before to check out the terrain. We had no camping experience. There were plenty of motels.
Next week we drove up. I was so hoping Dylan and the Beatles would bow to public pressure and perform. I was a regular at the Filmore East and other rock venues. If you screamed loud and long enough, the band would come back and peform for four hours. Amazing. Saw Clapton, Richie Havens, Beach Boys, Judy Collins, Sly and the Family Stone, Simon and Garfunkel, Jefferson Airplane. Nothing prepared us for what we saw. Just after we arrived, the NY State Turnpike was closed. Everywhere you looked there were heads. Open drug use and open sex everywhere. Much skinny dipping. The films have romanticized it.
There was no food. My mom walked us to the site. We hiked for miles and miles. fields were completely ruined by the overflow. So we ended up right by a motorcycle gang doing hard drugs. My mom surveyed the scene and announced we could not stay the night. She feared a stampede if it rained. There was no security, no organization. We stayed for the openiing prayer, Richie Havens and a few others. They looked like ants from where we were. I was practiced at getting into very good seats but there was absolutely no way to maneuver. All the way home the thruway was full of abandoned cars.
I was used to massive demos on D.C. NYC is crowded. Nothing ever or since has matched that sight. My mom made the right decision. I believe the concert would have been ever better if they enforced security. I still have my tickets. The NY State Atty General sued to get our money back. I'd rather have the tickets. They are worth far more than the cash value. We were able to get a free poster the week before the event. I had it on my wall for years. My mom discarded it after years. Then I showed her how much money it was worth in New Yorker magazine.
I saw the ballet and the opera. Before my father's death, none of this was possible. I ran away to NY frequently but that is all. My father kicked dogs in the head down cellar stairs. A true Christian a la St. Francis of Assissi. Brother Sun, Sister Moon. Always small dogs, never a German Shepherd or Rotweiller. He wasn't an equal opportunity abuser. My little sister was given a puppy for the loss of her father. Rascal walked in as tho she owned the place which she did. The entire family lavished attention on her.
The Beatles were active. Tommy was at the top of the charts.