Goose Lake
By Paul Mays
Its the summer of 1970 and here I stand beside the freeway with my thumb out waiting. I like many others have heard about the concert to be held at a small farm and, like everyone, I just gota be there. So here I stand without a dime in my pockets, no food and only the cloths on my back as shelter for the next few days. But the sky is bright and the smell of wild flowers fill the air. I have figured that like Wood stock that the people would be allowed in and not be made to pay a gate fee or so I hoped.
After about 5 hours with my waist long hair blowin in the breeze a pickup truck pulls to the side. The truck is driven by a longhaired radical commie pinko freak with the name of Fuzzy and in the back is a pile of human remains dragged from every exit ramp along the freeway. The smell of pot fills the air around the truck like a small cloud we never quite out run. These are the people, including me, that the news media have labeled Hippies. Some are from Detroit and the local area while others come from as far away as New York. All in all there's 12 of us stuffed into the pickup bed. And a happier, fun loving and just plain loving group have never been plopped together in one ball of humanity.
As we get closer the traffic starts to slow down. We are still 2 miles from the exit ramp but traffic is coming to a dead stop. This is an oman of things to come. We had expected there would be a lot of people shoe up but the sight of 250,000 partying souls heading for the unknown was a sight to behold.
Fuzzy the driver of his little band pulled his truck off to the side of the freeway and jumped out with a "This is as far as the truck goes so lets get to steppin" and with a fresh joint hangin from his lips he grabbed a backpack from inside the truck and threw his keys on the truck seat and started to walk. As we walked our little band of rejects began to grow.
By the time we had walked about two mile the line of longhaired folks had become a party in itself. We were singing songs ranging from Crosby,Stills and Nash To Joan Biez. Most everyone was a bit loaded and the bottles of Boone's Farm Strawberry Wine were passing by. One swig of the bottle and pass it on, never to be seen again as it vanished down the line. Then a few moments later here comes another one followed by the biggest joint I had ever seen (to that point). Rolled in rice paper the person who rolled that monster, somewhere up that line of humanity that faded into the distance, used a ounce to make it then sent in down the line.
This was just the prelude to the mass of bodies we would encounter once we entered that big gate that I could see in the distance.
By the time we made it to the gate there was no concern of having tickets, money or anything, we were so many that the flow would have carried us through. Along the fence there were people with backpacks and small hand written signs selling almost any kind of drug you may want. While in today's age we struggle with the best way to reduce the crime and violence of the drug culture of today, back then that was a non issue. We would no more have wanted to harm a flower as to bother anyone. With a smile on my face and 12 new found friends we headed into mass, trying to find a place to call our own.
To tell the truth to this day I cannot remember what bands played or on what day a band played. The music became a backdrop to the sea of people that danced and swayed to the sounds. I remember hearing a Santana tune and enjoying the sun as it crossed the sky. The night closed in an I started seeing small camp fires starting throughout the fields we occupied.
Then as our little group sat people watching we came upon an idea, We would build a fort. Just like as little kids we planed our grand design. We needed building material so what better than pop and beer cans. We figured we were helping clean the place up and making a statement at the same time. In our plan we would collect all the empty cans as we walked around meeting new friends and partying through the throng. Then we would stack all the cans we found into a huge peace symbol and we would stay in the structure while we partied. We continued building for two days and nights what we ended up with was a peace symbol 3 feet high and 32 feet across with 3 foot thick walls. It was a sight to behold ! As people walked by we would get the "Way Cool" comment closely followed by a passed joint or a bottle of wine.
The nights were magic. There were nude dancers dancing around a camp fire and lovers sitting counting stars. The music filled the air and the smell of the campfires could make you get lost in the stars. The first night a local band , The Frost , played there hearts out for the crowd and from my point of view at the almost dead center of the crowd I could see the people near the stage swaying to the beat. It looked like the entire crowd was in water and moving as one as the music engulfed them. This night was what had drawn 250,000 people from across a nation. This night was the reason to take to the road without a cent . This first night made the lonely hitch hiking for hours with a hunger burning in your stomach worth while. This night would be the night we all found a bit of peace................
For the next night came the rains.......
