BY Ann Oldenburg; David Colton; Marco R. della Cava
SAUGERTIES, N.Y. - Soggy, soiled and tired, the 325,000 people who came here to Woodstock '94 in search of a touchstone for a new generation - or maybe just for a giant party - make their muddy exodus today.
"Absolute success," declared Julie Marek, 20, of Chicago as she lugged her gear up Rt. 32 away from the 840-acre Winston Farm Sunday. "Can't wait for another 25 years."
Festival promoters aren't ready to commit to a next one, or to a figure on how much this one pulled in.
"The press has been saying you can't re-create the old Woodstock," said organizer Joel Rosenman. "But it's been totally re-created."
Pundits wagged their fingers for weeks about the festival's "meaning." Many here say they found it.
"It's people having a good time with people they don't know," said Phil Cristofaro, 22, of Yonkers, N.Y.
Like the first Woodstock, there was rain, there were naked people - though not many - and there was relative peace.
Officials reported 14 arrests, including DWIs - only two or three on-site, an assault with a knife and an arrest of someone trying to bring in psychedelic mushrooms.
"We had zero violence in a city of 350,000 people," boasted Rosenman. "To have no violence at this festival was a miracle."
That "miracle" atmosphere was lost on some: "This never should have been allowed to go on," said a very angry Karen Di Peitro, 40, a nurse from North Plainfield, N.J. "They should have learned from the first one. It's like a free-for-all in there - even before the rain came."
At least two people died, a 44-year-old man who suffered a heart attack and a 20-year-old man who came to the concert with a ruptured spleen.
More than 1,400 people were treated at the main hospital unit and another 3,500 treated at about a dozen first aid field sites.
Despite promoter insistence that this was "not a free concert," as many as 150,000 enjoyed the music without buying tickets, slithering through neatly cut sections of the 9-mile chain link Woodstock wall.
"Obviously there's a lot of people who got in without a ticket," PolyGram's John Scher said Sunday night. But "a lot of people still paid, twice as many as last time. We had to make a decision whether to continue to provide services (by allowing access), or hold the security lines. We chose to provide services."
Looking tired, he added, "This isn't `like' Woodstock. This `is' Woodstock. The third biggest city in New York - again. These kids came and made it their own. We're proud of it."
In many ways, Woodstock became Mudfest by Sunday morning. Drenching downpours overnight turned the fields into thick glop. Those who stayed were rewarded with clearer skies through the afternoon. "Mud people" frolicked in mini-ponds of brown goop. Appetites were sated by official Woodstock pizza, burgers and dogs. The resulting trash will be handled by the same company that cleaned up in '69.
Rosenman expected Winston Farm to be clean "in a week or two."
The rain was a mixed blessing, prompting 15,000 to 20,000 an hour to begin leaving the site Sunday morning. But, "We still estimate it's going to take 20-25 hours to clear," said police Lt. James O'Donnell.
Overnight rain and cold meant "a load of hypothermia cases," said John Clair, New York State health official. Sunday night, corporate sponsor Pepsi planned to heat its VIP tent and turn it into a hypothermia treatment center. In addition, 9,000 blankets were collected for distribution on site and 200,000 garbage bags were being handed out.
The mud people helped, too. "Slipping and sliding and helping crews getting to the ill and injured," said Nancy Cozean, festival spokeswoman. They used "mud sleds," stretchers that zoomed along the mud.
Parking was a problem from the beginning. On Friday, after waits up to six hours for shuttle buses, things got ugly. Pamela Thomas, a shuttle bus supervisor, heard reports of "pushing and shoving" and "stone-throwing. Inside the festival it's fine. It's just the people wanting to get in."
One of the watchwords of the weekend was control, but by Saturday, security could not keep gate crashers in check.
"I crashed the party," said Dan Bamberger, 23, of New Paltz, N.Y.
Fences weren't the only things breached: two food concessions were taken over by concertgoers for a while Saturday. And at one point, the gates between the north and south stage were wide open, allowing concertgoers into the VIP areas.
Most rules were broken. Alcohol was not allowed but local sellers made a killing as concert-goers lined up for cases.
Scrip was supposed to be the only money used inside Woodstock City, but many vendors were happy to see cash. Charges of price gouging have been a part of Woodstock '94 since the $135 ticket price was announced.
Marvin Stewart, 32, figured he spent $250 for the weekend. "Concert was great but not for $135. And now I gotta pay $5 to get an off-duty cop to drive me back to my car."
Scribbled on the side of the scrip exchange building as armored cars took away a stash: "Greedstock."
Saturday, the rains came.
"Our tent just floated away," said Jim Meese, 37, of Baltimore as he began the trek to his car.
"I'm just beat. Whipped. The conditions are horrible. No change of clothes for two days," grunted Bud Pope, 27, Farmington Hills, Mich.
Mud-sliding was popular sport, sometimes unintentionally.
"If you fall down once you might as well say screw it, and roll around," said Jim Harenberg, 21, Travers City, Mich.
Some found mudbaths stimulating in another sense.
"I think it's in the air," said Lynette Dalle, 26, from Rochester, N.Y., who was glued to Todd Johnston, 27, of Ft. Myers, Fla. They met at their campsite when he smiled at her and asked if she wanted a beer. "Everyone's happy-go-lucky."
Safe sex? Both nodded and smiled.
"Trying to stay alive," said Dalle. "Have sex, stay alive at Woodstock."
For 27-year-old Carolyn Zaikowski, it was different.
"All the stress is gone," she said, swaying to the Allman Brothers on Sunday afternoon while standing on a cooler, up off the mud. Woodstock '94, she said, "meant that there's hope for man. That we really can be peaceful people, loving people."
But for Sean Graham, 24, of New Jersey, who works for Prudential, "It was a lot of fun, but we have to get back to reality. Time to put the suit back on."
