Jimmy Dowds


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Osibisa; the last band to play at the festival. Photo by Glenn Abbott
The final morning was misty with a heavy dew making everything damp. It was a reality check of sorts. The bummers and bad trips were starting to come to light. A stage announcer was talking about the ripoffs, and the whole mood was one of being over it all. People were packing and headed to the airport. The vast majority flew in on package deals and they were all in the same boat getting back, so the whole festival went to the airport pretty much at the same time. At this time the cultural shock of having this festival at this place became evident. It was too much for both cultures to painlessly absorb. The delicate Puerto Rican culture was trampled by clueless gringos who were there to worship their icons, oblivious to anything more than a pretty landscape. The locals set up with lawn chairs and coolers at the showers and stared at naked college girls all day. Puerto Rico is all grown up now, practically everyone drives and speaks English, but in 1972 it was a cultural clash of epic proportions, and neither group would ever be the same again.

– Jimmy Dowds