Woodstock Gave Me You

Woodstock Gave Me You By J.D. Walker Friday, August 15, 1969 “Did you see the t**s on that chick, man? What a fox!” Burt Crispin was as crude as he was loud. “Everyone can see them,” I retorted. We’d just arrived at the Woodstock Festival in Bethel, and I was irritated because it was hot and muggy, and my companion was a big dope. “What’s your beef, Lare? All I’m sayin’ is, I’m gonna be makin’ it without even tryin’!” He rubbed his hands together and smirked. “It’s all about free love, right?” My name was Laramie, actually, but Burt was clueless, and all he talked about was s*x. “My d**k’s been hard since we got here,” he continued, and to punctuate that statement, he grabbed his crotch and squeezed. Burt walked faster now, his eyes focused on the naked butt of the voluptuous blond he’d been ogling. Soon, he disappeared from view. Sighing loudly, I shook my head at the state of things. While I definitely wanted to be where history was in the making, Burt had not been my first choice as a traveling cohort. I’d been in a tight spot, and he was the only ride I’d been able to find on short notice after my friend Sergio, a guy I worked with, had backed out at the last minute. He said he’d heard some negative stuff about the event on the radio and didn’t want to get caught up in weird s**t. Coward. Forced to check bulletin boards and ask around, I’d ended up with Burt. No matter what, I would find another way home. Life was way too short to be spent in the company of someone with whom I had absolutely nothing in common. Despite it all, I was still happy to be here. It was the one place in time where I could experience thousands of people together focused on peace, love, and music. Everywhere I turned, there were smiling faces and people hugging each other, some in various states of undress. The sheer number of bodies around me was staggering. Humans practically replaced the grass and weeds as ground cover. I carried a bedroll with me, around which I’d wrapped a blanket I could sit on. Also, I had a backpack filled with a few items of clothing and other necessities, and a little container with sandwiches and water that I hoped would last me for the entire event. As I searched for a spot that wasn’t already taken—or covered in mud from the recent rains—I thought briefly of the family I’d left behind years ago. They would never have approved of something like this, and I never regretted my decision to leave home when I did. * * * * My dad was a mechanic and my mom had become a part-time secretary after I entered high school. Money had always been tight. I had three older brothers, two of whom went to Nam and died there. My parents had been consumed by grief when they’d received the news of their deaths. Rodney and Bud—twins—had been the golden boys in the family, expected to do great things. Rafe, the third son, married Maude, the girl he’d knocked up at twenty. They’d already had four kids, with another on the way when I left. They always argued with each other. I, on the other hand, was the throw away, the runt in the bunch. It didn’t help that I was as small and slender as my mother, nothing like the tall, strapping boys that resembled my father. I heard the word “fey”—and worse—a lot as I grew up. My parents didn’t know what to do with me. I realized just how different I was when I fell in love with my next door neighbor’s son, Rudy, when I was twelve. It was all one-sided, and a very confusing time for me. None of the neighborhood boys wanted to play with me, afraid of being called the same sort of names I constantly endured. When I turned eighteen and received the draft notice, I reluctantly went to join up. But I knew I’d never last a day in the army, so I said I was homosexual. The recruiter sniggered and growled, “We don’t need no f*****g limp wrists in this man’s army, anyway.” I endured the snickers and name-calling as I left, but secretly, I’d been relieved. Rather than live with my parents’ disappointment and not so subtle disgust any longer, I moved out and made my way to Greenwich Village in New York. It was a place I’d heard whispered about, and it sounded perfect to me. I ended up with a job at an underground paper. It was also where I met Sergio Venotti. He was the first openly homosexual person I’d ever encountered. We became roommates for a time, and he introduced me to the joys of s*x with another man. Sadly, we were only meant to be friends, as Sergio liked to put the make on any man who was willing. I got over it, eventually. I found my own living quarters, and was much happier. Life in the Village was eye-opening, liberating, and I thrived. When I heard about the music festival, it was right after the Stonewall riots. I felt the need for some peace and love instead of the hate, violence, and air of distrust that had settled in the Village since June.