What initially began as a cohesive gathering initiated by The Diggers, The Family Dog and selected others evolved into a massive gathering in the Polo Grounds, the impetus that would evolve into other noted festivals, i.e., Monterey, Atlanta Pop Festival and of course the legendary masses that made the sojourn to Sullivan County in upstate New York in 1969 for The Woodstock Festival held on Yasgur’s Farm in Bethel.

We were the dissidents of the sixties, the anti-establishment youth of the day, tattered, battered and well traveled while in search of personal identity. In an era perceived as a microcosm of decadence and destruction predicated on Vietnam, racism and political unrest, we were more altruistic, the cadre of universal peace through the music that defined our generation. The psychedelic explosion on the west coast was essentially arcane to mainstream America but to those who made the nomadic journey to the hippie capitol of the world, the musicians, the bands, poster artist and poets of the Bohemian paradise in San Francisco, and Haight Ashbury, became the nexus for all those who were influenced by the ideology that permeated the area adjacent to Golden Gate Park forty years ago.

Some will dwell on these years prior to Woodstock as over hyped, over crowded, bombastic and autonomous to the majority of the country at the time but yet, resilient and compassionate about the thoughts of peace through cultural acceptance and the music that essentially eased the pain of a weary nation. We became more aural with the dawning of The San Francisco Sound and the Big Five, i.e., Big Brother & The Holding Company, Quicksilver Messenger Service, The Charlatans, The Grateful Dead & Jefferson Airplane and also malleable because of our collective youth in reference to chronological age. Long before dangerous two narcotics seeped through the cracks of our hallowed grounds, the wafts of pungent aromas seemed to engulf the area from Masonic Street to Stanyon on a daily basis yet, crime was a rarity during the embryonic days. We were now declared by “The Beats” as “hippies”. a term than evolved from “hipsters", often a vivid description conceived by the practitioners of the Beat Poet days in the artistic suburb known as Haight Ashbury, a reference to the bright colors worn by the burgeoning hordes pouring into San Francisco and the phalanx of tie-dye, a never before seen art form that was now saturating the area.

These were the days of legal LSD, an abundance of marijuana and the ancillary traits that are the juxtaposing images of recreational drugs and hedonism of teenage America. The much lauded and legendary venues of San Francisco have now become the folklore that makes The Haight second on the list of tourist attractions when in San Francisco. The Matrix, The Fillmore West, The Avalon Ballroom The Ark, Longshoreman’s Hall and others have been abated now but the memories remain. These are the wistful threads of a much adored, revered and emulated time frame, the tapestry of our lifetime and pieced together by those who were more concerned with perpetuation than the money that is now synonymous with the genre. Chet Helms had the dream, Bill Graham had the business acumen and we could see the vision of grandeur through the ethereal belief that the world could and would change if music was accepted as the universal elixir. Some would take the thoughts of the day and through the sensationalism of “sex, drugs & rock n’ roll”, portray the decade as bombastic, abrasive and a cacophony of pointless tunes but four decades later, the songs are perceived as iconic, classic and the musical monolith that all endeavor to replicate and produce. Stellar bands augmented by great performances need to be rewarded for their accomplishments and as we now foresee the 40th anniversary of Woodstock on the proverbial horizon, a myriad of us ponder on our return back to “The Garden”, The Age of Aquarius is alive and well. .

Cheers
Don Aters - 3/20/2008