Peace and Pot on Powder Ridge

A lean blond youth raised a bottle high, sipped of the red wine laced with acid, and said dreamily: "Canceled? We're not canceled. This time the chime is in rhyme, the sounds are all around." Apprehensive local officials, backed by court orders, had prevented some of the biggest names in the world of rock--Joe Cocker, Janis Joplin, Sly and the Family Stone--from performing at the Powder Ridge Ski area near Middlefield, Conn. Undaunted, some 20,000 youngsters turned the reckless affair into a cheerily noisy "people festival."

They made their own sound--laughter, interminable rapping, impromptu guitar-plucking, the blare of transistor radios, and finally a makeshift concert by nondescript local bands, with amplifiers powered by two ice-cream trucks. The most distinctive note was the brash hawking of drugs. "Good black hashish for $3.50!" shouted one youth. Countered a bearded pusher: "Buy one tab of acid and get a free tab of smack!" Kids on bad trips were treated by volunteer physicians, and were urged over a makeshift public-address system to "bring a few joints for the doctors." As the week progressed, drug abuse became a serious problem. Hundreds of youngsters suffered ill effects.

Indian Meditation. Moving gingerly to discourage the assemblage of a huge crowd without provoking violence, state police had announced that the 300 acres of green woodland was sealed off to all visitors, yet they made no attempt to prevent the thousands of invaders from reaching the site on foot. The authorities impeded the delivery of food and curtailed sanitary services, but made no move to evict the celebrators. They ignored the pot-pushing, the open lovemaking, the unblushing nudity of pond swimmers and sun bathers. The line between strict law enforcement and pragmatic reality was conveniently blurred. "What can they do?" asked one contented camper. "We're all staying."

So they did, many for nearly a week. Forewarned by Woodstock, most had brought enough food to last out their stay. Youths slept in the sun on air mattresses, crawled at night into tents of orange, green, yellow and blue canvas. The more spiritual-minded jammed into an Indian meditation tent. Attitudes toward the music ban varied. "When you alienate so many people, the revolution just picks up steam," said Pat Coons, 23, a camper from Connecticut. Waving to friends on a ski T-bar, a California youth expressed the dominant mood: "This whole thing is playing it lazy--it's a place to pass a smooth couple of days." Nevertheless, in its final days, the festival turned tedious for many as occasional rain and lack of sleep took their toll.

New Concept. It will take months to untangle the finances of the nonrock festival. The promoters reportedly sold 30,000 tickets at $20 each. The ski-resort owners, Herman and Louis Zemel, broke with the promoters, a group of 15 men headed by Joseph Middleton of Atlanta and incorporated as Middleton Arts International. The Zemels accused the organizers of planning to provoke violence at the festival and then to profit by filming the disorder. The Zemels said they had some $60,000 of the ticket money put away in escrow.

The promoters never even appeared at Powder Ridge. The Zemels were arrested for contempt of court for trying to recruit substitutes for the canceled star musicians. Though harassed and nearly voiceless, Herman Zemel insisted: "This crowd is beautiful." Middlefield's First Selectman Arthur Meckley, who opposed the festival, agreed that "these are good kids--but they are being taken by promoters who are after a fast buck." The event, he felt, had turned into something "no different from a fire or a flood or a disease."

If the kids were being victimized, few seemed to mind. In their enjoyment, they posed a new concept that may worry authorities elsewhere. If youngsters just want to gather and groove together by the thousands, even without music, who is to stop them? And how?

There was a vastly different rock scene last week in Chicago, despite the admirable intentions of city authorities. They had planned to entertain young people with a series of admission-free concerts. Only a dozen officers were assigned to monitor the crowd of about 50,000 in Grant Park. And when the kids began ripping up the sound equipment and the band shell, then turned on the cops, most of the reinforced police contingent showed restraint.

The only question was just what had made the youngsters so angry. Some said that it was the notorious tardiness of Sly and the Family Stone, the featured rock group. Sly twice failed to appear at all at previous Chicago concerts, was five hours late at a Washington appearance last winter. This time the band was on its way. But while a local group performed, mindless violence broke out.

Some kids climbed up on the stage. One young man stripped down to his shorts before police intervened, and the crowd jeered the arrest. But there were also signs that the disorder had been planned. Some in the crowd carried baseball bats and lengths of chain. Police intelligence sources said that the Weatherman faction of S.D.S. had intended to cause a disturbance. For once, such conspiracy theories by the Chicago police did not seem so farfetched.

Charge and Retreat. Whatever the political motivation, the youngsters hurled wine bottles, concrete blocks and beer cans at cops in a three-hour battle that raged through the park. They overturned and burned three cars including two police vehicles. The outnumbered officers, who could muster only about 400 men, alternately retreated under the barrage, then charged. Many youths fled, but about 3,000 remained to do battle until one patrolman finally opened fire with a revolver. About 40 other officers followed his example. "It was fear, man, fear," one patrolman later explained. When it was over, 150 people, including 91 policemen, had been injured. Three youths suffered gunshot wounds; one of them was seriously hurt. More than 160 rioters were arrested.

Mayor Richard Daley, charging that there "wasn't any spontaneity" about the assault on the stage, immediately canceled the remaining rock concerts. Governor Richard Ogilvie said that he would support legislation severely restricting rock concerts throughout Illinois.

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