Somethings
Happening Here
Somethings
Happening Here
A Sixties Odyssey from
Brooklyn to Woodstock
Mark Berger
Author photo (back cover): Anthony Tassarotti. www.tassarotti.com.
My memoir consists of stories that I have recreated from my recollections. I have tried to be as accurate as I can, but I am well aware that memory is imperfect. To protect the privacy of the people I knew, I have changed their names and some identifying characteristics. Please allow me one conceit: it was in December 1969, four months after Woodstock, that BB King gave Hugh Romney the nickname Wavy Gravy. It is how he has been known since and how I refer to him in the book.
Published by State University of New York Press, Albany
2019 Mark Berger
All rights reserved
Printed in the United States of America
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission. No part of this book may be stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means including electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.
Excelsior Editions is an imprint of State University of New York Press
For information, contact State University of New York Press, Albany, NY
www.sunypress.edu
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Berger, Mark, 1945 author.
Title: Somethings happening here : a sixties odyssey from Brooklyn to Woodstock / Mark Berger.
Other titles: Sixties odyssey from Brooklyn to Woodstock
Description: Albany, NY : Excelsior Editions, an imprint of State University of New York Press, [2019]
Identifiers: LCCN 2018033273 | ISBN 9781438474625 (pbk. : alk. paper) | ISBN 9781438474632 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Berger, Mark, 1945 | HippiesUnited StatesBiography. | CountercultureUnited StatesBiography. | YouthUnited StatesSocial life and customs20th century. | Woodstock Festival (1969 : Bethel, N.Y.)Anecdotes. | Young menUnited StatesBiography. | Coming of age. | BohemianismNew York (State)New YorkHistory20th century. | Baby boom generationNew York (State)Biography. | Brooklyn (New York, N.Y.)Biography.
Classification: LCC HQ799.7 .B47 2019 | DDC 305.5/680092 [B] dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018033273
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To Rain
THE LOVE OF MY LIFE
AND MY DAILY INSPIRATION
I want to thank Marion Roach Smith, memoirist, teacher, and friend, whose generosity, wisdom, and support provided the environment where I found my voice as a storyteller.
Marion introduced me to my editor, the witty, erudite, and charming Rob Brill. Rob helped me turn a promising manuscript into one that was worthy of publication.
My thanks to James Peltz, the affable and knowledgeable co-director editor of SUNY Press, who honored me with a book contract and the opportunity to add my work to the estimable SUNY Press/Excelsior Editions catalogue. Thanks also, to Eileen Nizer, Senior Production Editor and Michael Campochiaro, Senior Promotions Manager who have turned this manuscript into a book and then sent it out to the world.
From my first memoir stories, Randall Jones, my brother-in-law, a talented wordsmith with a background in book publishing, encouraged me and believed in the validity and viability of my stories. I am deeply grateful for his many insights and brotherhood.
To Richard Strauss whose wisdom and support have been invaluable.
Thanks to my attorney Denise Gibbon at Abovetheline.com who provided me with helpful and practical legal advice.
A bow to my dear friend Larry Reilly whose long experience in advertising has helped me to understand SEO and other necessary promotional strategies.
To all the people in my bookdear friends, friends, lovers, acquaintances and adversaries: while our paths went off in divergent directions, I am grateful you were all a part of my story. Each and every turn my journey has taken has brought me to this moment.
Last, I am grateful to Samuel and Rose Blume Berger, my parents, both of whom died many years ago. You instilled in me the importance of integrity and hard work, but I had to find my own way out of the wilderness.
We stop at the crest overlooking the stage. While I could probably finesse our way back into the press section like I did last night, it doesnt feel right. Once is enough. Moving through the crowd, we sit down maybe a football field away.
Onstage, the band is finishing up a song. The lead singer has on a long-sleeve tie-dyed T-shirt.
Whos playing? I ask a girl seated next to us.
Joe Cocker.
We shrug our shoulders.
Hes English, the girl continues and passes us a joint.
The band starts playing Just Like a Woman. Cocker sings the opening line Nobody feels any pain and he sounds like hes an alumni of the Ray Charles School of Singing, and like Brother Ray, he sings behind the beat. While Dylans original is a scornful picture of a former lover, Cockers full-bodied voice tells a tale of a heart filled with anguish. The music takes him away. Us too.
Joanie and I exchanges smiles, she leans against my chest. I put my arms around her shoulders, drawing her head alongside mine, tousling her hair.
The organ plays two notes, and a murmur undulates through the crowd. We all know this one. Its With A Little Help from My Friends, from Sergeant Pepper, a record I bet every single person here owns and knows by heart.
Unlike the little ditty that Ringo croons, Cocker sings as if his life depends on it. He wails the lyrics incoherently, whirling his right arm playing an invisible guitar, staggering, vibrating, almost collapsing, then resurrecting himself. Hes testifying, telling it like it is: I get by with a little help from my friends.
A little help from my friends? Im hip. Cockers turning the Beatles song into an anthem. Its about all of us here at Woodstock. How has everyone gotten through all the bummersthe chaos, traffic jams, thunderstorms, the hunger, the heat, all the rotten conditions? How? With a little help from our friendsa shared sandwich here, a laugh, a sip of water there, a toke, a free meal, a smile, a kiss, a hug.
When Joe Cocker finishes, people rise to their feet and pump their fists in the air. And, as if on cue, the skies go from gray to black. Storm clouds rush in. One upon another, lightning bolts flash like strobesfreezing the crowds upturned heads, open mouths, outstretched arms, and then, thunderclaps explode and torrential rain renders our bowl-shaped metropolis once more a flooded city.
