by Michael Lang
So Frank invited both Pete and John to his home for dinner. He figured, if necessary, they could spend all night talking Townshend into playing Woodstock. That evening, John and Frank kept bringing up the subject, even though Townshend refused to be swayed. When the Who’s road manager John Wolff showed up around 1 A.M., Frank reminded them that the band had to return to the States the same week as Woodstock for an August 12 concert at Tanglewood promoted by Bill Graham. Still, Townshend and Wolff said no. Frank and John Morris stayed up all night, refusing to give up, and outlasting Pete, who by 4 or 5 A.M. was dozing off. They kept waking him up until finally, at 8 A.M., Townshend couldn’t take it anymore: “Okay, we’ll do it!” he said. “Just let me go to fucking bed!” After a bit of a negotiation, John Wolff agreed to a $12,500 fee, half of which was paid upon signing the contract. The contract also spelled out our “no star billing” policy: “Artists are billed in alphabetical order. This is a festival concept therefore placement of act is at the discretion of promoter.” (The Who would later include a facsimile of our contract inside the album cover for Live at Leeds.)
Now that most of the booking was complete, we needed to create a visual that would carry our message in ads, posters, and billboards. Early on, we had announced the Aquarian Exposition with a poster by David Byrd, but it was not the image we were looking for. John Morris suggested we give graphic artist Arnold Skolnick a shot. I gave Arnold the copy and told him the main message was “three days of peace and music,” and that I wanted a dove perched on a guitar as our image. The bands’ names would all be the same size and in alphabetical order, and there would be a description of the site. Many people thought that not emphasizing the acts in our advertising was counterintuitive. Every other concert event before (and after) Woodstock had focused on the acts—but that was just the point. Woodstock was not to be like any other event. Woodstock was to be advertised as an event that was about us: our culture, our music, our art, and our values.
A few days later, Arnold returned to my office with a mockup of the poster. It was perfect: inspired by some cutouts made by his young daughter, he had crafted the simple image in primary colors of a white bird perched on the neck of a blue-and-green guitar set against a red background.
ARNOLD SKOLNICK: I was staying on Shelter Island, and I was drawing catbirds all the time. I just took a razor blade and cut that catbird out of the sketchpad I was using and turned it into a dove.
Artie continued running ads on FM radio stations and in underground newspapers, from Atlanta’s Great Speckled Bird to Kalamazoo’s Western Activist, Minneapolis’s Hair to San Diego’s Door, nearly forty in all. After the confrontation with Joel and John, Artie focused more in this area.
ARTIE KORNFELD: I ran an ad with a coupon in it, for people to buy tickets in advance. We were running out of money and that ad took in over a million dollars.
The coupon ad listed the same description of the festival site that appeared on the Skolnick poster:
ART SHOW
Paintings and sculptures on trees, on grass, surrounded by the Hudson Valley, will be displayed. Accomplished artists, “Ghetto” artists, and would-be artists will be glad to discuss their work, or the unspoiled splendor of the surroundings or anything else that might be on your mind. If you’re an artist and you want to display, write for information.
CRAFTS BAZAAR
If you like creative knickknacks and old junk, you’ll love roaming around our bazaar. You’ll see imaginative leather, ceramic, bead and silver creations, as well as Zodiac Charts, camp clothes, and worn out shoes.
WORKSHOPS
If you like playing with beads, or improvising on a guitar, or writing poetry, or modeling clay, stop by one of our workshops and see what you can give and take.
FOOD
There will be cokes and hotdogs and dozens of curious food and fruit combinations to experiment with.
HUNDREDS OF ACRES TO ROAM ON
Walk around for three days without seeing a skyscraper or a traffic light. Fly a kite, sun yourself. Cook your own food and breathe unspoiled air. Camp out: Water and restrooms will be supplied. Tents and camping equipment will be available at the Camp Store.
By the end of June, daily newspapers across the nation were running articles on the festival, including a lengthy syndicated feature with the headline ROCK RUMBLING INTO RIP VAN WINKLE COUNTRY. This one detailed the problems we were having in Wallkill and the local efforts to stop the festival.
Surrender was not part of our vocabulary, and our crews had been working steadily on-site. Our numbers there had grown to about seventy-five. We moved into a larger motel called Round Top and hired a couple of women to prepare meals for all the workers.
Wallkill’s proposed ordinance—with its list of insurmountable obstacles—loomed over us. In addition to all the paperwork we had to submit to the town board, we had to obtain approvals from the county health department, the town sanitary inspector, the town health officer, the State Water Resources Commission, the town building inspector, the county highway department, the state department of transportation, the sheriff’s office, the state police, the chief engineer, the local fire commissioners, the town fire advisory board, the zoning board of appeals, the town police, and the county fire coordinator. The conditions would be impossible for anyone to meet. An editorial saying as much ran in the Middletown Times Herald-Record:
So severe are the “regulations” that it is inconceivable to us that they would survive even casual court scrutiny. Plainly town officials hope that the prospect of litigation will discourage promoters of the massive art-music festival…We regard the proposed ordinance as an example of flagrant misuse of governmental power. It is proper for a township to protect its citizenry from excesses that might arise when thousands congregate; it is, in our opinion, highly improper to prohibit one event in the guise of regulating it.
The draft ordinance, for instance, stipulates that “no light shall be permitted to shine beyond the property line”…that no music “shall be audible beyond the property line,” and that no noise or disagreeable odor “shall be permitted to emanate from the property”…
In their haste to stymie the festival, in mid-August, the architects of this ordinance may not have pondered all its implications. For one, the traditional Orange County Fair scheduled for late July could not possibly meet the light-noise-odor test Supervisor Jack Schlosser and his associates devised. For another, the privately operated stock car races at the fairgrounds, which spread their noise pollution 10 miles away, would be out of business…
We suggest that the town board discard its monstrous plan and direct its energies to a fair—repeat fair—set of regulations.
A vote on the ordinance by the town board—which we knew would pass—was to take place on July 2. Stan told the Poughkeepsie Journal, “Those areas of the ordinance that are just and righteous will be complied with in the fullest, just as we have always intended. But those areas of the ordinance that are unreasonable and impossible, we are going to fight.”
Unlike the battles I’d been through over the past month, I had a bad feeling about this one.
seven
YASGUR’S FARM
“I hesitate to think what will happen if the forty thousand people who’ve already bought tickets to our festival come to Wallkill and there is no event!”
“Is that a veiled threat?” comes a loud voice from the back of the packed room.
“There’s nothing veiled about it!” I answer. “That’s a problem that concerns all of us!”
Once again, I’m addressing a group of hostile Wallkillers. It’s July 14, and I want them to know that there might be consequences for them, as well as for us, if the festival is canceled. The anger in the room is so palpable I can’t help but think back to what happened last month at the Denver Pop Festival when the cops and kids clashed. Like Denver, communications have broken down completely. I try to understand how we got here—how does fear become so entrenched that it squeezes out al
l possibility of discourse, logic, and fair play?
Two weeks earlier, on July 2, after five hours of debate, the town board approved the new ten-page law regulating assemblies of more than five thousand by a vote of 5–0. Slight modifications have been made, including lowering our newly required insurance bond from one million dollars to half a million dollars—and exempting the Orange County Fairgrounds (with its county fair and drag racing) from complying with the regulations.
We’re appearing before the town Zoning Board of Appeals (ZBA) and making our case for the festival, after having been denied a building permit for the site. This is the same room where exactly three months earlier John and Joel got the green light from the ZBA when they first proposed holding a music-and-arts fair at the Mills Industrial Park.
I’ve choreographed the presentation to impress the community with our competence and comprehensive planning. Mel, Stan, and Don make articulate and convincing arguments. Stan reads a statement characterizing our festival as “a cultural event of major magnitude involving artists of all kinds, including painters, sculptors, filmmakers, and theatrical groups as well as musicians.” He also states that we are committed “to preserve and enhance the pastoral atmosphere of the festival site.”
Mel, armed with detailed maps, diagrams, and charts, explains that the site will be enclosed by chain-link and concrete-reinforced fencing, that an intricate system of roads and pathways is being prepared, and that in addition to the music, fine-arts exhibits, and crafts booths, there will be food concessions, medical facilities, campgrounds, portable toilets, and many of the things you might find at the county fair.
Don Ganoung goes into more detail about our security and traffic plans. He says that we’re hiring more than four hundred security personnel, sixty mobile radio units, and parking lot and stage security guards. Parking facilities, he explains, will be located throughout adjoining areas where we’ve rented more land, and two hundred buses will transport concertgoers to the festival from the lots. “There will also be a screening process for troublemakers since no one will be allowed to drive to the festival grounds,” Mel adds. “Some of our people will be stationed at the bus pickup stations to screen those who may be looking for trouble.”
Then it’s my turn. “We’ve already put more than five hundred thousand into this project,” I tell them. “We cannot get that money back. We are moving forward with this festival. Our work has been slowed by the circumstances of the past few weeks, but that’s about to change. We are totally committed to the event, to the plans, and to the site.”
My words are met with a loud and angry uproar. Being caught between two drawn pistols at Miami Pop comes to mind. I think to myself, It’s definitely time to ramp up the effort to find another site.
The mood lightens in the room when the ZBA makes an announcement: Our field office—the barn next to the Mills property—is in violation of town zoning laws because we are operating a business in an area zoned residential. We have to shut down the office immediately. Following a big round of applause from the townspeople, the next announcement is just as bad. The ZBA will make its decision on our permit within forty-eight hours.
We’re one month away from the festival, and we’ve ridden our horses into an ambush from which there is no escape. It’s time to get the hell out of Dodge.
The next day, the Middletown Times Herald-Record, continuing its detailed coverage of the whole saga, reports:
For the first time, conscientiously polite relations between residents and festival organizers broke down, as the ZBA hearing wore on for hours in a stuffy room at the town hall. Residents, seemingly annoyed at the length of the Woodstock Ventures presentation to the ZBA, hurled taunts and insults at festival officials. Long-haired Lang, 24, was greeted with a barrage of stock long-hair comments (“Isn’t he pretty?”) when he stood up to address the audience. But he unsettled the audience with his prediction of 40,000 “disappointed” ticket holders appearing in Wallkill.
We really didn’t hold out much hope that we’d get the building permit, especially considering the string of setbacks that had occurred since July 2. On July 8, the Middletown Fire Department had unanimously turned down a proposal to supply personnel to run Nathan’s food concessions. The fire companies’ membership objected to the long hours Nathan’s had required (6:30 P.M. to 4:30 A.M.) of their workers and the low wages they offered ($1.75 per hour). Nathan’s needed three hundred workers to staff their concessions, and talks between the hot-dog company and Peter Goodrich were beginning to break down. With our location now in jeopardy, Nathan’s was threatening to pull out of the deal.
On July 11, the same day Mel and Rona conducted a press tour of the festival site, a hearing was held regarding the injunction brought against us by the CCC. Acting state supreme court justice Edward M. O’Gorman of Monroe refused to issue a decision in the case, stating that the injunction was premature since the zoning board at that point had not yet accepted or denied our construction permit. In other words, if the ZBA didn’t stop us, then he’d look at the case.
Two days later, Ulster County assemblyman Clark Bell, a Republican from Woodstock, released a statement to the press about a letter he’d just sent to Governor Rockefeller requesting the appointment of a coordinator to oversee the festival. Bell’s statement said, “The National Guard should be alerted,” and he went on to say that state police and the Ulster County Sheriff’s Department had been making preparations to handle masses of people mistakenly arriving in Woodstock looking for the festival. He accused us of “romanticizing Woodstock. They made it known that Bobby Dylan lives in Woodstock and that the Beatles vacationed in Woodstock a few years ago.” (In reality, during the weekend of August 15–17, the town of Woodstock would be a ghost town.) We also received complaints from the Ulster County hamlet of Wallkill, which prospective concertgoers were confusing with the township of Wallkill—in Orange County—our site’s location. Apparently, the wrong Wallkill was getting overwhelmed with queries about the festival.
D-day arrived on Tuesday, July 15: With none of us present, the ZBA released a four-page decision, REJECTING our application for a permit. The ruling stated: “Generally the plans submitted are indefinite, vague, and uncertain. Furthermore, the estimated number of persons attending has been too indefinite and uncertain, and based upon the amount and type of advertising, the venture would be contrary to the intent of the Zoning Ordinance. Problems of fire, police protection, and health would be contrary to the health and safety of the public.”
Disbelief, shock, anger, frustration. From our field office, where he was packing boxes, Stan told a journalist: “There’s a field out there, and come August fifteen, sixteen, and seventeen, there are going to be people out there listening to some boss sounds. If you ask me how we’re going to do it, I don’t know. But we’re going to do it.”
I too knew we were going to do it, but not in Wallkill, and I was strangely relieved. Wallkill had not felt right to me from the beginning and things had only gotten worse. I spoke to John and could sense he and Joel were crushed. They also knew that we would not recover in Wallkill. I tried to reassure them we’d find a new site, but they had grown weary of my saying, “It’s covered!” and felt that this was the final blow.
Calling Artie next, I had a similar conversation except that—as always—he was energized by my optimism and I was energized by his belief in me. I had a talk with the rest of the team and told them, “Don’t worry, I’ve got this covered. This is going to happen. Just get ready to move.”
We could appeal the ZBA decision, but we knew that would take longer than the month until the festival date. John immediately issued a press release stating that we had been unjustly kicked off the site and that we were going to sue those responsible:
The statements…that have been made by the Wallkill town zoning board of appeals and other individuals are entirely false. Accordingly, we have instructed legal counsel in New York City and in Wallkill to institute damage proceedings and
to provide relief from this offensive harassment and the totally dishonest statements of certain individuals. Never in the history of an outdoor event of this kind have such massive and thorough preparations been made for the security and well-being of everyone in attendance. There will be a Woodstock festival—make no mistake about it!
MEL LAWRENCE: You can’t evaluate in money terms the sweat and love we put into that land during that month and a half. We built rock walls and rock structures with our own hands. We turned those acres into a work of art before we were turned out by pettiness and jealousy.
We had already dug postholes, and utility companies from Orange and Rockland counties were installing power lines. I had ordered telephone poles that were going to be the supporting structure for the stage. They were coming from far away on a big truck. When you unload giant telephone poles off a flatbed, they just roll off, and it’s not so easy to retrieve them. Just as the office phone was ringing with the zoning board decision, these guys drove up with the poles, saying, “Can we unload?” “Hold it!” I stopped them just as we got word that it was over.
STAN GOLDSTEIN: Michael’s demeanor remained, ostensibly, unflappable through just about everything. You could rant and rave at Michael, as I did from time to time, and he just absorbed it like a sponge, and stayed cool. Which of course, if you were crazy, only infuriated you more! Michael remained very Michael, his usual, sometimes-enigmatic self through that.
We had to find a new location for the festival—and fast. I knew morale would go down the tubes if I didn’t refocus everyone into action immediately. I put anyone who was not packing up the site or office onto the phones to talk to press, local radio stations, Realtors, and others who might help us find a new home.