< Originally posted on the 40th anniversary of the Festival>
OK, seems like a Woodstock story is the order of the day. Full disclosure - forty-year-old memories of a wet, muggy weekend of no sleep, too little food or water, and too many mystery chemicals are bound to be -- imprecise.
...on Saturday, early evening of the second day of the Festival, I ran into a old friend I hadn't seen in a year (and remember how long a year was when you were 16). David Washington, from Poughkeepsie. David was a true freak - made me look like Pat Boone by comparison. Skinny, long stringy hair down to his elbows, scraggly beard, and dressed in a paisley vest, with an old top hat on his head.
After catching up on events - like my unfortunate adventure the month before behind Korvette's, with Harry, Dippo, and Fred I - DW mentioned that he'd just purchased some hallucinogens, and would I like a tablet? Why, yes, that would be lovely, Dave. But we'd heard all the warnings about "the brown acid", so I asked him - being a prudent and cautious lad - what color these tablets were. He pulled a baggie out of his vest pocket and peered at the pills inside. But it being twlight, damned if he could tell.
So he bounds up the hill to the one service road they had kept open for emergency vehicles, and motions for one of the passing cars to stop; he leans over to examine the tablets in this car's headlights, then yells to me with a grin, "They're blue!". And then waves the car on. The driver gives Dave a thumbs up and rolls on.
He was a New York State trooper.
OK, seems like a Woodstock story is the order of the day. Full disclosure - forty-year-old memories of a wet, muggy weekend of no sleep, too little food or water, and too many mystery chemicals are bound to be -- imprecise.
...on Saturday, early evening of the second day of the Festival, I ran into a old friend I hadn't seen in a year (and remember how long a year was when you were 16). David Washington, from Poughkeepsie. David was a true freak - made me look like Pat Boone by comparison. Skinny, long stringy hair down to his elbows, scraggly beard, and dressed in a paisley vest, with an old top hat on his head.
After catching up on events - like my unfortunate adventure the month before behind Korvette's, with Harry, Dippo, and Fred I - DW mentioned that he'd just purchased some hallucinogens, and would I like a tablet? Why, yes, that would be lovely, Dave. But we'd heard all the warnings about "the brown acid", so I asked him - being a prudent and cautious lad - what color these tablets were. He pulled a baggie out of his vest pocket and peered at the pills inside. But it being twlight, damned if he could tell.
So he bounds up the hill to the one service road they had kept open for emergency vehicles, and motions for one of the passing cars to stop; he leans over to examine the tablets in this car's headlights, then yells to me with a grin, "They're blue!". And then waves the car on. The driver gives Dave a thumbs up and rolls on.
He was a New York State trooper.
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