Getting Into Woodstock

Getting Into Woodstock

“Life is for learning.”

Joni Mitchell

I remember that summer well. It was warm, and my cousin, Stephen, and I could think of little else but getting into Woodstock.

We counted the days and talked about our plans, as we fished our way through the summer at my aunt and uncle’s cabin above Lake Tahoe. We told no one, for fear that it would slip back to our parents, and we would be thwarted.

Finally, the day came, and we took a car and went to buy our tickets. I stood at the ticket window, trembling, waiting my turn. I had recently grown my hair long, hoping to look cooler and older, and achieving neither, I said to the ticket seller, “One please.”

She gave me a cold glance and a four-word reply: “Go see The Boatniks,” the new Disney movie playing down the road.

My ship was sunk. She knew I was underage, and I had no fake ID. Stephen wasn’t much older, so we hopped back in his parents’ car and drove to the movie theater.

The Boatniks was ok, but all I remember thinking while sitting there was that by the time we got to Woodstock, I’d be seventeen years old.

Ever hopeful, we tried the next night, and this time, someone else was guarding the tickets. She either believed us or didn’t care, and we got in!

We felt as though we had won the Kentucky Derby and quickly got to our seats, in case they changed their minds and came looking for us.

For the next three hours (and five minutes), we sat enthralled in rock ‘n roll heaven, all thanks to Michael Wadleigh’s hit documentary, Woodstock: 3 Days of Peace & Music. My favorite part was Alvin Lee’s performance of “I’m Going Home.”

That’s just how I feel, remembering this exquisite moment of getting into Woodstock.

-Hank