CHAPTER 8
Sunday

The music began again at two in the afternoon on Sunday. Joe Cocker was first up. He was a British singer with a growling, gritty voice. He wore striped bellbottoms, a tie-dyed shirt, and had a style all his own. When his band played, he pretended to strum an invisible guitar along with them. His body, face, and hands jerked all around. He almost seemed like he was having a fit, but this was just how he looked when he sang. And he had a powerful blues-rock sound. Fans couldn’t take their eyes off him.

As he wound up his last number, “With a Little Help from My Friends,” a mighty thunderstorm hit! Strong winds whipped up. Black clouds blew in fast. Lightning cracked.

People in the crowd wrapped up in blankets or tarps if they had them. They hugged each other and ducked their heads. Others shrieked and ran for cover.

As Cocker and his band dashed offstage, the crew swarmed onstage to cover or remove electrical equipment. The tarps overhead were flapping wildly. John Morris yelled at the crews to stop. The storm was too dangerous! Soon Morris stood alone at the microphone facing the crowd. It was brave of him. He might have been electrocuted by lightning or wet power cables on the stage. But he wanted to control and calm the fans if he could. The last thing they needed was mass panic! Desperate, he got the crowd chanting over and over, “No rain, no rain.” They were trying to wish the storm away. But it was no use.

One of the biggest dangers came from sound equipment towers that stood in front of Morris. They were about seventy feet tall—as high as a six-story building—and were made of yellow metal poles and wood planks loaded with heavy speakers. They were like monkey bars, and fans had been climbing them to get a good view of the stage all during the concert. Although Morris kept begging them to get down, some were having too much fun. As the storm grew worse, however, they did as he asked. Still, the towers heaved and swayed in the wind. If they fell, fans sitting on the hill could die. That would have brought the festival to a terrible end.

Rain kept pounding for two and a half hours. It turned the hillside into ankle-deep mud. It loosened the soil, causing the stage to slide a few inches sideways. When the wind, rain, and lightning finally stopped, everyone breathed a sigh of relief. The towers stayed put. No one was hurt.

A crew began sweeping water off the stage. Around that time, Max Yasgur dropped by. Lang and Lawrence asked him to go onstage and speak to the wet fans. Yasgur wasn’t used to big crowds, but he agreed.

Looking out over the audience, the dairy farmer spoke into the mike. “I think you people have proven something to the world . . . that a half a million kids . . . can get together and have three days of fun and music . . . and I God-bless you for it!” The crowd whooped, clapped, and cheered. Max Yasgur had lifted their sagging, soggy spirits!

Unfortunately the rain had caused serious problems. Soil covering electrical cables was washed away. The cables that were for amplifiers got stepped on and were cracking open. Water was reaching the high-voltage wires inside. For a tense moment, the promoters actually considered ending the festival. They didn’t want to take a chance that musicians would get fried onstage!

The question on everyone’s mind was: Would the festival be cut short?