Forty years is a long time.

CODY SOSSAMON PUBLISHER A real long time.

But it seems like only yesterday that I was sitting in my dorm at the University of South Carolina watching news reports about hippies at some big outdoor music concert at a place called Woodstock.

This was happening during two-adays. Anyone who has ever been through two-a-days knows exactly what I'm talking about. For those who don't, two-adays is the term given to pre-season high school and college football practices. You have two practices a day, thus two-adays. Simple, huh?

Two-a-days are grueling. But that's another story.

So here we were, a bunch of college freshman, away from home for the first time, suffering through the toughest mental and physical tests any of us had ever endured. On top of that, our coach, Paul Dietzel, surprised us by letting the seniors shave our heads.

Looking at me now, you'd think that wouldn't have bothered me at all. But it did. It bothered all of us. You might imagine how we reacted, then, when we watched the news reports of all these long-haired hippies, drinking and partying and having a good ol' time while we were miserable.

Miserable, I tell you.

And those Woodstockers were smoking something called marijuana that made them act crazy and taking something called acid that made them act even stranger.

Take it from me, this was almost more than a naive 17-year-old kid from Gaffney, S.C., could comprehend. I was used to guys with crew cuts wearing penny loafers and button-down Oxford shirts. And girls with coiffed hair wearing skirts and pressed blouses.

The newscasters called them hippies. We made fun of them at the time. When school started and the other students arrived, I was amazed to actually have classes with some of these hippies.

One I'll never forget was a guy we called "Moss Man." He always wore an Army jacket with Spanish moss hanging from the pockets. He never wore shoes, either. Even in the dead of winter.

The History Channel — my favorite TV station — aired a special on Woodstock last night and I was enthralled.

You see, despite making fun of the hippies, a bunch of us secretly admired them and were jealous of their lifestyle. I never did become what you'd call a full-fledged hippie, but I did let my hair down once my football-playing days were over. Coach Dietzel had a very strict hair policy even down to the length of your sideburns — not past the bottom of your ear lobes. Yes, I did have a head full of thick, luxurious hair once upon a time and I let it grow after my last football practice.

I traded in my khaki pants and Oxford cloth button-downs for blue jeans and tie-dyeds. I grew a mustache. The biggest thing that kept me from being a real hippie was that I liked to take at least two showers a day.

Watching the show, I was amazed at how much I remembered. "What we have in mind is breakfast in bed for 400,000. We must be in heaven, man." Wavy Gravy said that.

The chant of "No rain, no rain, no rain," when the storms came. Stephen Stills telling the crowd that he, Graham Nash and David Crosby were "scared s%&$less."

Jimi Hendrix playing the 'Star- Spangled Banner." Like a lot of people, I listened to the soundtrack and watched the movie and news clips so much, I could almost talk myself into believing I was there.

Indeed, it has been said that if everyone who claimed to have been at Woodstock had ACTUALLY been there, the earth would have tilted.

It was just a few weeks before Woodstock that man took his first steps on the moon. It was also about the same time in 1969 that Charles Manson and his followers created Helter Skelter.

It's understandable why we remember in vivid detail events like these. One, they were BIG NEWS. Two, we are constantly reminded through various media, like the History Channel show I saw the other night.

But I have another memory from that era that only a select few share. The smell of freshly cut grass this time of year reminds me more than anything else of those dreaded two-a-days. Why? I don't know. Maybe because the playing fields were always cut just before practice. Many others who played football will agree with me, I'm sure. There's just something about that smell.

Memories of big events like Woodstock, though different, are shared by millions. Off-the-wall remembrances like mine of freshly cut grass are more individualized, but millions have them. What's yours?

Cody Sossamon (cody@gaffneyledger.com) is publisher of The Gaffney Ledger.