It was 40 years ago today. Each August 15th in ’79, ’89, ’99 and now ’09 has generated a distinctly different perspective on my life and on what happened back there. There have always been good memories: The mid-August sun and the hoard of good natured people, the music, and that we all knew we were in the middle of something special. But I have other reflections, too, that come forth every 10 years. One is how childish I was, at 19 years of age. Another reflection is more pragmatic and for this 40 year peg, here’s an excerpt from my book, Work the System: The Simple Mechanics of Making More and Working Less. It’s an interesting thing, how we all thought we had unleashed the secret to freedom and peace by cutting loose and saying the Hell with “the establishment.” But it turns out freedom and peace are actually realized by paying attention to details while not outright discarding the world as it is. Here’s the excerpt:
From a systems perspective, what happened at Woodstock? One system that worked well was the system that delivered the music. The technicians were adept and the equipment functioned adequately. The musicians showed up, which meant the transportation system worked—the entertainers were delivered by helicopter. The location (Yasgur’s farm) worked.
What systems did not work? Outside of the above, you name it: The ticketing system failed, with all the surrounding fences coming down early in the process—a disaster for the promoters who sponsored the event. The sanitation and medical systems were overwhelmed and borderline dysfunctional. If overt police protection had been required, it would have been mayhem because there was little more than a tiny contingent of informal private security guards.
Of course, from a personal systems perspective, few in the audience were physically prepared, even in a rudimentary way. To compound things, drug use was hampering rational thinking. Everyone was in the middle of everything, and chaos was a breadth away, held back by no more than the luck of the draw.
One day of peace and music? Yes, okay, that’s true. Two days? Well, the drugs helped maintain a certain calmness, but things were stretched. Three days? Whew! It was an exodus out of there! If there had been four days? For those diehards who might have remained, it would have been a sordid, nasty affair.
It was the love and goodwill of the people that made the festival work. But that sliver of “bliss-time” was narrow and can’t serve as an example of how a life can be lived day to day. “I love you, man” is not enough for the long term.
