For the record, Howard and I were not among those arrested for illegal drugs, weapons charges, aggravated assault, or trying to illegally bring stage equipment in to a rock concert. We did, however, score some mighty fine Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill wine.

It was July 3rd, 1972, the summer before our senior year in high school. I don’t remember whether it was Howard or I who first heard the news about the displaced Rock Festival. Promoters scheduled an outdoor rock concert called the “Spirit of ‘76 Rock Festival” at the Bailey farm near Peoria, Illinois. The headliners were the New Riders of the Purple Sage and REO Speedwagon, and they were expecting over 30,000 attendees. The New Riders had played the Hollywood Bowl just two weeks before with The Grateful Dead, and people were excited.

Unfortunately, the local government was not excited. Or perhaps they were overexcited. In either case, an injunction was filed and the concert promoters were told they could not hold the festival anywhere in Peoria County. Not to be outdone, the promoters found a new location on a farm near Streator Illinois, which was about 10 or 15 miles from where Howard and I lived in Ottawa. The festival was to start either July 3rd or 4th. On Sunday, July 2nd, the promoters told those already gathering for the festival in Peoria to head north to the new location near Streator.

This is when fortune smiled on us. My folks were out of town on vacation and left me at home in charge of my two sisters, Roberta and Tanya. I also had my dad’s work car, a three-on-the-column ‘65 Dodge Dart. We immediately decided to go to the festival the next day, party and listen to music for a while, and then drive home with no one the wiser.

What Howard and I didn’t know was that another injunction was filed that day in LaSalle County and a judge had already banned the festival from taking place at the alternate location near Streator. As people were arriving from Peoria, the police weren’t allowing them to go to the farmer’s field for the concert, but were instead channeling them to the Sandy Ford Conservation Area, halfway between Streator and Grand Ridge. In fact, they arrested several people attempting to bring stage equipment into the Conservation Area, a violation of the injunction. In the meantime, more and more people were arriving for the festival.

Oblivious to all of this, Howard and I met on the morning of the 4th and started driving towards Streator, looking for the rock festival. We knew about where it was, and figured we could follow the traffic when we got close. Sure enough, we were a couple of miles south of Grand Ridge and saw lots of traffic turning off of Route 23 onto a small road. We turned onto the road, and joined the throng. I think the road turned to gravel, but in any case we eventually pulled off on the side of the road and parked, just as everyone else was doing. I seem to remember seeing police, but they weren’t a big presence.

From the car, we walked a mile or so down the road. No one was taking money or tickets for entry. We eventually arrived at an open field, where a band was playing on a makeshift stage. There was a big crowd, along with tents, cars and vans scattered about. People were drinking, smoking, laughing and generally having a good time. Howard and I wandered around and finally asked a guy where we could buy something to drink. He told us he had some extra Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill wine if we were interested. We quickly bought a bottle and settled in to listen to the music.

We watched a couple of bands play, drank our wine and generally felt very cool. We met and talked with several in the crowd, although at 17 and 16, we were younger than just about everyone there. As a side note, the girls/women ALL seemed older than us, which was somewhat intimidating ;-). I don’t remember any fights or problems, just that the music was pretty good, and there were lots of people. The news at the time saw it a bit differently and said that “hippies” were gathering at the festival and people needed to be careful. News reports in Streator and Ottawa advised local stores to close down.

As evening approached, neither the New Riders nor REO had played yet, but we had to leave. Either Howard had to check in with his folks, or I had to take my sisters to the fireworks that night. We paid for a couple more bottles of Boone’s Farm and walked to the car. By now there were vehicles everywhere and it was hard to turn around and get out, but we eventually made it home in one piece. Unfortunately, one of the bottles of wine leaked on the back seat of my dad’s car, and caused me to have a mild panic attack. Luckily, dad never noticed the wine stain and our trip stayed secret.

Adults around Ottawa were pretty worried about the “hippies” causing trouble, or being a bad influence on our town’s youth. After our day at the festival, Howard and I suffered no apparent ill effects and seemed to turn out OK. Heck, after a few years, we even outgrew our taste for Strawberry Hill wine.

*****

I flashed on this fest recently when Howard was meeting with an old friend of his from the Ozark Mountain Daredevils. For some reason, seeing them together in a photo made me think of the festival. I decided to do some research and see what really happened there. You can read the article included here and it’s pretty funny. It turns out the festival wasn’t authorized and in fact neither the promoter, nor most of the scheduled bands made it to Streator. According to news reports on the 5th of July, neither REO Speedwagon, nor the New Riders of the Purple Sage showed at the fest in Streator. Instead, local bands arrived, along with a couple of the smaller original bands, and they crafted a stage and held the festival. There were only around 20 arrests. Somewhere between 6-15,000 were there and it sounds like the police shut the whole thing down late on the evening of the 4th, sometime after Howard and I departed.

As Howard and I were recently discussing that day, I found out that he returned to the fest the next day on his bicycle. There was still someone there selling Boone’s Farm out of the back of a truck. Howard snagged two bottles and returned home a bit later. I think we drank the wine with friends the next weekend at the Butler House in Varland Park. Ahhh, youth.

**** Special thanks to Howard Johnson for verifying or correcting my memory about some of this blog.