Sons of Bethel

Dylan was not the only electrified magnet to draw clustering thousands last week. As if begot by Bethel, three other rock festivals took place in various corners of the U.S.--in Prairieville, La., near Baton Rouge; in Tenino, Wash.; and in Lewisville, a grassy exurb of Dallas. Top name performers filled the air with clangor. But as at Bethel, it was not just the music but the hordes of young spectators who made the spectacle--and the scene. The Now Sound had confirmed and amplified the Now Look, a bewildering compound of acid and sweet charity, an exuberant blend of innocence and togetherness.. En masse, the gaily bedecked faithful presented an unsettling aspect, a ragtag mosaic of humanity suggesting anything from the Children's Crusade to the Vandals sacking Rome.

Older and presumably wiser heads, shuddering from beyond the generation gap, inclined to the latter view. In Tenino, local residents tried (and failed) to get the courts to close down the festival before it opened. "The lewd and loose will swing and sway," the Dallas Morning News editorialized. Everywhere the populace and the police braced for disaster. But the young again confounded their critics. True, drugs were easily available. There were one death (of a heart attack), one birth and three marriages. But no violence. Fewer than 150 youngsters were arrested--most of them on charges of indecent exposure or peddling dope. Around Dallas, this pacific result enraged angry citizens, who wanted the cops to bust the kids. Lewisville Chief of Police Ralph Adams, who had handled the situation with caution and restraint, resigned. "The trouble was coming from our own hometown gawkers," he said. "If I'd sent narcotics agents in with 50,000 youngsters, we would have had a war."

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