My brother passed away a few years ago (age 69[!]), and a couple years before that he gifted my family and me (down to young grandkids) with the following story. I miss my brother because I wonder how many such stories he took to the grave with him. How he missed telling me this one until way too late in a family full of odd stories, I don't understand.

I mentioned Woodstock. My brother was 14 years old that summer, and our cousin A was 18. We were in New York City.

Brother: "You know, DBT2, I asked Dad if I could go to Woodstock with A, and he said, 'I'm not letting you go to Woodstock with that slut.'"

"That slut," of course, being his niece. But it was 1969, and my father was observant, and always had an observation. Presumably if my brother could have hitched a better ride, the 14-year-old thing wasn't too much of a problem.

I also spent years during the summer in northeastern PA in the early to mid-70s and hitchhiked a couple times past Yasgur's farm. I was about 15 miles away from Bethel, NY, and the folks who had been there in 1969 said they could hear strains of the sounds at night when the wind was blowing right. I don't know if they were lying.

Used to be empty country up there. I'd love to drive by it all again someday. The town I was near had a stated full-time population of 2, and the town is no longer on a map.

Saw Blood, Sweat, and Tears one summer (1974 or 5) at Monticello (NY) Racetrack. Not exactly their heyday, but David Clayton-Thomas could still belt it out, and still looked like he could beat the snot out of any comers.

They were always better before he came anyway. Child Is Father to the Man is a classic if somewhat dated album (1967). Al Kooper et al.