GUEST COLUMNIST: Looking across the flames at our generation

All hell broke loose during the final night of Woodstock -- I experienced it first hand. After the Red Hot Chili Peppers concert on the main stage emptied my friend and I eventually returned to the new artists stage. New York state troopers clad in riot gear greeted us. When we tried to leave, the exits were blocked. So we walked back towards the main stage and stared motionless at the scene before us. Bonfires engulfed several areas of the trash-filled field. People were tearing down trailers and hurling wood into the fires. Soon, a small but vocal bands of concertgoers made the logical shift from pyromania to looting. Nothing was spared; tents, tapestries, ATM machines. At one point, if only for a brief instant, I became scared when a mob of people started to charge in our general direction. Instantaneous fight-or-flight response took over. Flight won. My friend soon followed and later looked at me quizzically, "Why did you run?" I had no answer. "Order falling into disorder," I said. "The drums represent the primitive form of human communication, yet ironically during this chaos, the drummers continue," responded Lou. Reality soon set in. Some people began hurling bottles at the riot police. Sensing the explosiveness of the situation, we left. As we rode the shuttle bus home to the employee housing, a feeling of sadness sunk in. I couldn't shake the image of two guys literally running through one of the bonfires. How could people act so damn stupidly? What did they think they were accomplishing? This was not a generational statement. The rioting lacked a purpose or a cause. It was pure unadulterated destruction for the sake of destruction. This rant may seem self-righteous. As one of my friends later pointed out, why should something like this truly sadden me, as opposed to real social issues like poverty and homelessness? And shallow, considering that our bosses threw a Moon-Tower like party back at our place, and I had a blast. Nothing like a few cold ones to cure that pesky disillusionment. And I freely admit that I exploited the commercialism of Woodstock 1999. I worked for a pizza and hot dog vendor, earned a decent salary and did not have to pay for food, transportation and tickets. While our free accommodations consisted of 40 people cramped into an abandoned home that lacked toilet paper, hot water, or furniture of any kind ("think of it as a kibbutz," cracked our boss), the ridiculous situation retained a certain charm. I felt like a Whartonite as I bartered pizzas for turkey wraps and Dove bars. And we did get to see many shows: Dave Matthews, Rusted Root, Metallica, even Jewel. Yet the weekend left an indelible mark on my consciousness for two reasons other than the music, the absurdity of our housing, or the fires themselves. First, during the last night, for the first time I experienced the nature of the mob mentality. Penn basketball games and social psychology textbooks don't do justice to what took place at Woodstock. And I must say, as much as the events saddened me and frightened me for a short time, the overriding emotion I experienced was that of fascination. Secondly, I learned how people can become conditioned to accept different standards of behavior. Social norms, such as language, personal hygiene, public decency and drug use all took on far different roles at Woodstock then normal. It literally took me a few days to readjust to normal society. After multiple encounters with the dreaded port-o-potties, I never felt so happy to use the bathroom in my fraternity house upon my return. For most of the weekend, Woodstock served an important function by providing a wonderful venue for mental and physical escapism. It was like an alternative universe with its own set of rules. The good natured spontaneity was on display for most of the weekend: frisbee fights, random conversation, mud slides, dancing, partying. And of course, the drummers. Sunday night, however, the dark side of this type of environment reigned as chaos took over. The sight of the riot police and later news reports of investigations of rape at the festival shattered the bubble that we had been living in. I left Woodstock with a wealth of stories, both good and bad. I saw sides of human nature that alternately fascinated, confused, amazed and saddened me. And in the end, I am proud of my experience and would do it again in a second.

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