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ROCKFEST
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ONE CAN NOT LIVE ON PEANUT BUTTER AND WINE ALONE: ADVENTURES AT A CANCELED ROCK FESTIVAL copyright 1996-2006 Robb Strycharz part 3 SUNDAY, JULY 5, 1970 continued We were sitting around the living room getting stoned, listening to Jefferson Airplane's "Volunteers" and the new Fat album. We had switched back to rock after an Herb Albert rendition of "Zorba the Greek". Driven by its escalating tempo, Wally had danced himself into a frenzy and was now collapsed on the floor behind a large chair. It was clear he wouldn’t be rejoining the party anytime soon. It was then the phone rang. SHIT! That was not a good sign. Maybe it was just an innocent wrong number. After all, anybody I hoped might call was either in the next room, in Europe, or half way to Colorado. It had to be bad news. Maybe a neighbor was complaining about the noise. Maybe something had happened to my folks. I shouted into the living room to have the stereo turned down and for everyone to shut up. I cautiously picked up the phone. I could not believe what I heard. This had to be a joke. I shouted the news to everyone in the next room then relayed what I heard to the group. "HEY! IT'S NELSON!" Oh shit! A few faces peered out from the living room to see what was happening. "... AND HE'S IN TROUBLE!! HE'S BEEN BUSTED FOR THUMBING IN OHIO!" That he and Tom were busted in Ohio, home of the Kent State, came as no surprise Then the other foot fell: Nelson was... "Oh shit! NELSON'S IN JAIL!" Hell, what are we going to do? What could we do? I don't remember if the story made me suspicious or if through me the entire Circus had been sucked in. It must have occurred to at least one of us that it was rather odd for Nelson to be wasting one of his precious jailhouse phone calls calling my place. It’s not like any of us could cough up any bail money. At some point Nelson couldn't keep from cracking up. He was actually just a half-mile away at his parent's house and said he'd be over in a few minutes. He had in fact left town, but had only gone as far as Worcester. When he arrived Nelson was a man with a plan, in this case his Plan B to get to Denver. Since he tended to be one to read the Big City press like the New York Times and especially the Village Voice, Nelson had access to arcane information we Springfield Daily News comic strip connoisseurs wouldn't find even if we read the front page. He had access to alternative news and ads intended for NYC readers. Nelson arrived with an ad for a rock festival to be held on July 11th at a place called Mountaindale in New York. It wasn't that far away, really. "Right over the border" I think was his oft-repeated phrase. "Just a two hour drive." Nelson's logic was that since Festivals attracted Freaks from all over the country... at some point they'd either head out to another festival or eventually head back to the town from whence they came. Nelson figured that it shouldn't be that difficult to catch a ride during the exodus.
THIS WAS INCREDIBLE! Not the flawless logic of Nelson’s plan, but THIS WAS AN ACTUAL ROCK FEST. Everyone regretted missing, Woodstock the year before… that is except Nelson who actually went. If there was a possibility of another Woodstock... no one wanted to miss it. But, where the hell was this Mountaindale place anyway? Collectively we knew little of New York State, except where Albany, Buffalo, Niagara, and NYC were. The later was the home of WOR where Jean Shepard did a late night show consisting primarily of weird stories of his childhood and off the wall commentary about the Big Apple and Jersey. Shepard was so bizarre that I turned Greg onto him when I first discovered him in ‘68. We were now both fans and had been working on hooking the rest of the Circus. It was a project that would take some time. My exposure to New York was in large part through the eyes of Shepard. Thus, I had to ask, "You don't suppose the festival's going to be in some vacant lot in Gonkers do you?" Actually, I misspoke. Gonkers didn't exist. I had actually been thinking of Yonkers, but what the hell did I know. None the less, Gonkers stuck as the name of our eventual destination. What we all did know about New York was legendary in youth circles: it had an 18-year-old drinking age! WOW! There, Greg and I were already old enough to buy!! The Circus had long considered making a “wine run” across the border but we were not sure if we could buy with mere Massachusetts IDs. It would have been a hundred mile round trip gamble... one we may have taken if the local package stores ever shut-off our usual contacts who were old enough to buy for us. But back to Mountaindale. I dug through my parent's bookshelf collection of neatly folded, Esso and Atlantic road maps until I found New York. Once spread out on the floor all eyes predictably rushed to scan the NY/MA border region. A cursory scan revealed nothing: not a single Mountaindale was to be seen. "Maybe it's in New York over the Connecticut border", was one suggestion and all eyes drifted south. "Well, it's not far,” Nelson reassured us, "It's only a two hour drive." Finally someone's wandering eye spied a Mountaindale... but it was deep inside New York state, closer, in fact, to the Pennsylvania border. Could this be it? No way! Some Einstein got the bright idea of rechecking the directions hidden in the ad's fine print: “Mountaindale is Located in Sullivan County in the Catskill Mountains, 15 miles from RT-17 (N.Y. Quickway) Exits 109 to 112....” We had no idea where the hell Sullivan County was but one vital clue was Mountiandale's proximity to RT-17. “Hey, isn't that the road that was jammed up ‘cause of Woodstock?” Greg ventured. “I saw it in the movie ”. Indeed, it seemed, the tiny dot on the map had to be Mountaindale. Oh, there was just a few more vital hints in this ad which was obviously meant for the Village Voice's New York readership: the site was "...approximately 2 hours from NYC.
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