They Listened to Music and They Had a Good Time at Woodstock

The three-day concert known as Woodstock began on this day in 1969 in a field near a dairy farm at Bethel, New York.

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Organizers promised leery town officials that no more than 50,000 people would attend; the final number was eight or nine times that many, creating a massive traffic jam. A late change in the location meant that preparations went down to the wire: there was time only to build a stage or install the fencing and ticket booths. The stage won – and most attendees simply walked in without tickets. There wasn’t enough food, proper sanitation, first aid, or protection against the bad weather.

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On the morning of Sunday, August 17, New York Governor Nelson Rockefeller called the festival organizer and told him that he was thinking of ordering 10,000 National Guard troops to the site, but the organizer talked him out of it. Sullivan County declared a state of emergency. With all its unexpected problems, though, Woodstock is remembered for its relative calm amid the national strife of Vietnam and civil rights protests. People got along. They listened to music, and they had a good time.
https://www.garrisonkeillor.com/radio/twa-the-writers-almanac-for-august-15-2021/

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https://www.worldatlas.com/articles/why-was-woodstock-festival-iconic.html
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https://www.thevintagenews.com/2018/06/12/woodstock-couple/

Beautiful Story: The couple in the iconic Woodstock photo are still together

Jun 12, 2018 E.L. Hamilton

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https://www.thevintagenews.com/2018/06/12/woodstock-couple/

Dedicated to Jennifer C.

Baseball’s Pace of Play Is Perfect for Knitters

The other day as I awaited the MARTA train a younger gentleman sat beside me on the platform. He opened his bag and took out knitting needles, then proceeded to do his thing. We made eye contact and I said, “My Mother knitted.” Taken aback he managed to say, “Oh really?”
“Yes. She even had a knitting machine when she was older,” I said. He smiled. “I receive comments about knitting and some are not so kind,” he stated. “Then you ought to tell them about Rosey Grier.”

From the accent it was obvious he had not been born in the US, so I figured he had no clue as to who was Rosey Grier. It was then a woman joined the conversation saying, “My mom loved Rosey Grier!” At this point I sat back and listened to their conversation, learning the young man had come to the US and earned a degree in Computer Science. He enjoyed knitting while watching television in the evening. She informed him that Rosey Grier was a “Big bear of a man who weighed three hundred pounds and played football.”

Everyone was smiling as the train rolled to a stop. Before entering the train car he looked at me and said, “Thank you, sir. It is so nice to receive such a nice comment rather than what some men often say.”


Russell Crowe

Sexy Men Who Knit

The song is dedicated to an old friend, Susan “Bells” Bailey, who once said, “Eggs, if we make it tp old age I can see us sitting in rockers on my front porch some day…”

“Yeah,” I replied, “You will probably be knitting.”
“But I don’t knit, Eggs,” she said.
“Not yet,” was my reply.

Trump Time

“I pity the poor immigrant”: the meaning of the music and the lyrics
By Tony Attwood

This is a song that has attracted few commentaries, but those who have ventured into it have wandered deep, dark and different roads as they have endeavoured to make sense of the whole piece.

Speaking generally, there are two separate approaches that have been explored. One focuses on the use of the word “immigrant” and what that means, and how the words flow on from that point, and the other focuses on the music. I’ll try and take a quick look at each approach.
http://bob-dylan.org.uk/archives/1728

http://www.bobdylancommentaries.com/in-progress/pity-poor-immigrant/

I Pity The Poor Immigrant

Written by: Bob Dylan

I pity the poor immigrant

Who wishes he would’ve stayed home

Who uses all his power to do evil

But in the end is always left so alone

That man whom with his fingers cheats

And who lies with ev’ry breath

Who passionately hates his life

And likewise, fears his death

I pity the poor immigrant

Whose strength is spent in vain

Whose heaven is like Ironsides

Whose tears are like rain

Who eats but is not satisfied

Who hears but does not see

Who falls in love with wealth itself

And turns his back on me

I pity the poor immigrant

Who tramples through the mud

Who fills his mouth with laughing

And who builds his town with blood

Whose visions in the final end

Must shatter like the glass

I pity the poor immigrant

When his gladness comes to pass

Copyright © 1968 by Dwarf Music; renewed 1996 Dwarf Music