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Posts Tagged ‘music’

Gordon and Nancy Gray(left), Don and Madeline Croteau and Ray Burton.

By Jeff Woodburn

Each week, I venture up to the GrayMist Farm for raw (unpasteurized) milk. It’s always quiet, and with their robotic milking system, it’s like the cows run the place.  They come and go as they wish from the automated milking parlor. Sometime, I have the occasion to see Nancy and Gordon Gray.  I feel guilty engaging them in my favorite topics because I know that they always have a lot to do.

Well, on Sunday, the cows must have been beside themselves with all the cars stuffed with people meandering past their barns and through the fields to a distant, recently hayed pasture. For the day, it had been converted into what the organizers called a fiddle fest.  That name is too stylish for me.  I like old-names that conjure up fond, distant memories, even if they’re technically incorrect.    On this day, I was gladly going back in time to the Stark Annual Fiddlers’ Contest or at least a very good rendition of it.

From 1973 until seven years ago, the tiny town of Stark (population 500) hosted one of the most popular events of the year attracting thousands of people. It was always on the last Sunday in June, at Whitcomb’s field on the banks of the Ammonoosuc River with a view to Percy Peaks and benefiting the Stark Improvement Fund (as if the town needed to be improved).

The event was casual, easy-going and organic. I use the latter word because things just happened – kind of evolved into a tradition.  If you felt like bringing along some beer, your dog or a picnic lunch, it was fine. You could also go for a swim or gather with some other musicians in a far-away spot and make your own music.  Absent were the obsessive rules that often accompany specialists, so-called experts or overzealous planning committees. These folks always seem to rely on big solutions to little or non-existent problems.  Over three decades, literally tens of thousands of people gathered at Whitcomb field and the event organizers don’t recall a single problem. People behaved themselves.

There was something authentic, genuine and terrible local about it. I think it had a lot to do with the small, cozy isolation of the town.  I once represented the area in the state legislature and in that capacity, I went to many community events in the region, but Stark always stood out as a friendly place where people were happy to see you and just plain grateful to have your attention.  Stark’s long-time anchor citizen was Madeline Croteau, who ran the town’s only store and of course the fiddlers’ contests.

Upon arriving at GrayMist, I searched out Madeline and her husband Don Croteau.  I find the happy couple enjoying the background fiddle music, hospitality, and the beautiful farm setting.  I tell them of an old photo that I found of the three of us from a 1980s fiddlers’ contest.  Madeline adds, “I bet we’ve changed.” We have indeed, but for a time last Sunday things were just like they use to be and ought to be.  In my book that’s the best compliment any event can have.  Hopefully it doesn’t improve.

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Peter Riviere

By Jeff Woodburn

Four decades ago this summer, the nation watched in awe – or disgust – as a half million rain-soaked hippies amicably gathered at a weekend concert that has become simply known as Woodstock.  It became a touch stone for a generation, which wanted to change the world, but ultimately was changed by it. Three local men—Woody Miller, Peter Riviere, and David Van Houten were there, and despite echoing disillusionment about the lost of idealism, fondly recall their experience.

These men were drawn to Woodstock Music and Arts Festival mostly by the music, and once there, were awed by the sheer volume of people and the cooperative, kindly spirit, despite the poor weather and supply shortages that engulfed the pig farm which was temporarily converted into a concert sight.

David Van Houten, of Bethlehem, was 18 during the summer of 1969 having just graduated from high school in Princeton, New Jersey. He and his girlfriend at the time were one of the few attendees who actually purchased tickets, which he still has today.  He was motivated by the music and, at the time, was not part of the counter culture, anti-war movement.  Woody Miller, of Franconia, was a 19 year old tennis pro in Sugar Bush, Vermont at the time. His decision to go to Woodstock was spontaneous and initiated by a waiter friend of his. They went without having purchased tickets. It was the start of a personal transformation into a hippie, but at that time, he said, “I wasn’t as cool as most people.”

Peter Riviere, of Lancaster, was 22 at the time, and a U.S. Navy veteran.  He was very much a part of the hippie culture living in a Portsmouth commune while attending UNH.  The focus of the venue was indeed music, not politics, and the top rock and roll and folk musicians were participating. “It would have taken 10 years of going to concerts to see this line up. All the names that you’d hope to ever see were in one place,” Riviere adds, “but where the hell is Woodstock?”

As the attendees would soon find out the concert was moved 50 miles away to Bethel, NY, a small farming community slightly bigger than Whitefield.  All three men got there the same way driving until the traffic halted and then by foot.  The average Woodstock attendee walked 15 miles to get to Max Yasgur’s farm. Van Houten, who borrowed his parents’ car to make the trek from New Jersey, remembers the traffic getting heavier and heavier and then it just stopped.  At that point, they pulled over and parked the car and walked for several miles to the concert location. The concerts organizers—and the host town were quickly overwhelmed by the turnout. Two-hundred thousand people were expected, but more than twice that showed up. No one could have anticipated or orchestrated an event of this magnitude. The true organic nature of it, Riviere said, is “the magic of what happened.”

Van Houten remembers along the route to the farm residents set up little stores on their front yards. Food and supplies were in short supply and needed to be brought in by helicopter. Adding to the organizers and camping concert-goers challenges was the weather — three days of rain turned the farm land into a mud hole.  The circumstances didn’t dampen the mood though, and, in some ways, it extenuated an ambiance of mutual concern and peaceful coexistence.  Riviere remembers an announcement over the loud speakers that the Woodstock concert had grown so large that it “is the second largest city in New York (and) no one over 35 years old was there.”

Van Houten said he didn’t witness any major problems. “Everyone was coexisting in a very pleasant way even when the weather went bad.”  Just the sheer size of crowd amazed Miller.  “There were more people in one place than I had ever seen in my life,” he said, “Of course, there was a lot of weirdness too, like naked people climbing the scaffolding but nothing dangerous and menacing.”  And then, there was drugs—lots of marijuana and LSD. Although it is estimated that 90 percent of the attendees partook in illegal drugs – Van Houten was not among them. “I was clean, and I had a great time,” he said, “I didn’t do drugs or drink.”

With more than two dozen legendary performers – including Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, The Who, The Grateful Dead, Crosby Stills Nash and Young – the three men concurred that Richie Havens, who led off the star-studded line up, was the best.

Woodstock, Riviere says “was just a moment in time.” And that moment and the idealism that it represented, like all things, changed with the passage of time. Woody Miller, David Van Houten and Peter Riviere, who are all nearing old age themselves, are impatient with the progress of the last forty years toward the ideals of the 1960s.  “We were going to change the world,” Van Houten said, “but change doesn’t come that easy.”

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LYMAN – In a large, rustic cafeteria adorn with lots natural wood and screening over looking an idyllic summer camp setting, a sea of middle age or older people are devouring their lunch. As the meal wanes, an unlikely scene emerges; a speaker, on a small stage behind a microphone, wonders aloud where everyone is from. (more…)

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By Jeff Woodburn
WHITEFIELD – The first left off of Forrest Lake Road is “Newell” and second, just a few feet away, is called “Casino.” Together these Burma-Shave looking signs are the only remaining evidence of the popular dance hall that for forty-years became a summer Saturday night staple drawing crowds of as many as a thousand young people. For many—who are now grandparents or great-grandparents themselves — the memories of adolescences remain and are possibly an uncomfortable reminder that kids will be kids. (more…)

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