Written by Jimmy “Muffin” Yessian

The music world and songwriting community lost a great friend/talent/ambassador on August 31st, 2021. Jimmy was known by hundreds if not thousands as an inspirational writer and mentor. He will be greatly missed. —EIM

We were there.

It was August 14th 1969 7pm. My father was not yet home from work. He worked was a tailor and owned a dry-cleaning store on University Avenue in the Bronx.

My three best friends (all of them were two or more years older then I was) were at my house begging my mom to let me go with them to something called “The Woodstock Music and Art Fair.” We all bought tickets [$18 each] even though I was sure my parent’s wouldn’t let me go. I was 15 years old and plans had been made months in advance for me to visit my sister and her husband in Palo Alto, CA on the 19th of August, the day after Woodstock.

If there had been YouTube or any way to record this conversation between my friends and my parents, it would have been one of the most viewed videos of this coming weekend, The 40th anniversary of Woodstock.

They had all their bases covered with all the reasons why she should let me go. They told her they rented a U-Haul van. They had written permission slips from their parents allowing them to go. They told her their parents had made them food and gave them money in case anything went wrong. They even got down on their knees.

My friend Bob’s father inquired to us at one point as to whether we were taking rubbers with us? I remember Bob saying, “Why do we need rubbers? It’s not supposed to rain.” Boy was he wrong.

On both counts.

Just when they almost had my mother convinced to let me go, in walked my dad. If you don’t know my dad – he looked like the actor who played “Paladin.” A cowboy series from the 60’s. My dad was a serious lookin’ man who had spent 27 months as a prisioner of war in WWII. A no-nonsense guy but also had a sense of humor. I guess he had to be with me as his son. I would tell him things like “do you think I like to wear my hair this long? I only do it cause the girls like it.” It was a blessing and a curse having your old man as your personal tailor. For the most part he would do what I asked him to do in altering my clothes but I’ll never forget the time I asked him to take in my stone washed blue jeans. I said, “can you take in the bottom of my pants? All the kids are wearing them really tight at the ankles these days.” My dad who I mentioned had a sense of humor, made them so tight I could barely fit my big feet through the bottoms and literally impossible to get them out again. So my dad walks in and my mother says “can jimmy go to WoodCrest this weekend?” ?????

To which my dad immediately replies “what are you crazy? They are predicting over 100,00 people. No toilets or food. Where are you going to sleep? What if you get injured? How do you know how to get there? It’s all a bunch of hippies smoking marijuana cigarettes and getting hepped up. What if it RAINS??? Then what?? Are all your parents letting you go?” He inquired. Which I think was a turning point. My parents usually never cared what any of the other parents were doing, they had their own rules.

Hours passed and finally one of my friend’s parents came to my house and somehow talked them into allowing me to go to “The WoodCrest.”

We left early on the 15th in our U-Haul van. I made a HUGE sign that said “Woodstock or Bust.” About a half hour before our exit, traffic came to a crawl. Not a good sign. I popped open a can of beer.

Being the youngest I wasn’t able to drive yet. So I could drink. After sitting for awhile everyone turned off their engines. Suddenly a police car drove by on the meridian and over his loudspeaker I heard him say “the concert grounds are full you may turn around here and go back home or park your car on the meridian and walk 10 miles to the site, only people with a local address on their drivers license will be allowed through.”

Shit now what. We pulled over, lit up a doobie and started partyin’ with all our parked neighbors. If this was going to be our Woodstock experience, let’s at least crank up the 8-track and party down. After about an hour or so the acoustic guitars came out and the jammin’ had begun.

We were havin’ a blast. Drinkin’ beers, smokin’ bowls, singin’ harmonies to Beatle songs. This rocked!!!!! I was really high and decided to climb on top of the van with my Woodstock or Bust sign and held it over my head as passing cars honked their horns or yelled derogatory things at me. “Go home you dirty hippie!” I wasn’t dirty. Not yet anyway.

Through my haze I saw a car pull over and this very cute girl got out and started waving at me. I waved back and motioned to her to come over and party. She waved her hands as if to say “No, you come over here.” I quickly jumped down from the van and ran across the road to where her and her three friends had stopped. I said “hey what’s goin’ on? My name’s Jimmy.” She said, “Hi my names Jeanie…do you want to go to the festival? We live here and know a back road into Max’s farm.” I said “hell yeah” and ran back across the road, climbed on top of the van, rolled up my sign like a megaphone and said “if you want to go to Woodstock follow me.” We hopped into the van and with only a few takers followed our Jeanie’s car through the back roads of Bethel, NY.

We drove about 20 minutes and then started getting skeptical. There was nothing but farmland. No crowds, no cars and definitely no music. My buddies wanted to pull over and turn around but I said lets give it another 5 minutes. After all there were still 4 very cute girls in the car in front of us.

Suddenly they made a sharp turn down this very narrow dirt road. The entire van was shakin’ and rockin’ from the dips in this road. “They are going to kill us,” Bob said. I saw a truck stopped in the road up ahead. The girls got out so we pulled up and did the same. A truck full of hippies were stuck in a hole and needed help to bounce the truck out. We all got out and started pushing on the back bumper while the driver gave it a little gas. After several minutes the truck wheel touched solid ground and it was free. One of the hippies yelled to me “open your back door” and as I did he threw a case of ice cold Bud in our truck and said “thanks man,” flashed up the peace sign and I knew we were there. In front of the truck just around the bend were miles and miles of parked cars on either side of this little road. We screamed as loud as we could. We were at Woodstock.

It remains to this day the most remarkable weekend of my life. You’ve seen the movie? I helped make the movie.

The End…

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