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Investigator Cannock met Raymond Mizak's father Sunday night
in a funeral home on East Broadway in Monticello. The senior
Mizak was accompanied by the youth's uncle, a lieutenant in the
New Jersey State Police. "It (the tractor) ran over his chest,"
Cannock said. "His head was twice the normal size. Really
grotesque." The father told Cannock he had refused to give the
boy permission to go to the concert. Cannock said the father
blamed himself, said he should have locked his son up.

Two of the most vehement festival opponents showed up at the site
independently sometime Saturday or Sunday. Wallkill Supervisor
Jack Schlosser and former Bethel Supervisor George Neuhaus
toured the grounds and came to identical conclusions. "It became
obvious to me nobody knew what the hell they were doing.
Nobody," Schlosser said.

Cannock got to the morgue at Horton Memorial Hospital in
Middletown later Sunday night. A man in his mid-20s, who had
been at the festival, had died of a heroin overdose. Cannock can't
remember the man's name, and it was never disclosed. But for the
second time that day, Cannock was assigned to get a body
identified. Cannock tracked down a friend of the dead man's and
met him at the morgue. "The kid had been autopsied already,"
Cannock said. Inexplicably, the body was not stitched up after the
chest had been split open for the autopsy, according to Cannock.
"The friend pulled down the sheet to far and saw it all," he said.
"The kid passed right out."

Outside Yasgur's farm, Monticello Hospital nurses and doctors
had set up a clinic in a school that was closed for the summer.
Monticello Hospital's head of nursing, Gladys Berens, helped
deliver three babies there, only miles from the festival grounds.
She was there when a Marine on leave was brought in sometime
Sunday, unconscious from an overdose. The Marine - an 18
year-old from Long Island - died in the hospital, one of three
concert fatalities. "This young Marine had been through the war
without a scratch, and he ends up dying in Horton Memorial
Hospital in Middletown, NY. How sad," Berens, now 71, recalled.

Artie Kornfeld figured the capsule he was taking was speed,
Dexedrine, something to keep him alert for the rest of the festival.
His wife, Linda, took one too. Then he began hallucinating that
the National Guard (which was not there) was shooting into the
crowd. The colors were all melting together. "I was dosed. It was
my first psychedelic, and it happened at Woodstock," Kornfeld
said. "I never would have chosen that place deliberately, never to
do it at Woodstock." Kornfeld learned later that the capsule was
powdered psilocybin mushroom, a powerful hallucinogen. "I
decided that we needed help. It was 12 hours before Hendrix,"
Kornfeld said. "I was Thorazined out of it. That's why I missed
Hendrix."

The Holiday Inn in Monticello was one of the headquarters for
Woodstock performers. It was also the quarters for the state
police. Cannock wasn't impressed at being in the company of the
rich and famous. He doesn't even remember their names. "We
were rubbing elbows. I wasn't thrilled to have them there," the
investigator said. " The two dead bodies were fixed in my brain."

John Pinnacaia didn't even feel it at first, just a twinge of pain on
the instep of his foot late Sunday night. Then this girl started
screaming, and there was all this blood. "It must have been some
kind of bottle," he said. "I couldn't even see it. My foot was in the
mud." Pinnacaia had been listening to guitarist Johnny Winter
while fetching peanut butter sandwiches for himself, his girlfriend
and his sister. But the 18-year-old from Brooklyn took one step
and became a Woodstock casualty. "This guy picked me up, threw
me over his shoulder and ran me to the hospital (tent). Must have
saved my life," he said. A helicopter flew him to Monticello
Hospital. "They'd given me a shot of anesthetic, but it hadn't
started working. They had to start stitching. Then this big fat
nurse sat on me so I couldn't move, and they started stitching.
That's all I remember of that. One other thing: They called home
to ask permission to operate," Pinnacaia said. "Mom freaked
out."

It was about 9am, time for Hendrix, the headliner. He had
launched into the national anthem, a moment that would go down
in the annals of rock'n'roll. "I remember trying to fall asleep
during the 'Star-Spangled Banner'," said Ciganer, Jerry Garcia's
buddy. "I just wished he would stop." The party was over.

The partners had to face a different kind of music. Woodstock
Ventures had obtained letters of credit, backed by Roberts' trust
fund, from a bank on Wall Street. Now, Ventures was at least $1.3
million in debt. Kornfeld was still muddy when he walked into the
banker's office. "He had a tank with a piranha in it, and he was
feeding him meat," Kornfeld recalled. "The attitude already was a
battleground." Ventures was in trouble because Woodstock had
been a damn-the-expense money pit for six weeks. Kornfeld's
promotional expenses were more than $150,000, 70 percent over
budget. Lang's production expenses had soared to $2 million,
more than 300 percent over budget.

Ventures had paid crews overtime to do six months of work in six
weeks' time. Three days of running a private air fleet of helicopters
had also helped to bust the budget. "It was like living a dream,"
Lang recalled. "My idea was just to get it done, whatever it took.
We had a vision, and it all came true." When it was all over, the
Wall Street bankers demanded an accounting. The promoters had
sold about $1.1million in tickets, but Ventures had written maybe
$600,000 in bad checks and had other debts. As of August 19,
1969, the high-water mark of the counterculture had cost at least
2.4 million hard, capitalist dollars. Thousands of dollars more in
fines, fees, claims and lawsuits hadn't even come in yet. To top it
off, there was a criminal investigation. The attorney general's
office and the Sullivan County district attorney were starting to
dig.

About those two kids who brought their woes to Charlie Prince:
The banker helped them solve their problem. They found the
week-old '69 Olds. It was parked eight miles away. In front of
Neuhaus' home. Two state troopers were sitting on it.

Leo O'Mara walked the 20 miles back to his car. Andrew never
found the friends who brought him, but made some new ones and
rode home with them. Gary Krewson had left Sunday afternoon in
the Volkswagen bus he'd come in.

Little Michael Kennedy from Smallwood was three years old. On
Tuesday, his dad took him down to Yasgur's farm. "All I can
remember is all the garbage," Kennedy said. "It was the first time
I ever saw a longhair. I asked my dad, 'What are they?' He said.
'That's someone who doesn't cut their hair and cleans up
garbage.'" Ventures spent $100,000 to clean the decimated festival
site. Goldstein dug a huge hole and bulldozed tons of shoes,
bottles, papers, clothes, tents and plastic sheets into the ground.
He set the pile afire. The vast, smoky smolder that burned for days
brought Ventures a charge of illegal burning from Bethel officials.

On Tuesday, Prince's phone rang at Sullivan County National
Bank. It was bank president Joe Fersh, who told Prince that
Woodstock Ventures' account was $250,000 short. Robert's check
had bounced, and the bank checks Prince had written Saturday
night to the performers weren't covered. Fersch wanted to know:
"What are you going to do about it?" So Prince called Roberts.
"(Roberts) said, 'I know the pickle you're in, Charlie. I'll be there
Thursday morning.'" Prince recalled.

By Wednesday, the lab had analyzed the green, leafy substance
submitted as evidence in Judge Liese's court. The irate pot
smokers were right. They were buying bogus reefer. "It turned out
to be a mixture of timothy grass and birdseed," said the judge.
"He must have paid $6 for the six pounds of it." Liese ordered the
ersatz marijuana salesman set free. "A guy selling birdseed for $6
an ounce. What are you gonna do?" said Liese with a chuckle.
Also on Wednesday, a Woodstock mother came back to thank
acting-midwife Tiber. Tiber jotted her name down, stuck the
matchbook into his pants and, from there, it went into history. "I
have no idea what pants I was wearing," he said.

Thursday morning, Roberts arrived alone at the White Lake
branch of the Sullivan County National Bank. He pledged $1
million in stock to the bank to cover the $250,000 note. "I was off
the hook," Prince said. Roberts, Lang, Kornfeld and Rosenman
had made personal guarantees to pay the bills. But only Roberts'
family - and his own trust fund - had enough assets to pay off
Woodstock's debt. While Lang stayed with the cleanup crews, the
other three partners squirmed under the fiscal glare. Roberts'
father and brother told the Wall Street bankers that they never
had run out on debts and they weren't going to start now. The
Roberts family paid off the debt.

Bob Dylan had been scheduled to leave for Europe on August 15
aboard the Queen Elizabeth. But Dylan's son was hospitalized that
day, and the rock legend stayed home. Dylan left the country in
late August to play at the Isle of Wight Festival off the coast of
Britain. Michael Lang was in the crowd.

Gary Krewson had another Woodstock moment back home in
Tunkhannock, Pa., about 90 miles away. Krewson was sitting on
the steps of the town's only hotel when he saw three psychedelic
school buses tooling over the hill to the town's only traffic light.
The lead bus, driven by Wavy Gravy, blew an engine. Krewson
fetched Tunkhannock's only mechanic, who let the Pranksters and
Hog Farmers use his garage. The bus crew pulled the blown engine
and popped in a spare within 45 minutes. Gravy and company
were on their way to another festival in Texas.

The Times Herald-Record submitted its stories for the 1969
Pulitzer Prize competition. Editor Al Romm recalls: "A friend,
years later, who was on the judging panel, said, 'You'll never know
how close you came to winning.' Our coverage took a different
tack from most of the publications. Nobody had as many people
at the scene as we did, about six. We had passing coverage of the
music. Really could have done better with that. We were just
enveloped with the human indignities. The sickness. The
miscarriages.

Six weeks after the festival, Rosenman and Roberts bought out
Lang and Kornfeld for $31,240 each. Lang, Kornfeld, Rosenman
and Roberts - the four young men who had produced and
promoted Woodstock - were separated for more than 20 years by
Woodstock's fallout. Rosenman and Roberts stayed best friends.
But they charged for years that Lang and Kornfeld, but especially
Lang, grabbed all the attention immediately after the event. For
instance, Rosenman and Roberts weren't in the movie at all.
Kornfeld was seen a couple of times, but Lang was featured
prominently, riding his motorcycle and being interviewed. "We
were so busy that I think the credit was directed toward Michael
(Lang), " Rosenman said in 1989. "Years later, people would ask,
'Were you involved in that thing Mike Lang did?' You have to be
in this business a long time to know how valuable it is to be
famous. I think Michael and Artie knew that. We didn't have any
idea.

Lang said in 1989 that he, more than anyone is probably
responsible for the ill will. "John and Joel were from a different
world. They were outsiders, and they didn't understand," Lang
said. "I didn't have time to acclimate them. I'm not the most
communicative person in the world. I was kind of a wise guy."
Kornfeld, upon reflection, figures it's not really important who did
what. "With all the attention grabbing that's gone on over the
years, my reality is that there are a lot of more important things,"
Kornfeld said. "Look, no one person produced Woodstock; the
generation produced Woodstock. And look at it emanate now."

Woodstock had 5,162 medical cases, according to a state Health
Department report released October 4, 1969. The report listed 797
documented instances of drug abuse. No births were recorded in
the festival medical tent, but Dr. Abruzzi told the Health
Department there were eight miscarriages. The report lists two
deaths by drug overdose and the death of Raymond Mizak in the
tractor accident. In late fall, a Sullivan County grand jury
declared that there wasn't enough evidence to indict anyone for
anything. The driver of the tractor was never identified and was
not charged. Another investigation by the state attorney general's
office ended in early 1970 with Woodstock Ventures having to
make refunds on 12,000 to 18,000 tickets. The tickets were sold to
people who were not able to attend because the roads were closed.

John Pinnavaia was considered 1-A by his draft board when he
walked onto Yasgur's farm. After he stepped on the bottle and it
slashed the tendon in his right foot, he was classified 1-Y for a
temporary disability. After four months on crutches, Pinnavaia
got married, putting him even lower on the draft list. Pinnavaia
stayed out of the Army but still bears a road map of scars on his
foot. He calls it his "Woodstock wound." " I can't walk over
broken glass even with shoes on. I just cringe at the sound," says
Pinnavaia.

The owner of the only stereo store in Middletown became a hippie
of sorts. "I went from one of me to one of them," Allan Markoff
said. Markoff always regretted he didn't stay at Woodstock, but he
explains it this way: "There was no place to hang out. I'm not a
close-to-the-earth individual. I'm a Ritz Carlton type of
individual, and there were no luxury places to stay. I can't live in
the rain and the mud. Markoff, now 54, would also go full tilt into
the rock'n'roll business, supplying equipment for a Rolling Stones
tour in the early '70s. He rigged a massive sound system in former
Beatle George Harrison's hotel room at the Plaza in New York
City. Harrison was promptly evicted from the hotel.

Two years after Woodstock, fence installer Daniel Sanabria
discovered that he was sort of a star. " Woodstock: The Movie"
was out. He was in it. "Being hams, we'd jump in front of the
camera at any opportunity, " Sanabria said. "It was the greatest
time of our life. We bonded as children; we bonded as men."