Come on, were you really at Woodstock?
You know what they say about death and taxes, and they’re right. But two other things are inevitable for we graybeards of today.
We will meet someone who claims to have been at Woodstock in 1969.
And we will meet someone who claims to have attended the perfect game that Don Larsen pitched in the 1956 World Series.
The other day, I notched a two-fer — a guy with a badly receding hairline and a badly expanding waistline who claimed to have attended both.
He said he cut school as a 15-year-old on Larsen Day, rode the subway from Brooklyn to the Bronx, snuck into the game and witnessed baseball history.
No Brooklyn Dodger reached base throughout nine innings — no hits, no walks, no errors. The Yankees won 2-0.
And then, with a hint of smugness, this guy said he had hitchhiked to Bethel, New York, 13 years later, just in time for the legendary music festival.
He snuck into that one, too, he said. He slept on a muddy patch of ground within earshot of the sound system.
And in case you needed to know this, he lit up the night sky with a young lady who found his charms irresistible.
Call it implausible. Call it bragging. Call it an attempt to remain forever young. I’d vote for all three.
Yet it’s amazing how often we boomers and busters run into people who play the I Was There card.
Even if those claims are true — and even if they’re not — why the abiding lust to demonstrate one’s coolness, even when the demonstrator is 80-plus?
Because it’s patently competitive. I was there and you weren’t, sucker. Eat your heart out.
Could we please revert to facts?
Exactly 64,519 people paid to be inside Yankee Stadium on October 8, 1956. I lived in the Bronx then. I can report that it was darn near impossible to sneak into that august ballpark in those days.
I once considered it. Men in blue were everywhere. They would have been delighted to correct the error of a kid’s ways with an arrest, or perhaps a clout upside the head.
If my Larsen braggart really ducked into the stadium on that famous day, he must have had a parachute or been good at digging tunnels.
As for Woodstock, the numbers tilt a little more in my boaster’s direction. About 400,000 people attended that epic festival.
I say “about” because the whole thing devolved into chaos, so accurate figures were never available.
Roads were impassable. Port-a-potties were overrun. Ticket-takers gave up the ghost in the face of surly, drug-addled crowds. So it’s possible that my acquaintance got into the festival without paying.
It’s also possible that he got within a mile of the sound system and gave up, as zillions did when they realized that they could get no further. If my guy heard the first licks of a Jimi Hendrix guitar solo, fine. But that doesn’t mean he has a souvenir ticket stub.
As for his romantic luck at Woodstock, or somewhere near it, I can only say that mud wouldn’t be my preferred setting for up-close-and-personal.
In my own case, I happened to hear the last two outs of the Larsen game on a transistor radio. My pal David had smuggled one into sixth-grade math class. He signaled me to request a bathroom visit.
There, beside the sinks, we listened as Larsen struck out Dale Mitchell for the final out. True-blue Yankee fans, we whooped. Of course, a teacher heard us, and we ended up in the principal’s office.
As for Woodstock, I was a young newspaper reporter on that day, without much to do. Another reporter was on the scene in upstate New York.
She had found the only working payphone. A line stretched behind her for many yards. People were getting angry and ugly.
Hurriedly, she dictated her notes to me before someone yanked the phone away from her. I fashioned a story for the next day’s paper.
It carried her byline, not mine.
Because I wasn’t there.
Just as I wasn’t there for Larsen’s still-unmatched feat.
To all aging adventurers:
You’ve lived a long time. That’s great. What isn’t great is trying to exaggerate your adventures.
If you want to impress me, show me pictures of your grandchildren. At least they’re real.
Bob Levey is a national award-winning columnist.
