The Great Woodstock Story - Part 6

In this continuing series I detail my adventures at Woodstock ‘99.

Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 and Part 5 to catch up.

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Harold and Angela were a fun geek couple from Massachusetts. They had a large maroon tent that had two areas: A “living room” space in the front, and a “bedroom” space in the back separated by a zip-up door. I left my shoes outside and hauled my sleeping bag, pillow, and duffel bag into the front living space. It was nice and dry as we made acquaintances.

They were in their mid-twenties and had been together for a few years. They giggled about engagement possibilities as the pipe was passed around. It appeared that for relationships at Woodstock the proverbial glue was weed.

The rain had stopped just before dawn, and I awoke to a morning ripe with the smell of promise. The smell of promise, if you didn’t know, smells like dew and marijuana. Near the large Indian statue was a group sitting around it. Twenty or so people, young and old alike, passing around 3 or 4 pipes. Take a hit, pass it along, fill it up if its empty. I sat and chatted. This continued for some time as the morning sun began to heat up. Everyone was happy and excited.

After that pit stop, I found that Harold and Angela had went on to the venue area. I changed my clothes and headed there myself.

Everything seemed to double or triple in size. The line to the venue area was twice as long, the lines to the water fountains were three times as long, and even the vendors and their exhorbant prices were swamped with people looking for water and food.

Myself and the vast majority of the crowd was gathered at the East stage, the “Main” stage for Woodstock 99. All of the big acts—Metallica, Korn, Limp Bizkit, Dave Matthews Band—were all playing on this stage. But strangely enough in the midst of all this talent they chose James Brown (yes the Godfather of Soul) to kick off a festival like Woodstock ‘99.

I decided if I was going to watch him, I wanted to watch him up close. So I tried to get as close as possible to the stage. This was a mistake.

Once I was within a hundred feet, the heat and pressure began to wear on you. In a crowd that size, people are moving and pushing and shoving and ripples of movement continue on through everyone, involuntary. Shoving neighbors to your left meant the entire crowd shifted to the left whether they wanted to or not. Even a guy of my size was having a hard time keeping two feet on the ground.

It was sickeningly hot, even at 11AM in the morning. The show wasn’t to start for an hour, but the humidity was already choke-worthy. The organizers broke out firehouses and dowsed the crowd, but that only seemed to churn more humidity amongst the huge number of bodies.

Plus the whole thing smelled like a dirty armpit. It was time to get out of this mess.

The show began at noon and I stood safely a quarter mile back, watching and wondering when it would get more interesting than it was. Frankly, James Brown sucked. “I Feel Good” aside, No one was interested, no one sang along, and everyone was ready for a change. It was a long ninety minutes.

Finally at 1:30PM G-Love and Special Sauce arrived and their catchy tunes got the crowd in a much more favourable mood.

It was around this time that I found out the water supply was in trouble. The nearest water fountain had 4 faucets, but were all being fed from the same plastic pipe semi-buried in the ground. The problem was this pipe was just plastic and not industrial strength PVC piping. After only a few hours and tens of thousands walking on it, the feeding pipe had cracked. Mud from the surrounding area was seeping in the water.

You could hold up the water you received from the fountain to the light and see particles floating in it. But after you waited twenty minutes for it, you didn’t really care. You drank it anyway or you paid $8 for water or you passed out from exhaustion and dehydration.

Soon they began shutting the fountains off. They would never be turned back on.

The most ironic note was they kept announcing that people should drink more water. But with Port-O-Potties never getting emptied, or turned over, and with the water supply quickly getting tainted, it became a chore to stay hydrated.

Once the initial fountains near the stage were shut off, it was literally a half-mile walk for water.

I saw several people pass out from dehydration and one in particular I’ll never forget.

After Jamiroquai played their set, I was sitting and relaxing on the lawn near the East stage. A boy walked out of the crowd, stumbling in my direction. He was glassy eyed, sunburnt, and his shirt was half torn off of him. He had been near the stage, obviously. And he was not going to last much longer.

He was mumbling something through cracked lips as he walked toward me. Finally I heard “Water…water…water…”

The boy turned himself toward a Evian vendor nearby, who was enthusiastically selling his 16oz bottles for “only” $6 each.

The boy held out his hand, desperate.

The vendor said “Six dollars please.”

The boy said nothing. The vendor frowned.

Finally, the boy tipped over. Tipped, like a teapot. He never even tried to catch himself. I heard the thud as he hit the pavement nearby. A sickening crunch rang out.

At this point murmurs of calling the medical staff were raised and someone called them. The boy lay helpless on the pavement, eyes white and rolled into his head.

The vendor noticed how everyone around was looking at the boy and talking about his well-being. This, obviously, wasn’t selling water. So the vendor took what little shade he was providing to the passed-out patron and wheeled to the other side of the lawn.

Greedstock? This was only the beginning.

Tomorrow: Friday ends, Saturday begins, raves start and stop, and how to sell fake acid for fun and profit.

Update: Read Part 7.

Crazy what you could have had,
I need this. I need this.