So I’m reading all about Woodstock now. It’s pretty fascinating how many setbacks, drama, catastrophes, roadblocks and inclement weather the event and its production process survived.
But ya know, not once (thus far in my literary journey at least) did the biographer and festival father, Michael Lang, lose his cool. Amidst extreme pressure, adversity and never-ending coattail tugs he was stalwart. “It’s all going to be fine. Everything will work out.” (Drugs. Lots and lots of drugs.) But. It did work out. And it was, as I can only read about and presume, legendary.
I’m kinda jealous of the wide open space they created for themselves during such a noisy time in history. Have idea, develop idea, execute idea. Hit a wall? Climb over, walk around or tear down. But never turn back. Or give up.
All this flower power was swirling around in my head last night (after two damntasty margaritas), when I saw this guy on the subway platform. In a crowded, noisy, rush-hour world he still managed to carve out his wide open space. Idea, realized. I was diggin’ the banjo so I gave him a dollar. At Woodstock that would’ve gotten him 4 hot dogs. And all the peace he could carry.