Stay all night, stay a little longer. A mostly true tale of Willie’s 1975 4th of July Picnic

The following is part one of a mostly true historical fiction recollection of Willie Nelson’s 1975 July 4th Picnic in Liberty Hill. 

Getting There

“We’re here!” I announced as I pulled off the blacktop bringing the old Pontiac to an abrupt stop. The sudden jolt, and my exclamation, startled my passenger Mike into the beginnings of consciousness.  

“Where?”, Mike groggily asked.

“It’s only been an hour since we left Austin, have you forgotten where we were going?” I replied. “What we are doing? What day it is?”  In all fairness it had been a late night.  

We had held our own version of the Boston Tea Party, dubbed the Austin T party. We didn’t dress in costume or throw our herb in a bay, opting instead to pack it into our peace pipe and burn it.  As a result we woke up a bit late and stumbled to the car to head north. Fortunately, we had the foresight to load our preparations the afternoon before.

Mike immediately fell asleep as we headed north on Hwy 183, or Research, or Anderson, or Ed Bluestein; the most schizophrenic road in the city.  You never knew who, or what, or where you were on it.  It would tease you with 55 mph speeds for short distances, then it would bring you to a stop to wait through several cycles of a light before releasing you again. It was perpetually under construction and never made a target date. I usually avoided it, but there was no way around it today.

“I remember we were going to Liberty Hill for a 4^th of July picnic,” Mike answered. “But this looks like we broke down on the side of the road with a bunch of hippies.”  

His logic was difficult to counter. Arguably, the scene outside was somewhat chaotic. There were no signs, no symbols of authority. Only small groups of folks carrying their few possessions down a country road like devotees on a pilgrimage, or refugees fleeing Armageddon.

“I know I couldn’t find Liberty Hill on a map, but are you sure this is the right place?”, asked Mike. “How do you even know these people are going to the picnic, or if they are going in the right direction?”  

Mike was an affable guy, hardworking and easy to get along with. I first met him at The Ark, a student cooperative. We were both incoming freshmen looking for the cheapest way to live. The Ark fit our bill, although the student management wasn’t sure we fit theirs. We had been roommates since then, eventually buying a mobile home on Austin’s east side behind Bergstrom Air Force base.

“Come on man, you know the routine,” I said. “See a line, get in it. If it’s the wrong line, they’ll tell you when you get to the front.”

I saw the panic cross his face.  He had once stood in line at Gregory Gym for three hours to register for fall classes only to find he was in the wrong line and the College of Natural Sciences was on the opposite side of the gym. The mistake almost caused him to switch majors from Marine Biology to English. The next semester was miserable for him with classes at odd hours and other pre-requisite classes unavailable until Spring. He still hadn’t recovered from that experience and had an unnatural fear of lines.

Since I had the car keys he couldn’t leave, and didn’t want to be left behind either, so he began to help gather supplies. We had an ice chest with plenty of iced beer, an assortment of snacks and sandwiches, a backpack, and a large tarp we were planning to use as a ground cloth in the evening and rig for shade during the heat of day.  

We hoisted our ice chest, ground cloth, and foodstuffs, looked around for a landmark to help us find the car in the dark, then joined the gathering throng.

Although the day was warming rapidly the crowd was festive and excited. The blacktop had been taken over by pedestrians, with cars parked in the ditches on both sides of the blacktop. Some groups were eating meals or lounging next to their cars in makeshift camps before setting off. There was no end in sight.

The occasional entrepreneur had set up shop out of the trunk of a car or back of a pick up truck.  We came across a t-shirt vendor, and needing a rest from our labor we stopped to shop.  Mike found a t-shirt with the Texas State Flag on the front–only the lone star in the canton had been replaced with a marijuana leaf.  Below the flag was printed, “The Lone Stone State”. 

“I don’t know Mike, I think that’s a bad idea,” I said as he pulled the shirt over his head.  “Why do you want to advertise? We are in Williamson County, you know? They probably have a law against desecrating the state flag.”  

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, “look around, we’re hiding in the herd. We’ll be fine.”  With that we continued our trek.

Our exodus took about forty minutes, although it felt like years. The weight and the temperature were taking their toll as our pilgrimage extended.  Eventually, we made it to the entrance and looked out over the picnic grounds. It was a large cow pasture sloping down in a natural amphitheater to the stage. Although the people on stage looked like ants, the music was drifting up to us.

“Hey buddy, got a light?” The sheriff’s deputy asked as we passed through the gate. 

“No sir, I don’t smoke, but my friend here can probably help you out.”  Mike answered.  

“Sorry man, I left them in the car,” I mumbled.  

“Don’t worry about it”, he said. “your shirt pissed me off so I thought I would give you a warning. I came out here with a bad attitude – wanted the day off.  My plan was to fence y’all n and arrest all y’all, but the sheriff said no, too many of you. Lucky for you I’m a music fan and it’s calming me. The first guy was from Scotland, a bit too much rock for me, but he was OK. Then Billy Swan just finished, he’s a new guy but I really liked him.  Did a great new song called ‘I Can Help’. Too bad you missed him. Anyway, enjoy the show and don’t do anything too stupid, cause I’m watching.”

“That was weird.  I wondered what got him going”, Mike pondered.  

“Maybe your shirt,” I replied.  

“I don’t know why,” Mike countered, “it’s new and clean.”  

“Come on”,  I said.  “Let’s go find a place to set up before the next act comes on. It’s getting hot.”

We set off into the mass of humanity. The collective intelligence of the crowd had established thoroughfares, feeder roads, and trails that cut serpentine paths through the pasture. Although vacant spaces were accessible, the going was still slow. Eventually we established ourselves in a nice spot with a clear view of the stage.  We laid out our ground cloth and leaned back against the ice chest as David Allan Coe took the stage.

Continue to part two