Woodstock 16: Andy Gump



Notation: The Woodstock Music Festival began on August 15, 1969, as half a million people waited on a dairy farm in Bethel, New York, for the three-day music festival to start.

35,000 people were expected, instead, approximately 450,000 people attended the… 

Woodstock Festival of Music and Love
Bethel, New York

August 12, 1969

3:09 PM

Fully into the furious wind and pounding rain, standing now, Franklin helped Sharon to her feet as, leaving the minimal shelter of the Hippies hand painted Volkswagen mini-bus, Sharon sensed the abundance of Franklin’s warm semen drain from deeply within her vagina, glide down her leg to be wash away within moments.

Walking quickly once again, bodies hunched forward in a futile attempt to ward off a bit of the rain and howling wind at their backs.

3:13 PM

Rain and wind muffling any sound, coming from behind, Franklin and Sharon were overtaken and passed by a group of seven thoroughly drenched, ratty appearing hippies of undermentioned age dodging about the haphazardly vacated vehicles.

Turning her head to the side, cupping her mouth to be better heard. “You never told me about your mothers and your business.”

Cupping his mouth. “Weren’t going to talk about stuff like that.”

3:20 PM

Skyward, far to the south, the roiling black sky appeared to show ragged cracks of light.

“I told you about our hardware store, didn’t I?”

Margery was still CEO of the plastics factory, but: “Okay…” he lied “...we’re bookies.”

Incredulously: “She’s teaching you how to be a gambler?”

Taking a bit of comfort in coming up with such a ridiculous story. “no-no!” He said. “We don’t do the gambling, we just make money off the gamblers that do.”

Disbelievingly. “Oh?”

Going on. “And even if I did want to tell you where work, I couldn’t do it because, uh…” breaking into a bright toothed smile “... the cops are looking for us, so we got to keep moving from here to there.”

“This is a cock and bull story you’re telling me, right?”

“Yeah!” coming clean. “We’re in the plastics business.

The sky opening further, the pounding rain becoming a heavy drizzle.

“What kind of plastic business? What do you make?” 

"Don't really know."

3:30 PM

In the mist ahead Franklin and Sharon were able to make out the acquired parking area where cars, vans and mini-busses were parked in somewhat an organised fashion; meaning they were all facing pretty much in the same direction.

The drizzle becoming even lighter.

Wind easing, becoming a warm breeze.

“That your wagon?”

“Yeah.” Sharon could see three shadowy figures in the front seat through the dirty windshield.

3:33 PM

As they approached, both front doors opening, Clyde from the driver side and Dottie, one of the rooftop renters along with the other guy, that hadn’t given his name, came from the passenger side.

In a demanding tone. “Where you been?”

“Franklin and I went to…”

“Franklin?”

“Oh yeah.” Remembering the last time her husband had seen him, his phoney name was Morning Lust. Cocking her head to the right. “Yeah, Franklin and me told our real names.”

Belligerently. “Into real names now, huh?”

“Yeah.” Answered as gruffly. “We went to White lake to cool off and got caught in the storm.”

Opening the rear door, Dottie and friend, sensing tension between Clyde and Sharon, pulled their folding web loungers and cardboard box of supplies from the rear seat.

“I came looking for you, and asked these two if they wanted to sit out the storm with me?”

“Yeah, he did.” The unnamed young man said to Sharon. Turning to Clyde.” Thanks, Dottie and me appreciated you asking us into the car.”

3:38 PM

Now… As though from the pages of a 1940’s ten cent comic book giving competition to Superman...

As though Billy Batson, the crippled comic book news boy had shouted the wizards word, “Shazam!” When with a bolt of brilliant lightening had transformed from the crippled news boy to crime fighting, Captain Marvel.

The grey sky and drizzle transformed into a quietly calm, brilliantly blue cloudless sky, immediately, however, bringing forth the ninety-five degree heat along with cloying humidity and annoying flying insects.

Noting his wife's skimpy bathing suit, with the bottoms still slightly askew. “You didn’t think to tell me you were going off…” nodding towards Franklin, whom Clyde thought of as, ‘queer’ “...with this guy.”

Angrily. “You didn’t think to tell my you were screwing …” nodding towards Franklin “...his mother last night either, did you? Huh?”

When no reply came. “And I also know where you were and what you were doing...when the girls would let you, when you left me yesterday afternoon! So don’t you go getting on your high horse, mister!”

When no reply came. “It was you, remember, Clyde, that said whatever happens in Woodstock stays in Woodstock!” Adding sarcastically. “You did mean that applies to me, too, huh!”

4:02 PM

Lifting her head, sniffing. “What the hell smells so damn shitty?”

Notation: As a reminder, the original Woodstock Festival was to be held in the village of Woodstock forty miles southwest of the small city of Bethel.

Six weeks prior the festival, the townspeople of Woodstock, growing cold feet, decided they did not want hundreds— they should only have known— let alone near a half million hippies and beatniks running about their happy little village, and would not allow a permit for the construction of the pavilion and, returning the eight thousand dollar deposit, would no longer allow the festival.

Frantic now, having sold eighteen thousand tickets for all three days, the producers rushed to scout out another suitable location.

Forty miles to the north— discovering and paying eight thousand dollars to the owner of an unused saddle shaped, three hundred square acre cow field, and for an additional ten thousand dollars, the small town of Bethel, in need of funds, also gave permission for the festival, still named, because the tickets that had been sold, and promotional flyers that had been printed and distributed had stated ‘Woodstock’, the name remained.

At the three hundred square acre fields highest point, at the far northern end of the field, using four square acres for construction of the pavilion, staging area and artists quarters and, as it turned out due to the none passable road, a helicopter pad, construction began immediately leaving the far southern hump for parking and those bringing tents or whatever type of shelter.

Now came the huge problem of the additional mobile toilets and where and how they would placed.

Expecting an audience of approximately thirty-five thousand people, the Woodstock Constriction committee was able to locate and order three hundred ‘Andy Gumps’, but had received only one hundred-fifty with the promise that the additional hundred-fifty mobile toilets would be delivered and placed no later than August thirteen, two days before the start of the festival.

However, with the unexpected influx of approximately two hundred thousand people—vying for visually superior seating positions— arriving three days prior the start of of the Woodstock Festival, the road leading to and from the cow field, thoroughly blocked for a mile in both directions by approximately a thousand deserted vehicles, the two large trucks transporting the hundred-fifty portable toilets had no way to move forward, or, as there was a constant flow of vehicles heading to the cow field, no way to move back either.

About fifty yards from the woods— one hundred yards between the woods and the southern most boundary, a bank of fifty Andy Gump, portable toilets had been placed in pods of ten, secured side to side, making five separate, side to side pods of ten portable toilets.

As the groupings of fifty Andy Gump’s each on the far outer eastern and western boundaries were all were lined side to side facing north to south.

Fifty yards beyond the far southern most boundary, the five pods of ten attached toilets had all been placed facing...

Earlier, at 1:51 PM

The thunderstorm becoming a forty-five mile an hour wind churning squall flattening tents, lean-to’s and, extremely unfortunately, the five north facing pods of ten toilets each facing full into the wind lifted from the muddy ground, flipped back and, crashing onto the ground, all fifty discharging their overflowing fece and urine retainers into a thin stream of rain water, when…

Thinning as mixing with more water, the slowly moving stream of human wast widening and picking up speed as, approaching the parking area, it seeped into the thousands of tire-tracks that had been imprinted into the previously damp, now water logged earth causing a widening lace like pattern of...

4:02 PM

Dottie and her boy friend atop the Ford attempting to lay a blanket onto the roof so they might open their folding web recliners when the obnoxious, stomach churning sent hit them.

Gagging, Clyde held back vomiting.

“What the hell smells so shitty?” Sharon said, looking at Franklin.

His light skin turning even whiter. Franklin’s nose crinkling as the entire parking area became infused with the human waste of the Woodstock Festival of Love and Music.

The driver-side door to the old Ford station wagon still open, dropping onto his ass and sliding in, Clyde slammed the door behind him… But the stink was still with him.

Trapped.

Sharon, in light sandals.

Franklin in white deck shoes.

Brown sludge foaming about Sharon’s light sandals and Franklin’s white deck shoes.

Having to cover about sixty yards to reach the field.

Westlake Village, California

March 19,2011

10:50 PM

Laying front to back, spoon fashion, Marsha’s head resting on Mitchell’s shoulder, she had been telling Sharon’s story that had been told to Marsha in the utmost, old woman to old woman confidence.

Of course after five glasses of wine and one-half of a maharajah laced cookie.

Twisting his head, his face a shoulder length away from his wife’s.

“Oh, my God!” Mitchell said seriously. Then, smiling.

“That’s probably the shittiest story I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah. Never heard, uh, shitty stuff like that about Woodstock.”

“Mostly only about the music, huh?”

“Yeah. But when Sherrie was telling it… Even though it’s been forty-two years, she actually gagged.

“Could maybe be five glasses of wine, too.”

“Yeah. True.” Marsha said. “If she was knee deep in shit on the boat this afternoon.”

“So they figured they had about sixty yards to get out of

the parking lot, did they?”

“Yeah? And also there were a whole bunch of hippie type people there and, Sherry said, women were puking all over the place. Some of the guys, too.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. So how’d they get out?”

“Sharon told me her and Franklin took very slow, very long steps.”




Next: Woodstock 17; Festival