Born too late to be a Hippie

Mr. Ed

Mr. Ed

Be what you is not what you what you ain’t
Location
Central NY
One may say a hippie is a state of mind and freedom? I didn’t march at a peace rally or resist arrest in a police scuffle, no, just ordinary me who missed out on this nation’s greatest war between us and them. I tend to glorify those days, dreaming of the hippie way of life, listening to vinyl albums and picturing the world through the unknown lenses of imaginary LSD.

On the day bestowed to me for wide eyes open came to me via Fritz the Cat and the massive few on the inward way to Six Flags over Ga. When the trees waved at me and the sidewalk moving, it was time to seek shelter in the car by leaving the crowded entrance behind. On this day, I was baptized in the color of colors forever and ever. Amen
 

The sixties were indeed very exciting if one wished to partake, and I did to almost it's fullest extent. May I ask what year you were born?
 
Late 60s... yeah I wasn't even a teenager yet, so I missed it, too, kind of. I always thought that I would have loved being at Woodstock... ☮️ but I had just turned 12 and doubt I would have been allowed to go. :giggle:
 

I'm eight years older than you @CallMeKate. I didn't go to Woodstock. That year was my first time in Europe and I went to the first Isle of Wight and it had basically the same people. My parents were out for the day near Woodstock, and they gave lifts to many kids on their way. They said they had in their minds that if I were 'on the road' they hoped some nice couple would pick me up in their car, so they did it for me! ❤️

I'm five years older than you Mr. Ed.
 
CallMeKate said:
Late 60s... yeah I wasn't even a teenager yet, so I missed it, too, kind of. I always thought that I would have loved being at Woodstock... ☮️ but I had just turned 12 and doubt I would have been allowed to go. :giggle:
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I WAS at Woodstock. The first day, August the 15th of 1968 was my 22nd birthday. Myself and 2 male friends from Toronto had bought the three day pass tickets at a record store in Toronto. We drove my 61 VW bug to the border and crossed at Buffalo and drove east on the 14th. Myself, Bruce and Roger brought a army surplus tent, sleeping bags and a camp stove, and food with us.

When we got close to Yazner's Farm, we had to park on the side of the approach road and walk at least 5 miles to the actual site. We were surrounded by thousands of other people, all heading in the same direction.

We entered the site, showed our passes, and climbed up the big hill that overlooked the stage area. On Friday, things started off slow, with a lot of delays and the music was muffled and muddy in terms of the sound system. We set up our tent, and cooked hot dogs and canned beans. Almost immediately, we were being pestered by kids who wanted to eat our food. They had not thought to bring food with them. We pointed out the food sales area, but they seemed to think that "everything should be free, man ".

That attitude should have been a tip off about what was to come over the next 2 days. Saturday morning the mass of people arrived, and like magic, the fences were simply torn down, and people walked in with out paying. That was the start of the anarchy.

Drug dealers and their guns, combined with a flood of bikers and NYC trash types, began the descent into mob mentality. The promoters were three innocent guys who had a dream. The reality was that they were WAAY OVER THEIR HEADS, in terms of every part of this carnival. I think they planned this thing on a bar napkin in a couple of hours.

No one took the time to do this calculation...Each person at that event produces about 2 pounds of excrement, per day. Now, multiply 2 pounds of humane waste by 400 THOUSAND PEOPLE per day. That works out to...800 THOUSAND pounds of crap, per day. Times 3 days ? A lake full of shit.

By noon on Sunday, the three of us had had enough. Our tent was trashed while we were trying to get to the rented porta potties, and all of our clothes, except what we were actually wearing, had been stolen. We walked out and down the long road to get to my VW. Guess what ? It had been trashed too, all the windows had been smashed including the windshield. The battery had been stolen, and so were the Ontario Provincial license plates.

We were 300 miles away from home, in a foreign country, with a car that looked like it had been through a hurricane. We walked a further 4 miles to a small town gas station where I was able to buy a used battery for $20 USD. Between the 3 of us we had about $50 in a mix of US and Canadian currency. We were able to get the car started with the used battery, and we slowly drove north, towards the Canadian border bridge crossing over the St Lawrence river, into Ontario.

At the Canadian border, the Immigration officer pointed us into the secondary inspection building, because we had no license plates, and no windshield on the car. We produced our Ontario driver's licenses as proof of our identity, and they called the Ontario Provincial Police who came to the border. The OPP SGT said he couldn't let us drive on the 401 highway with no plates, and no windshield in the car. The SGT said if we could get somebody to come to the border with either a tow truck, or a car trailer, we could get the VW home to Toronto that way.

It took us another day, of phoning all our friends in Toronto, to arrange for a guy to drive 275 miles to where we were, bringing a pick up truck and a flat bed trailer, to haul us home.

The VW was a write off, and I sold it for scrap money. The "big adventure at Wood Stock " was for the 3 of us, our introduction to what happens when hundreds of thousands of people go nuts, together. The movie, and the soundtrack records are NOT an accurate depiction of what really happened there.

I was there. JimB.
 
jimintoronto said:
I WAS at Woodstock. The first day, August the 15th of 1968 was my 22nd birthday. Myself and 2 male friends from Toronto had bought the three day pass tickets at a record store in Toronto. We drove my 61 VW bug to the border and crossed at Buffalo and drove east on the 14th. Myself, Bruce and Roger brought a army surplus tent, sleeping bags and a camp stove, and food with us.

When we got close to Yazner's Farm, we had to park on the side of the approach road and walk at least 5 miles to the actual site. We were surrounded by thousands of other people, all heading in the same direction.

We entered the site, showed our passes, and climbed up the big hill that overlooked the stage area. On Friday, things started off slow, with a lot of delays and the music was muffled and muddy in terms of the sound system. We set up our tent, and cooked hot dogs and canned beans. Almost immediately, we were being pestered by kids who wanted to eat our food. They had not thought to bring food with them. We pointed out the food sales area, but they seemed to think that "everything should be free, man ".

That attitude should have been a tip off about what was to come over the next 2 days. Saturday morning the mass of people arrived, and like magic, the fences were simply torn down, and people walked in with out paying. That was the start of the anarchy.

Drug dealers and their guns, combined with a flood of bikers and NYC trash types, began the descent into mob mentality. The promoters were three innocent guys who had a dream. The reality was that they were WAAY OVER THEIR HEADS, in terms of every part of this carnival. I think they planned this thing on a bar napkin in a couple of hours.

No one took the time to do this calculation...Each person at that event produces about 2 pounds of excrement, per day. Now, multiply 2 pounds of humane waste by 400 THOUSAND PEOPLE per day. That works out to...800 THOUSAND pounds of crap, per day. Times 3 days ? A lake full of shit.

By noon on Sunday, the three of us had had enough. Our tent was trashed while we were trying to get to the rented porta potties, and all of our clothes, except what we were actually wearing, had been stolen. We walked out and down the long road to get to my VW. Guess what ? It had been trashed too, all the windows had been smashed including the windshield. The battery had been stolen, and so were the Ontario Provincial license plates.

We were 300 miles away from home, in a foreign country, with a car that looked like it had been through a hurricane. We walked a further 4 miles to a small town gas station where I was able to buy a used battery for $20 USD. Between the 3 of us we had about $50 in a mix of US and Canadian currency. We were able to get the car started with the used battery, and we slowly drove north, towards the Canadian border bridge crossing over the St Lawrence river, into Ontario.

At the Canadian border, the Immigration officer pointed us into the secondary inspection building, because we had no license plates, and no windshield on the car. We produced our Ontario driver's licenses as proof of our identity, and they called the Ontario Provincial Police who came to the border. The OPP SGT said he couldn't let us drive on the 401 highway with no plates, and no windshield in the car. The SGT said if we could get somebody to come to the border with either a tow truck, or a car trailer, we could get the VW home to Toronto that way.

It took us another day, of phoning all our friends in Toronto, to arrange for a guy to drive 275 miles to where we were, bringing a pick up truck and a flat bed trailer, to haul us home.

The VW was a write off, and I sold it for scrap money. The "big adventure at Wood Stock " was for the 3 of us, our introduction to what happens when hundreds of thousands of people go nuts, together. The movie, and the soundtrack records are NOT an accurate depiction of what really happened there.

I was there. JimB.
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That is hands-down the most miserable story I've read a long, long time. I mean, I enjoyed every word of it, because it reads sort of like a classic Renaissance type of comedy-tragedy, but jee-eezez, what a drag!
 
When I lived in my valley, in another part entirely, I had a neighbor, Richard, who became a pretty good friend. He'd been born in Ontario to a Canadian family who had relocated their passel of kids to the U.S. state of Ohio. The dad must've had a good job there. Anyhow, Richard had attended the full three days (if that's how long Woodstock lasted). He recounted being on LSD for at least some of it. He didn't boast about the event... on the other hand, if he'd been miserable there, he kept that to himself.

Also, in a nearby town up here, I knew a midwife of same generation, and she also had been at Woodstock. She was a "radiant" hippie, as some have been described.
 
My friend and Air Force buddy Godfrey and I were present at this nation's first draft card burning on the capitol steps in Denver, Colorado. Can't remember exactly when it was, '64/'65 think? We were on a one-day pass downtown and stopped to see what all the crowd was about.

Two days later we were called on the carpet by OSI (USAF Office of Special Investigation) grilling us about why we were there and what we were doing. Strange how we got picked out of the crowd. Worked out o.k. as OSI determined we were no threat to national security.

Loved the music but never took part in any of the "hippie festivities." Busy racing and wrenching motorcycles and pitting at drag races for any race crew needing an extra hand. Lived out that era sort of like being in the eye of a tornado. All this stuff going on around me, but most of it no concern of mine for what I was interested in.

Finally, late '70s, was on orders to San Francisco while in the Army Reserve. On an off day, took a cable car ride to corner of Haight/Asbury (SIC?) just to say I'd been there - about fifteen years after the fact. . .
 
I ran away from home when I was a senior, 17. I lived on Haight St. about 5 blocks from Golden Gate Park. Hippie's everywhere. Lot's of drugs, of every kind. This was 1970, and the hey day, had become the last of the Mohicans. Free love, sex, disease, and lost young people. I went back home after taking a tab of Mescaline. My friends thought that time would never end. :)
 
Murrmurr said:
That is hands-down the most miserable story I've read a long, long time. I mean, I enjoyed every word of it, because it reads sort of like a classic Renaissance type of comedy-tragedy, but jee-eezez, what a drag!
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Yes it was a big let down in so many ways for the 3 of us. For myself and Roger Clarke this experience certainly affected our point of view about Americans. On the other hand, Bruce Beddie spent about ten years living in California , becoming very well known as an air brush artist in the Kustom Kar world. Bruce travelled with a number of car show tours doing custom air brush T shirts and he made a very good living while seeing a lot of the country. When he eventually returned to live in Toronto, he used his hot rod business connections to start Performance Improvements which became one of the top Canadian speed shops for more than 30 years. R.I.P Bruce Beddie 2019.

For me, my take away was this...If you put so many young, stoned and or drunk kids in one place, anarchy results. Young males are famous for having little to no "impulse control " and Woodstock was just that multiplied by the hundreds of thousands. I also learned what it feels like to be a "outsider " in America. Why was my little 61 VW bug trashed ? A Canadian flag decal on the back window, and Ontario plates. With no effective law enforcement, anything could and DID happen. A vision of hell, that I won't ever forget. JimB.
 
jimintoronto said:
Yes it was a big let down in so many ways for the 3 of us. For myself and Roger Clarke this experience certainly affected our point of view about Americans. On the other hand, Bruce Beddie spent about ten years living in California , becoming very well known as an air brush artist in the Kustom Kar world. Bruce travelled with a number of car show tours doing custom air brush T shirts and he made a very good living while seeing a lot of the country. When he eventually returned to live in Toronto, he used his hot rod business connections to start Performance Improvements which became one of the top Canadian speed shops for more than 30 years. R.I.P Bruce Beddie 2019.

For me, my take away was this...If you put so many young, stoned and or drunk kids in one place, anarchy results. Young males are famous for having little to no "impulse control " and Woodstock was just that multiplied by the hundreds of thousands. I also learned what it feels like to be a "outsider " in America. Why was my little 61 VW bug trashed ? A Canadian flag decal on the back window, and Ontario plates. With no effective law enforcement, anything could and DID happen. A vision of hell, that I won't ever forget. JimB.
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Interesting that we have a common thread. It's a thin one, but my dad was the chief mechanic on a NASCAR racing team all through the 60s and 70s. Bouncy, buzzy, kind of funky looking speed-demons called super-modified hardtops. I made all the hand-painted posters for these annual car shows that his race team entered; the Autorama and all the Sacramento Speedway and Autumn Nights shows.

Ed Roth-inspired, hand-painted posters had become a tradition at these shows. At the first one that displayed my artwork, a few independent car owners asked my dad "Who painted your signs?" and I started making posters for them, too. This was my spring through summer job for a few years. It was pretty good money for a high school kid.

Like you, I'm guessing your VW was picked on because it was Canadian. That's the only thing that stood out about it, right? But it could have been Mexican, so it wasn't about Canada; it was fired-up young Americans thinking they owned the hippie movement and forgetting it was about Peace and Love. That's what I think, anyway.

Shame, that. And, yeah; RIP to your friend, man. Sounds like an interesting life; very contemporary to the period.
 
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Murrmurr said:
Interesting that we have a common thread. It's a thin one, but my dad was the chief mechanic on a NASCAR racing team all through the 60s and 70s. Bouncy, buzzy, kind of funky looking speed-demons called super-modified hardtops. I made all the hand-painted posters for these annual car shows that his race team entered; the Autorama and all the Sacramento Speedway and Autumn Nights shows.

Ed Roth-inspired, hand-painted posters had become a tradition at these shows. At the first one that displayed my posters, a few independent car owners asked my dad "Who painted your signs?" and I started making posters for them, too. This was my spring through summer job for a few years. It was pretty good money for a high school kid.

Like you, I'm guessing your VW was picked on because it was Canadian. That's the only thing that stood out about it, right? But it could have been Mexican, so it wasn't about Canada; it was fired-up young Americans thinking they owned the hippie movement and forgetting it was about Peace and Love. That's what I think, anyway.

Shame, that. And, yeah; RIP to your friend, man. Sounds like an interesting life; very contemporary to the period.
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Wow, we do have a few things in common. My buddy Bruce Beddie was a talented air brush artist. I raced local oval tracks in the 80's with the Canadian Vintage Modifieds club around the southern Ontario tracks. One of my other friends was Dave Law, who was known as "Part Timer " for his car lettering skills and distinctive color schemes on race cars. He lettered my car and dozens of others.

One of the annual road trips with the Vintage Modifieds club was the three race week end in Michigan on the Canada Day, or the 4th of July weekend. The first race was on the Friday night at Kalamazoo, Saturday night at Spartan Speedway, and Sunday afternoon at Flat Rock, near the Detroit bridge crossing. We used to be able to have a 24 car field at these US tracks, which the promoters loved, as we were a totally different type of car, all coupes and coaches not the usual Camaros or Chevelles. Being paid in US dollars was nice, too.

Sadly, now the CVM club is down to just 11 cars, and they no longer travel, racing at just one track, 8 times a year. They have priced themselves out of the market now. Too expensive, and too little prize money. To build a CVM from the ground up will cost at least $25k now. No wonder oval track racing is dying at the local level. Jimb.
 
The most hippie-like thing about me back then was that I departed from my parent's political views and religious beliefs, grew a mustache, and stopped going to the barber. That's it.

I didn't drop acid with my friends, and when they passed the joint to me, I just passed it on. Half of them were too messed up to notice I didn't take a hit.

But the hippie movement wasn't just about drugs and free love and day-glow colors. It was a political movement. I totally agreed with the equal rights part, but I thought the rest of it was pure rubbish.
 

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