Woodstock: Steven Katz

Steven Katz, 56, Jericho. Event planner.

We made an early start on Wednesday, hoping to buy tickets at the gate or, better yet, sneak in. Traffic was backed up on Route 17B to the Monticello Raceway. We finally made it to Yasgur's Farm, only to find that there was no gate, no fence and, even better, no one collecting tickets.

We parked our U-Haul in a secluded area, high on a hill behind the stage and relaxed around a campfire. The next morning the road we came in on was packed with partially dressed people walking to a nearby pond where everyone was swimming. We had left our bathing suits home; everyone there had forgotten theirs as well.

Friday was the first day of music, scheduled to begin at noon, so down we headed to the stage area. Twelve o'clock came and went as did 1:00 and 2:00. I laid down and fell asleep. A few hours passed when I was awakened to the music of Richie Havens. The entire basin behind me that was void of people just hours ago was now filled with thousands.

Saturday we were awakened by the sound of helicopters landing and taking off. Curious, we approached the landing area and realized they were bringing the musicians to the concert. The Who, The Dead, Santana, Janis, The Airplane and Canned Heat were walking just yards away and nodding to us.

Fearing the exodus, we decided to leave early Sunday morning. Once I returned home I found that most of what I had brought with me was gone but I did bring back something that I didn't bring with me, something I would have for the rest of my life - my memories. To this day, whenever I hear that driving beat of Santana's "Soul Sacrifice," I'm right back in front of the stage. What a summer '69 was.