The Last Hippy
Under a large banner ‘Woodstock 2069: 100 Years of Rockin’ Good Love’, a fat man with a cigar barks at his subordinates. ‘So what you got?’
‘The original site, JB – Yasgur’s Farm as was,’ says one.
‘And a great old-time line-up,’ adds another, handing round lists.
‘Welcome to Jurassic Park!’ someone sniggers.
‘No – we need all these dinosaurs,’ JB says. ‘They’re the missing link. None of the original acts still around, I suppose?’
‘You gotta be joking, boss. They’re all plucking electric harps in heaven by now.’
‘Must be someone still out there from 1969.’
The team shrug.
‘Well, get out there and start looking! Zak, get on it.’
Two weeks later Zak reports back. ‘I’ve found someone, JB. Maybe the oldest man on the planet. 117 years. A tech billionaire from way back.’
‘Well, sounds ideal. What are you waiting for? Go get him, tiger.’
‘There’s a problem, boss. No-one gets near him. Some Californian cult called the Love Heads controls his dough and guards him like Fort Knox. And he’s a complete flake too. Never washes or cuts his hair or nails. Lives on fruit and vitamin pills. Sleeps on the floor under an old sheet. Thinks he’s going to live forever.’
JB scowls. ‘Well, I gotta have him. Talk to these … Love Heads. Splash the cash. Everybody’s got their price, hippies included.’
Zak flies out, twists arms, greases palms, and eventually a deal is fixed. Meanwhile the festival goes ahead and turns out to be a monster hit, a nostalgic rockfest. Half a million attend, millions more watch on their devices worldwide. On the last day the old man is heavily sedated, packed into an air ambulance and helicoptered to the festival where he is carefully unpacked and wheeled on stage. Two terrified old eyes stare out of a tangled wigwam of white hair.
‘And now back in the flesh from the very first Woodstock,’ the MC roars, ‘the last living HIPPY!’ Screens behind flood with original footage, soundtracks pump out, the crowd erupts.
To the old man it is all a terrifying blur. Who are this sea of faces? What do they want? Why won’t they just leave him be in his bedroom with his cartoons and his TV? Under the MC’s appalled eyes, and watched on screens, phones and watches across the world, the old man starts to sob, then scream. Hurriedly, he is whisked off stage.
*
A hundred years before in the middle of a crowded muddy field a teenager is flinging his arms round and leaping and whooping to the sound of Jefferson Airplane. A bright new age of love and creativity is dawning, he is convinced. Science is not where it’s at, some say, but they’re wrong. Technology is just a cuddly big brother that one day will hug everyone in its embrace. And he will devote his life to the revolution, the coming empowerment. God willing, he is going to wire the whole world.