By Martin Rots

            Sparky and I went to Monterey, California recently as part of our decade long program of visiting the historic sites of Classic Rock.  Our journeys have taken us to many destinations including Abbey Road Studios, Haight Ashbury, Jim Morrison's Paris grave, and now the Monterey County Fairgrounds, site of the 1967 Monterey International Pop Festival. 

            We arrived around mid-day and after a little wandering on the unfamiliar streets of Monterey, we located the fairgrounds.  It was Sunday and there were no scheduled events, the place was deserted.  The gate was open and Sparky and I walked in like we owned the place.  We only encountered one person on the grounds and when we asked him if it was okay to look around, he just shrugged his shoulders and said, "Sure."

            The arena was easy to find, and a smile came to my face as we approached it.  Outside the arena, parallel to the stands, were booths that had been filled with vendors of beads, flowers, posters and the rest of the hippie ephemera.  It was easy to picture the colorfully dressed flower children moving from booth to booth and celebrating this "gathering of the tribes."

            We walked along the stands to the far side of the arena and looked towards the stage.  It didn't seem that far from where we were standing.  The arena was only built to hold 7,500 people, although there were far more crammed into it during the course of the festival.  Standing room tickets sold for one dollar on the day of the concert.  Unlike Woodstock, the audience left the arena at the conclusion of the day's show to sleep elsewhere.  Most slept on the fairgrounds or the football field of the local community college.  The lucky ones had rooms in Monterey.

            I stood there, pictured the crowd for a bit and took some pictures before walking back to the arena entrance.  Next to the stage, I noticed a pipe sticking up vertically from the asphalt.  It was about two feet high and I calculated it was just tall enough to help me scale the six feet to the stage surface.  I looked around and saw that Sparky and I were alone.

            With very little effort, I found myself standing on stage.  I walked about twenty feet towards center stage and stopped to look out over the arena.  I thought about all the people who had witnessed the birth of a musical revolution that long ago weekend on the California coast.  I started to think about the musicians who had performed on the stage and suddenly had an epiphany.  I realized that I was on the exact spot where Hendrix had burned his guitar and began his legend. 

            I soaked it up for a minute or two before climbing down from the stage with the assistance of Sparky.  I told her it was one of my great rock moments. "Better than playing Duane Allman's Strat while you sat on Hendrix's couch?" she asked.

            "Nope, but real close."