Woodstock: Amy Musumarra

Amy Musumarra, 58, Melville. Controller for an insurance partnership.

I had just completed my first year of college at Farmingdale. With the Vietnam War all over the television and friends getting drafted, the news of the largest music festival ever, being held right here in New York, was beyond exciting.

After all the arrangements were made, I finally told my parents. My parents were pretty cool people; after all they had three teenagers, lived through Beatlemania, the war and the onset of the drug culture. But this made them nervous. "You're driving all the way to where? You're staying with who?"

"Not to worry mom, I will call you every night."

There were people not just from the New York area but as far away as California and Washington state. The feeling among all of us was that something huge and beautiful was about to happen and we all felt the enormousness of the occasion. It was not just about the music anymore, this was much bigger and it was going to change the world.

I never did get close enough to actually see the groups perform, but I did hear them thanks to the huge sound system. It didn't really matter, though, because the music was only one aspect of Woodstock. It was the people, the pot, the mud and the rain that were the true essence of the Woodstock experience.

However, by Sunday, sick, wet, sweaty and hungry, we decided we had enough.

In August 1989, the 20th anniversary of Woodstock, I found out that my three great-uncles had purchased a huge chunk of Yasgur's farm and invited our family up for the anniversary weekend. As we walked to the memorial site, a quarter-mile away, I looked over my shoulder at the sprawling ranch houses with their paved circular driveways, tennis courts and in-ground pools. I sank to my knees and was instantly overcome with an emotion that left me both nostalgic and sad.

Now 40 years later, I know nothing has ever or could ever duplicate the experience of Woodstock. We made a statement that almost half a million people, from all walks of life, can live peacefully during the most hostile of times. A lesson the world still hasn't caught on to yet. Today, as a mother of a 19-year-old daughter, I am certainly thankful for GPS and cell phones.