The opening words from the cover article of Rolling Stone in August 1969, just days after Woodstock:
“With a joyous three-day shriek, the inheritors of the earth came to life
in an alfalfa field outside the village of Bethel, New York. Slapping the spark
of life into the newborn was American rock and roll music.”
That’s the Rolling Stone I once loved and now miss.
And that’s the Woodstock I once lived and always will.