27 “The Guitar/Parking Lot 3”(continued) Photo: 1968 Miami Pop Festival-Hallandale FL. Song: “City of Kingston”
Fearing for my life, and swimming lightning fast, I reached the other side of the alligator infested canal, and climbed out without slipping back in. I followed the two bikers who were headed through the swamp land beyond, and figured they must have known exactly where they were going because they kept running so fast that they ditched me, and disappeared. I realized that I had reached the first side road, and as I walked down it toward the main road, I discovered that I had passed beyond the first police barricade, because I saw through the trees, lights that illuminated police standing around their patrol cars parked at the 1st barricade. I also saw what looked like a patch of quicksand right in front of me, and beyond was a bull with horns staring straight at me standing in some grass on the other side of the side road. That bull became the reason why I wasn’t even slightly interested in taking one more step in that direction. I wondered how the two bikers planned on commandeering the front gate, and keeping it open for everyone in Parking Lot 3 to get in free. I also thought about being caught for trespassing, and wished I hadn’t gone with two guys that looked very much like convicted felons.
I headed down that first little side road intent on walking back via the main road to the entrance of parking lot three which definitely beat being eaten by alligators, falling into quicksand, or horned by a bull. Now, I had the thought or being sent to jail for trespassing past the 1st police barricade, and suddenly dreaded losing my Martin 12 string guitar I had left in that huge crowd, but with the guy who gave me a ride. As I emerged from the swamp, and realized that I was just past the first police barricade, I hoped that none of the officers standing around in the light could see me. While I knew that I had to chose whether to walk toward the concert, or head back toward Parking Lot 3, and through the police barricade, suddenly a station wagon passing through the barricade headed toward the concert and front gate. I daringly stepped out onto the road into the bright light, and started trying to look innocent walking toward the concert hoping that none of the cops would see me, start yelling at me, and come after me.
I tried to act casual while while walking, and as luck would have it, that very first car, which was a station wagon, stopped for me with my thumb stuck out, and picked me up. To my surprise, it was full of race track/festival employee volunteers who were all wearing matching black shirts with big green marijuana plant emblems on all of their shirts. To their surprise, I was soaking wet, and they were astonished to hear about how I had gotten told them that I jumped in the canal to get past the first police barricade. One of them grabbed another one of their shirts from out of a cardboard box, and said, “Here, put this on…We all work here, and if anyone asks, you’re a volunteer.” I couldn’t believe it, I was in! I made it to the 1968 Miami Pop Festival, and walked right into the front gate of the festival with a whole band of volunteers. So far, both myself, and my guitar had made it from Ohio to Tampa, took a bus to Ft. Lauderdale, hitchhiked to Hallandale, Fl, swam across an alligator infested canal, and was now skating past three police barricades in order to get inside the Gulfstream Park horse racing track just North of Miami.
The volunteer worker who gave me my shirt with a marijuana emblem on it suggested that I would be a good volunteer, and before they left me after we all walked through the entrance gate, he explained that the shirt would give me free access – in and out – for the entire duration of the festival. He also told me where there was a list posted of things that they needed volunteers for. I thanked him for the t-shirt, and said that getting access in and out was a life saver for me because I had left my 12 string Martin guitar in a strangers car who had given me a ride to the festival, and his car was in parking lot 3. I mentioned that I would play my guitar around the big parking lot bonfire, nightly, for the people who couldn’t afford the entrance fee, and would also volunteer during the days. (And I did play all three nights at the bonfire, and worked as a volunteer all day long for three full days, explained).
When I first arrived inside the festival gate, I took a while to check out the giant stage, and all the equipment on, in front of, and around it. I took a quick look at the huge crowd, then managed to find the volunteer list posted head high on a bulletin board. But, before going anywhere else, I walked into a tent where a few people were being treated for drug over-dosing, and I asked if they might need any help. They did, and soon, the staff doctor realized that I was very helpful getting this really paranoid guy to calm down, so that doctor okayed me volunteering there all day, and that’s where I returned for the entire three days in row helping a whole lot more people who were showing up who over dosing. The doctor complimented me on how well I was able to keep even problem “O.D.ers” both calm, and quiet, and he made sure that all of the big bouncers who were being posted two at a time at the tent entrance, knew that I was working with both the doctor, and the volunteer nurse, during the day for the whole three days of the concert.
By the middle of my first day, the actual owner of the race track came in to talk to his volunteer doctor, and nurse, about how the cops were arresting his concert goers, and hey discussed how everything was made worse because these people needed medical attention instead of being arrested, and thus further traumatized. I learned that the police were detaining people, arresting them, hauling them away, and throwing them in jail. The doctor signaled the owner that he wanted me inside the tent working with him, and as I heard their whole discussion, I kept my mouth entirely shut. The two bouncers were instructed to keep anyone out except “O.D.ing” patients, and he put a special emphasis on specifically keeping any/all policemen from entering. The word went out that the police were trying to detain, and arrest anyone acting acting disorientated, confused, paranoid, or obviously high on drugs. The big bouncers remained guarding the tent entrance, while others tried to locate, and usherO.D.ing people into the tent. The OD tent became the place where the paranoid ones could find a safe haven to sleep off their “bummer” or “bad trips”, and it served to be the method in which hundreds of concert goers were spared from being arrested, and further traumatized.
These giant bouncers actually started stopping the police trying to get inside the tent. They were instructed to state to police that the tent was private property, and they demanded to see an arrest warrant, first, or a search warrant, or else they could not come inside. The doctor, the nurse, and the racetrack owner were there standing with their bouncers all telling the police that anyone inside their tent was a patient, and explained that they were all legally under the doctor’s care, as well as were being continually monitored by qualified staff. They eventually started telling all of the police that the whole festival property was private property, because after the staff had succeeded in keeping police out of the O.D. tent, the police were still going around the grounds arresting a whole lot of people. The police even began using ambulances instead of police cars in their efforts to continue swooping up large numbers of people. I heard that they had used their whole fleet of police cars, so they began using ambulances like a taxi service taking people straight from the concert to jails. All of the nearby towns were all filling up with concert goers who should have, instead, been taken to hospitals for getting medical attention, and treatment.
The bouncers, racetrack owner, and staff, were all talking to police, and able to establish their own rights, and every one of the concert goer’s rights so that the cops couldn’t continue to just ignore them, but it may have actually been when the time came that there was no more room left in all of the jails! The O.D. tent became so full that a whole other tent facility had to be opened where even more people needed to be treated, and then rest calmly on all of the cots brought in. My job was keeping everyone as calm as possible, and to quietly entertain those who needed that kind of special attention while the doctor, and his staff took all of the necessary medical steps. (My long hair, and pleasant non-threatening appearance, as well as my shirt with its marijuana emblem on it helped, too.) I could only barely hear the concert in the distance during the whole three days, and I never got to see any of the festival, but I was, and have remained happy to play for any amount of people anywhere, or just as happy to volunteer where I felt encouraged, or needed.
Word got out that anyone O.D.ing could go to the OD tent for help, and be completely safe, and many more came to the the “O.D.” pole-barn-type tent where they were treated, and many were released with no police involvement whatsoever. I witnessed how the drag strip owner, and staff, really cared about these kids as if they were their own, and I know that both the doctor, and the nurses volunteered for free. In fact, they, and the bouncers put themselves, their professional reputations, and even their own freedom on the line by arguing in the way that they did with the police. They could have easily been charged and prosecuted. The photos of the festival are from the internet.
My experience in the O.D. tent taught me an important lesson about the effects of drugs. It made me realize in my teenage years that I never wanted to experiment taking drugs, especially ones which actually makes people paranoid.
I felt more in the loop there than I ever felt working at my dad’s ski area where I never felt in the loop. And, I had the privilege of working right next to the owner, and close by the doctor, and nurse who were calling the shots (literally). In fact, it became like a “calling” for me, and I didn’t care as much about the festival or the music, as much as I did about helping people.
For the entire duration of the festival, I left the O.D. tent only to go straight back to parking lot 3, locate my friend’s car, get my guitar, and play around the bonfire in the late evenings, then ride the bus to return early for continuing to volunteer in the OD tent. I believe playing my song “The Purple Palasades” and a few of my other original songs would have been just perfect for playing at night, or in between concert acts, but I never thought about asking, especially because I was working volunteering, and I respected my position. Sometimes I still wonder to this day where, exactly, those bikers really went to that night, what they did, and who they were.
One of the times I went from the festival back to find my guitar in parking lot 3, I couldn’t find my friend who had picked me up hitchhiking, or his Volkswagon bus with my guitar in it. Unfortunately, he had moved it like he did tell me he might do to get closer to the bonfire. After I couldn’t find him, or his car, miraculously, someone who recognized me from playing my guitar around the bonfire, gave me a message from him… (that I shouldn’t worry, because he won’t leave until he finds me, and gives me my guitar). I felt a lot better after hearing that, but still wondered in that crowd of thousands of people if I would ever see him, his vehicle, or my guitar ever again.
Fortunately, on the last day of the Pop Festival, the fellow who picked me up hitch-hiking giving me a ride to the festival, found me in that huge crowd. Weary, and out of breath, he handed me my 12 String Martin guitar and said, “Oh man, I’ve been looking everywhere for you… HERE’S YOUR GUITAR”!
