Excerpt from The Woodstock Conspiracy
Chapter 1
Sullivan County, New York
Thursday, August 14, 1969
"Are they giving us the finger?"
"It's not really us, sir. It's what the chopper represents to them."
“Are you a pilot or a philosopher, Captain?" Percy Arnold sounded aggravated. "This is the mother of all traffic jams and it hasn't even started yet. Look at this mess. It goes on for miles."
The helicopter flew north, parallel to the highway, from Stewart Air Force Base toward the small town of Bethel, New York. In the back, Percy and his companion, Jackson Davis, were observing the situation with more than casual interest. As Bethel appeared in the distance, the traffic below slowed and came to a stop. The expressway, exit ramps and secondary roads had become parking lots and footpaths.
“When you get to Bethel, follow the traffic towards the festival site. Let’s see where the bottleneck is,” ordered Colonel Snyder riding up front in the co-pilot's seat. Snyder was in charge of the New York National Guard contingent that had been put on alert. Percy was wary of his real motives. He suspected Snyder had a hidden agenda of his own.
“Roger that, Colonel,” replied the pilot.
The helicopter banked to the right and the festival site came into view in the distance. The Colonel stared at his map for a moment and told the pilot, “Follow that road right there. Where that line of cars are stopped.” He pointed at the ground for the pilot. “That’s Hurd road. Should take us right to the heart of this bullshit.”
“Yes, sir,” replied the pilot.
“Slow this thing down so we can see something. There’s no one shooting at us...at least not yet.”
The two men in the back of the helicopter laughed nervously and glanced at each other. Unlike the Colonel, both had taken fire while riding in a Huey. Percy had been in plenty of Hueys in Vietnam but was never comfortable traveling in one. He had seen too many helicopter carcasses, burned and broken on the ground. Percy tried not to think about it, it was all in God's hands anyway.
“They were supposed to have adequate parking for the crowd. Multiple lots with shuttles to the festival. That’s what the State Police coordinator told me,” Snyder explained. “Guess he forgot to tell me they’d be using the thruway for a parking lot.”
Jackson was hanging out the door to get a better look. He had a grin across his face and his mirrored sunglasses reflected the passing landscape below. It was the most fun he’d had in a long time. His new boss, Percy, smiled thinking he looked like a dog hanging its head out a car window.
“Right there, there!” Jackson shouted as he pointed at two police cars blocking the road. “Hover here so we can get a look,” he said excitedly to the pilot. “There’s the problem!” he shouted. “What are they doing?”
“It’s a roadblock. Looks like they’re searching cars,” said the pilot.
“What the fuck! Do they think they’re going to search everyone? Can you get those dumb motherfuckers on the radio, Captain?” shouted Snyder.
“Negative that, sir. Radios aren’t compatible.”
“Great, that’ll make things easier,” Snyder said sarcastically. Percy thought he should have handled the communications problem a week ago if he really knew what he was doing.
The cops on the ground stopped their searches and waved to the men in the helicopter. They waited in vain for a response and, receiving none, went back to searching one of the few hapless individuals from the crowd to be arrested for drugs.
Jackson shook his head no. “It’s not going to make any difference if they remove that roadblock now. It’s too late, Colonel, the horse is out of the barn. People are abandoning their cars on the road and walking,” Jackson said as he leaned out the open door and pointed in the direction of Bethel. He turned to Percy, “How big of a crowd are they expecting?”
“According to my intell, about 120,000. There were 200,000 in Atlanta last month and 100,000 in Atlantic City a few weeks ago. They’ve been popping up all over this summer. Now this.” Percy shrugged his shoulders. "It’s been growing exponentially every year since Monterey.”
“I remember that one. A few years ago, wasn’t it? I read about it somewhere.” said Jackson.
“It was the first real rock festival. That’s when I was assigned to keep an eye on things...back in the spring of sixty-seven.” Percy was distracted as he watched a group of people tearing the fence down in plain sight of the cops manning the roadblock. "Look! There! They're tearing down the fence," he said and pointed at the fence as it collapsed under the weight of the crowd. They watched as people poured through the gap. It became bigger and soon there was no sign of the fence, only a steady movement of people entering the festival grounds, the official gate abandoned. The security breach went unnoticed by the cops intent on searching the cars.
"Not to worry. They probably all got tickets," observed Jackson.
“It’s just a matter of time before this gets out of control,” said Snyder. "We need to do something."
Percy looked down at the cars and back at Jackson, “That’s why we’re here, Colonel...to keep things from getting out of control.” It wasn’t the crowd that worried Percy, it was the Colonel. Percy suspected he had the potential and desire to turn the festival into a bloodbath.
Jackson looked out over the festival site, and thought that it was probably already too late, but kept his opinion to himself. He had reported to Percy the day before, and there hadn’t been time for a real briefing before they left Langley. Jackson decided it was better to keep his mouth shut until he knew what was going on.
The Colonel twisted in his seat to face Percy. “We could have it cleared by noon tomorrow if we act immediately,” Snyder said hopefully. "I've got troops standing by. They're good men. They'll get the job done. You can count on that."
Percy looked him in the eye and snarled, “That’s not our decision now, is it, Colonel? My orders are to observe and report. Nothing more.” He knew the Colonel was anxious to call up the guard, but Percy was even more determined to keep the peace.
Snyder backed down. The Colonel wasn’t sure who Percy was or represented, but he had been made to understand that he was in charge. The two civilians had presented the identification of Federal Marshalls, but he thought that it was probably a cover. Snyder noted that even Nelson Rockefeller had deferred to him at their initial teleconference. Whoever Percy Arnold was, he had powerful friends.
Jackson looked at Snyder, who had gone back to staring at his map, and realized he was thinking about tactics and strategy. Jackson’s first impressions of the man were that he was impulsive, reckless and not particularly bright. Bad qualities for a leader. Percy would have to rein in the Colonel before he could turn a simple disaster into a bloody confrontation of historic proportions.
“Captain, circle the site slowly and then take us back to Stewart,” instructed Percy.
"Colonel?" the pilot asked.
"Do as Mr. Arnold says, Captain."
“Yes, sir.”
From the air, Jackson could see crews working to complete the stage. The perimeter fence was unfinished and there appeared to be no real provisions for selling or collecting tickets. Foot traffic was moving down every road in the area, converging on the site. To the west of the stage area, tents were popping up and caravans of brightly painted school buses took root.
As they completed their tour of the festival site, the pilot asked Percy, "Is that all...uh, Mr. Arnold? Anything else you want to look at, sir?"
"No, Captain. Take her back to Stewart now."
"Yes, sir."
He turned the Huey towards Stewart and Jackson felt the chopper accelerate. The noise made conversation difficult and the men were quiet on the return flight. Percy was scribbling notes and Colonel Snyder quietly plotted his strategy by tracing phantom troop movements on the map with his finger.
Jackson stared out at the passing countryside below, his arms resting across his chest. He turned to Percy and said, “What’s it called?”
“What’s that?”
“What’s this thing called? You know, this thing we just flew over.”
“Woodstock."
"It's not really us, sir. It's what the chopper represents to them."
“Are you a pilot or a philosopher, Captain?" Percy Arnold sounded aggravated. "This is the mother of all traffic jams and it hasn't even started yet. Look at this mess. It goes on for miles."
The helicopter flew north, parallel to the highway, from Stewart Air Force Base toward the small town of Bethel, New York. In the back, Percy and his companion, Jackson Davis, were observing the situation with more than casual interest. As Bethel appeared in the distance, the traffic below slowed and came to a stop. The expressway, exit ramps and secondary roads had become parking lots and footpaths.
“When you get to Bethel, follow the traffic towards the festival site. Let’s see where the bottleneck is,” ordered Colonel Snyder riding up front in the co-pilot's seat. Snyder was in charge of the New York National Guard contingent that had been put on alert. Percy was wary of his real motives. He suspected Snyder had a hidden agenda of his own.
“Roger that, Colonel,” replied the pilot.
The helicopter banked to the right and the festival site came into view in the distance. The Colonel stared at his map for a moment and told the pilot, “Follow that road right there. Where that line of cars are stopped.” He pointed at the ground for the pilot. “That’s Hurd road. Should take us right to the heart of this bullshit.”
“Yes, sir,” replied the pilot.
“Slow this thing down so we can see something. There’s no one shooting at us...at least not yet.”
The two men in the back of the helicopter laughed nervously and glanced at each other. Unlike the Colonel, both had taken fire while riding in a Huey. Percy had been in plenty of Hueys in Vietnam but was never comfortable traveling in one. He had seen too many helicopter carcasses, burned and broken on the ground. Percy tried not to think about it, it was all in God's hands anyway.
“They were supposed to have adequate parking for the crowd. Multiple lots with shuttles to the festival. That’s what the State Police coordinator told me,” Snyder explained. “Guess he forgot to tell me they’d be using the thruway for a parking lot.”
Jackson was hanging out the door to get a better look. He had a grin across his face and his mirrored sunglasses reflected the passing landscape below. It was the most fun he’d had in a long time. His new boss, Percy, smiled thinking he looked like a dog hanging its head out a car window.
“Right there, there!” Jackson shouted as he pointed at two police cars blocking the road. “Hover here so we can get a look,” he said excitedly to the pilot. “There’s the problem!” he shouted. “What are they doing?”
“It’s a roadblock. Looks like they’re searching cars,” said the pilot.
“What the fuck! Do they think they’re going to search everyone? Can you get those dumb motherfuckers on the radio, Captain?” shouted Snyder.
“Negative that, sir. Radios aren’t compatible.”
“Great, that’ll make things easier,” Snyder said sarcastically. Percy thought he should have handled the communications problem a week ago if he really knew what he was doing.
The cops on the ground stopped their searches and waved to the men in the helicopter. They waited in vain for a response and, receiving none, went back to searching one of the few hapless individuals from the crowd to be arrested for drugs.
Jackson shook his head no. “It’s not going to make any difference if they remove that roadblock now. It’s too late, Colonel, the horse is out of the barn. People are abandoning their cars on the road and walking,” Jackson said as he leaned out the open door and pointed in the direction of Bethel. He turned to Percy, “How big of a crowd are they expecting?”
“According to my intell, about 120,000. There were 200,000 in Atlanta last month and 100,000 in Atlantic City a few weeks ago. They’ve been popping up all over this summer. Now this.” Percy shrugged his shoulders. "It’s been growing exponentially every year since Monterey.”
“I remember that one. A few years ago, wasn’t it? I read about it somewhere.” said Jackson.
“It was the first real rock festival. That’s when I was assigned to keep an eye on things...back in the spring of sixty-seven.” Percy was distracted as he watched a group of people tearing the fence down in plain sight of the cops manning the roadblock. "Look! There! They're tearing down the fence," he said and pointed at the fence as it collapsed under the weight of the crowd. They watched as people poured through the gap. It became bigger and soon there was no sign of the fence, only a steady movement of people entering the festival grounds, the official gate abandoned. The security breach went unnoticed by the cops intent on searching the cars.
"Not to worry. They probably all got tickets," observed Jackson.
“It’s just a matter of time before this gets out of control,” said Snyder. "We need to do something."
Percy looked down at the cars and back at Jackson, “That’s why we’re here, Colonel...to keep things from getting out of control.” It wasn’t the crowd that worried Percy, it was the Colonel. Percy suspected he had the potential and desire to turn the festival into a bloodbath.
Jackson looked out over the festival site, and thought that it was probably already too late, but kept his opinion to himself. He had reported to Percy the day before, and there hadn’t been time for a real briefing before they left Langley. Jackson decided it was better to keep his mouth shut until he knew what was going on.
The Colonel twisted in his seat to face Percy. “We could have it cleared by noon tomorrow if we act immediately,” Snyder said hopefully. "I've got troops standing by. They're good men. They'll get the job done. You can count on that."
Percy looked him in the eye and snarled, “That’s not our decision now, is it, Colonel? My orders are to observe and report. Nothing more.” He knew the Colonel was anxious to call up the guard, but Percy was even more determined to keep the peace.
Snyder backed down. The Colonel wasn’t sure who Percy was or represented, but he had been made to understand that he was in charge. The two civilians had presented the identification of Federal Marshalls, but he thought that it was probably a cover. Snyder noted that even Nelson Rockefeller had deferred to him at their initial teleconference. Whoever Percy Arnold was, he had powerful friends.
Jackson looked at Snyder, who had gone back to staring at his map, and realized he was thinking about tactics and strategy. Jackson’s first impressions of the man were that he was impulsive, reckless and not particularly bright. Bad qualities for a leader. Percy would have to rein in the Colonel before he could turn a simple disaster into a bloody confrontation of historic proportions.
“Captain, circle the site slowly and then take us back to Stewart,” instructed Percy.
"Colonel?" the pilot asked.
"Do as Mr. Arnold says, Captain."
“Yes, sir.”
From the air, Jackson could see crews working to complete the stage. The perimeter fence was unfinished and there appeared to be no real provisions for selling or collecting tickets. Foot traffic was moving down every road in the area, converging on the site. To the west of the stage area, tents were popping up and caravans of brightly painted school buses took root.
As they completed their tour of the festival site, the pilot asked Percy, "Is that all...uh, Mr. Arnold? Anything else you want to look at, sir?"
"No, Captain. Take her back to Stewart now."
"Yes, sir."
He turned the Huey towards Stewart and Jackson felt the chopper accelerate. The noise made conversation difficult and the men were quiet on the return flight. Percy was scribbling notes and Colonel Snyder quietly plotted his strategy by tracing phantom troop movements on the map with his finger.
Jackson stared out at the passing countryside below, his arms resting across his chest. He turned to Percy and said, “What’s it called?”
“What’s that?”
“What’s this thing called? You know, this thing we just flew over.”
“Woodstock."
# # # #
Before Percy Arnold joined the company, he had been a captain in Army Intelligence. Percy had been grievously wounded four years earlier in a fragging incident at a firebase close to the Laotian border. The wounds ended his military career. Two other men in the bunker were less fortunate, they both died instantly. Percy was med-evaced to Chu Lai to stabilize before being flown back to the States for additional surgery and rehab at a VA hospital. He had been with the Central Intelligence Agency since his recovery and discharge. He had been given the project dubbed Minstrels soon after joining the agency in 1967. Percy immersed himself in his assignment even though his supervisor, Dick Onan, considered it no more than busy work, and of no special importance. The agency was busy fighting communism all over the world, it was hard to get excited about a bunch of kids and rock musicians. Percy walked with a slight limp and he had a metal plate in his head that he blamed for his headaches. He refused to look at it as a handicap, Percy was in excellent condition for a man of thirty-nine. Tall and lanky, he had run cross country at the Naval Academy, but he now prided himself on being a champion arm wrestler. His thinning, sandy brown hair betrayed a boyish face that seesawed between joyful enthusiasm and grim determination. Percy had voted for both Eisenhower and Nixon with conviction and his favorite movie was I'm a Yankee Doodle Dandy with James Cagney. There was no mistaking his loyalties.
Around the company he was known as a Bible thumping, commie killer. During his long recuperation he had found and embraced Jesus, whom he credited for his survival. A few of his co-workers empathized with him, but most avoided him and his compulsive need to proselytize. If Percy had noticed, it hadn't changed his behavior. People still reversed direction when they saw him coming down the hall. Better to take the long way home than to endure one of Percy's sermons.
Back at Stewart, the men stood around a table looking at a map of the Bethel area in a sparsely-furnished conference room. The walls were institutional green and the white ceiling tiles were stained by years of cigarette smoke. It was hot and humid. The windows were open but there was no breeze to stir the stale air.
“Colonel, are you in direct communication with the organizers of the festival?” asked Percy.
“Well, no. Not direct.”
Percy sat down and scribbled something on his pad. “So you’re getting all your intell from the State Police. Is that right?”
Colonel Snyder seemed uncomfortable with the question. “Yes, I’m maintaining communications with their command post.”
"Do you have anyone on site or at the command post acting as an observer or participant?" asked Percy.
"Well…no. I didn't think it was necessary."
“Have you talked to the festival organizers at all?” asked Percy, exasperated.
“Well,” he hesitated, “not really. I’ve been leaving that up to the State Police. They’ve been involved with this since the beginning.” Snyder began to fidget in his seat. "If there's anyone to blame for this mess, it's them."
"You don't seem to know much." Snyder turned red, but said nothing. Percy leaned the chair back until it touched the wall behind him. Jackson didn’t know Percy well, and was unsure how to read him. Percy closed his eyes as if he were about to nap and said nothing for a long, awkward minute. He leaned forward and brought the chair back to the floor with a bang. “So tell me, Colonel, you’ve given me an idea of what you think about the situation, if you were given carte blanche, knowing what we know now, what would you do?”
Snyder’s eyes sparkled and his face lit up. He was flattered that Percy was asking his opinion. Snyder was a Korean War vet who had never seen action. He had risen to his position by taking on a long string of administrative jobs no one else wanted. Snyder was nearing retirement and Percy sensed that he saw this as his last chance to lead troops into combat. Percy was determined that would never happen.
The three huddled over the map and Snyder pointed at a road that ran across the north end of the site. “Here on West Shore Drive we’ll set up a perimeter to prevent them from moving north. We’ll drive the crowd from the west, here at Perry Road, and swing our east flank here,” he said and pointed to an area east of the amphitheater, “to push them down Hurd Road here.”
Jackson thought for a moment and said, “Then what?”
“Well,” said Snyder as if caught off guard, but quickly recovering, “we drive them south towards the thruway.”
“And the town of Bethel. The locals will love that. A half million pissed off kids leveling their town. What if their cars are parked somewhere else?” asked Jackson. "You gonna open fire on them then?" Jackson said sarcastically.
Before Snyder could answer, Percy interrupted them and calmly said. “What happens if they panic? What if they resist? What's your plan then, Colonel?”
“Well, the troops will be armed, of course. We won't be taking any chances,” he replied smugly.
“With what?”
“The usual crowd control stuff, tear gas and bayonets. We’ve got some cops on horseback already on site. I think we're going to need more for a crowd this size.”
“And live ammo?” asked Percy.
“Well of course. You can’t ask those men to face a mob like that without the means of defending themselves.” Surprisingly, Percy said nothing and Snyder continued. “You remember what happened in Chicago last summer, don’t you? We don’t want that here in New York. These festivals draw the same sort that went to the convention to cause trouble. These kids are all the same. I can't tell them apart with all that hair.”
Percy knew the official party line about the events at the 1968 Democratic convention. He also knew most of the trouble had been caused by an out-of-control police department that had transformed into a brutal mob. Global media coverage of the riot had been harsh, and Nixon, in office only eight months, was determined there would be no debacles like that during his presidency. Percy was there on his behalf to make certain there were no more regrettable mistakes.
“Yes, I remember very well what happened there,” said Percy. “Were you there?”
“Well, uh...no,” muttered Snyder.
“How about you, Jackson?”
“No, I was in Saigon. All I know is what I read in Newsweek.”
“Well, I was there, and that didn’t have to happen. Daley lost control of his cops, plain and simple. Violence begets violence.” Percy picked up his vending machine cup of coffee, raised it to his lips and realized it was empty. He tossed it in the general direction of the trash can and missed. He turned and looked at Snyder long enough without talking to make him squirm. “Colonel, are you a student of history?”
“I’ve read some. Mostly back in college. Why?”
“Well, that would explain your ignorance, Colonel," said Percy shaking his head. "Large groups of people like those assembling at Woodstock can effect major political change without intent. This is the way revolutions start.”
Snyder was stung by Percy's remark but didn't challenge him. “What do you mean, 'This is the way revolutions start?'"
“In 1905, a large group of peasants gathered at the Czar’s winter palace to present him with a petition. It was a respectful and peaceful gathering until the troops assembled in front of the palace opened fire on the crowd. Many were killed instantly. Hundreds more were killed, wounded or injured in the stampede that started with the first shot. The ironic thing was...the Czar wasn’t even there. Those martyrs helped inspire the revolution of 1917. Lenin knew a propaganda opportunity when he saw one.” Percy was impressed by the Colonel’s ignorance but not surprised. “What do you think is going to happen if one of your young guardsmen gets scared and fires into the crowd? A similar incident, on a much smaller scale in Boston, started the events that led to the American Revolution. Colonel, do you want to start a revolution?"
Snyder was anxious to speak and nervously chewed his lip while Percy spoke. When he paused, the Colonel optimistically said, "No, no, of course not. I think I can keep the body count to a minimum, Percy.” He struggled to smile. "Really, I do," Snyder said quietly, with all the conviction he could muster.
Jackson looked at Percy, rolled his eyes and shook his head. Percy looked grim. “You see, that’s just it, Colonel Snyder, there’s not going to be any body count and there’s not going to be any armed troops. Do you understand me?” Percy shook his head. "Minimum body count? Even one casualty is one too many. These are Americans we're talking about here, not VC. They're the children of the men who fought World War Two."
“Yes, sir,” Snyder said unconvincingly, "I understand." If he appealed to the governor, surely he would understand the importance of acting quickly and decisively, he thought.
“I’ll make my recommendations to the governor’s office. I want you to get this communications problem straightened out immediately. I don't care what it takes. We need direct radio communications with the State Police, ASAP. Next, I recommend you start to coordinate your humanitarian aid efforts with the organizers and State Police.”
“Humanitarian aid?” questioned the Colonel.
“Did I stutter?” asked Percy. He turned his eyes upward and whispered, "Forgive me, Jesus," to apologize for his sarcasm. The Colonel was bringing out the worst in him. Percy had a low tolerance for ignorance and a growing dislike of the Colonel.
Snyder wasn’t used to sarcasm being directed at him and Percy was stomping on his dignity. He didn't like taking orders from civilians. He felt himself turning red and helpless to stop it. “No, sir.”
“As I was saying, they’re going to need humanitarian aid. We won’t know how much until the situation stabilizes and the crowd stops growing. Just off the top of my head, I’d say they’re going to need medical supplies, food, water and a field hospital at the bare minimum. Get some doctors in there. You find out who's in charge on the ground there and establish direct communications. We're going to need some more choppers to evacuate casualties...I mean medical emergencies. There better not be any casualties." Percy glared at Snyder.
"No, sir. No casualties."
"You’re not going to be able to get ambulances in and out of there. Communications and more choppers are your top priority.” Percy stared at Snyder for a moment wondering if he were going to be of any real help and said, “One more thing, Snyder, any troops sent to the site will be unarmed. You got that? Not so much as a pocketknife, do you understand me? We’re here to help, not start a revolution.”
Colonel Snyder said, “Yes, sir,” with resignation, but no enthusiasm. He was still pondering the concept of humanitarian aid. It wasn’t what he’d had in mind.
Percy looked at him with thinly veiled contempt, “Why are you still sitting here, Colonel? You’ve got a lot to do. Get someone over to the State Police Command Post ASAP and get this radio situation straightened out. Make some fucking calls, find some choppers, get your ass in gear! Am I clear?”
“Yes, sir!” he shouted in reply and stood at attention.
Percy had him so rattled he expected the Colonel to salute him next. "Well…why are you standing there, Colonel? Why are you still standing there?"
It had become obvious that the Fed disliked him. He quietly left the room, relieved to be dismissed. Jackson smiled, he disliked the Colonel the moment he met him and Percy had put him in his place. He felt bad for any subordinate Snyder was going to deal with. He wasn’t going to be pleasant after this ass chewing.
Percy had a slight smile on his face as he turned to Jackson, “Jackson, find someone who can guesstimate the size of that crowd for us and get him here fast. I want an evaluation tomorrow morning at first light and every two hours after that until it gets dark. Tell him to pack a toothbrush. He’s going to be here for the duration.”
"Got any ideas where to start?"
"Yeah, call Sevonen in Logistics. He'll be able to help you. Tell him it's for me. He owes me a favor."
“No problem, I’ll get right on it.” Jackson stood up and left the room.
An hour later, Jackson returned to their tired base of operations and looked in as he passed Snyder's office. Snyder looked agitated and was clearly talking to himself.
“Colonel, what’s going on?”
Snyder was startled and visibly jumped when Jackson addressed him. "Huh?"
“Did you have any luck with the additional choppers?”
“A couple of Hueys and a Chinook was all I could scare up. The Chinook’ll be here first thing in the morning from Buffalo. By 0700 at the latest.” He drummed his fingers nervously on the desktop and added, “It needed servicing of some sort. That's as quick as they can get it here. The Hueys are already in the air and on their way.”
"How about communications?"
"I have Captain Evans working on it."
“Good work, Colonel.” Jackson walked toward the door, turned and said, “I'll let Percy know." As Jackson walked down the hall, he thought he heard Snyder resume talking to himself and smiled.
Jackson was short and stocky with dark, almost beady eyes. At thirty, he was in exceptionally good shape. He had thick, curly, dark hair and his flattened nose was a reminder of his days in the ring. He was of average height but his build had earned him the nickname of “Stump” as a teenager. He was as tough to move as his nickname implied. Jackson could be counted on to do as he said.
He was glad to be back in the States. Eight years in intelligence had taken him all over the world and with the exception of a few short leaves; he hadn’t really been home in five years. He went to Saigon directly from Tehran. His wife had left him long ago, and he was uncertain where home even was. His things were in an extended stay hotel room the government paid for in Arlington. Everything he owned fit into two suitcases and a flight bag. Most of his discretionary income was spent in bars and liquor stores. He preferred the company of prostitutes because of the honesty of the relationship and his uncertain circumstances. The agency had become his surrogate family, there was no place in it for a wife.
Jackson went into the old conference room they were using for an office and found Percy relaxed, staring off into space. He nodded at Jackson and said, “Feel like a drink? I could use a Coke. They’ve got a good officer’s club here I understand.”
“So I’ve heard,” Jackson said with a smile. “Coke, huh? Hitting the hard stuff, Percy?"
"That's about it these days. It doesn't agree with me much anymore. How about it?" said Percy in an attempt to bond with his new subordinate.
"Okay, but just one, I think tomorrow is going to be a long day." As Percy rose to his feet, Jackson said, "The Colonel says the choppers are on their way."
Percy smiled, said, "Good," and chuckled. "At least he's not completely useless." Jackson smiled, but said nothing in reply. "Well, he won't be able to do much damage tonight. Let's go get that drink."
Jackson already knew he had little in common with Percy outside their mutual employment by the agency, but it would be foolish to alienate his new boss so early in their relationship. "Sounds good. Let's go."
Neither of the men could begin to imagine what lay ahead.
Around the company he was known as a Bible thumping, commie killer. During his long recuperation he had found and embraced Jesus, whom he credited for his survival. A few of his co-workers empathized with him, but most avoided him and his compulsive need to proselytize. If Percy had noticed, it hadn't changed his behavior. People still reversed direction when they saw him coming down the hall. Better to take the long way home than to endure one of Percy's sermons.
Back at Stewart, the men stood around a table looking at a map of the Bethel area in a sparsely-furnished conference room. The walls were institutional green and the white ceiling tiles were stained by years of cigarette smoke. It was hot and humid. The windows were open but there was no breeze to stir the stale air.
“Colonel, are you in direct communication with the organizers of the festival?” asked Percy.
“Well, no. Not direct.”
Percy sat down and scribbled something on his pad. “So you’re getting all your intell from the State Police. Is that right?”
Colonel Snyder seemed uncomfortable with the question. “Yes, I’m maintaining communications with their command post.”
"Do you have anyone on site or at the command post acting as an observer or participant?" asked Percy.
"Well…no. I didn't think it was necessary."
“Have you talked to the festival organizers at all?” asked Percy, exasperated.
“Well,” he hesitated, “not really. I’ve been leaving that up to the State Police. They’ve been involved with this since the beginning.” Snyder began to fidget in his seat. "If there's anyone to blame for this mess, it's them."
"You don't seem to know much." Snyder turned red, but said nothing. Percy leaned the chair back until it touched the wall behind him. Jackson didn’t know Percy well, and was unsure how to read him. Percy closed his eyes as if he were about to nap and said nothing for a long, awkward minute. He leaned forward and brought the chair back to the floor with a bang. “So tell me, Colonel, you’ve given me an idea of what you think about the situation, if you were given carte blanche, knowing what we know now, what would you do?”
Snyder’s eyes sparkled and his face lit up. He was flattered that Percy was asking his opinion. Snyder was a Korean War vet who had never seen action. He had risen to his position by taking on a long string of administrative jobs no one else wanted. Snyder was nearing retirement and Percy sensed that he saw this as his last chance to lead troops into combat. Percy was determined that would never happen.
The three huddled over the map and Snyder pointed at a road that ran across the north end of the site. “Here on West Shore Drive we’ll set up a perimeter to prevent them from moving north. We’ll drive the crowd from the west, here at Perry Road, and swing our east flank here,” he said and pointed to an area east of the amphitheater, “to push them down Hurd Road here.”
Jackson thought for a moment and said, “Then what?”
“Well,” said Snyder as if caught off guard, but quickly recovering, “we drive them south towards the thruway.”
“And the town of Bethel. The locals will love that. A half million pissed off kids leveling their town. What if their cars are parked somewhere else?” asked Jackson. "You gonna open fire on them then?" Jackson said sarcastically.
Before Snyder could answer, Percy interrupted them and calmly said. “What happens if they panic? What if they resist? What's your plan then, Colonel?”
“Well, the troops will be armed, of course. We won't be taking any chances,” he replied smugly.
“With what?”
“The usual crowd control stuff, tear gas and bayonets. We’ve got some cops on horseback already on site. I think we're going to need more for a crowd this size.”
“And live ammo?” asked Percy.
“Well of course. You can’t ask those men to face a mob like that without the means of defending themselves.” Surprisingly, Percy said nothing and Snyder continued. “You remember what happened in Chicago last summer, don’t you? We don’t want that here in New York. These festivals draw the same sort that went to the convention to cause trouble. These kids are all the same. I can't tell them apart with all that hair.”
Percy knew the official party line about the events at the 1968 Democratic convention. He also knew most of the trouble had been caused by an out-of-control police department that had transformed into a brutal mob. Global media coverage of the riot had been harsh, and Nixon, in office only eight months, was determined there would be no debacles like that during his presidency. Percy was there on his behalf to make certain there were no more regrettable mistakes.
“Yes, I remember very well what happened there,” said Percy. “Were you there?”
“Well, uh...no,” muttered Snyder.
“How about you, Jackson?”
“No, I was in Saigon. All I know is what I read in Newsweek.”
“Well, I was there, and that didn’t have to happen. Daley lost control of his cops, plain and simple. Violence begets violence.” Percy picked up his vending machine cup of coffee, raised it to his lips and realized it was empty. He tossed it in the general direction of the trash can and missed. He turned and looked at Snyder long enough without talking to make him squirm. “Colonel, are you a student of history?”
“I’ve read some. Mostly back in college. Why?”
“Well, that would explain your ignorance, Colonel," said Percy shaking his head. "Large groups of people like those assembling at Woodstock can effect major political change without intent. This is the way revolutions start.”
Snyder was stung by Percy's remark but didn't challenge him. “What do you mean, 'This is the way revolutions start?'"
“In 1905, a large group of peasants gathered at the Czar’s winter palace to present him with a petition. It was a respectful and peaceful gathering until the troops assembled in front of the palace opened fire on the crowd. Many were killed instantly. Hundreds more were killed, wounded or injured in the stampede that started with the first shot. The ironic thing was...the Czar wasn’t even there. Those martyrs helped inspire the revolution of 1917. Lenin knew a propaganda opportunity when he saw one.” Percy was impressed by the Colonel’s ignorance but not surprised. “What do you think is going to happen if one of your young guardsmen gets scared and fires into the crowd? A similar incident, on a much smaller scale in Boston, started the events that led to the American Revolution. Colonel, do you want to start a revolution?"
Snyder was anxious to speak and nervously chewed his lip while Percy spoke. When he paused, the Colonel optimistically said, "No, no, of course not. I think I can keep the body count to a minimum, Percy.” He struggled to smile. "Really, I do," Snyder said quietly, with all the conviction he could muster.
Jackson looked at Percy, rolled his eyes and shook his head. Percy looked grim. “You see, that’s just it, Colonel Snyder, there’s not going to be any body count and there’s not going to be any armed troops. Do you understand me?” Percy shook his head. "Minimum body count? Even one casualty is one too many. These are Americans we're talking about here, not VC. They're the children of the men who fought World War Two."
“Yes, sir,” Snyder said unconvincingly, "I understand." If he appealed to the governor, surely he would understand the importance of acting quickly and decisively, he thought.
“I’ll make my recommendations to the governor’s office. I want you to get this communications problem straightened out immediately. I don't care what it takes. We need direct radio communications with the State Police, ASAP. Next, I recommend you start to coordinate your humanitarian aid efforts with the organizers and State Police.”
“Humanitarian aid?” questioned the Colonel.
“Did I stutter?” asked Percy. He turned his eyes upward and whispered, "Forgive me, Jesus," to apologize for his sarcasm. The Colonel was bringing out the worst in him. Percy had a low tolerance for ignorance and a growing dislike of the Colonel.
Snyder wasn’t used to sarcasm being directed at him and Percy was stomping on his dignity. He didn't like taking orders from civilians. He felt himself turning red and helpless to stop it. “No, sir.”
“As I was saying, they’re going to need humanitarian aid. We won’t know how much until the situation stabilizes and the crowd stops growing. Just off the top of my head, I’d say they’re going to need medical supplies, food, water and a field hospital at the bare minimum. Get some doctors in there. You find out who's in charge on the ground there and establish direct communications. We're going to need some more choppers to evacuate casualties...I mean medical emergencies. There better not be any casualties." Percy glared at Snyder.
"No, sir. No casualties."
"You’re not going to be able to get ambulances in and out of there. Communications and more choppers are your top priority.” Percy stared at Snyder for a moment wondering if he were going to be of any real help and said, “One more thing, Snyder, any troops sent to the site will be unarmed. You got that? Not so much as a pocketknife, do you understand me? We’re here to help, not start a revolution.”
Colonel Snyder said, “Yes, sir,” with resignation, but no enthusiasm. He was still pondering the concept of humanitarian aid. It wasn’t what he’d had in mind.
Percy looked at him with thinly veiled contempt, “Why are you still sitting here, Colonel? You’ve got a lot to do. Get someone over to the State Police Command Post ASAP and get this radio situation straightened out. Make some fucking calls, find some choppers, get your ass in gear! Am I clear?”
“Yes, sir!” he shouted in reply and stood at attention.
Percy had him so rattled he expected the Colonel to salute him next. "Well…why are you standing there, Colonel? Why are you still standing there?"
It had become obvious that the Fed disliked him. He quietly left the room, relieved to be dismissed. Jackson smiled, he disliked the Colonel the moment he met him and Percy had put him in his place. He felt bad for any subordinate Snyder was going to deal with. He wasn’t going to be pleasant after this ass chewing.
Percy had a slight smile on his face as he turned to Jackson, “Jackson, find someone who can guesstimate the size of that crowd for us and get him here fast. I want an evaluation tomorrow morning at first light and every two hours after that until it gets dark. Tell him to pack a toothbrush. He’s going to be here for the duration.”
"Got any ideas where to start?"
"Yeah, call Sevonen in Logistics. He'll be able to help you. Tell him it's for me. He owes me a favor."
“No problem, I’ll get right on it.” Jackson stood up and left the room.
An hour later, Jackson returned to their tired base of operations and looked in as he passed Snyder's office. Snyder looked agitated and was clearly talking to himself.
“Colonel, what’s going on?”
Snyder was startled and visibly jumped when Jackson addressed him. "Huh?"
“Did you have any luck with the additional choppers?”
“A couple of Hueys and a Chinook was all I could scare up. The Chinook’ll be here first thing in the morning from Buffalo. By 0700 at the latest.” He drummed his fingers nervously on the desktop and added, “It needed servicing of some sort. That's as quick as they can get it here. The Hueys are already in the air and on their way.”
"How about communications?"
"I have Captain Evans working on it."
“Good work, Colonel.” Jackson walked toward the door, turned and said, “I'll let Percy know." As Jackson walked down the hall, he thought he heard Snyder resume talking to himself and smiled.
Jackson was short and stocky with dark, almost beady eyes. At thirty, he was in exceptionally good shape. He had thick, curly, dark hair and his flattened nose was a reminder of his days in the ring. He was of average height but his build had earned him the nickname of “Stump” as a teenager. He was as tough to move as his nickname implied. Jackson could be counted on to do as he said.
He was glad to be back in the States. Eight years in intelligence had taken him all over the world and with the exception of a few short leaves; he hadn’t really been home in five years. He went to Saigon directly from Tehran. His wife had left him long ago, and he was uncertain where home even was. His things were in an extended stay hotel room the government paid for in Arlington. Everything he owned fit into two suitcases and a flight bag. Most of his discretionary income was spent in bars and liquor stores. He preferred the company of prostitutes because of the honesty of the relationship and his uncertain circumstances. The agency had become his surrogate family, there was no place in it for a wife.
Jackson went into the old conference room they were using for an office and found Percy relaxed, staring off into space. He nodded at Jackson and said, “Feel like a drink? I could use a Coke. They’ve got a good officer’s club here I understand.”
“So I’ve heard,” Jackson said with a smile. “Coke, huh? Hitting the hard stuff, Percy?"
"That's about it these days. It doesn't agree with me much anymore. How about it?" said Percy in an attempt to bond with his new subordinate.
"Okay, but just one, I think tomorrow is going to be a long day." As Percy rose to his feet, Jackson said, "The Colonel says the choppers are on their way."
Percy smiled, said, "Good," and chuckled. "At least he's not completely useless." Jackson smiled, but said nothing in reply. "Well, he won't be able to do much damage tonight. Let's go get that drink."
Jackson already knew he had little in common with Percy outside their mutual employment by the agency, but it would be foolish to alienate his new boss so early in their relationship. "Sounds good. Let's go."
Neither of the men could begin to imagine what lay ahead.
Friday, August 15, 1969
Friday morning was unusually foggy for August, but the infrared aerial surveillance photos of the site plainly indicated that the crowd had grown far beyond the promoter’s expectations. Percy’s crowd expert went up after the fog had cleared, located some reference points to determine density and after some quick calculations on a legal pad, said he thought the crowd exceeded 200,000 and was still growing at an aggressive rate. He said he would be able to come closer after studying the photos but insisted there was no way to arrive at a precise figure and that his estimates were just that, estimates. The influx of festival goers wasn’t expected to peak until early Saturday evening when another photo recon flight was scheduled just before nightfall. Percy and Jackson examined the photos closely and sent an abbreviated set to Rockefeller’s staff in Albany. At Snyder’s urging, one of Rockefeller’s aides called the site at 7:00 AM and warned that it would soon be declared in a state of emergency. The young staffer who answered the phone at the site assured them there was no need. From her vantage point, the entire hillside was covered with happy, sleeping people. It was hardly the makings of an insurrection.
Percy found out about the call when the State Police Commander called him, concerned that Snyder was over-reacting to the situation. He agreed with Percy that the Colonel was a loose cannon. Percy needed to stop Snyder and defuse the situation before it was too late. He called Langley, briefed the deputy director of the situation with Colonel Snyder and was assured the problem would be immediately dealt with from the top.
Jackson and Percy were discussing priorities with the logistics officers and their aides when Colonel Snyder walked into the conference room. Percy stopped talking and the room went silent. He looked up and studied Snyder for a moment. He looked disheveled and distraught. "Were you behind the phone call to the organizers at the festival site this morning? You know, whoever warned them it was going to be declared in a state of emergency?"
Snyder winced as if he had been slapped and turned red. "I reported to a member of the governor's staff what I've seen here and what I think needs to be done if that's what you mean. That's my duty."
Jackson saw Percy turn more crimson than Snyder, his nostrils flared in anger. He slammed his coffee cup on the table and bellowed at the hapless Colonel, "Do you know who's in charge here, Colonel Snyder?"
"Why I believe you are, Mr. Arnold."
Percy turned to see Nelson Rockefeller and several men walk into the room. All the men in uniform jumped to their feet and stood at attention. One of Rockefeller's entourage, a tall, stern looking man, wore the uniform of a New York National Guard Brigadier General. The Governor looked around the room and said, "At ease, gentlemen." Rockefeller turned to the Colonel, smiled and said, “You're not going to have a problem with this Colonel Snyder, are you? I spoke to the President this morning. He has every confidence in Mr. Arnold, and that's good enough for me."
Snyder glared at the governor, and angrily said, “You know I don’t agree with him, sir. He’s just asking for trouble. What do we need the feds for anyhow? We can take care of this without them, sir. I mean who is this guy to tell us what to do? Seriously! Tell him to go back to Washington. We don't need him in New York! I can handle this, sir. Really I can.”
Rockefeller looked at the Colonel, and calmly said, “Okay, that’s enough, Colonel Snyder. You’re relieved of command, effective immediately. General Terry will take over for now.” The governor walked over to Percy, shook his hand and said, "Hello, Mr. Arnold, it's a pleasure to meet you at last. The President tells me good things about you."
"Thank you, sir. That's always nice to hear." Percy had never met the President, but was still suitably impressed by his alleged endorsement.
Rockefeller turned back to the room, raised his voice and asked, “Did everybody hear that? Does anyone else want to join Colonel Snyder?” Rockefeller scanned the room but there were no takers and he said, “Good, that’s what I thought.” Percy had to admit, Rockefeller had a commanding presence. “I expect everyone to follow his orders…without hesitation.” Rockefeller looked around the room and asked, “Any questions?” Before anyone could say anything, the governor said, “Good.” He turned back to Percy and said, "I don't think you'll have any more problems, Mr. Arnold." Rockefeller glanced at the uniformed man standing next to him and said, "Mr. Arnold, this is General Terry, I think you'll find he's much easier to work with."
Percy offered his hand and said "Pleased to meet you, General."
"Likewise, Mr. Arnold."
Percy could tell immediately that Terry was going to be easier to deal with than Snyder had been.
An aide whispered something in the governor's ear and Rockefeller said, "Gentlemen, I have another commitment, so I hope you'll excuse me. I need to leave." He glanced at his watch and added, "Immediately."
Percy smiled and thought if nothing else, Nelson Rockefeller was a consummate politician. He had swept into the room, taken command, issued orders, delegated authority and left, all within a few minutes.
"So, Mr. Arnold, how can I help you?" asked the general.
Percy smiled and said, "Let's find someplace we can talk."
Before they could leave the room, one of the governor’s aides walked up to Colonel Snyder who looked lost and said with a big grin, “Don, hi. My name's Ted Preston, I work for the Governor. Could you please come with me?”
“It's Colonel Snyder, to you," he said indignantly.
"Not anymore it isn't, Don," Preston said with a chuckle. "You've been relieved of command. The governor thinks this might be a good time for you to retire."
Snyder said, “What? Who the hell are you to give me orders?”
“It doesn't matter who I am. The governor has instructed me to discuss your options with you. Do you understand? You can leave those papers here for now. Please, come along. We have a lot to talk about.” His voice was calm and assured. "This doesn't have to be unpleasant unless you would prefer it that way."
“What have we got to talk about?”
“Why your future, of course.” The man put his arm around Snyder’s shoulder trying to put him at ease and they began to walk towards the door. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do in retirement, Don? Do you like to fish? Do you like to play golf?”
As the two men left the conference room, Terry smiled at Percy and said, "Thanks, I owe you. I've been trying to get rid of that pain in the ass for years. You did it with one phone call. You must know some powerful people."
Percy laughed, "No problem. It was my pleasure."
General Terry became serious and said, "So what's the situation?"
"This thing is going to be over before you know it. Based on what I've seen at other festivals, Monterey, Newport, there's nothing to worry about. When it's over they'll just go home, tired and happy. This thing is just bigger than the others is all."
"Snyder wanted to call up the troops. He gave me the indication we were about to face a major civil insurrection, if not a full-blown revolution. He called me first thing this morning, ranting about armor and sufficient air support. I thought he'd gone off the deep end. I wasn't surprised when the governor called. I was just about to call him."
"Well, we don't have to worry about him anymore."
"How can I help you?" asked the General.
"Your Major Bonet is handling logistics here at Stewart. He's already got a field hospital set up and the choppers are bringing in fresh water and food."
"Good. I know him. He's a good man."
"He's doing a great job, so far. Best thing we can do is just let him continue doing his job and support him any way we can." Percy rubbed his eyes. He was tired and the smoke filled room irritated them. "Our highest priority right now is preparing for the egress of the crowd. There are so many abandoned cars on the highways and roads it's impossible."
"Start a massive towing effort?"
"Yeah, I think so. We need to open up the roads. We need to get some gas tankers into the area to resupply the gas stations. Their tanks are all bone dry. A lot of these cars ran out of gas," said Percy.
"I'll co-ordinate this with the State Police. We'll set up a couple of fields as impound lots. We'll get every tow truck in the state if we have to, but we'll get it cleaned up. When we're ready, I'll have the State Police escort the tankers in."
"Have them make a stage announcement. Tell the crowd that if they left their car someplace it might be towed, it probably has been. Get some signs up directing them to the impound lots," said Percy, thinking out loud.
"We're going to need some MP's to supplement the local authorities for traffic control. We want to get them out of here in a more orderly fashion than when they arrived. That's going to be an around the clock operation, we need to be ready for it by late Saturday afternoon."
"No problem, Mr. Arnold. I'll put that in motion immediately."
"Good. Anyhow…you know what to do, General. I have confidence in you."
"Thanks, Mr. Arnold. We'll do our best."
"Good luck to you."
"Same to you," said the General as both men rose to their feet. They shook hands and parted company.
Percy thought that with a little bit of luck they might get through the weekend without any major tragedies. Now that Snyder was gone, he had more confidence that there just might be a happy ending after all.
Chapter 2
Liberty, New York
Friday, August 15, 1969
“What do you mean, ‘later’?” he asked.
Marla got out of the Mustang in front of the Liberty, New York, Holiday Inn just before dark. The driver was leaning over the console glaring at her. His long greasy hair was combed straight back. He wore black jeans, a tight white t-shirt and surveyor’s boots. He wasn’t Marla’s type, but he did have a fast car, gas money and they had made it to Liberty in record time, and in one piece. He had served his purpose.
She grabbed her bag from the back seat and shut the door. “I mean later. Thanks for the ride. This is as far as you and I go.”
“Just like that?” he asked. He knew he was way out of his league when she talked him into driving her to New York from Detroit, but he found her incredibly persuasive. It gave him an opportunity to show off his new Mustang GT.
“Yeah, just like that. Did you think we were checking in for Christ’s sake?” said Marla getting angry. “You gave me a ride. Thanks! I’m meeting friends here. Got it?”
“Who do you know here?!”
“Jimi Hendrix!! What do you care?”
“Yeah, right, you bitch!” Angrily, the man she knew only as Danny the Greaser accepted the fact that he had been used, put the car into first gear and burned the tires pulling out of the parking lot. It was going to be a long, lonely ride back to Detroit.
“Asshole!” Marla muttered under her breath as she strode towards the entrance of the hotel. She entered the lobby and went directly to the restroom. She carefully touched up her make-up and brushed her long dark hair until it shimmered. She smiled at herself in the mirror. She had that trim, slightly wicked, girl-next-door look that attracted men and occasionally women. As she admired her reflection, Janis Joplin walked in behind her.
“You’re just pretty enough to eat now, aren’t you, honey?” Janis said in her unique, squeaky voice.
“Hi, Pearl,” said Marla with a smile. “That’s nice of you to say. It’s been a long time.”
Janis straightened up and looked closer at Marla. “Do we know each other, honey? I’ve had a bit to drink today and I’m not seeing so good, right now.”
“Not really. I partied with the band a few times at Winterland. It was over a year ago, now. I don’t live in Frisco anymore.”
“Well, where do you live?”
“Right here, I guess.”
Janis laughed out loud and said, “Well, there ain’t nothin’ like living in the moment now, is there? Let Pearl take care of business here, and I’ll introduce you to some of the boys. They’re a friendly bunch, mostly.”
When Janis came out of the stall, she washed her hands and fussed with her hair. She smiled at her reflection and put her arm around Marla. “Don’t we look grand?” she cackled. “Now let’s get us a drink and break some hearts. What did you say your name was again, honey?”
“Marla.”
“Well, Marla, everybody, and I do mean everybody, is here. Let’s go have us some fun.”
Marla and Janis walked into the lounge together. At the end of the bar sat Grace Slick and Marty Balin having an animated discussion. Jerry Garcia and Paul Kantner sat playing guitar in the corner, oblivious to their surroundings. Marla was surprised to see Bill Graham sitting by himself, looking sullen. There were little groups of musicians, roadies, groupies and out of place citizens packing the bar. Marla had never seen anything like this, so many big stars in the same place at the same time. It was unlikely this scene would ever be repeated.
As they approached the bar, Janis said to Marla, “What're you drinking, sweetie?”
“How about a screwdriver,” was all she could think to say. Marla was too young to be an experienced drinker.
“Barkeep! Give my friend here a screwdriver and use the good booze, not the bar booze. Give me a shot of Southern Comfort straight up and a beer chaser. Put that on my tab, sweet pants!” she laughed.
“Would you like a glass with that beer, miss?”
“Now, do I look like I need a glass, honey?” Janis leaned across the bar, rested her chin on her hand, peered over her glasses and smiled. "Why don't you just call me Pearl, like the rest of my friends."
"Okay, Pearl.” The bartender pulled a long necked bottle from the refrigerator and popped the cap off. He poured a generous amount of Southern Comfort into a glass and placed them both on the bar in front of Janis. Before he could start to make Marla’s screwdriver, Janis downed her shot with one gulp.
“Oww, wee!” she screeched and chased it with a hit from the beer. “Hit me again, sweetie!”
He poured another and said, “Anything else, uh…Pearl?”
“Not right now, honey, but you’re cute. I just might need some loving from you a little later. Don’t make yourself scarce. I’ll be back for you, sugar britches.”
The bartender smiled at her, but said nothing to encourage her. He had a wife and three children at home. “Should I put them both on your tab, Miss Joplin?”
“Please do, handsome, and give yourself a generous tip to hold you over until I get a chance to really thank you, you sweet thing, you,” she said with a wink.
The small town bartender was out of his element with this crowd of exotically dressed, fast spending, hard drinking musicians. He thought he smelled marijuana but never having smelled it before, he wasn’t sure. Something smelled strange but no one was going to investigate, no one really cared.
The bar wasn’t usually a hangout of the rich and famous. His only previous brush with fame was when Frank Sinatra passed through town. He and his entourage, had stopped for a drink. The Sinatra bunch was rude and demanding and left a paltry tip considering the level of service they demanded. These hippies were polite, fun and generous. They were loud, but there was no trouble, and they certainly weren’t condescending to him or any of the staff. All he had read about them in the papers and magazines seemed to be bullshit. They were neither drug addled or dirty. They just seemed intent on having a good time, which was exactly what they seemed to be doing.
Janis turned to Marla and said, “Honey, there’s a man I’ve just been dying to talk to over there. You won’t feel abandoned if I split for a little bit now, will you?”
“No, Pearl, it’s okay. Thanks for the drink,” she said sincerely.
“Have fun. I’ll catch up with you later.”
Marla sat at the bar and watched Janis walk over to a longhaired man whose back was to them. She placed her beer on a table and threw her arms around him. He turned and the two exchanged a long kiss. Janis began to talk excitedly and Marla could tell by the way they touched each other that they were lovers. The couple sat down and were soon lost in conversation.
Marla looked around the room and saw the Brits had gathered around several tables and looked to be having as good a time as their American counterparts. Alvin Lee from Ten Years After was having a contest with Joe Cocker to see who could down a beer faster. It looked like it was going to be close as both bands cheered their leaders on.
Marla tired of sitting by herself at the bar and joined the English contingent. These skinny English boys knew how to party. Marla could never figure out how they drank so much beer and stayed so thin. They were loud, raucous and obviously having the time of their lives. Sitting alone at a table on the edge of this mayhem was a tall, thin man, with a fashionable, shag haircut curiously observing the unique scene. As Marla approached his table, he looked up and rose to his feet.
“Mind if I join you?” she said with a smile. No one she asked ever did.
“Not at all, luv. Please do,” he said, as he rose to his feet, and pulled a chair out for her. Marla smiled and took the seat.
She suspected he was a gentleman. He was wearing a pair of beautiful boots, maroon with a wide buff stripe. He wore a blood red silk shirt and black, bell-bottomed corduroys. He had a black scarf tied around his neck. He was tall and thin, just the way she liked her men.
He picked up a pack of Players from the table and asked, “Care for a fag?”
“Oh, no thanks, I’ve got my own somewhere in here.” She reached in her bag and rooted around for her Kools.
“Ah yes, all you Yanks seem to smoke Kools,” said her new friend as he offered her a light. “By way of introduction, my name is Ian, Ian Dunbar. London, England. Chelsea specifically.” He offered his hand and Marla shook it. His hand was soft and his grip gentle.
Marla smiled, “Oh, sorry. Marla Donahue, nice to meet you. I’m originally from Arizona and Detroit, but I really don’t call anyplace home, right now,”
“Motown,” he said with a smile, “Do you know the Supremes?”
“No, do you know the Beatles?”
“Only John and Paul,” he said to her surprise. “I met them at a party at Basil Epstein's place in Belgravia a few years back. The Pepper launch party, as I recall.” Marla was usually good at spotting a bullshit artist, but she wasn’t sure about this guy. This far from home you could be anybody you wanted to be. She knew that and he probably did too.
“Are you a musician, Ian?”
“Heavens, no. I find it impossible to keep the beat with my foot let alone tackle anything more complicated. I own a club in London, The Nickel Bag, and it’s been quiet this summer, what with everyone on tour, you know. I spoke to Alvin on the phone last week, Alvin Lee that is, that mad bloke right over there, and he suggested I come over for the festival. He convinced me that if I didn’t join him, I’d be missing the party of the decade, if not the century.”
In the corner of the room, a rag tag group of drunken musicians began an a capella version of Hey Jude and it wasn't long before the entire room was singing along. Marla and Ian joined them until the sing along disintegrated into raucous laughter.
“Is your club in the West End?” Marla asked, implying that she actually knew London. She had read about the West End in a magazine and hoped she sounded sufficiently sophisticated to impress Ian.
“Soho, actually, but I live in Chelsea. On Cheyne Walk along the Thames.” Ian leaned forward in his chair and looked excitedly at Marla, a little homesick. “Do you know Chelsea?”
“No, no, I’ve never been out of the United States, except for Canada once. I lived in LA and San Francisco for a while with my friend Sandy.”
"Ah, California," Ian said appreciatively
She took a sip of her drink and continued, "I’d like to see London some time.”
“Well, you must. Travel broadens a person they say, and I quite agree. You need to experience different cultures, see how others live to truly understand life, don’t you think?”
“I suppose you’re right, but I’ve got time.” Marla smiled. “I met a lot of cool people when I lived in California. I met Janis and Jimi in Frisco backstage at the Fillmore. All the Bay area bands, too. In LA, I knew Morrison’s old lady, Pam, pretty well, Morrison too.”
“That's most impressive for a woman your age. Do you have a passport? That's the first step if you're to come to London on holiday.” asked Ian.
“No.”
“Well you must get one and come to London. I’ll show you the sights and introduce you all ‘round.”
“Even to Paul?” asked Marla her eyes lighting up.
“Perhaps, although he’s been seeing a Yank photographer named Linda something or other. No one expects it to last. Paul is always surrounded by birds. Can have his pick, you know.”
“I can imagine. What’s he like?”
“Paul?” Ian replied. “Nice enough, I suppose, but not particularly outgoing. He sticks to his small group of mates, Peter Asher, Mal Evans and such. He really has a difficult time going out. I’ve seen him at the Scotch of St. James and the Ad Lib a few times. They’re all very cliquey you know. The Sods and the Beatles really can’t go out in public without being mobbed. As a result, they patronize their own bloody private clubs. No hobnobbing with the hoi polloi for these lads.”
Marla wasn’t sure if it was the English accent or the name-dropping, but Ian was quickly becoming the most interesting man she had ever met. He partied with the Beatles and the Sods. She imagined herself sitting at a table with Eric Clapton and Kevin Rawlins, each of the guitarists vying for the attention of the beautiful American girl with the doe eyes.
“Are you still with me, love?” asked Ian interrupting her fantasy.
“Yes, yes, I’m sorry. It’s been a long day.”
“Would you like another drink?”
“Please.”
“Another screwdriver for the lady, coming right up!” There was only one waitress for the whole bar and she, like the lone bartender, was completely overwhelmed. Ian headed towards the bar with their empty glasses while Marla surveyed the scene around her. A flash of lightning drew her attention to the window.
At the bar, Janis leaned close to her friend Vince and put her arm around his neck. She giggled and whispered in his ear, “Why don’t you and me go upstairs, honey?”
Vince discreetly fondled her breast and said, “What did you have in mind?”
“Well, sweetie, I’m not real certain but it’s going to have to be quick.” Janis straightened up on the bar stool and picked up her cigarette from the ashtray. She took a hit and said, “Peggy’s on her way from New York, but I could use some dick before she gets here. When she does, you gotta split. Like, immediately.”
“Yeah, I know the drill.”
"She's bringing some shit from the Count. He's always got the best stuff."
Marla watched Janis and Vince get up and make their way across the room. It was difficult to not get drawn into conversations and their progress towards the door was slow.
Ian returned with their drinks, looked in the direction of the window as a bolt of lightning illuminated it, and said, “It’s bloody pouring rain out there. I’m glad we’re here at the hotel and not at the festival. Do you suppose all those people are just sitting there in this downpour?” Ian placed her drink on the table and asked, “So do you have a room here?”
“No, I’m just winging it. I hoped I’d run into some friends here that I could crash with. So far the only person I’ve run into is Janis and I don’t know her well enough to impose.” Marla looked across the bar and saw that Janis and Vince had disappeared. “I think she’s going to want some privacy anyhow.”
“How did you come to be here?”
“I called a friend of mine in San Francisco, Smokey Joe, he’s a roadie," she explained. "He told me a lot of the Frisco groups were staying here in Liberty at the Holiday Inn. I hitched a ride with a friend from Detroit.” She smiled, feeling just a little guilty and said, “He couldn’t stay.”
The party at the Holiday Inn had started early by rock star standards but Marla was tired. It had been a long day on the road and the drinks had drained the last of her energy.
Ian saw her stifle a yawn and said, “Well, I have a room in the hotel here with two beds and you’re welcome to one if you’d like. No strings attached. Look at it as a favor to a friend. After all, you rescued me from sitting by myself. I, like you, really don’t know anyone here either, except for Alvin, and he has a place of his own. Tomorrow when we get up, we can have a bit of breakfast and head to the festival. If we’re lucky, we may even be able to catch a ride on one of the helicopters. Alvin said he could arrange it. Nice chap, Alvin. I’ve never flown in a helicopter, have you?”
“No, no I haven’t.” Marla was mulling over Ian’s offer. He said there were no strings attached, but she had heard that before. She was in need of a shower and clean sheets sounded inviting.
“Look, dear, mull it over if you must. I understand.” Ian stood up and stretched. “I need to use the loo. I’ll be back in a flash.”
It was getting late, she had little money and no prospects. She decided she could do worse and that she would take Ian up on his offer. She always liked the idea of making an entrance and arriving by helicopter would certainly be dramatic. She saw Ian stop on his way back from the restroom and talk to Alvin Lee for a moment before making his way back to the table.
“Alvin said he would make arrangements for us to go to the festival with the band tomorrow as part of their entourage,” said Ian as he sat down. “So did you consider my offer or am I being much too forward?”
“Yes, thank you. I think I’ll take you up on it. I’m tired and I could use a shower,” Marla looked at Ian and said, “No strings, right?”
“No strings attached. None whatsoever,” he replied. “Well, shall we then?” he said standing back up.
Marla rose to her feet and said, “Yes, I’m exhausted. It’s been an awful long day.”
“Are you hungry?”
“I haven’t had anything since lunch,” she said. "We stopped at McDonald's."
Ian made a face and said, “We’ll get room service. The manager said the kitchen would be open all night. You can clean up while we wait for the food.”
Marla said, “Sounds good,” and they headed for Ian's room.
The TV stirred Marla the next morning and she woke up confused. She lay quiet for a moment, eyes closed, recalling the previous evening. When they had gotten to Ian’s room, he graciously let her shower first while he ordered the food. She fell asleep soon after they finished eating. Now, the TV was on and Ian was watching the news. They were showing the festival site and the roads leading up to it crammed with cars. It looked like a giant, linear parking lot that stretched to the horizon.
“Good morning,” she said sleepily.
“Good morning, love. Did you sleep well?” he asked.
“Yes. It was marvelous,” she said as she stretched. "I was exhausted."
Ian was bare-chested and the sight of him lounging in the bed stirred Marla. She was wearing a black tank top and panties. Underneath the covers, she tweaked her nipples until they were hard. Marla was proud of her breasts. They were perfectly proportioned and she knew men couldn’t keep their eyes off them. She didn’t think Ian would be any different. She sat up in bed and let the covers drop. She knew her erect nipples were now plainly visible through the thin material.
“What are you watching?” she asked Ian.
“The news,” he said, turning to face her. His eyes fell to her breasts momentarily and then he continued, “The roads are a bloody mess. They’ve closed most of them. Declared the whole thing a disaster area.” He smiled and said, "Makes me happy I'm in a comfortable hotel room."
“It’s hot in here,” said Marla as she threw the covers back, revealing her bare legs and panties. Once again, his eyes left hers to look at her body. She ran the palm of her hand up her thigh to her right breast and gently caressed it. Ian couldn’t take his eyes off her as she absent-mindedly tweaked her nipple.
Marla’s left hand dropped to her panties and gently stroked the thin material. She felt herself growing wet and let out a low moan. Ian’s tongue was unconsciously licking his lips. “Ian?” she asked lustily.
“Yes,” he croaked, his mouth suddenly dry.
“Don’t you like me?” she asked coyly.
“Why, yes of course I do, Marla. What a silly question.”
She patted the bed next to her and said “Then why don't you come over here?”
Ian got up, turned off the TV and said, “We need to talk, dear.”
Marla got out of the Mustang in front of the Liberty, New York, Holiday Inn just before dark. The driver was leaning over the console glaring at her. His long greasy hair was combed straight back. He wore black jeans, a tight white t-shirt and surveyor’s boots. He wasn’t Marla’s type, but he did have a fast car, gas money and they had made it to Liberty in record time, and in one piece. He had served his purpose.
She grabbed her bag from the back seat and shut the door. “I mean later. Thanks for the ride. This is as far as you and I go.”
“Just like that?” he asked. He knew he was way out of his league when she talked him into driving her to New York from Detroit, but he found her incredibly persuasive. It gave him an opportunity to show off his new Mustang GT.
“Yeah, just like that. Did you think we were checking in for Christ’s sake?” said Marla getting angry. “You gave me a ride. Thanks! I’m meeting friends here. Got it?”
“Who do you know here?!”
“Jimi Hendrix!! What do you care?”
“Yeah, right, you bitch!” Angrily, the man she knew only as Danny the Greaser accepted the fact that he had been used, put the car into first gear and burned the tires pulling out of the parking lot. It was going to be a long, lonely ride back to Detroit.
“Asshole!” Marla muttered under her breath as she strode towards the entrance of the hotel. She entered the lobby and went directly to the restroom. She carefully touched up her make-up and brushed her long dark hair until it shimmered. She smiled at herself in the mirror. She had that trim, slightly wicked, girl-next-door look that attracted men and occasionally women. As she admired her reflection, Janis Joplin walked in behind her.
“You’re just pretty enough to eat now, aren’t you, honey?” Janis said in her unique, squeaky voice.
“Hi, Pearl,” said Marla with a smile. “That’s nice of you to say. It’s been a long time.”
Janis straightened up and looked closer at Marla. “Do we know each other, honey? I’ve had a bit to drink today and I’m not seeing so good, right now.”
“Not really. I partied with the band a few times at Winterland. It was over a year ago, now. I don’t live in Frisco anymore.”
“Well, where do you live?”
“Right here, I guess.”
Janis laughed out loud and said, “Well, there ain’t nothin’ like living in the moment now, is there? Let Pearl take care of business here, and I’ll introduce you to some of the boys. They’re a friendly bunch, mostly.”
When Janis came out of the stall, she washed her hands and fussed with her hair. She smiled at her reflection and put her arm around Marla. “Don’t we look grand?” she cackled. “Now let’s get us a drink and break some hearts. What did you say your name was again, honey?”
“Marla.”
“Well, Marla, everybody, and I do mean everybody, is here. Let’s go have us some fun.”
# # # #
Marla and Janis walked into the lounge together. At the end of the bar sat Grace Slick and Marty Balin having an animated discussion. Jerry Garcia and Paul Kantner sat playing guitar in the corner, oblivious to their surroundings. Marla was surprised to see Bill Graham sitting by himself, looking sullen. There were little groups of musicians, roadies, groupies and out of place citizens packing the bar. Marla had never seen anything like this, so many big stars in the same place at the same time. It was unlikely this scene would ever be repeated.
As they approached the bar, Janis said to Marla, “What're you drinking, sweetie?”
“How about a screwdriver,” was all she could think to say. Marla was too young to be an experienced drinker.
“Barkeep! Give my friend here a screwdriver and use the good booze, not the bar booze. Give me a shot of Southern Comfort straight up and a beer chaser. Put that on my tab, sweet pants!” she laughed.
“Would you like a glass with that beer, miss?”
“Now, do I look like I need a glass, honey?” Janis leaned across the bar, rested her chin on her hand, peered over her glasses and smiled. "Why don't you just call me Pearl, like the rest of my friends."
"Okay, Pearl.” The bartender pulled a long necked bottle from the refrigerator and popped the cap off. He poured a generous amount of Southern Comfort into a glass and placed them both on the bar in front of Janis. Before he could start to make Marla’s screwdriver, Janis downed her shot with one gulp.
“Oww, wee!” she screeched and chased it with a hit from the beer. “Hit me again, sweetie!”
He poured another and said, “Anything else, uh…Pearl?”
“Not right now, honey, but you’re cute. I just might need some loving from you a little later. Don’t make yourself scarce. I’ll be back for you, sugar britches.”
The bartender smiled at her, but said nothing to encourage her. He had a wife and three children at home. “Should I put them both on your tab, Miss Joplin?”
“Please do, handsome, and give yourself a generous tip to hold you over until I get a chance to really thank you, you sweet thing, you,” she said with a wink.
The small town bartender was out of his element with this crowd of exotically dressed, fast spending, hard drinking musicians. He thought he smelled marijuana but never having smelled it before, he wasn’t sure. Something smelled strange but no one was going to investigate, no one really cared.
The bar wasn’t usually a hangout of the rich and famous. His only previous brush with fame was when Frank Sinatra passed through town. He and his entourage, had stopped for a drink. The Sinatra bunch was rude and demanding and left a paltry tip considering the level of service they demanded. These hippies were polite, fun and generous. They were loud, but there was no trouble, and they certainly weren’t condescending to him or any of the staff. All he had read about them in the papers and magazines seemed to be bullshit. They were neither drug addled or dirty. They just seemed intent on having a good time, which was exactly what they seemed to be doing.
Janis turned to Marla and said, “Honey, there’s a man I’ve just been dying to talk to over there. You won’t feel abandoned if I split for a little bit now, will you?”
“No, Pearl, it’s okay. Thanks for the drink,” she said sincerely.
“Have fun. I’ll catch up with you later.”
Marla sat at the bar and watched Janis walk over to a longhaired man whose back was to them. She placed her beer on a table and threw her arms around him. He turned and the two exchanged a long kiss. Janis began to talk excitedly and Marla could tell by the way they touched each other that they were lovers. The couple sat down and were soon lost in conversation.
Marla looked around the room and saw the Brits had gathered around several tables and looked to be having as good a time as their American counterparts. Alvin Lee from Ten Years After was having a contest with Joe Cocker to see who could down a beer faster. It looked like it was going to be close as both bands cheered their leaders on.
Marla tired of sitting by herself at the bar and joined the English contingent. These skinny English boys knew how to party. Marla could never figure out how they drank so much beer and stayed so thin. They were loud, raucous and obviously having the time of their lives. Sitting alone at a table on the edge of this mayhem was a tall, thin man, with a fashionable, shag haircut curiously observing the unique scene. As Marla approached his table, he looked up and rose to his feet.
“Mind if I join you?” she said with a smile. No one she asked ever did.
“Not at all, luv. Please do,” he said, as he rose to his feet, and pulled a chair out for her. Marla smiled and took the seat.
She suspected he was a gentleman. He was wearing a pair of beautiful boots, maroon with a wide buff stripe. He wore a blood red silk shirt and black, bell-bottomed corduroys. He had a black scarf tied around his neck. He was tall and thin, just the way she liked her men.
He picked up a pack of Players from the table and asked, “Care for a fag?”
“Oh, no thanks, I’ve got my own somewhere in here.” She reached in her bag and rooted around for her Kools.
“Ah yes, all you Yanks seem to smoke Kools,” said her new friend as he offered her a light. “By way of introduction, my name is Ian, Ian Dunbar. London, England. Chelsea specifically.” He offered his hand and Marla shook it. His hand was soft and his grip gentle.
Marla smiled, “Oh, sorry. Marla Donahue, nice to meet you. I’m originally from Arizona and Detroit, but I really don’t call anyplace home, right now,”
“Motown,” he said with a smile, “Do you know the Supremes?”
“No, do you know the Beatles?”
“Only John and Paul,” he said to her surprise. “I met them at a party at Basil Epstein's place in Belgravia a few years back. The Pepper launch party, as I recall.” Marla was usually good at spotting a bullshit artist, but she wasn’t sure about this guy. This far from home you could be anybody you wanted to be. She knew that and he probably did too.
“Are you a musician, Ian?”
“Heavens, no. I find it impossible to keep the beat with my foot let alone tackle anything more complicated. I own a club in London, The Nickel Bag, and it’s been quiet this summer, what with everyone on tour, you know. I spoke to Alvin on the phone last week, Alvin Lee that is, that mad bloke right over there, and he suggested I come over for the festival. He convinced me that if I didn’t join him, I’d be missing the party of the decade, if not the century.”
In the corner of the room, a rag tag group of drunken musicians began an a capella version of Hey Jude and it wasn't long before the entire room was singing along. Marla and Ian joined them until the sing along disintegrated into raucous laughter.
“Is your club in the West End?” Marla asked, implying that she actually knew London. She had read about the West End in a magazine and hoped she sounded sufficiently sophisticated to impress Ian.
“Soho, actually, but I live in Chelsea. On Cheyne Walk along the Thames.” Ian leaned forward in his chair and looked excitedly at Marla, a little homesick. “Do you know Chelsea?”
“No, no, I’ve never been out of the United States, except for Canada once. I lived in LA and San Francisco for a while with my friend Sandy.”
"Ah, California," Ian said appreciatively
She took a sip of her drink and continued, "I’d like to see London some time.”
“Well, you must. Travel broadens a person they say, and I quite agree. You need to experience different cultures, see how others live to truly understand life, don’t you think?”
“I suppose you’re right, but I’ve got time.” Marla smiled. “I met a lot of cool people when I lived in California. I met Janis and Jimi in Frisco backstage at the Fillmore. All the Bay area bands, too. In LA, I knew Morrison’s old lady, Pam, pretty well, Morrison too.”
“That's most impressive for a woman your age. Do you have a passport? That's the first step if you're to come to London on holiday.” asked Ian.
“No.”
“Well you must get one and come to London. I’ll show you the sights and introduce you all ‘round.”
“Even to Paul?” asked Marla her eyes lighting up.
“Perhaps, although he’s been seeing a Yank photographer named Linda something or other. No one expects it to last. Paul is always surrounded by birds. Can have his pick, you know.”
“I can imagine. What’s he like?”
“Paul?” Ian replied. “Nice enough, I suppose, but not particularly outgoing. He sticks to his small group of mates, Peter Asher, Mal Evans and such. He really has a difficult time going out. I’ve seen him at the Scotch of St. James and the Ad Lib a few times. They’re all very cliquey you know. The Sods and the Beatles really can’t go out in public without being mobbed. As a result, they patronize their own bloody private clubs. No hobnobbing with the hoi polloi for these lads.”
Marla wasn’t sure if it was the English accent or the name-dropping, but Ian was quickly becoming the most interesting man she had ever met. He partied with the Beatles and the Sods. She imagined herself sitting at a table with Eric Clapton and Kevin Rawlins, each of the guitarists vying for the attention of the beautiful American girl with the doe eyes.
“Are you still with me, love?” asked Ian interrupting her fantasy.
“Yes, yes, I’m sorry. It’s been a long day.”
“Would you like another drink?”
“Please.”
“Another screwdriver for the lady, coming right up!” There was only one waitress for the whole bar and she, like the lone bartender, was completely overwhelmed. Ian headed towards the bar with their empty glasses while Marla surveyed the scene around her. A flash of lightning drew her attention to the window.
At the bar, Janis leaned close to her friend Vince and put her arm around his neck. She giggled and whispered in his ear, “Why don’t you and me go upstairs, honey?”
Vince discreetly fondled her breast and said, “What did you have in mind?”
“Well, sweetie, I’m not real certain but it’s going to have to be quick.” Janis straightened up on the bar stool and picked up her cigarette from the ashtray. She took a hit and said, “Peggy’s on her way from New York, but I could use some dick before she gets here. When she does, you gotta split. Like, immediately.”
“Yeah, I know the drill.”
"She's bringing some shit from the Count. He's always got the best stuff."
Marla watched Janis and Vince get up and make their way across the room. It was difficult to not get drawn into conversations and their progress towards the door was slow.
Ian returned with their drinks, looked in the direction of the window as a bolt of lightning illuminated it, and said, “It’s bloody pouring rain out there. I’m glad we’re here at the hotel and not at the festival. Do you suppose all those people are just sitting there in this downpour?” Ian placed her drink on the table and asked, “So do you have a room here?”
“No, I’m just winging it. I hoped I’d run into some friends here that I could crash with. So far the only person I’ve run into is Janis and I don’t know her well enough to impose.” Marla looked across the bar and saw that Janis and Vince had disappeared. “I think she’s going to want some privacy anyhow.”
“How did you come to be here?”
“I called a friend of mine in San Francisco, Smokey Joe, he’s a roadie," she explained. "He told me a lot of the Frisco groups were staying here in Liberty at the Holiday Inn. I hitched a ride with a friend from Detroit.” She smiled, feeling just a little guilty and said, “He couldn’t stay.”
The party at the Holiday Inn had started early by rock star standards but Marla was tired. It had been a long day on the road and the drinks had drained the last of her energy.
Ian saw her stifle a yawn and said, “Well, I have a room in the hotel here with two beds and you’re welcome to one if you’d like. No strings attached. Look at it as a favor to a friend. After all, you rescued me from sitting by myself. I, like you, really don’t know anyone here either, except for Alvin, and he has a place of his own. Tomorrow when we get up, we can have a bit of breakfast and head to the festival. If we’re lucky, we may even be able to catch a ride on one of the helicopters. Alvin said he could arrange it. Nice chap, Alvin. I’ve never flown in a helicopter, have you?”
“No, no I haven’t.” Marla was mulling over Ian’s offer. He said there were no strings attached, but she had heard that before. She was in need of a shower and clean sheets sounded inviting.
“Look, dear, mull it over if you must. I understand.” Ian stood up and stretched. “I need to use the loo. I’ll be back in a flash.”
It was getting late, she had little money and no prospects. She decided she could do worse and that she would take Ian up on his offer. She always liked the idea of making an entrance and arriving by helicopter would certainly be dramatic. She saw Ian stop on his way back from the restroom and talk to Alvin Lee for a moment before making his way back to the table.
“Alvin said he would make arrangements for us to go to the festival with the band tomorrow as part of their entourage,” said Ian as he sat down. “So did you consider my offer or am I being much too forward?”
“Yes, thank you. I think I’ll take you up on it. I’m tired and I could use a shower,” Marla looked at Ian and said, “No strings, right?”
“No strings attached. None whatsoever,” he replied. “Well, shall we then?” he said standing back up.
Marla rose to her feet and said, “Yes, I’m exhausted. It’s been an awful long day.”
“Are you hungry?”
“I haven’t had anything since lunch,” she said. "We stopped at McDonald's."
Ian made a face and said, “We’ll get room service. The manager said the kitchen would be open all night. You can clean up while we wait for the food.”
Marla said, “Sounds good,” and they headed for Ian's room.
# # # #
The TV stirred Marla the next morning and she woke up confused. She lay quiet for a moment, eyes closed, recalling the previous evening. When they had gotten to Ian’s room, he graciously let her shower first while he ordered the food. She fell asleep soon after they finished eating. Now, the TV was on and Ian was watching the news. They were showing the festival site and the roads leading up to it crammed with cars. It looked like a giant, linear parking lot that stretched to the horizon.
“Good morning,” she said sleepily.
“Good morning, love. Did you sleep well?” he asked.
“Yes. It was marvelous,” she said as she stretched. "I was exhausted."
Ian was bare-chested and the sight of him lounging in the bed stirred Marla. She was wearing a black tank top and panties. Underneath the covers, she tweaked her nipples until they were hard. Marla was proud of her breasts. They were perfectly proportioned and she knew men couldn’t keep their eyes off them. She didn’t think Ian would be any different. She sat up in bed and let the covers drop. She knew her erect nipples were now plainly visible through the thin material.
“What are you watching?” she asked Ian.
“The news,” he said, turning to face her. His eyes fell to her breasts momentarily and then he continued, “The roads are a bloody mess. They’ve closed most of them. Declared the whole thing a disaster area.” He smiled and said, "Makes me happy I'm in a comfortable hotel room."
“It’s hot in here,” said Marla as she threw the covers back, revealing her bare legs and panties. Once again, his eyes left hers to look at her body. She ran the palm of her hand up her thigh to her right breast and gently caressed it. Ian couldn’t take his eyes off her as she absent-mindedly tweaked her nipple.
Marla’s left hand dropped to her panties and gently stroked the thin material. She felt herself growing wet and let out a low moan. Ian’s tongue was unconsciously licking his lips. “Ian?” she asked lustily.
“Yes,” he croaked, his mouth suddenly dry.
“Don’t you like me?” she asked coyly.
“Why, yes of course I do, Marla. What a silly question.”
She patted the bed next to her and said “Then why don't you come over here?”
Ian got up, turned off the TV and said, “We need to talk, dear.”
Woodstock Music and Art Fair
Saturday, August 16, 1969
Saturday, August 16, 1969
It was mid-afternoon when the helicopter left the Holiday Inn parking lot and the ride had been incredible. It only took a few minutes to get from Liberty to the festival and from the air they saw the panorama of the huge crowd and massive traffic jam. The television news reports hadn’t done it justice. When the traffic had stopped moving, a giant party had broken out on the side of the road that stretched for miles. Tents were pitched and joints were passed by the stranded motorists unwilling or unable to walk the last few miles.
As they got closer, the mass of people assembled on the hillside overlooking the stage came into view. As the helicopter descended, the shapes took form and soon Marla could make out individuals in the crowd. The helicopter touched down in the mud, the pilot turned in his seat and yelled, “Everyone out!” over the noise of the engines and rotors.
Marla and Ian ducked low to avoid the rotor blades. Everyone ran from the helicopter towards the backstage area. When they had cleared the rotors, they all slowed to a walk and broke into nervous laughter. Marla clung to his arm to steady herself as they struggled through the mud.
Alvin Lee smiled at Ian and said, “I’ll catch up with you later, mate.” He pointed at a longhair walking towards them from a group of tents and said, “Terrance has your passes. Don’t lose them. You won't get back in here if you do.” Alvin spoke briefly to Terrance before continuing on to the tents that served as dressing rooms. The mud made a sucking sound as they walked towards the stage. Terrance walked with them, bitching the whole way. “Fucking mud! It’s everywhere. Can’t bloody get away from it anywhere except the stage and it's a mess, too.” He shook his head and looked down, "My boots are ruined, absolutely ruined.”
They followed Terrance up the stairs and across the bridge to the stage where Marla had her first good look at the crowd. “Those poor wankers slept in this shit last night,” he said pointing in the vague direction of the audience. “Can you bloody imagine?” he said shaking his head in sympathy.
Strangely, it was even more intimidating from the stage than it had been from the air. Beginning at the photographer’s pit, the faces were plainly visible, but the farther you looked out, the less distinct they were until they merged into a living, moving, faceless mass that extended to the crest of the hill and beyond.
Across the stage, Marla saw her friend Smokey Joe walking towards them. He showed a spark of recognition as they drew closer. She had spoken to him on the phone a week ago but they hadn't seen each other in over a year.
“Marla?” he asked tentatively stopping dead in his tracks.
“Joe! I didn’t know if you’d remember me or not.”
“Christ! You made it. How could I forget you, you were backstage at every concert we played for awhile.” Joe embraced her and looked her over.
“You’re a site for sore eyes. What happened to you? You just sort of disappeared. We were all worried about you, chick!”
“Well, I had to leave Frisco kinda fast, Joe. It’s a long story.”
“It’s good to see you, Marla. The rest of the guys will be excited, too.”
“Who’s here?”
“Everybody! Just about everyone from the Fillmore and Winterland crowd made it. They’re camped all over the place. Hugh and the Hog Farm got a big spread over by the lake. They drove those buses all the way from New Mexico. Bill Graham’s here but I’d stay away from him. He's in his usual bad mood.”
“I know. I saw him at the Holiday Inn. He didn’t look happy.”
“He’s used to running the show and they told him they didn’t need his help.” Joe grinned, “He flipped them off. He's been in a shit mood ever since. He's not a bad guy but everyone's ignoring him and you know how he hates to be ignored.” They both laughed, having had run-ins with Graham themselves in the past.
Marla grabbed Ian by the arm, smiled and said, “Joe, this is my friend, Ian, from London. Ian, this is Smoky Joe from Frisco.” Marla laughed. She liked the way Joe’s name rhymed, it always made her smile when she heard or said it.
Joe grasped his hand intertwining his thumb with Ian’s and clasping his hand firmly. “Good to meet you, brother.”
“And you, Joe.”
“A Brit, huh?”
“How could you bloody tell? Am I that obvious?” responded Ian in mock astonishment.
Joe laughed and said, “Hey Marla, Ian, I gotta find some duct tape somewhere. You have fun and I’ll catch up with you later. Nice meeting you, Ian.” Joe hugged Marla again and he disappeared into the crowd backstage.
Santana's roadies were setting up and they stood off to the side watching. A complete maze of cables covered the stage and Ian wondered how they kept track of it all. The speed and efficiency with which they worked amazed him.
Marla searched the faces in the crowd. The Jefferson Airplane were lounging on one side of the stage, relaxing in the sun, talking to each other and their friends. Marla saw Jerry Garcia smoking a joint with Ian Hunter, both of them grinning as if they didn’t have a care in the world.
As Ian and Marla stood there, a young woman furtively approached her from behind. Suddenly, a pair of hands covered Marla’s eyes and she heard a voice squeal, “Guess who?” with unconcealed excitement. Marla immediately recognized the voice as that of her oldest friend, Sandy.
“Sandy!” Marla cried out as she spun to face her. The two of them shrieked each other's names and embraced as they both began to cry. “Oh God, I thought I’d never see you again.”
They held each other, suddenly and completely unaware of the crowd around them. Ian stood off to the side grinning. They broke their embrace, wiped tears from their cheeks and smiled. They were still caught up in the wonder of their chance meeting so far from home.
“How did you get here?” asked Marla.
“With the Hog Farm. We caravanned in five busses. It took almost two weeks, but we had fun the whole time. The old crowd from the Haight is all here.”
“We saw Smoky Joe. I talked to him last week and he told me everybody would be at the Holiday Inn in Liberty. That’s where I met Ian,” she said excitedly, turning to Ian and grabbing him by the arm. “This is Ian, Sandy. He’s from London and he knows Alvin Lee from Ten Years After and Paul and...” Marla started laughing when she realized she sounded like an over-excited school girl. “Anyhow, we flew in a helicopter to get here. Can you believe that? Ian arranged everything. He's wonderful.”
“Pleased to meet you Sandy. And thank you for your endorsement, Marla,” he said with a wink in her direction.
“An Englishman,” said Sandy, smiling at Ian, “you know how they turn me on Marla.”
Marla moved behind Ian and put her arms around his waist. She peered at Sandy over his shoulder and growled in jest, “You just stay away from him, Sandy. I found him and he’s mine.”
“Can’t we share him?" she said with a sly smile. "You know, how we used to share everything?”
“I don’t think so. Not this time.”
They all laughed and their laughter diffused the situation. Marla asked, “What have you got to get high on?”
“I don’t have anything but there’s a community stash on the other side of the stage. You won’t believe what happened last night. There was a big pile of cocaine on the table. It was the most cocaine I’ve ever seen. It was just laying there when the storm hit and before anyone could do anything, the wind and the rain just washed it away. Just like that, it was gone. Someone said it was a kilo. There were plenty of pissed off people walking around here last night.”
“Who did it belong to?”
“Don’t know.”
“We don’t get much cocaine in England. I would have liked to have tried some.”
“Too late now. C’mon let’s get some reefer and get a buzz going.”
Sandy led them around the back of the stage to a catering table. People were rolling joints from a large pile of pot. Marla picked up a pack of American Flag papers and rolled some joints. She lit one and handed it to Ian.
Ian hit it and said, “Good cannabis. We usually get hashish at home. Roll it with tobacco or put it in a pipe.”
Sandy saw an old friend standing nearby and left them to smoke the joint alone. She talked to the curly-haired freak briefly and returned in time to hit the roach. She held out her hand and there was a small ball of aluminum foil in her palm.
“What's that? Hash?” asked Marla.
“Acid, from Curly,” she said. “He always has the best.” She looked at Ian, “Are you experienced?”
“I’ve never taken LSD before if that’s what you mean.”
“We’ll see that you have a good time, won’t we, Marla?”
“Maybe.” She smiled at Ian and wondered how he’d react to the two of them while tripping. He’d made it clear to Marla he was homosexual, but she couldn’t help but notice that back in the hotel room earlier, he’d had a raging erection when he made his confession to her.
Sandy and Marla had liked to drop acid and ball some unsuspecting freak for hours when they had been roommates in San Francisco. It was nothing for them to go eight to ten hours taking short breaks for cigarettes, wine and reefer. It was their favorite way of passing a day. Ian had no idea what he was in store for.
“I don’t want to drop yet. Later, so we can trip tonight,” said Marla. “You know, to the music.” she added.
“Okay, no problem. What do you think, Ian? Are you ready to be psychedelicized?”
“Anything for the two of you, luv, anything at all.”
As they got closer, the mass of people assembled on the hillside overlooking the stage came into view. As the helicopter descended, the shapes took form and soon Marla could make out individuals in the crowd. The helicopter touched down in the mud, the pilot turned in his seat and yelled, “Everyone out!” over the noise of the engines and rotors.
Marla and Ian ducked low to avoid the rotor blades. Everyone ran from the helicopter towards the backstage area. When they had cleared the rotors, they all slowed to a walk and broke into nervous laughter. Marla clung to his arm to steady herself as they struggled through the mud.
Alvin Lee smiled at Ian and said, “I’ll catch up with you later, mate.” He pointed at a longhair walking towards them from a group of tents and said, “Terrance has your passes. Don’t lose them. You won't get back in here if you do.” Alvin spoke briefly to Terrance before continuing on to the tents that served as dressing rooms. The mud made a sucking sound as they walked towards the stage. Terrance walked with them, bitching the whole way. “Fucking mud! It’s everywhere. Can’t bloody get away from it anywhere except the stage and it's a mess, too.” He shook his head and looked down, "My boots are ruined, absolutely ruined.”
They followed Terrance up the stairs and across the bridge to the stage where Marla had her first good look at the crowd. “Those poor wankers slept in this shit last night,” he said pointing in the vague direction of the audience. “Can you bloody imagine?” he said shaking his head in sympathy.
Strangely, it was even more intimidating from the stage than it had been from the air. Beginning at the photographer’s pit, the faces were plainly visible, but the farther you looked out, the less distinct they were until they merged into a living, moving, faceless mass that extended to the crest of the hill and beyond.
Across the stage, Marla saw her friend Smokey Joe walking towards them. He showed a spark of recognition as they drew closer. She had spoken to him on the phone a week ago but they hadn't seen each other in over a year.
“Marla?” he asked tentatively stopping dead in his tracks.
“Joe! I didn’t know if you’d remember me or not.”
“Christ! You made it. How could I forget you, you were backstage at every concert we played for awhile.” Joe embraced her and looked her over.
“You’re a site for sore eyes. What happened to you? You just sort of disappeared. We were all worried about you, chick!”
“Well, I had to leave Frisco kinda fast, Joe. It’s a long story.”
“It’s good to see you, Marla. The rest of the guys will be excited, too.”
“Who’s here?”
“Everybody! Just about everyone from the Fillmore and Winterland crowd made it. They’re camped all over the place. Hugh and the Hog Farm got a big spread over by the lake. They drove those buses all the way from New Mexico. Bill Graham’s here but I’d stay away from him. He's in his usual bad mood.”
“I know. I saw him at the Holiday Inn. He didn’t look happy.”
“He’s used to running the show and they told him they didn’t need his help.” Joe grinned, “He flipped them off. He's been in a shit mood ever since. He's not a bad guy but everyone's ignoring him and you know how he hates to be ignored.” They both laughed, having had run-ins with Graham themselves in the past.
Marla grabbed Ian by the arm, smiled and said, “Joe, this is my friend, Ian, from London. Ian, this is Smoky Joe from Frisco.” Marla laughed. She liked the way Joe’s name rhymed, it always made her smile when she heard or said it.
Joe grasped his hand intertwining his thumb with Ian’s and clasping his hand firmly. “Good to meet you, brother.”
“And you, Joe.”
“A Brit, huh?”
“How could you bloody tell? Am I that obvious?” responded Ian in mock astonishment.
Joe laughed and said, “Hey Marla, Ian, I gotta find some duct tape somewhere. You have fun and I’ll catch up with you later. Nice meeting you, Ian.” Joe hugged Marla again and he disappeared into the crowd backstage.
Santana's roadies were setting up and they stood off to the side watching. A complete maze of cables covered the stage and Ian wondered how they kept track of it all. The speed and efficiency with which they worked amazed him.
Marla searched the faces in the crowd. The Jefferson Airplane were lounging on one side of the stage, relaxing in the sun, talking to each other and their friends. Marla saw Jerry Garcia smoking a joint with Ian Hunter, both of them grinning as if they didn’t have a care in the world.
As Ian and Marla stood there, a young woman furtively approached her from behind. Suddenly, a pair of hands covered Marla’s eyes and she heard a voice squeal, “Guess who?” with unconcealed excitement. Marla immediately recognized the voice as that of her oldest friend, Sandy.
“Sandy!” Marla cried out as she spun to face her. The two of them shrieked each other's names and embraced as they both began to cry. “Oh God, I thought I’d never see you again.”
They held each other, suddenly and completely unaware of the crowd around them. Ian stood off to the side grinning. They broke their embrace, wiped tears from their cheeks and smiled. They were still caught up in the wonder of their chance meeting so far from home.
“How did you get here?” asked Marla.
“With the Hog Farm. We caravanned in five busses. It took almost two weeks, but we had fun the whole time. The old crowd from the Haight is all here.”
“We saw Smoky Joe. I talked to him last week and he told me everybody would be at the Holiday Inn in Liberty. That’s where I met Ian,” she said excitedly, turning to Ian and grabbing him by the arm. “This is Ian, Sandy. He’s from London and he knows Alvin Lee from Ten Years After and Paul and...” Marla started laughing when she realized she sounded like an over-excited school girl. “Anyhow, we flew in a helicopter to get here. Can you believe that? Ian arranged everything. He's wonderful.”
“Pleased to meet you Sandy. And thank you for your endorsement, Marla,” he said with a wink in her direction.
“An Englishman,” said Sandy, smiling at Ian, “you know how they turn me on Marla.”
Marla moved behind Ian and put her arms around his waist. She peered at Sandy over his shoulder and growled in jest, “You just stay away from him, Sandy. I found him and he’s mine.”
“Can’t we share him?" she said with a sly smile. "You know, how we used to share everything?”
“I don’t think so. Not this time.”
They all laughed and their laughter diffused the situation. Marla asked, “What have you got to get high on?”
“I don’t have anything but there’s a community stash on the other side of the stage. You won’t believe what happened last night. There was a big pile of cocaine on the table. It was the most cocaine I’ve ever seen. It was just laying there when the storm hit and before anyone could do anything, the wind and the rain just washed it away. Just like that, it was gone. Someone said it was a kilo. There were plenty of pissed off people walking around here last night.”
“Who did it belong to?”
“Don’t know.”
“We don’t get much cocaine in England. I would have liked to have tried some.”
“Too late now. C’mon let’s get some reefer and get a buzz going.”
Sandy led them around the back of the stage to a catering table. People were rolling joints from a large pile of pot. Marla picked up a pack of American Flag papers and rolled some joints. She lit one and handed it to Ian.
Ian hit it and said, “Good cannabis. We usually get hashish at home. Roll it with tobacco or put it in a pipe.”
Sandy saw an old friend standing nearby and left them to smoke the joint alone. She talked to the curly-haired freak briefly and returned in time to hit the roach. She held out her hand and there was a small ball of aluminum foil in her palm.
“What's that? Hash?” asked Marla.
“Acid, from Curly,” she said. “He always has the best.” She looked at Ian, “Are you experienced?”
“I’ve never taken LSD before if that’s what you mean.”
“We’ll see that you have a good time, won’t we, Marla?”
“Maybe.” She smiled at Ian and wondered how he’d react to the two of them while tripping. He’d made it clear to Marla he was homosexual, but she couldn’t help but notice that back in the hotel room earlier, he’d had a raging erection when he made his confession to her.
Sandy and Marla had liked to drop acid and ball some unsuspecting freak for hours when they had been roommates in San Francisco. It was nothing for them to go eight to ten hours taking short breaks for cigarettes, wine and reefer. It was their favorite way of passing a day. Ian had no idea what he was in store for.
“I don’t want to drop yet. Later, so we can trip tonight,” said Marla. “You know, to the music.” she added.
“Okay, no problem. What do you think, Ian? Are you ready to be psychedelicized?”
“Anything for the two of you, luv, anything at all.”
Chapter 3
Woodstock Music and Art Fair
Woodstock Music and Art Fair
Percy and Jackson did another fly-over Saturday afternoon. The latest crowd estimate was somewhere in excess of 400,000. Over 100,000 more had been stopped short of the site and were celebrating on the highways. It was far bigger than anyone had anticipated. Jackson handled logistics for the government’s relief effort while Percy worked the politicians. Everything that could be done had been put in motion by the two men and now it was time to sit back, cross their fingers and hope for a happy ending.
“Put us down backstage, Captain,” Percy ordered the pilot, “I think we should take a walk around, don't you?”
Jackson looked skeptical. “You sure you want to walk around in that mob?”
“We'll be fine,” said Percy. "No one's here looking for trouble. Don't worry about it, we'll be fine."
“Should I wait, sir?” asked the pilot as he put the helicopter down.
“No. Help with the relief effort. We’ll catch a ride back to Stewart with one of the choppers when we’re ready to come back.”
“Yes, sir. Ya’ll be careful. You boys don’t look like this bunch. That’s for damn sure.”
"He's got a point," said Jackson. "If we're going to keep doing this, maybe we should let our hair grow out or something. Try to fit in a little."
Percy looked at Jackson and realized he was right. They were dressed almost identically. They each wore black military shoes with a spit shine, black slacks and loose fitting short-sleeved summer shirts hanging outside their pants. Their crew cuts would have been more appropriate at an astronaut convention than at Yasgur’s farm. This wasn’t going to be an undercover operation.
Percy said, “Oh, well,” and shrugged his shoulders. He was too old to go undercover effectively in this crowd. Growing his hair longer wouldn't deceive anyone, he'd just look foolish. He was preparing to expand the operation and didn't plan on spending any further time in the field anyway. Jackson could run the field operation. Percy would direct the cell through Jackson.
“Where do you want to go first?” Jackson asked Percy.
“Let’s go talk to those State cops sitting in that car over there,” Percy said pointing at a police car parked over to the side of the backstage enclosure. “See what they have to say.”
They walked over and introduced themselves. The two cops were supposed to be acting as security for the promoter who had anticipated generous box office receipts. When the large amounts of cash failed to materialize, he had released them and told them to just sit in their car and keep an eye on things. There was no way out, they were stuck there for the duration. Neither of them had seen anything they would describe as real trouble. There was drug use, but no violent crime had been reported as far as they knew, not so much as a fist fight. Someone had been run over by a tractor hauling raw sewage and killed. Another had died of a heroin overdose.
As the men talked, two hippie girls approached them with two half-frozen milk jugs of water. The first girl said, “Do you dudes want some water? This just came off the helicopter. It’s still cold.” Percy laughed when the girls referred to them as “dudes.”
“Sure, I’m thirsty, that sounds good,” said Jackson, impressed by their thoughtfulness.
She handed him one of the jugs and asked the cops, “How ‘bout you?”
“Yeah, pass it here,” said the officer in the driver’s seat. "Thanks a lot.” He grinned at his partner who was older, nearing retirement. He took a drink and passed it to his companion who also drank thirstily from the jug.
Jackson took a long drink of the cold water and passed it to Percy who did the same. Percy replaced the cap, wiped his mouth and asked the girls, “Okay, if we keep it? It's hot and I understand clean water’s scarce here.”
“No problem. It's all for you.”
The girls were all smiles and the two cops, in the spirit of the event, were receptive to their small talk, flattered to be talking to the young, attractive girls. They were leaning into the car talking to them and Percy saw one give the driver a kiss.
Percy slapped the hood of the patrol car and said, “We’ll talk to you later. We’re going to walk around for awhile,” but the two cops were too engrossed with the girls and didn’t notice them walk away.
They walked to the security trailer and stepped inside. All the phones were ringing, but no one was there. Percy looked at Jackson, smiled and said, “They’re probably all out doing security.” They laughed at his joke and left the phones as they found them, ringing and unanswered.
Jackson said, “Well, they sure got their work cut out for them, don’t they? I wonder if those cops we saw at the roadblock Thursday are still trying to search cars?”
“That didn’t last long. I talked to the State Police Captain and he said they had made over one hundred fifty arrests before they pulled them out of there. By then, it was too late to get the traffic moving towards the parking lots but that wasn’t why they told them to stop searching cars.”
“What was?”
“All the jails were full.”
“They started letting them go for possession. They were only holding the ones charged with sales. It didn’t take long before they ran out of room for them, too. The Captain said they just gave up after that. He said that other than drugs, there hadn’t been many real problems. He said there was more trouble at the Monticello homecoming game last year than he’s seen here.”
Percy looked around at the crowd and looked back at Jackson, “I feel a little strange, you know, outta place, looking like this. Do you think they’re going to mess with us?”
“I don’t know. Are you armed?”
“I got a hideout gun in an ankle holster,” Percy said quietly. He looked through the fence beyond the secured area, and into the crowd, as if it were a lion’s cage he was thinking about entering.
“There’s a half a million of them out there. That gun make you feel safer?”
“Not much. Kinda makes me feel like Custer.”
“Well, come on General, let’s go check this out for ourselves. The worst thing that can happen is they tear us limb from limb, but I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Jackson said without complete conviction.
“Would you like to pray with me before we go among the heathens?” Percy asked Jackson.
"No, you go ahead. I'll wait by the gate for you."
Percy went down on his knees, raised his arms and looked heavenward. Jackson hurried away from him as he began to draw stares. Jackson wasn't an atheist, but he certainly considered religion a private matter. Not something to be displayed in a public forum. Percy's prayer was lost in the wind and noise of the crowd and performers on stage. When he finished he joined Jackson by the gate.
"Feel better?" asked Jackson slightly embarrassed by Percy's display of faith.
"Much better. Have you tried prayer, Jackson? You should, you might like it. God is listening, you know."
Jackson ignored him and just said, "C'mon, let's go."
They walked through the gate from the secured area and out into the general crowd with a nod in the direction of the security guards. They turned towards the amphitheatre and were surprised that the only reaction they elicited from the crowd was occasional polite nods of acknowledgement. Occasionally someone would call them, “Sir.” Percy and Jackson were considerably older than most of the crowd and were being treated with the respect shown to elders.
They hadn’t traveled far when Percy stopped and said to Jackson, “I think they think we’re old men. Can you believe that? They think we’re harmless old men.”
He didn’t think of himself as an old man but these kids did have a point. He didn’t dress like them, he had a crew cut and even though they were all Americans, they spoke a different language. A language he didn't always understand. He was barely old enough to be their father but couldn’t begin to relate to them. He had listened to Elvis Presley and they listened to the Roaring Sods. They seemed happy and docile, it wasn’t long before Percy, and Jackson began to relax. It didn’t look like they were going to need guns at Woodstock.
The enormity of the crowd amazed the two men even though they had viewed it from the air many times. The perspective from the ground was of a group of people sitting, standing or shuffling shoulder to shoulder as far as one could see, without end. Neither of them had seen anything like it, not even in professional sports. Percy said to Jackson, “If we get separated, meet on the stage. Nineteen-hundred hours at the latest. I want to get out of here before it gets dark.”
“Roger that. Anything could happen here tonight.”
They approached the amphitheatre and heard someone cry out, “Acid! Buck a hit! Acid! Buck a hit.” As they drew closer, the longhaired young barker spotted them and their appearance unnerved him. He stopped his hoarse shout and faded into the crowd to set up shop somewhere else, somewhere less threatening. Jackson was self-conscious of his appearance and realized the kid had a healthy dose of paranoia that was probably necessary to survive in his line of work. The two men had no interest in him. They were only doing recon, not taking prisoners.
Two young women walked towards them wearing nothing but their panties and a smile. Each was holding a bouquet of daisies with more of the flowers woven into their long blond hair. Percy thought they looked like ancient Greek wood nymphs. Their long hair barely covered their bare breasts. Normally, he would be outraged by the girls' appearance, but it was somehow natural, even acceptable. They were as God had made them and they were beautiful.
Jackson noticed how they seemed to float just off the ground but didn't find it unusual. The sound of their smiles was the most beautiful he had ever seen. He could see it floating up, toward the clouds and bright blue sky. He watched as it evaporated and became one with the cosmos and a serene smile came over his face.
Now Jackson understood.
The girl with the curly hair offered Percy a flower that he accepted without hesitation. She smiled and said, “Peace to you.”
“And you,” he said, uncertain where the phrase had come from. Percy held the flower to his nose and inhaled. He smiled and thought how beautiful it was. He examined it closely and didn’t think he’d ever seen a flower so intricate. It was overwhelming and he began to cry. “It’s so beautiful,” he kept repeating as he sank to his knees, holding it to his cheek. The girl went to her knees in front of him and hugged him. He put his arms around her and felt himself melt into her body. She began to weep and they held each other as they cried for the beauty of the flower.
In between sobs he asked her, “What’s your name?”
“Karen, but everybody calls me Candy,” she said smiling through her tears. “What’s yours?”
Percy looked confused and thought about it for a moment. “I don’t know. I don’t know my own name.” He looked at her as if she held the answer to his problem and smiled. “I don’t care. It doesn’t really matter, does it?” he said and began laughing.
"No, not really," Candy said and began to laugh with him.
As the two of them struggled to their feet from the mud, they laughed hysterically. Jackson and the other girl doubled over with laughter as Percy and Candy rose from the mud like two psychedelic phoenixes. They regained their feet and clung unsteadily to each other, their eyes wide and pupils dilated. They each wore a big grin on their face as if the world and everything in it was somehow, quite suddenly, overwhelmingly amusing.
Percy became transfixed by the mud on his pants and carefully began to spread it across the fabric with the palm of his hand. Satisfied that it had been evenly distributed, he began to trace patterns on the convenient canvas with his finger. He let out an occasional sigh and smiled serenely when particularly pleased with his efforts. Candy watched him with rapt fascination as if he were Michelangelo creating the David.
Jackson had become uncharacteristically quiet. He looked serene and unaware of his surroundings.
Candy looked at her friend and said, “Maggie, are we okay?”
“Yeah, we’re all fine. Everything is okay and we’re having a really good time.”
Candy was reassured and she smiled, “We are, aren’t we?” She looked at Percy and was puzzled. “Why are you dressed so funny?” she asked and they both started laughing again. She began unbuttoning his shirt and he didn’t try to stop her. She pulled it from his body and threw it in the mud. “That’s better.” She looked at the badge hanging around his neck, reached for it and hesitated. "We'll just leave that be. It's who you are. You don't want to lose who you are, do you?"
Percy suddenly looked serious and said to her uncertainly, “Yes...I think you’re right. I have to be very careful to not lose me.” He slowly shook his head up and down as if to confirm this tie to reality. "Very careful." He looked at his companions, confusion crossing his face and said, “Where are we?”
In unison all three said, “I don’t know,” and began laughing hysterically.
Percy said, “Good. I don't want to know,” and he began to laugh with them.
“Put us down backstage, Captain,” Percy ordered the pilot, “I think we should take a walk around, don't you?”
Jackson looked skeptical. “You sure you want to walk around in that mob?”
“We'll be fine,” said Percy. "No one's here looking for trouble. Don't worry about it, we'll be fine."
“Should I wait, sir?” asked the pilot as he put the helicopter down.
“No. Help with the relief effort. We’ll catch a ride back to Stewart with one of the choppers when we’re ready to come back.”
“Yes, sir. Ya’ll be careful. You boys don’t look like this bunch. That’s for damn sure.”
"He's got a point," said Jackson. "If we're going to keep doing this, maybe we should let our hair grow out or something. Try to fit in a little."
Percy looked at Jackson and realized he was right. They were dressed almost identically. They each wore black military shoes with a spit shine, black slacks and loose fitting short-sleeved summer shirts hanging outside their pants. Their crew cuts would have been more appropriate at an astronaut convention than at Yasgur’s farm. This wasn’t going to be an undercover operation.
Percy said, “Oh, well,” and shrugged his shoulders. He was too old to go undercover effectively in this crowd. Growing his hair longer wouldn't deceive anyone, he'd just look foolish. He was preparing to expand the operation and didn't plan on spending any further time in the field anyway. Jackson could run the field operation. Percy would direct the cell through Jackson.
“Where do you want to go first?” Jackson asked Percy.
“Let’s go talk to those State cops sitting in that car over there,” Percy said pointing at a police car parked over to the side of the backstage enclosure. “See what they have to say.”
They walked over and introduced themselves. The two cops were supposed to be acting as security for the promoter who had anticipated generous box office receipts. When the large amounts of cash failed to materialize, he had released them and told them to just sit in their car and keep an eye on things. There was no way out, they were stuck there for the duration. Neither of them had seen anything they would describe as real trouble. There was drug use, but no violent crime had been reported as far as they knew, not so much as a fist fight. Someone had been run over by a tractor hauling raw sewage and killed. Another had died of a heroin overdose.
As the men talked, two hippie girls approached them with two half-frozen milk jugs of water. The first girl said, “Do you dudes want some water? This just came off the helicopter. It’s still cold.” Percy laughed when the girls referred to them as “dudes.”
“Sure, I’m thirsty, that sounds good,” said Jackson, impressed by their thoughtfulness.
She handed him one of the jugs and asked the cops, “How ‘bout you?”
“Yeah, pass it here,” said the officer in the driver’s seat. "Thanks a lot.” He grinned at his partner who was older, nearing retirement. He took a drink and passed it to his companion who also drank thirstily from the jug.
Jackson took a long drink of the cold water and passed it to Percy who did the same. Percy replaced the cap, wiped his mouth and asked the girls, “Okay, if we keep it? It's hot and I understand clean water’s scarce here.”
“No problem. It's all for you.”
The girls were all smiles and the two cops, in the spirit of the event, were receptive to their small talk, flattered to be talking to the young, attractive girls. They were leaning into the car talking to them and Percy saw one give the driver a kiss.
Percy slapped the hood of the patrol car and said, “We’ll talk to you later. We’re going to walk around for awhile,” but the two cops were too engrossed with the girls and didn’t notice them walk away.
They walked to the security trailer and stepped inside. All the phones were ringing, but no one was there. Percy looked at Jackson, smiled and said, “They’re probably all out doing security.” They laughed at his joke and left the phones as they found them, ringing and unanswered.
Jackson said, “Well, they sure got their work cut out for them, don’t they? I wonder if those cops we saw at the roadblock Thursday are still trying to search cars?”
“That didn’t last long. I talked to the State Police Captain and he said they had made over one hundred fifty arrests before they pulled them out of there. By then, it was too late to get the traffic moving towards the parking lots but that wasn’t why they told them to stop searching cars.”
“What was?”
“All the jails were full.”
“They started letting them go for possession. They were only holding the ones charged with sales. It didn’t take long before they ran out of room for them, too. The Captain said they just gave up after that. He said that other than drugs, there hadn’t been many real problems. He said there was more trouble at the Monticello homecoming game last year than he’s seen here.”
Percy looked around at the crowd and looked back at Jackson, “I feel a little strange, you know, outta place, looking like this. Do you think they’re going to mess with us?”
“I don’t know. Are you armed?”
“I got a hideout gun in an ankle holster,” Percy said quietly. He looked through the fence beyond the secured area, and into the crowd, as if it were a lion’s cage he was thinking about entering.
“There’s a half a million of them out there. That gun make you feel safer?”
“Not much. Kinda makes me feel like Custer.”
“Well, come on General, let’s go check this out for ourselves. The worst thing that can happen is they tear us limb from limb, but I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Jackson said without complete conviction.
“Would you like to pray with me before we go among the heathens?” Percy asked Jackson.
"No, you go ahead. I'll wait by the gate for you."
Percy went down on his knees, raised his arms and looked heavenward. Jackson hurried away from him as he began to draw stares. Jackson wasn't an atheist, but he certainly considered religion a private matter. Not something to be displayed in a public forum. Percy's prayer was lost in the wind and noise of the crowd and performers on stage. When he finished he joined Jackson by the gate.
"Feel better?" asked Jackson slightly embarrassed by Percy's display of faith.
"Much better. Have you tried prayer, Jackson? You should, you might like it. God is listening, you know."
Jackson ignored him and just said, "C'mon, let's go."
They walked through the gate from the secured area and out into the general crowd with a nod in the direction of the security guards. They turned towards the amphitheatre and were surprised that the only reaction they elicited from the crowd was occasional polite nods of acknowledgement. Occasionally someone would call them, “Sir.” Percy and Jackson were considerably older than most of the crowd and were being treated with the respect shown to elders.
They hadn’t traveled far when Percy stopped and said to Jackson, “I think they think we’re old men. Can you believe that? They think we’re harmless old men.”
He didn’t think of himself as an old man but these kids did have a point. He didn’t dress like them, he had a crew cut and even though they were all Americans, they spoke a different language. A language he didn't always understand. He was barely old enough to be their father but couldn’t begin to relate to them. He had listened to Elvis Presley and they listened to the Roaring Sods. They seemed happy and docile, it wasn’t long before Percy, and Jackson began to relax. It didn’t look like they were going to need guns at Woodstock.
The enormity of the crowd amazed the two men even though they had viewed it from the air many times. The perspective from the ground was of a group of people sitting, standing or shuffling shoulder to shoulder as far as one could see, without end. Neither of them had seen anything like it, not even in professional sports. Percy said to Jackson, “If we get separated, meet on the stage. Nineteen-hundred hours at the latest. I want to get out of here before it gets dark.”
“Roger that. Anything could happen here tonight.”
They approached the amphitheatre and heard someone cry out, “Acid! Buck a hit! Acid! Buck a hit.” As they drew closer, the longhaired young barker spotted them and their appearance unnerved him. He stopped his hoarse shout and faded into the crowd to set up shop somewhere else, somewhere less threatening. Jackson was self-conscious of his appearance and realized the kid had a healthy dose of paranoia that was probably necessary to survive in his line of work. The two men had no interest in him. They were only doing recon, not taking prisoners.
Two young women walked towards them wearing nothing but their panties and a smile. Each was holding a bouquet of daisies with more of the flowers woven into their long blond hair. Percy thought they looked like ancient Greek wood nymphs. Their long hair barely covered their bare breasts. Normally, he would be outraged by the girls' appearance, but it was somehow natural, even acceptable. They were as God had made them and they were beautiful.
Jackson noticed how they seemed to float just off the ground but didn't find it unusual. The sound of their smiles was the most beautiful he had ever seen. He could see it floating up, toward the clouds and bright blue sky. He watched as it evaporated and became one with the cosmos and a serene smile came over his face.
Now Jackson understood.
The girl with the curly hair offered Percy a flower that he accepted without hesitation. She smiled and said, “Peace to you.”
“And you,” he said, uncertain where the phrase had come from. Percy held the flower to his nose and inhaled. He smiled and thought how beautiful it was. He examined it closely and didn’t think he’d ever seen a flower so intricate. It was overwhelming and he began to cry. “It’s so beautiful,” he kept repeating as he sank to his knees, holding it to his cheek. The girl went to her knees in front of him and hugged him. He put his arms around her and felt himself melt into her body. She began to weep and they held each other as they cried for the beauty of the flower.
In between sobs he asked her, “What’s your name?”
“Karen, but everybody calls me Candy,” she said smiling through her tears. “What’s yours?”
Percy looked confused and thought about it for a moment. “I don’t know. I don’t know my own name.” He looked at her as if she held the answer to his problem and smiled. “I don’t care. It doesn’t really matter, does it?” he said and began laughing.
"No, not really," Candy said and began to laugh with him.
As the two of them struggled to their feet from the mud, they laughed hysterically. Jackson and the other girl doubled over with laughter as Percy and Candy rose from the mud like two psychedelic phoenixes. They regained their feet and clung unsteadily to each other, their eyes wide and pupils dilated. They each wore a big grin on their face as if the world and everything in it was somehow, quite suddenly, overwhelmingly amusing.
Percy became transfixed by the mud on his pants and carefully began to spread it across the fabric with the palm of his hand. Satisfied that it had been evenly distributed, he began to trace patterns on the convenient canvas with his finger. He let out an occasional sigh and smiled serenely when particularly pleased with his efforts. Candy watched him with rapt fascination as if he were Michelangelo creating the David.
Jackson had become uncharacteristically quiet. He looked serene and unaware of his surroundings.
Candy looked at her friend and said, “Maggie, are we okay?”
“Yeah, we’re all fine. Everything is okay and we’re having a really good time.”
Candy was reassured and she smiled, “We are, aren’t we?” She looked at Percy and was puzzled. “Why are you dressed so funny?” she asked and they both started laughing again. She began unbuttoning his shirt and he didn’t try to stop her. She pulled it from his body and threw it in the mud. “That’s better.” She looked at the badge hanging around his neck, reached for it and hesitated. "We'll just leave that be. It's who you are. You don't want to lose who you are, do you?"
Percy suddenly looked serious and said to her uncertainly, “Yes...I think you’re right. I have to be very careful to not lose me.” He slowly shook his head up and down as if to confirm this tie to reality. "Very careful." He looked at his companions, confusion crossing his face and said, “Where are we?”
In unison all three said, “I don’t know,” and began laughing hysterically.
Percy said, “Good. I don't want to know,” and he began to laugh with them.
# # # #
Marla felt him lie down beside her; his erection throbbed against her hip. She pushed him away and sat up. She looked around to get her bearings and realized she was in a very large tent filled to capacity with people having sex.
“What’s the matter? Don’t you want to ball?”
“No, I think I’ve had enough, man. I’m sore and I'm crashing.”
“Aw c’mon. You’re so beautiful. Just one more time…for me. Please,” he pleaded in vain. "Give me something to remember Woodstock by."
It was hard to see what he looked like in the darkness of the tent. There were a few candles but all she could see were figures moving in the shadows. She didn’t think he could see her any better than she could see him and said, “Leave me alone, man. I need some air.”
Marla was surprised to find her things neatly piled along the tent wall not far from where she sat up. She started pulling her clothes on and whispered, “Sandy?”
An aggravated male voice answered her, “Damn it, Maureen. Leave me alone, just have some fun, will ya? Jesus!”
“Oops, sorry. I’m looking for my girlfriend, Sandy,” Marla apologized to the voice in the darkness. The only response was the sound of grunts and moans of pleasure.
Marla called out for both Sandy and Ian but neither of them answered. She dressed and gathered up her things. When she emerged from the tent into the cool night air, she could hear Sly singing, “I want to take you higher.” She looked in the direction of the stage and heard the audience’s thunderous response, “Higher.” She checked her purse for her backstage pass and decided she might find Sandy and Ian there.
Using the stage lights and music as beacons, Marla began her slow journey through the crowd to the stage. She hadn’t gone far when Sly finished his set. The audience roared for an encore, but he had given everything he had and would not return.
By the time she reached the stage, the roadies had almost finished setting up the Who. She looked around for Sandy and Ian but saw neither. Standing by the far side of the stage by himself, right at the edge looking out at the audience, was a strange man on a bad trip, talking to himself.
A woman standing next to Marla said, “Weird, huh? He’s been standing there for a few hours freaking out. He’s some kinda cop. There's a badge hanging around his neck. Somebody said he got dosed real bad.”
"I kinda remember him from the..." Marla didn't want to mention the orgy tent by name. "I saw him earlier, he was freaking out screaming something about Jesus watching him. He was naked, completely out of it. He ran out of a tent screaming. Some other guy followed him out…tried to calm him down."
The woman offered Marla her joint, “You wanna hit this?”
Marla took a hit and said, “Thanks.”
“Go ahead, keep it. I don’t think I could get any higher anyway. Unless I end up like that guy,” she said and pointed at the cop on the edge of the stage, “which I don’t want to do.”
Marla looked at her in agreement. “How long’s he been there?
“Couple hours, I think. He showed up between Janis and Sly.” She lit a cigarette and coughed. “Damn cigarettes. Anyhow...he had a gun but somebody took it from him. He didn't seem to care much. Said he didn't need it.”
The woman stood next to Marla for a few minutes and then wandered away into the crowd. Marla smoked the joint by herself and as she got high, she could feel the acid again. The pot made her relax and feel good. It took the edge off the acid.
When Percy started coming down on the acid he was standing by himself, his arms outstretched to the heavens, staring at the crowd from the side of the stage. No one had stood or walked near him since he had taken his position. He had been muttering a single phrase the entire time he had been standing there.
“This is incredible.”
His eyes darted around, seeing things only he could see. Beyond the stage lights, in the darkness, lay a sea of flickering fireflies. He watched the music disappear into the night from the stage. In the distance, on the hill, a hamburger stand burned as black silhouettes danced around the roaring flames. It was the brightest light on the horizon. It had become the focus of his existence.
Percy was clothed only in a pair of boxers, his empty holster still strapped to his ankle, his feet bare and filthy. Around his neck hung his Federal Marshall’s badge like a crucifix no one dare disturb. His eyes were wild looking, their pupils dilated as if they were afraid they'd miss something.
It was when Percy realized that he always wore briefs that he began to regain his senses. He stopped his obsessive chant and suddenly became self-conscious standing at the edge of the stage dressed only in someone else's underwear. Suddenly, he was aware that something was very wrong. He moved back from the edge and people scattered before him. Everyone was wary of the crazy Fed on acid. He frantically scanned the crowd for a familiar face and was on the verge of panic when he saw Jackson walking towards him.
It calmed Percy when he saw Jackson. Jackson looked like he was recovering from a three day drunk. His eyes were so bloodshot it hurt to look at them. Jackson was barefoot and wore a pair of jeans that were too big for him, the cuffs were rolled up. He wore a dirty white t-shirt with a large peace symbol displayed across his chest. Like Percy, his Federal Marshall badge hung around his neck. It had helped him cling to reality in the tent and gained him admission back stage. He smiled when he saw Percy.
"Are you okay?" Jackson asked.
"I'm not sure." He looked at Jackson and growled, "What are you smiling about? You got nothing to be smug about.”
“You’re wearing my underwear. I forgot about that.”
“What the fuck do you mean, I’m wearing your underwear?”
“Those are my boxers. I gave them to you outside that tent. You know…that tent? You got up and started screaming about Jesus and ran outside. I grabbed my clothes and caught you. I gave you my boxers. You were naked, Percy, and raving. I was putting on my pants and when I looked up, you were gone. Disappeared in the crowd.”
"Where's my clothes?"
"Gone." Jackson looked in the direction of the crowd. "Out there somewhere. All you got is my boxers."
“You want them back or something?” Percy said angrily, confused and embarrassed by the situation.
“No, you can keep them. I don't want them anymore.”
“I can keep them?” Percy was looking down at the shorter Jackson, their faces, inches apart. “Why? You afraid I’m going to give you cooties!” he said spraying Jackson.
“Jesus, you need to calm down.” It was everything Jackson could do to keep from laughing the scene was so ridiculous. He knew if he did, it would be hard to stop and it would either piss off Percy or send him back over the edge. He reached in his pocket and came up with a wad of tissue, unwrapped it and handed Percy a pill. “Here, take this. Chew it. It’ll work faster. It’ll help you come down.”
“What do you mean, ‘Come down?’”
“It’ll make you feel better, not so anxious." Percy put the pill in his mouth and Jackson handed him a can of Coke to wash it down. "Here."
"Thanks."
"Somebody gave us LSD. I think it might have been in the water those hippie girls gave us yesterday afternoon. They called it being ‘dosed’ at the tent. They said I’d been dosed.” He looked at Percy again and said, “We’ve both been dosed. I think you got more of it than I did…when we got dosed.” Jackson hadn't noticed his fascination with the word but Percy had.
“Enough with the dosed already. What tent are you talking about?” asked Percy. He only remembered the orgy tent and his escape from its debauchery.
“The bad trip tent. I ended up there after we got separated.” Jackson had been so stunned and confused he couldn’t speak when a young couple found him, alone and terrified. He had shit and pissed himself. The clothes he wore came from the backpack of the young man who also helped clean him up. Jackson didn’t even know their names. They took him to the bad trip tent and left before he could thank them.
Percy shook his head and popped the pill in his mouth. He looked at his wrist but his watch was gone. He shook his head and asked Jackson, “What time is it?”
“Not sure. My watch is gone, too. I kinda remember throwing it away. It was like time didn’t mean anything. Anyhow, something like that.” Jackson looked confused and shrugged his shoulders. “I think it’s about 0200, Sunday, maybe later.”
“You’re kidding.” Percy looked at his naked wrist again from habit. “Seems like it was early afternoon the last I remember. We talked to those two cops sitting in their patrol car and started walking through the crowd.”
“That’s when we met those girls.”
“What were their names?”
“Beats me. I’m amazed I even remember meeting them. I think we had sex with them. I think we had sex with a lot of people.”
Percy hung his head and groaned. “Oh no, Jesus forgive me. What am I going to tell my wife?”
“Nothing, if you’re smart. The rest of it was like a bad dream. After we got separated, I was alone in the crowd. It was like the worst nightmare I ever had and it wouldn’t end. I couldn’t wake up.” Jackson shook his head. “I sure didn’t expect anything like this when we came here yesterday. Did you?”
“No,” said Percy. He could feel the pill starting to work but he still felt slightly frantic. “At first I thought I was going insane, but someone said, ‘Just go with it’ and I did.” Percy’s body convulsed and he looked at Jackson, “It’s almost like an orgasm.”
“I know, my body’s been doing it, too. They called it a rush at the tent. I feel okay, now. Pretty wiped out, but okay. You’ll be okay, too.” Jackson slapped Percy on the shoulder and smiled reassuringly.
Jackson had already been through the worst of it hours before. The tranquilizer and the volunteers in the tent had restored his sanity. When he had come down a little, he helped others on bad trips until he decided to look for Percy. He was relieved to have found Percy, in any condition.
“Remember those two State cops we talked to this afternoon when we got the water?” Jackson asked Percy.
“Yeah, what about them?”
“I saw them again. Not too long after I left the tent. When I came back here.”
“So, what about them?” Percy said sounding aggravated. He was feeling testy as the tranquilizer kicked in. He felt violated and confused. He was frantically trying to remember what had happened but it was so confusing it all seemed impossible.
“They were dancing naked on top of their patrol car with some girls.”
“Really?” asked Percy.
“Really. The girls were naked, too.”
“Do you think we did anything like that?” asked Percy.
“I’m not sure about the dancing, but like I said,” Jackson said with a slight smile as he remembered the tent. Jackson paused and said quietly, “I really can’t remember much from the tent. There were so many people…so many bodies. It just confuses me when I try to think about it.”
“Oh, Jesus save me from the Sodomites,” Percy declared to the heavens.
“Too late for that now," said Jackson. “You know, no one needs to know about any of this. We’re both in the same boat. This isn't anything I'm going to be bragging about back at the office around the water cooler. I'll tell you that much.”
That seemed to calm Percy. He looked across the stage and thought he saw a familiar face. He turned to Jackson and said, “Is that guy staring at us?”
“Percy, everybody’s staring at us. What do you expect? You’re standing here in my underwear with your badge hanging around your neck.”
Percy ignored Jackson’s comment. “No, I know that guy. FBI maybe, yeah, that’s it, that’s it, FBI. Give me a minute. He looks different now. I’ll remember his name.” Percy looked at him again and said, “Walton, yeah, that’s his name, Walton, John Walton. We were teamed up when Minstrels first started. He looks different with all that hair. Let’s go talk to him.”
Percy took a step in Walton’s direction but Jackson grabbed him by the arm and said, “Why don’t you wait until the drugs wear off? I mean, really, this isn’t a good time.”
Percy waved at Walton who immediately turned away. “I swear I know him. He just looks strange with all that hair and those clothes.”
Jackson lowered his voice. “Percy, he’s undercover. You don’t want to make him do you? Besides, you think he looks strange?”
“COINTELLPRO? Maybe he's working COINTELLPRO now.”
“Could be, that’s a domestic op. He could be watching anyone.” The men looked at each other for a moment and Jackson continued, “We’re not even supposed to be here. It’s illegal for the company to get involved with domestic issues. You know that.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got some powerful friends who sent us here.”
“So you’ve said.”
As the Who walked past them to take the stage, Kevin Moon gave Percy a double take, smiled and nodded as if complimenting a fellow loon. Jackson overheard Townsend say, “C’mon, let’s get this over with so we can go home. I’m fucking tired and cranky.”
The band had been on the road in the US since May. It had taken a great deal of persuasion before Townsend agreed to play. He demanded to be paid cash and a certified check was delivered to their road manager before they took the stage.
The Who began to play and all conversation ceased. The Hiwatt stacks thundered as the Who warmed up with Heaven and Hell and I Can’t Explain before launching into tunes from their latest release, Tommy.
They played Pinball Wizard and the audience roared its approval. A tired Pete Townsend stepped away from his mike and smiled at the applause. While his back was turned, a fuzzy-haired man bolted from the wings and grabbed his microphone. Percy and Jackson watched, wondering what the intruder’s intention was.
He adjusted the mike stand and angrily shouted, “I think this is a pile of shit! While John Sinclair rots in prison. . ."
“Who’s John Sinclair?” asked Jackson.
“Some radical we’ve got locked up in Michigan. He...”
Before Percy could finish his sentence, Townsend turned, saw the interloper and became enraged. Townsend screamed at him, "Fuck off! Fuck off my fucking stage!"
He took the Gibson SG from his shoulder and grabbed it by the neck like the weapon it was in his hands. He swung the guitar, hit the man and sent him sprawling across the stage. He let out a scream and escaped over the edge of the stage into the pit. The audience roared its approval.
Reclaiming his microphone Townsend yelled back at them, “I can dig it!”
“Who was that?” asked Jackson.
“Abbie Hoffman,” said a voice from behind the men. “He’s really fucked up on acid, man.”
The Who played Do You Think It’s All Right and when they completed the song, a still livid Townsend said, “The next fucking person that walks across this stage is gonna get fucking killed, all right?” The audience began to laugh at his remark. “You can laugh, I mean it!" From the look on his face, Jackson knew he was sincere.
Jackson leaned over closer to Percy and whispered, “Do you think they’re turning on each other? Maybe this thing is getting ready to implode.” Jackson saw Walton disappear and realized he was there to watch Hoffman.
Percy was almost back to normal and became self-conscious of his appearance. “Is there anything still flying?”
“Yeah, they’re flying 24/7 until I order them to stop. Bringing in food, water and medical supplies. Taking out casualties to the hospital in Monticello.”
“Think we can catch a ride back to Stewart?”
“Dressed like this?”
“Any suggestions?”
“Let’s see if we can find you some clothes first. I think there's some fatigues at the field hospital. You can hang on to the underwear.”
“Thanks, I don’t want to talk about that anymore.”
Marla had seen the man approach the crazy cop. He looked like the other cop but not as big. The two men talked for a while and left.
It was almost daylight and Marla was exhausted. She left the stage as the Who worked towards a crescendo and wandered around looking for a place to crash. The performer’s tents were handy but there would be no privacy. She walked between a couple of pick-up trucks parked by the fence and tried a door. It was unlocked and she got in. Marla was damp and cold from the night air. She found an old raincoat behind the seat to use for a blanket, tucked it under her chin and curled up with her purse beneath her head.
As she fell asleep, she thought she heard Grace Slick’s voice in the distance but couldn’t make out what she was saying. The sun was starting to come up and she was too tired to care anyhow.
“What’s the matter? Don’t you want to ball?”
“No, I think I’ve had enough, man. I’m sore and I'm crashing.”
“Aw c’mon. You’re so beautiful. Just one more time…for me. Please,” he pleaded in vain. "Give me something to remember Woodstock by."
It was hard to see what he looked like in the darkness of the tent. There were a few candles but all she could see were figures moving in the shadows. She didn’t think he could see her any better than she could see him and said, “Leave me alone, man. I need some air.”
Marla was surprised to find her things neatly piled along the tent wall not far from where she sat up. She started pulling her clothes on and whispered, “Sandy?”
An aggravated male voice answered her, “Damn it, Maureen. Leave me alone, just have some fun, will ya? Jesus!”
“Oops, sorry. I’m looking for my girlfriend, Sandy,” Marla apologized to the voice in the darkness. The only response was the sound of grunts and moans of pleasure.
Marla called out for both Sandy and Ian but neither of them answered. She dressed and gathered up her things. When she emerged from the tent into the cool night air, she could hear Sly singing, “I want to take you higher.” She looked in the direction of the stage and heard the audience’s thunderous response, “Higher.” She checked her purse for her backstage pass and decided she might find Sandy and Ian there.
Using the stage lights and music as beacons, Marla began her slow journey through the crowd to the stage. She hadn’t gone far when Sly finished his set. The audience roared for an encore, but he had given everything he had and would not return.
By the time she reached the stage, the roadies had almost finished setting up the Who. She looked around for Sandy and Ian but saw neither. Standing by the far side of the stage by himself, right at the edge looking out at the audience, was a strange man on a bad trip, talking to himself.
A woman standing next to Marla said, “Weird, huh? He’s been standing there for a few hours freaking out. He’s some kinda cop. There's a badge hanging around his neck. Somebody said he got dosed real bad.”
"I kinda remember him from the..." Marla didn't want to mention the orgy tent by name. "I saw him earlier, he was freaking out screaming something about Jesus watching him. He was naked, completely out of it. He ran out of a tent screaming. Some other guy followed him out…tried to calm him down."
The woman offered Marla her joint, “You wanna hit this?”
Marla took a hit and said, “Thanks.”
“Go ahead, keep it. I don’t think I could get any higher anyway. Unless I end up like that guy,” she said and pointed at the cop on the edge of the stage, “which I don’t want to do.”
Marla looked at her in agreement. “How long’s he been there?
“Couple hours, I think. He showed up between Janis and Sly.” She lit a cigarette and coughed. “Damn cigarettes. Anyhow...he had a gun but somebody took it from him. He didn't seem to care much. Said he didn't need it.”
The woman stood next to Marla for a few minutes and then wandered away into the crowd. Marla smoked the joint by herself and as she got high, she could feel the acid again. The pot made her relax and feel good. It took the edge off the acid.
When Percy started coming down on the acid he was standing by himself, his arms outstretched to the heavens, staring at the crowd from the side of the stage. No one had stood or walked near him since he had taken his position. He had been muttering a single phrase the entire time he had been standing there.
“This is incredible.”
His eyes darted around, seeing things only he could see. Beyond the stage lights, in the darkness, lay a sea of flickering fireflies. He watched the music disappear into the night from the stage. In the distance, on the hill, a hamburger stand burned as black silhouettes danced around the roaring flames. It was the brightest light on the horizon. It had become the focus of his existence.
Percy was clothed only in a pair of boxers, his empty holster still strapped to his ankle, his feet bare and filthy. Around his neck hung his Federal Marshall’s badge like a crucifix no one dare disturb. His eyes were wild looking, their pupils dilated as if they were afraid they'd miss something.
It was when Percy realized that he always wore briefs that he began to regain his senses. He stopped his obsessive chant and suddenly became self-conscious standing at the edge of the stage dressed only in someone else's underwear. Suddenly, he was aware that something was very wrong. He moved back from the edge and people scattered before him. Everyone was wary of the crazy Fed on acid. He frantically scanned the crowd for a familiar face and was on the verge of panic when he saw Jackson walking towards him.
It calmed Percy when he saw Jackson. Jackson looked like he was recovering from a three day drunk. His eyes were so bloodshot it hurt to look at them. Jackson was barefoot and wore a pair of jeans that were too big for him, the cuffs were rolled up. He wore a dirty white t-shirt with a large peace symbol displayed across his chest. Like Percy, his Federal Marshall badge hung around his neck. It had helped him cling to reality in the tent and gained him admission back stage. He smiled when he saw Percy.
"Are you okay?" Jackson asked.
"I'm not sure." He looked at Jackson and growled, "What are you smiling about? You got nothing to be smug about.”
“You’re wearing my underwear. I forgot about that.”
“What the fuck do you mean, I’m wearing your underwear?”
“Those are my boxers. I gave them to you outside that tent. You know…that tent? You got up and started screaming about Jesus and ran outside. I grabbed my clothes and caught you. I gave you my boxers. You were naked, Percy, and raving. I was putting on my pants and when I looked up, you were gone. Disappeared in the crowd.”
"Where's my clothes?"
"Gone." Jackson looked in the direction of the crowd. "Out there somewhere. All you got is my boxers."
“You want them back or something?” Percy said angrily, confused and embarrassed by the situation.
“No, you can keep them. I don't want them anymore.”
“I can keep them?” Percy was looking down at the shorter Jackson, their faces, inches apart. “Why? You afraid I’m going to give you cooties!” he said spraying Jackson.
“Jesus, you need to calm down.” It was everything Jackson could do to keep from laughing the scene was so ridiculous. He knew if he did, it would be hard to stop and it would either piss off Percy or send him back over the edge. He reached in his pocket and came up with a wad of tissue, unwrapped it and handed Percy a pill. “Here, take this. Chew it. It’ll work faster. It’ll help you come down.”
“What do you mean, ‘Come down?’”
“It’ll make you feel better, not so anxious." Percy put the pill in his mouth and Jackson handed him a can of Coke to wash it down. "Here."
"Thanks."
"Somebody gave us LSD. I think it might have been in the water those hippie girls gave us yesterday afternoon. They called it being ‘dosed’ at the tent. They said I’d been dosed.” He looked at Percy again and said, “We’ve both been dosed. I think you got more of it than I did…when we got dosed.” Jackson hadn't noticed his fascination with the word but Percy had.
“Enough with the dosed already. What tent are you talking about?” asked Percy. He only remembered the orgy tent and his escape from its debauchery.
“The bad trip tent. I ended up there after we got separated.” Jackson had been so stunned and confused he couldn’t speak when a young couple found him, alone and terrified. He had shit and pissed himself. The clothes he wore came from the backpack of the young man who also helped clean him up. Jackson didn’t even know their names. They took him to the bad trip tent and left before he could thank them.
Percy shook his head and popped the pill in his mouth. He looked at his wrist but his watch was gone. He shook his head and asked Jackson, “What time is it?”
“Not sure. My watch is gone, too. I kinda remember throwing it away. It was like time didn’t mean anything. Anyhow, something like that.” Jackson looked confused and shrugged his shoulders. “I think it’s about 0200, Sunday, maybe later.”
“You’re kidding.” Percy looked at his naked wrist again from habit. “Seems like it was early afternoon the last I remember. We talked to those two cops sitting in their patrol car and started walking through the crowd.”
“That’s when we met those girls.”
“What were their names?”
“Beats me. I’m amazed I even remember meeting them. I think we had sex with them. I think we had sex with a lot of people.”
Percy hung his head and groaned. “Oh no, Jesus forgive me. What am I going to tell my wife?”
“Nothing, if you’re smart. The rest of it was like a bad dream. After we got separated, I was alone in the crowd. It was like the worst nightmare I ever had and it wouldn’t end. I couldn’t wake up.” Jackson shook his head. “I sure didn’t expect anything like this when we came here yesterday. Did you?”
“No,” said Percy. He could feel the pill starting to work but he still felt slightly frantic. “At first I thought I was going insane, but someone said, ‘Just go with it’ and I did.” Percy’s body convulsed and he looked at Jackson, “It’s almost like an orgasm.”
“I know, my body’s been doing it, too. They called it a rush at the tent. I feel okay, now. Pretty wiped out, but okay. You’ll be okay, too.” Jackson slapped Percy on the shoulder and smiled reassuringly.
Jackson had already been through the worst of it hours before. The tranquilizer and the volunteers in the tent had restored his sanity. When he had come down a little, he helped others on bad trips until he decided to look for Percy. He was relieved to have found Percy, in any condition.
“Remember those two State cops we talked to this afternoon when we got the water?” Jackson asked Percy.
“Yeah, what about them?”
“I saw them again. Not too long after I left the tent. When I came back here.”
“So, what about them?” Percy said sounding aggravated. He was feeling testy as the tranquilizer kicked in. He felt violated and confused. He was frantically trying to remember what had happened but it was so confusing it all seemed impossible.
“They were dancing naked on top of their patrol car with some girls.”
“Really?” asked Percy.
“Really. The girls were naked, too.”
“Do you think we did anything like that?” asked Percy.
“I’m not sure about the dancing, but like I said,” Jackson said with a slight smile as he remembered the tent. Jackson paused and said quietly, “I really can’t remember much from the tent. There were so many people…so many bodies. It just confuses me when I try to think about it.”
“Oh, Jesus save me from the Sodomites,” Percy declared to the heavens.
“Too late for that now," said Jackson. “You know, no one needs to know about any of this. We’re both in the same boat. This isn't anything I'm going to be bragging about back at the office around the water cooler. I'll tell you that much.”
That seemed to calm Percy. He looked across the stage and thought he saw a familiar face. He turned to Jackson and said, “Is that guy staring at us?”
“Percy, everybody’s staring at us. What do you expect? You’re standing here in my underwear with your badge hanging around your neck.”
Percy ignored Jackson’s comment. “No, I know that guy. FBI maybe, yeah, that’s it, that’s it, FBI. Give me a minute. He looks different now. I’ll remember his name.” Percy looked at him again and said, “Walton, yeah, that’s his name, Walton, John Walton. We were teamed up when Minstrels first started. He looks different with all that hair. Let’s go talk to him.”
Percy took a step in Walton’s direction but Jackson grabbed him by the arm and said, “Why don’t you wait until the drugs wear off? I mean, really, this isn’t a good time.”
Percy waved at Walton who immediately turned away. “I swear I know him. He just looks strange with all that hair and those clothes.”
Jackson lowered his voice. “Percy, he’s undercover. You don’t want to make him do you? Besides, you think he looks strange?”
“COINTELLPRO? Maybe he's working COINTELLPRO now.”
“Could be, that’s a domestic op. He could be watching anyone.” The men looked at each other for a moment and Jackson continued, “We’re not even supposed to be here. It’s illegal for the company to get involved with domestic issues. You know that.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got some powerful friends who sent us here.”
“So you’ve said.”
As the Who walked past them to take the stage, Kevin Moon gave Percy a double take, smiled and nodded as if complimenting a fellow loon. Jackson overheard Townsend say, “C’mon, let’s get this over with so we can go home. I’m fucking tired and cranky.”
The band had been on the road in the US since May. It had taken a great deal of persuasion before Townsend agreed to play. He demanded to be paid cash and a certified check was delivered to their road manager before they took the stage.
The Who began to play and all conversation ceased. The Hiwatt stacks thundered as the Who warmed up with Heaven and Hell and I Can’t Explain before launching into tunes from their latest release, Tommy.
They played Pinball Wizard and the audience roared its approval. A tired Pete Townsend stepped away from his mike and smiled at the applause. While his back was turned, a fuzzy-haired man bolted from the wings and grabbed his microphone. Percy and Jackson watched, wondering what the intruder’s intention was.
He adjusted the mike stand and angrily shouted, “I think this is a pile of shit! While John Sinclair rots in prison. . ."
“Who’s John Sinclair?” asked Jackson.
“Some radical we’ve got locked up in Michigan. He...”
Before Percy could finish his sentence, Townsend turned, saw the interloper and became enraged. Townsend screamed at him, "Fuck off! Fuck off my fucking stage!"
He took the Gibson SG from his shoulder and grabbed it by the neck like the weapon it was in his hands. He swung the guitar, hit the man and sent him sprawling across the stage. He let out a scream and escaped over the edge of the stage into the pit. The audience roared its approval.
Reclaiming his microphone Townsend yelled back at them, “I can dig it!”
“Who was that?” asked Jackson.
“Abbie Hoffman,” said a voice from behind the men. “He’s really fucked up on acid, man.”
The Who played Do You Think It’s All Right and when they completed the song, a still livid Townsend said, “The next fucking person that walks across this stage is gonna get fucking killed, all right?” The audience began to laugh at his remark. “You can laugh, I mean it!" From the look on his face, Jackson knew he was sincere.
Jackson leaned over closer to Percy and whispered, “Do you think they’re turning on each other? Maybe this thing is getting ready to implode.” Jackson saw Walton disappear and realized he was there to watch Hoffman.
Percy was almost back to normal and became self-conscious of his appearance. “Is there anything still flying?”
“Yeah, they’re flying 24/7 until I order them to stop. Bringing in food, water and medical supplies. Taking out casualties to the hospital in Monticello.”
“Think we can catch a ride back to Stewart?”
“Dressed like this?”
“Any suggestions?”
“Let’s see if we can find you some clothes first. I think there's some fatigues at the field hospital. You can hang on to the underwear.”
“Thanks, I don’t want to talk about that anymore.”
Marla had seen the man approach the crazy cop. He looked like the other cop but not as big. The two men talked for a while and left.
It was almost daylight and Marla was exhausted. She left the stage as the Who worked towards a crescendo and wandered around looking for a place to crash. The performer’s tents were handy but there would be no privacy. She walked between a couple of pick-up trucks parked by the fence and tried a door. It was unlocked and she got in. Marla was damp and cold from the night air. She found an old raincoat behind the seat to use for a blanket, tucked it under her chin and curled up with her purse beneath her head.
As she fell asleep, she thought she heard Grace Slick’s voice in the distance but couldn’t make out what she was saying. The sun was starting to come up and she was too tired to care anyhow.
Thank you for your interest in my work.
Feel free to leave your comments by signing in to the Guestbook.
