By George Paterson, Lincroft, NJ

Music was life even back then, but at only 17, it had been a long, strange trip for 3 days and nights. I hadn’t been back to base camp since late Saturday afternoon. It was now Monday morning. Muddy, stoned and exhausted from the music experience that was Woodstock, I decided to trek the 2 miles to our cornfield tents to retrieve my two best friends who I had not seen since Saturday afternoon. I thought that besides them might wanting to see our guitar hero Jim Hendrix, I might want to check if I still had a ride home to the Jersey Shore! Though the people who had given us a ride were anxious to leave (since the festival had in fact been over for several hours), they graciously consented to wait until we got back. Yes, you heard right, they were too wiped out to take a walk to see Jimi live! Too bad, because by the time we got back to the concert site the sun was shining, we walked to within a few yards of the stage, and Jimi looked like the rock god he was. He played 16 songs and all was right with the world. I was finally ready to go home. PS: By the way, since my mom hadn’t heard from me in 4 days, she cried when she saw me, thinking I must have been run over by a tractor in my sleep.