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When the original Woodstock took place, I was barely 2 years old. My parents, not being hippies, music freaks or risk-taking parental types, didn’t take me. I’m OK with that. This past weekend, I thought it would be interesting to take the temperature of the summer concert festival scene, as it sits comfortably at middle age. So I grabbed my son, threw a tent, a few backpa…

Gusto

In my first two years at The Buffalo News, I was the rock ’n’ roll equivalent of Clark Kent. By day, I was the mild-mannered reporter in jacket and tie, assigned to the Western New York desk. By night, in T-shirt and tattered jeans, I was a superstar in the making, a diamond in the rough, the bass player and occasional singer in a band called Lavender Hill. Like many an …

Columns

We’re righting a great wrong here. And we are, at long last, fully explaining why. Please note the accompanying piece by Dale Anderson explaining why he did not cover one of the greatest musical events of our era, Woodstock. We covered it the wrong way at the time, but even that was a triumph (of which more later). I ought to know. I was the wrong way that we covered th…