Clearwater...history

For more than half my life, the month of June, hell, most of the year, has been dominated by one thing. The Clearwater Great Hudson River Revival. There were times as a teenager that knowing I had June to look forward to, literally saved my life. I was depressed and suicidal and a few times actually told myself that I could hang on because June wasn't that far away.

I grew up in a small village in Westchester County, NY, Croton-on-Hudson, NY. When I say small, my entire high school was around 600 students. I graduated with kids who were also in my first and second grade classes (and reminded me of the embarassing shit that happened). Unheard of in most of the communities today. There is still no fast food place in town, the closest in concept is a Dunkin Donuts. There is also still no movie theater or other place for kids to hang out. When you're younger, team sports sponsored by the village recreation department are the cool thing to do. When you're older, cruising in the car or drinking yourself stupid, often simultaneous activities, are the social events of the week. Croton is an awesome place to grow up until you're around 10 or 11, then you realize there's a world out there that you can't reach unless you have an older sibling or parent willing to schlep you to another town. Croton is/was home to one of the most toxic dumps on the River, emergently cleaned up by the Superfund program, and is about 2 miles down river from the Indian Point nuclear power plant. Yippee.

The reason I'm telling you all this is so you understand my instant attraction and devotion to the Clearwater organization.

Some of you know about my childhood. Short version - it wasn't pretty. I was a social outcast, not fitting in and having few friends, none of which I could call on a Saturday to go do something. I had exponentially negative numbers when it came to self-esteem, and kids being the vultures that they are, saw my weakness. I spent most of my childhood relatively alone, wandering through the woods or hanging out by the village pier/dock on the Hudson, looking pitiful and hoping someone would offer a ride on their boat. I went to the village park on the river, Senasqua, and scrounged pieces of broken fishing line, tied them together, and dropped a hook into the river, eating whatever I caught. I also went crabbing, eating the few blue crabs that wandered into the cage. Toxic stew. Sidenote...and I wonder why I couldn't carry a pregnancy?!

When I was around 14 or 15, one day after school, I wandered onto Croton Point, just looking to hang out. When I got there, there were a group of people, hippies mostly, most from Woodstock or Viet Nam vets, who were involved in building and setting up a festival I'd never heard of. I started talking to them and instantly felt welcome. They asked me if I could swing a hammer and do the work and I eagerly agreed. Unknowingly, I had become part of an extended family and all my quirks and weirdness were either overlooked or welcomed as part of who I was. For the next few years, for the entire month of June, when school let out, I walked or drove to the Point and started working the minute I arrived. I worked until around 6:30 or 7, ate dinner with my new found family, and either got a ride or drove home around 10pm, by which time, most were drunk and/or stoned. My father stopped by once, just to check them out, and left feeling that I was safe. I later found out that my father asked the Site Crew cook, Terry Arnold, a friend of the family, her opinion of the group and to look out for me. No worries.

It's now give or take 25 years later and with the exception of a few years when I was either at summer camp or blacklisted (long story short...my father was a lawyer), I've been involved with the festival ever since. Intrestingly, when I look back, the times in my life that had the least direction and were the most fucked up, were the years that I was blacklisted from Revival. After my father died, I wrote a letter to the then director of the festival, begging her to come back.

I've had a few lovers, partners or girlfriends over the years and have introduced all but two to the Clearwater community. Most have understood the importance that Clearwater has in my life. Those that gave me shit about it are gone. Debbie isn't thrilled about it, mostly because that culture and community puts her way outside her comfort zone, but she understands it's part of who I am and doesn't say much. For the first time in several years, she actually went this year and really enjoyed herself.

It's good to be home.