Woodstock: Bruce Binder

Bruce Binder, 55, Nesconset. Health insurance brokerage owner.

Four of us purchased tickets but none of us had yet shared our plan with our parents. Eric had an uncle who owned a cottage resort in White Lake, right next to Bethel, so he arranged with his uncle for us to stay in a cottage. Eric had an unusually deep baritone voice for a 15-year-old, so he called all our parents, posing as his uncle, to assure them we would be safe.

After settling in, we walked four miles to the concert site. The fencing was lying on the ground, trampled by the crowd. It was raining profusely and people were milling about and lying in the mud listening to Richie Havens. I sought shelter on a platform used for sound equipment. The view up there was fantastic.

We stayed a few hours, then headed back to our base. The next morning, Eric's uncle threw us out after expressing his opinion that he did not think highly of our generation. So we walked back to the site and camped in the mud for the rest of the weekend with the exception of Saturday night, when we laid down on some comfortable trash bags piled up in front of the stage. Unfortunately, we were so comfortable that we fell asleep during The Who's performance.

That turned out to be the story of the weekend: no tent, no sleeping bags, no supplies, no food. Just music, mud, naked bodies and many other temptations for 15-year-olds growing up fast over a three-day weekend, terminating in an amazing set by Hendrix early Monday morning.

Despite all that was going on that summer, Woodstock still epitomizes the era for me.