Working as a doctor at the Woodstock Music Festival in 1969 was accidental. Of course, no one knew ahead of time it would be such a major event. 

My wife, Ronnie, and I had just returned from a year-long trip overseas and were living at her parent's house in New York. Her teenage sisters had seen an ad for Woodstock in the newspaper and wanted to go. My in-laws insisted we accompany the girls as chaperones.

Somewhat reluctantly, we agreed and drove upstate, intending to camp in our newly purchased Volvo station wagon. We arrived early and avoided most of the traffic. We parked in a field and walked around with our two Siberian Huskies on leashes. Initially, things were quite serene and uncomplicated, but then more and more people arrived, many without tickets.

When the music started we found a place to sit on the grass looking down on the stage. We enjoyed the show, albeit from a long distance from the stage, and watched the interesting people. A loud commotion behind us distracted our attention from the music. I looked back and saw a small group of people trying to control a young man thrashing about on the ground. It looked like he was having a seizure. I was reluctant to abandon my spot in the audience, but felt obliged as a recently licensed physician to attend the situation. I told my wife and her sisters to wait for me and then left to examine the youth. He was probably in his teens and was not responding to verbal cues. I was told a medical tent existed nearby and several of us carried him there. Inside the tent there was a makeshift infirmary run by a general practitioner from a town close by. He had been hired by the event organizers and had asked another doctor, a psychiatry resident from Iran, to assist him. Already on the first day of the festival they were overwhelmed with patients, mostly minor injuries and reactions to various psychedelic drugs. When the doctor discovered I was a physician, he begged me to join his team.

After examining the young man we had carried in, it was decided his symptoms were the result of a bad trip. His most bizarre behaviour was pursing his lips and blowing against them. This activity was so extreme he actually caused the soft tissues of his neck to swell from subcutaneous emphysema. None of us had seen this before and we were concerned he might actually require a tracheostomy, which we were not prepared to perform under these circumstances. Fortunately, it was not necessary and he slowly improved as the drugs were eliminated from his system. Shortly thereafter, a young woman was admitted to the tent with what appeared to be an acute abdomen. Again, the final diagnosis was a negative reaction to some unknown drug she had taken. Supportive care was all that was required. In my brief experience as a doctor I had not seen so many drug reactions that mimicked physical illness. I had completed a rotating internship at a county hospital in Oakland, California, and therefore had seen man young people in the emergency room having bad trips. But they presented with mostly psychological symptoms such as hallucinations, paranoia, fear and aggressive behaviour.

I had also experimented with marijuana and some psychedelic chemicals that gave me insight into the experiences others described. Luckily all my trips were positive and enjoyable. because of my familiarity with drugs, I was asked to be in charge of patients entering the medical tent with drug-related issues. In most cases, I made a diagnosis, provided reassurance and then forwarded the patients to the "trip tent."

This was a tent set up near the medical tent and staffed by volunteers from an organization called the Hog Farm. A man affectionately named Wavy Gravy started this group, which was hired to provide security at the festival and care for people having bad trips. Basically they talked them down, keeping their minds and thoughts occupied with positive images rather than then negative ones they were creating themselves. Almost all patients responded well to these measures and I don't recall having to sedate patients with benzodiazepines or phenothiazines, which was the recommended medical approach at the time. Also, there was a danger in mixing sedatives with unknown chemicals. We didn't want to cause more problems by creating drug interactions.

Basically, I spent the entire festival working in the medical tent. I never saw any of the bands and spent little time with my family. In retrospect it is amazing so few medical emergencies occurred. There were a couple of deaths, one from a drug overdose and another from a tractor driving over a sleeping youth. There were also medical evacuations organized by the National Guard. With all those people, the possibility of a major disaster was avoided by the atmosphere of friendship and peace. We felt privileged to participate.

Half a year later I received a letter from the doctor I worked with. Enclosed was a cheque for $50 to reimburse me for the price of admission. Since I "missed the show", he felt it was the least he could offer me.