As the street sign behind her came into focus, my lips split into a grin. Happy Avenue. Livy may have been mad, but I hadn’t been that happy in my whole life.
Once we’d wolfed down our sandwiches, we took a roadside bathroom break, then started toward Yasgur’s dairy farm. A mile later we came upon an overturned table with a message written in large letters:Local People Speak Out. Stop Max’s Hippie Music Festival. No 150,000 Hippies Here.
Johnny made an about-face, but Livy turned him back around.
“Wow, that many hippies, huh?” Leon said. “No wonder the epic traffic jam.”
“My boyfriend said they were expecting fifty thousand but sold over a hundred thousand tickets in advance,” Livy explained, then let out a cry of relief as we passed another sign:Aquarian Parking.“Thank you, God!” she shrieked, casting her gaze heavenward.
State troopers directed traffic with the help of a guy in a long-sleeved white jumpsuit. A red scarf hung loosely around his neck, and he wore a tattered straw hat with a hole in front that matched the hole in his smile where his front teeth should have been. He carried a walking stick in one hand and blew a kazoo with the other. “Welcome to Woodstock, folks!” he cried. “Glad you’re here.”
Fifteen minutes later, at three o’clock sharp, exactly fifty-five minutes after our water break, and thirty-two hours after leaving Memphis, our pilgrimage came to an end. Along with our two new friends and several thousand others, Livy and I crested a hill on West Shore Road, finally arriving at Yasgur’s dairy farm. Agog with excitement, I looked around, taking it all in.
A panoramic view of a pop-up pasture city unfolded before our eyes. Instead of crops, people populated the fields, forming a human carpet that stretched from one side of the road, across the pasture, onto a hill, and through a surrounding forest. A continual flow of humankind descended on the land from all directions. It seemed like 150,000 people were already there, and thousands more trailed behind us.
A naturally sloped, bowl-shaped cow pasture had been converted into a mammoth amphitheater. A large wooden stage had been built at the base, with a white canvas roof. Two skyscraper-size cranes rested in a nearby field. A tall wooden fence of protection encircled the backstage area, while six three-story yellow scaffolds topped with giant spotlights and speakers stood like watchtowers near the stage. A jumble of folks clung to the metal poles underneath.
From where we were standing, we could see a good-sized lake behind the stage and smaller ones sprinkled throughout the farm. Acampground scattered with hundreds of tents was off to the left. Dairy cows grazed freely among the people in the outlying pastures.
The concession stands looked like windjammers against a partly sunny sky, with multiple yellow canvas masts billowing in the wind. Temporary telephone and electricity poles had been constructed throughout the farm, and I noticed with relief a village of Porta Potties in the distance. A groovy, psychedelic-painted school bus was parked inside a chain-link fence that outlined a portion of the seating area. Only one thing seemed to be missing.
“Wonder where the ticket booth is,” I asked, scouting the perimeter. No one was sellingorchecking tickets anywhere. What’s more, hundreds of folks flooded into the amphitheater via a flattened section of fence—without presenting tickets.
Livy, pacing around in circles, stopped abruptly. She threw clenched fists in the air. “Forget the damn ticket booth! Where’s the front gate? Nick told me to meet him at the front gate. There isn’t one!” She was seconds away from tears. I heard them in her voice. But she was right. There was no front gate anywhere.
“You’ll find him,” Leon said tenderly. “Don’t sweat it.”
“You don’t understand.” Livy’s voice cracked. “I haven’t seen my boyfriend in three months. If we can’t find each other, I’m going home. I did not drive eleven hundred miles to camp by myself.”
I gave her a feeble wave.
“You know what I mean.” She let our canvas bag slip from her shoulder and plopped down on top of it.
Johnny stooped down next to her, lit a cigarette, and handed it over. “You can’t go anywhere till Sunday, love. Hang loose. Let him find you.”
Livy put the cigarette to her lips, sucking in a long drag. “How’s he gonna do that? Look at this mob,” she said in a whiny voice.
The noise from a helicopter caused us all to look up. “See,” Leon said. “Here he comes now. He waited on you to make his entrance.” We all watched the baby-blue-and-white helicopter land on a heliport beside the stage. “Is your boyfriend Jimi Hendrix?”
“Very funny,” Livy answered before taking another drag. She couldn’t even muster a smile. Tears flooded her eyelids. “Y’all go on. You don’t have to wait with us.”
It was official. Olivia Foster was the dumbest person on planet earth. I wanted to mash my foot on top of hers until she screamed out in pain. That was the last thing I wanted her to say.
“You sure?” Johnny asked, seeming a bit disappointed.
“Y’all shouldn’t have to miss out on a good spot because of us,” she said.
Us? There’s no us to it.
Johnny stood back up, turned to Leon. “All right, then. Let’s go claim our spot. Before we have to see the show from back here.”
I had feared the end was imminent, but when faced with it, I didn’t know how to say goodbye. I’d just spent four wondrous hours with these boys and kicked myself for not suggesting to Livy earlier that we invite them to sit with us. But then again, shouldn’t she have figured that out herself?
“Far out walking with you two Memphis belles,” Johnny said, looking first at me, then down at Livy. “You’ll find your boyfriend soon.”
Yes, we will find her boyfriend soon. Please wait with us,I was dying to say. Instead, I patted his arm. “Yeah. Far out.” With a switch of my gaze toward Leon, I felt my heart pound. “I hope things get better with your dad’s business.”
He tugged on his earlobe. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”
