Cool, Man!
“It may be bigger than Woodstock!” was the excited exclamation one of my customers made about a rock festival that was supposedly already scheduled and publicized by some “underground” communication system.
Of course I knew that declaration was an impossible fantasy or a flat out lie. I was to reevaluate my thoughts shortly after.
This was early in May 1971, years before Facebook or cellphones. The concert was reputed to take place on the Arnold farm, hilly by nature, unlike the flat fields of Eastern Pennsylvania. Most of the area is serviced by two-lane roads where my Sunoco station sat along Route 201, less than a mile from the proposed location. There had been no visible advertising or publicity of any kind.
As time inched toward the scheduled last weekend of May fete, it became obvious that something big was about to take place.
At my business, I knew at least 90% of my customers, but we were in the “beat” generation, and I was seeing more vehicles that shouted “hippie” by the paint or signage. Motorcycles were numerous.The younger generation of new customers were different in their looks and speech, but friendly and courteous.
As the weekend approached, stories of cancellation by authorities of the scheduled concert appeared. Concerns about proper permits and lack of sanitation were the reasons that we heard. At my station, go or no go of the event was not our concern. We were swamped. I ordered an emergency truckload of gas and the pumps and bays were filled plus customers waiting. The narrow road was crammed with vehicles of every description. We saw vendor trucks of all kinds. Today they would be called food trucks. One guy had a stakebed truck full of bags of oranges (hydration control in the hot summer sun, I guess).
In the station office, we sold out of everything. I had been in business for 10 years, and was not prepared for the crush of that number of people. We were a local, service station with no more than three employees on hand at the busiest times. Fortunately, folks understood the circumstances and were very patient.
When we expected the rush to wane, it got even busier. My brother and several trusted customers helped at the gas island to give regulars a break. Someone drove to Pechins and came back with cases of Pepsi and ice to cool it.
At the planned concert site, we heard that a hundred or more state troopers had begun evicting concert fans from the property. By sometime on Saturday, attendees, police and most gawkers had left, and traffic had returned to somewhat normal level.
Debates continued locally for years about the cancellation and clearing of the crowd that had assembled for the concert. Promoters filed lawsuits, some residents were outraged at the attempt to have the concert, others claimed the eviction by police created more confusion and anger than if the event were allowed to happen.
Mr. Arnold, owner of the property, claimed a concession stand was broken into and robbed.
The guy with the truckload of oranges stopped back at the station as he was leaving. He was not happy. He still had most of the oranges.
As a business that was nearly ringside to the action, I would probably vote no opinion. We were very busy, but unprepared, just as the whole area was unprepared for an event of that size.
It is scary, however, to think that even with the “underground” knowing that the event was canceled, between 3,000 and 4,000 fans showed up.
As a postscript, a beat up van pulled off the road across from my station on Saturday afternoon. Four or five hippie-type kids climbed out and unfurled a large banner promoting a taboo four letter word that is thrown around freely today by every late night TV host. That done, they yelled “love you,” climbed back in the van and chugged away.
Eventually, Woodstock II would take place – just not on a farm in Fayette County.
Roy Hess Sr. is a retired teacher and businessman from Dawson.