Barefoot in Babylon
Page 2
Woodstock became Michael’s trump card. Ten years after the festival, he had parlayed his Woodstock fame into a record label deal and fronted a management company that included Joe Cocker, among others. Moreover, he’d become the face of Woodstock, the star of that gorgeous documentary film of the event, and its chief benefactor. Early on in the weekend, he’d detached himself from the backstage machinery of the festival—thus, from the mounting responsibilities—and lost himself in the groove. It wasn’t in his best interests to have that story told.
Still, all four promoters devoted themselves to my quest, and once that happened, all the dominoes fell. As the months passed, the missing festival crew members who had slipped back into civilian life or gone underground or just plain disappeared began calling me to relate their experience, to make sure I got the story right. It was like working on a paint-by-numbers canvas. I knew what the festival looked like in my mind, its general outline, but the subsequent interviews began filling in the bigger picture. Finally, when the last story was told, I was able to allow myself a stroll across the site, across Max’s farm, which was an experience that, trust me, I cannot put into words. I’ll leave it to your imagination. Only one thing remained for me to piece it all together.
Which brings me back to the music. From the opening chords of Richie Havens’s epic version of “Freedom” to Jimi Hendrix’s chilling national anthem, there is hardly a finer anthology of rock music anywhere on record. Woodstock was a city of sound, and the roster of performers who graced the festival’s stage remains, with some notable exceptions, the essence of sixties rock and roll. The mix of acts, much to Michael Lang’s credit, was quirky, quirky perfect. The performances were quintessential, heroic. For many, their appearance at Woodstock was career-making and enduring. Consider that the festival introduced Joe Cocker to the States, served as the debut of Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, put Santana on the map, all of whom continue to pack houses forty years later. Imagine listening to Janis Joplin at the top of her voice, thinking that no one could follow such an act, before she ceded the stage to Sly and the Family Stone. Picture the Who, destroying everything in sight, while several hundred thousand kids, zoned out of their minds, watched in goggle-eyed awe. Tim Hardin, the Band, the Dead, Joan Baez, Creedence . . . they summed up what was happening in music at a time when music was the cultural currency. It gave voice to what the generation was thinking.
The story of Woodstock is an adventure—and an artifact. There is much to be learned about dreamers and their dreams, about who we were and what we handed down. It’s not so much a nostalgic trip as a rite of passage. Take it from me, after ten years’ worth of regret and retribution, I eventually got to experience the festival from a vantage point that few get to see. Now it’s your turn.
Go on—sit back, drop on a few well-chosen records (if you still have ’em), and light up a fat one. For god’s sake, don’t take the brown acid! Turn the page and enjoy the ride.
Cast of Characters
WOODSTOCK VENTURES
THE PRINCIPALS
ARTIE KORNFELD, Publicity and Subsidiary Rights
MICHAEL LANG, Executive Producer
JOHN ROBERTS, Financier
JOEL ROSENMAN, Administrative Troubleshooter, Advertising
THE EXECUTIVE STAFF
STEVE COHEN, Production Stage Manager
DON GANOUNG, Community Relations
STANLEY GOLDSTEIN, Headhunter and Campgrounds Coordinator
PETER GOODRICH, Concessions
CHRIS LANGHART, Technical Director and Designer
MEL LAWRENCE, Director of Operations
CHIP MONCK, Stage Lighting and Technical Designer
JOHN MORRIS, Production Coordinator
WES POMEROY, Chief of Security
THE STAFF
THE BASTARD SONS, Construction
TICIA BERNUTH, Production Assistant
THE BLACK SHIRTS, “Heavy” Security
KIMBERLY BRIGHT, Office Assistant
JAY DREVERS, Staging Supervisor
KAREN EAGER, Security Assistant
BOYD ELDER, Art Crew
JOHN FABBRI, Security
CAROL GREEN, Staff Cook
OTIS HALLENDALE, Office Dog
HOWARD HIRSCH, Art Exhibit
THE HOG FARM, Spirit, Construction, and Security
JOE KIMBLE, Security
PETER LEEDS, Art Exhibit
LENNY, Director of Heavy Security
RENEE LEVINE, Bookkeeper
RON LIIS, Art and Playground Design and Water-Search
LEE MACKLER, Security and Administration
JOYCE MITCHELL, Office and Administration
KEITH O’CONNOR, Assistant Ticketing Operations
JERRY POMPILI, Administration
BONNIE JEAN ROMNEY, Hog Farm Coordinator
HUGH ROMNEY, Hog Farm Leader
JEWEL ROSS, Security
PENNY STALLINGS, Administrative Assistant
INGRID VON WILSHEIM, Purchasing
BILL WARD, Director of Art Crew
JEAN WARD, Art Crew and Administration
INDEPENDENT ASSOCIATES
DR. WILLIAM ABRUZZI, Medical Director
BILL BELMONT, Artist Coordination
BERT COHEN, Office Design and Coordinator of Underground Advertising
TOM DRISCOLL, Land Evaluation
TOM EDMONSTON, Construction
FOOD FOR LOVE:
CHARLES BAXTER, LEE HOWARD, JEFFREY JOERGER,
STEPHEN WEINGRAD (their lawyer)
MICHAEL FOREMAN, Program
JANE FRIEDMAN, Public Relations
DICK GERSH, Public Relations
DONALD GOLDMACHER, Medical Committee for Human Rights
BILL GRAHAM, Artists’ Reps.
JAMES GRANT,
Executive Director, New Mexico Governor’s Crime Commission
MANNY GREENHILL, Artists’ Reps.
TOM GRIMM, Telephones
ALBERT GROSSMAN, Artists’ Reps.
BILL HANLEY, Sound
MALCOLM HART, Preliminary Filming
ABBIE HOFFMAN, Atmosphere
INTERMEDIA SYSTEMS, Transportation and Efficiency
EDDIE KRAMER, Recording
DAVID LEVINE, Performers’ Food
CHARLES MACALUSO, Trash and Carting
MICHAEL MARGETS, Preliminary Filming
BOB MEURICE, Motion Picture Producer
DAVID MICHAELS, Legal Rights Advice
HECTOR MORALES, Booking Agent
LEE OSBORNE, Recording
ARNOLD PUFF, tri-county citizens band radio club,
Communications
BILL REYNOLDS, Portable Toilets
ALFRED ROBERTS, John Roberts’s father
TOM ROUNDS, Land Evaluation
RIKKI SANDERSON, Medical
ARNOLD SKOLNICK, Festival Poster
TRI-COUNTY CITIZENS BAND RADIO CLUB, Communications
THE UP-AGAINST-THE-WALL MOTHERFUCKERS,
Threats and Excitement
MICHAEL WADLEIGH, Motion Picture Director-Producer
THE WARTOKE CONCERN, Public Relations
LANDOWNERS
HOWARD MILLS, JR., Wallkill
MR. SHALER, Saugerties
ALEXANDER TAPOOZ, Woodstock
MAX AND MIRIAM YASGUR, Bethel
THE LAWYERS
SAMUEL W. EAGER, JR., Wallkill
RICHARD GROSS, Bethel
MILES LOURIE, New York City
PAUL MARSHALL, New York City
ACCOMMODATIONS
THE DIAMOND HORSESHOE, Bethel
THE EL MONACO MOTEL, Bethel
THE RED TOP, Middletown
ROSENBERG’S, Bullville, New York
POLICE
RALPH COHEN, NYPD, Festival Recruitment
JOE FINK, NYPD, Festival Recruitment
HOWARD LEARY, Commissioner, NYPD
GEORGE MCMANUS, NYPD, Chief Inspector
WALLKILL
DENNIS COSGROVE, Innkeeper
IRV COULTER, Town Clerk
RICHARD DOW, Concerned Citizens Committee
HERBERT FABRICANT, Attorney for Howard Mills
HERBERT FREER, Town Father
LOUIS INGRASSIA, Town Councilman
HENRY ITZLA, Town Councilman
PAT MILLS, Howard Mills’s Wife
JULES MINKER,
Attorney for Concerned Citizens Committee
JOSEPH OWEN, Town Attorney
CLIFF REYNOLDS, Concerned Citizens Committee
BRENT RISMILLER, State Trooper
AL ROMM, Editor
ETHEL ROMM, Writer
JACK SCHLOSSER, Town Supervisor
THE TIMES HERALD RECORD
BETHEL
MORRIS ABRAHAM, Real Estate Middleman
DANIEL J. AMATUCCI, Town Supervisor
JUDGE GEORGE L. COBB, Heard Citizens’ Complaints Against Festival
HARRISON DUNBROOK, New York State Transportation Director
WILLIAM FILIPPINI, Landowner
LOUIS KOMANCHEK, Town Father
JOHN MONAHAN, State Trooper
CHARLIE PRINCE, Branch Manager, Sidlivan County National Bank
EMILY ROSCH, Civil Defense Administrator
CHARLES RUDIGER, Superintendent, Monticello Schools
FREDERICK W. V. SCHADT, Town Attorney
Elliot TIEBER, Motel Proprietor, El Monaco Motel
KEN VAN LOAN, Bethel Businessman
TRAIN
GARLAND JEFFERIES
DON KEITER
BOB LENOX
PERFORMERS
JOAN BAEZ
THE BAND
BLOOD, SWEAT AND TEARS
CANNED HEAT
JOE COCKER
COUNTRY JOE MCDONALD & THE FISH
CREEDENCE CLEARWATER REVIVAL
CROSBY, STILLS AND NASH
GRATEFUL DEAD
ARLO GUTHRIE
TIM HARDIN
KEEF HARTLEY
RICHIE HAVENS
JIMI HENDRIX
THE INCREDIBLE STRING BAND
IRON BUTTERFLY (failed to appear)
IT’S A BEAUTIFUL DAY (rejected)
JANIS JOPLIN
THE JEFF BECK GROUP (canceled)
THE JEFFERSON AIRPLANE
THE JOSHUA LIGHT SHOW
MELANIE
MOUNTAIN
THE PAUL BUTTERFIELD BLUES BAND
QUILL
SANTANA
JOHN SEBASTIAN
RAVI SHANKAR
SLY AND THE FAMILY STONE
BERT SOMMER
SWEETWATER
TEN YEARS AFTER
THE WHO
JOHNNY WINTER
JOHN V. LINDSAY, Mayor, New York City
NELSON ROCKEFELLER, Governor, New York
HOWARD SAMUELS, Lieutenant Governor, New York
CHALLENGE INTERNATIONAL
MEDIA SOUND STUDIOS
Miracles are propitious accidents,
the natural causes of which are too
complicated to be readily understood.
—George Santayana
We are the music-makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams;
World-losers and world-forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world forever, it seems.
—Arthur W. E. O’Shaughnessy, “Ode”
PART ONE
The Nation at Peace
CHAPTER ONE
Four Champions Fierce
From the beginning, the script reads like an MGM musical comedy of the 1940s . . .
—BusinessWeek
1
A shrill alert penetrated the apartment’s unruffled silence, startling the two young men inside. John Roberts, who had been dialing a long-distance call, vaulted toward the wall intercom and slapped the Talk button.
“Yes?” He automatically switched fingers to Listen. The doorman’s heavily accented response crackled: “Meester Mike and Meester Arth.”
Roberts peered over his shoulder to the velours couch where his friend and partner, Joel Rosenman, was probing the circuitry of a disabled transistor radio.
“Don’t look at me.” Rosenman shrugged, looking up from his surgery.
Roberts depressed the Talk button again. “Just a moment,” he said, and walked over to his desk. He flipped open a tan leather binder and ran his finger over a dog-eared page. The cryptic entry in his appointment book read simply: Lang/Kornfeld, 3:00. It was scrawled across the bottom of a page dated “Thursday, February 6, 1969,” a day that Roberts and Rosenman would forever inscribe as the moment of maculate conception, the birth of the Woodstock Generation.
“These are the two guys Miles sent over,” Roberts remembered. “I forgot all about it.”
“Me too,” Rosenman said. “They’re looking for money, right?”
Roberts said they were and instructed the doorman to allow their guests into the building. He and Rosenman had halfheartedly agreed to see Lang/Kornfeld on the recommendation of Miles Lourie, a prominent music-business attorney, who represented an impressive roster of contemporary recording artists that included Ray Charles and Paul Simon. Lourie had heard through a mutual acquaintance that Roberts and Rosenman were rolling in investment capital and had called them a week earlier with a proposition.
“My clients have a unique approach to a recording studio,” Lourie had said, holding back on the details. An old legal hoofer at heart, he played his cards slowly and with a dealer’s reserve. Lourie, in fact, considered his clients’ concept to be both economically sound and enticing, so much so that he was willing to represent it on a contingency basis. With the proper pairing of individuals, he envisioned everyone—including himself—profiting quite handsomely.
“All I’m asking is that you spend a few minutes with them, listen to what they have to say. And by the way, John, don’t be put off by their appearance. They look a little different than the type of people you and Joel are accustomed to dealing with, but I think you’ll find what they have to say refreshing.”
The last thing John Roberts and Joel Rosenman wanted to do was to waste time listening to would-be tycoons with a penchant for sound systems and superstars. A few months before, after several false starts in private enterprise, they had been referred to a similar cartel intent on building a recording studio; that liaison had resulted in their involvement in a project called Media Sound (in which Roberts and Rosenman had become partners), that was now underway to their utmost satisfaction. Why should they waste their time mulling over an identical proposal?
Still and all, Miles Lourie was considered a moving force in an industry they were entering. It wouldn’t do them any harm to be in his favor in return for a few minutes of their time. So John Roberts had consented to see Lang/Kornfeld at their convenience.
“You know anything about these guys?” Rosenman asked his partner, straightening up the pile of electrical scrap on the coffee table.
“Only that their first names sound like Meester Mike and Meester Arth—whatever the hell that means,” he said, shaking his head discontentedly. “And . . .” And, by the way, John, don’t be put off by their appearances. The lawyer’s words came back to him as he straightened a few things on his desk. It was a peculiar statement for a
lawyer to make about his clients.
“And?” Joel waited for Roberts to continue.
“Uh, nothing,” Roberts said evasively as the door bell rang. “It wasn’t important.” And he moved in front of Rosenman to answer the door.
It wouldn’t be Roberts’s last appointment with this mysterious duo, although many of their subsequent encounters would not be arranged so easily—so exasperatingly easily! For years to come, there would be moments when he would wonder in how many ways the course of his life might have been altered had he politely refused Miles Lourie’s request. How indescribably empty it might have been—the colossal dream, the creativity, the excitement, the gamble, the recognition, the fame. Each memory invaded his senses the way a tilt-a-whirl whips a screaming child in and out of environmental focus. And after the legendary ride was over—when all contrasting recollections of enchantment and chaos had been sifted by perspective, by time—the inconceivable conclusion he always reached never failed to astound him: that given the chance, he would pull the magic lever and take the ride all over again.
• • •
Oliver Goldsmith once wrote that “friendship is a disinterested commerce between equals.” If, in reality, there was ever an invisible line of demarcation drawn to define their worth to one another, neither John Roberts nor Joel Rosenman paid it any mind. Their friendship from the start was a genuine marriage of trust and admiration, neither lopsided nor doubted. If one of them needed advice, the other became father confessor; if there was a difference of opinion, a compromise was eventually reached. It was that sort of give-and-take relationship, with impregnable bonds.
Roberts, a solid, bullish young man with pink dimpled cheeks, twinkling brown eyes that were dead giveaways in a poker game, and tousled, chestnut hair parted to the side, was three years younger than his friend. He had been born in New York City in 1945, four days before the German armies surrendered to the Allied forces, and grew up in a small New Jersey army town. John’s maternal grandfather, Alexander Block, was one of the early East Coast pharmaceutical empire builders. When he died in 1953, Block Drugs was divided among his children. Elizabeth Roberts, his only daughter, inherited one third of a company grossing upwards of twenty million dollars a year behind such nationally renowned products as Polydent Toothpaste, Tegrin Medicated Shampoo, and the Pycopay line of accessories. But Elizabeth herself had been sickly, and it was not long after her father died that she, too, passed away at the age of thirty-nine. She was survived by three sons: William, born in 1937; Keith in 1943; and John, her third and last child. John, who was eight years old at the time of his mother’s death, with his two brothers, became a beneficiary of the Block Drug wealth.