It’s the fiftieth anniversary of Woodstock. No, at 13 I was not there. But I do have a story from the time. My father, a Boston Commuter, picked up a young man hitchhiking with a sign for Woodstock. My savvy dad not only had two teenagers at home, he had in – laws who lived in the quiet, toney town of Woodstock, Vermont.
So, Joe Gravel convinced the youth that no, he did NOT want to go to Woodstock, Vermont, but rather he wanted to take the Massachusetts Turnpike to the New York Thruway (pronounced true way by my Brooklyn bred father) to upstate New York! And even today, my parents, my sister, and I all can laugh at that.
