I have some vivid memories, if not fragmentated, of my Woodstock adventure, Including driving my "57" Chevy Belair to Woodstock, with my brother Garry, his girlfriend Laverne and two neighbors, Tom and Steve.

All of us were from Levittown Pennsylvania, just outside of Philly. The traffic jam in the Mountains lasted most of the night, in a drizzle. But the next morning revealed an amazing city of people all across the landscape. I walked to the stage that Saturday and caught part of Santana before I went on a walking tour of this Woodstock city, basically in awe, since I had come from an Irish Catholic middle class background.

At one point I almost passed out when I came across about a dozen naked swimmers in a mountain creek. I also was stunned to witness a NY State trooper directing traffic at a country intersection. Just off the road was a man with very long hair selling large bags of Marijuana. Neither the Hippy or the trooper seemed concerned with the other. I had never even smoked marijuana.

I met two 19 year old ladies from Canda. We went into the town of White Lake and into a crowded general store. I called home to let my Mom know every thing was cool. Mom told me to get out of there quickly cause the news said Woodstock was a distaster area. I looked about at all the smiling happy young people and told Mom that everything was fine and not to worry.

At another point I drove across a farmer's field to take a short cut and got stuck in the mud. A farmer used his tractor to pull me out for five dollars. Later that night I dropped orange sunshine LSD with one of my Canadian lady friends. We lay on a country road that only had pedistrians and the people walking to the stage stepped over us but not on us. It all seemed in slow motion and I remember saying to the people, go ahead and walk all over us.

Sat. night the stars came out and the milky way splashed over head. Then a heavy down pour happnend and we found shelter in someone's car around a single burning candle. Early Sunday morning it was cloudy but we could still hear the sounds of Jefferson Airplane spilling acrross the Mountain countryside.

I stayed awake that week-end for three days, (with the aid of "Mother's little helper") only sleeping Sunday night. I actually thought at the time that the spirit of Woodstock would sweep across America.

When in the summer of 1979 my home town, Leviitown, Pa. was the site of the first USA gas riots ( that I experienced first hand) I realized that the Woodstock World that I envisioned was not meant to be. Still to this day, at times I feel like a "Woodstock Warrior".

"We are star dust we are golden."


Keith John Sampson