Have you ever heard tales of legendary music festivals that transcended mere concerts to become defining moments in history? While Woodstock often gets the spotlight, the Midwest has its own infamous saga: the **1972 Erie Canal Soda Pop Festival**. The video above offers a compelling glimpse into this wild event, but the story of what became known as “Bull Island” is far richer and more chaotic than many realize.
The Genesis of a Midwest Music Phenomenon
In 1972, rock music was not just popular; it was a cultural force, shaping youth movements and sparking new ways of thinking. Promoters Bob Alexander and Tom Duncan, keen to tap into this energy, aimed to bring a massive rock festival to the heart of the Midwest. Their previous venture, the Bossy Field Freedom Fest in Evansville, Indiana, showcased big names like Tina Turner and Edgar Winter. It was a hit, yet it also introduced a “new kind of crowd”—the hippies—that Evansville wasn’t quite ready for, leading to a swift ban from the mayor.
From Evansville to the Wabash: The Promoters’ Vision
Despite the backlash from their initial Evansville event, Alexander and Duncan were undeterred. They saw the overwhelming demand for large-scale rock festivals. Their ambition was to create another spectacular event, bringing together major rock acts and thousands of fans for an unforgettable experience. This drive, fueled by the era’s counter-culture spirit, set the stage for a dramatic search for a new venue that would ultimately lead them to the unusual location of Bull Island.
A Venue Under Siege: The Battle for Bull Island
The promoters initially eyed the Chandler Raceway in Chandler, Indiana, expecting around 50,000 attendees. They secured major acts such as Black Sabbath and Joe Cocker, kicking off an extensive promotion campaign with a full-page ad in Rolling Stone and heavy radio rotation on stations like WLS out of Chicago. This widespread advertising, however, drew far more national attention than anticipated, transforming a regional event into a massive gathering.
Local Resistance and Legal Roadblocks
As news of the impending festival spread, concerns quickly mounted among local officials. Counties across southwestern Indiana, and even neighboring Illinois, grew uneasy. The sheer scale of the expected crowd, coupled with memories of the “hippie” influx at Bossy Field, prompted swift action. As recounted by Richard Wallace, “Vanderburgh County said, no way, you ain’t doing it here.” Soon, injunctions were filed by nearly every surrounding county—Posey, Gibson, and others—to prevent the festival from taking place in their jurisdiction. This was a clear message: the Midwest, while embracing rock music, was wary of the larger cultural implications of such a massive gathering.
Bull Island: A Loophole in the Law
With time running out and thousands of ticket holders converging, Alexander and Duncan desperately needed a venue. They found a unique solution in Bull Island, an area along the Wabash River. The peculiar legal status of Bull Island proved to be its saving grace: it was geographically on the Indiana side of the river, but legally belonged to Illinois. This created a jurisdictional quagmire, leaving authorities in both states unsure of how to intervene. The promoters seized this opportunity, approaching owner Irvin Hagedorn. They agreed to buy the land for $200,000, putting down a $50,000 deposit. The festival was given the green light, just days before it was set to begin. This frantic last-minute scramble meant that critical infrastructure, such as proper sanitation and medical facilities, were barely an afterthought.
The Great Migration: Heading to the 1972 Erie Canal Soda Pop Festival
The extensive promotion, particularly the relentless announcements on WLS radio, galvanized hundreds of thousands. Attendees from across the country began their pilgrimage to the small, rural strip of land along the Wabash. This massive influx of people, largely the “unusual crowd” of hippies and rock enthusiasts, quickly overwhelmed the local communities and infrastructure.
Advertising’s Unexpected Impact
The full-page ad in Rolling Stone and the frequent radio broadcasts by WLS had a snowball effect. What was planned for 50,000 people at Chandler Raceway turned into an estimated 275,000 to 300,000-plus descending upon Bull Island. This dramatic discrepancy between expectation and reality underscored the immense power of media at the time. The sheer volume of incoming attendees far surpassed anything the organizers, or the local authorities, could have ever imagined or prepared for. It was less like a concert arrival and more like a human flood.
The Trek: An Odyssey for Festival-Goers
For many, simply getting to Bull Island was an adventure in itself. As Dan Davis vividly recalled, being too young for Woodstock, he was determined not to miss this event. Many, like him, resorted to hitchhiking, traversing long distances with minimal supplies. Keith Reeves mentioned not even taking a cooler or a drink, while Dan packed “some cans of Vienna sausage, some crackers, some candy bars, and two canteens of water.” Upon arrival, the scene was a “madhouse.” Cars were abandoned along the interstate for miles, forcing attendees to walk anywhere from three to ten miles to reach the festival grounds. The sight of people riding on top of cars and walking in long lines through cornfields painted a picture of utter determination, chaos, and a shared sense of eager anticipation.
Life on Bull Island: Chaos and Counter-Culture
When attendees finally made it onto Bull Island, the reality was stark. The hastily prepared farmland was swampy and muddy, with minimal bulldozed paths. The conditions were primitive, reflecting the rapid and unplanned nature of the festival’s relocation. This improvised setting, however, quickly became synonymous with the raw, untamed spirit of the era.
Primitive Conditions and “Turd Field” Legends
The most infamous aspect of the festival’s conditions was the almost complete lack of sanitation. For an estimated 300,000 people, there were a mere six port-a-potties. As Dan Davis grimly noted, the excrement in these facilities quickly rose “above the toilet.” This led to the creation of improvised facilities, including a marshy area dubbed “the Turd Field” and another dubbed “the crap ditch.” Richard Wallace described waking up to “naked bodies everywhere,” with people openly bathing and washing their hair in the Wabash River due to the absence of proper facilities. These raw, unsanitary conditions, while shocking, became part of the wild, uninhibited experience for many attendees.
The Open-Air Drug Market
Beyond the sanitation issues, Bull Island was an open-air drug bazaar. Dan Davis described an area dubbed “Alice in Wonderland Avenue or Alley” where drugs were openly hawked like concessions at a carnival. Herschell Gossett recalled “hundreds of booths set up and just all kinds of drugs,” with “so much pot being smoked that… your eyes burn all the time from all the smoke.” Keith Reeves witnessed blankets laid out with drugs and paraphernalia for sale, even observing someone shooting up heroin—a sight he’d never encountered before. Yet, despite the pervasive drug use, a striking calm prevailed. Attendees like Keith Reeves remembered the crowd as “calm and peaceful,” suggesting a communal, albeit illicit, understanding among the festival-goers.
The Stage & The Stomach: Bands, Bites, and Betrayal
Amidst the chaos and the counter-culture revelry, the central promise of the festival—world-class rock music—faced its own set of challenges. The sheer scale of the event also brought out the darker side of demand and supply.
Walkouts and Unfulfilled Promises
The massive crowd size, far exceeding initial estimates, became both a spectacle and a problem for the organizers. According to Richard Wallace, many bands “canceled because they wanted more money.” Black Sabbath and Joe Cocker, upon seeing approximately 275,000 people in attendance instead of the promised 50,000, demanded an additional $30,000 each. When their demands weren’t met, they simply “walked off,” leaving thousands of fans disappointed. This financial dispute highlighted the precarious nature of large-scale events in the 1970s, where contracts could be renegotiated on the fly, often to the detriment of the attendees.
The Show Goes On: Unsung Heroes of the Stage
Despite the high-profile cancellations, some bands honored their commitments, delivering memorable performances against all odds. Dan Davis clearly recalled the incredible bluesman Albert King, an “old black blues player” who delivered a powerful set. He also remembered Bertha, an “all-girl band” whose performance was so impressive that he later bought their album. Foghat also graced the stage. Perhaps the most legendary performance was by Ted Nugent, who started late on Saturday night and, as Davis recalled, was “still playing” three hours later after he had fallen asleep. These acts provided the musical backbone of the **Erie Canal Soda Pop Festival**, solidifying its place in the memories of those who experienced it.
Price Gouging and the Peril of Hunger
The lack of proper facilities extended to food and water. Vendors, seeing a captive audience of hundreds of thousands, drastically inflated prices. A single hamburger was sold for $10, an exorbitant amount that, in today’s money, would be equivalent to approximately $77. This predatory pricing led to widespread resentment. Dan Davis recounted waiting in line, only for the concession table in front of him to be rushed and overturned by frustrated concert-goers shouting, “eff this place, let’s take it!” He himself, realizing he might not eat otherwise, “ran with the crowd” to grab a couple of hamburgers off the grills. This desperate scramble for basic necessities underscored the dire conditions and the breakdown of order.
The Aftermath and Enduring Legacy
By the end of the weekend, the makeshift festival grounds were desolate, mirroring the exhaustion and disillusionment of many attendees. Supplies had completely run out, and various trucks were looted and even burned. The journey home was as arduous as the arrival, yet the experience left an indelible mark on everyone present.
Survival Stories and the Journey Home
The stories from Bull Island only grew more intense as the festival progressed. Accounts of attendees killing a cow and attempting to cook it, only for the carcass to lie “sliced up dead the rest of the festival,” highlight the desperation and disorganization. One harrowing incident involved a woman who was run over by a pickup truck in an area she thought was open but was still a drive-through path. Getting her out was a monumental task, with people passing her “over the top of everybody” to reach a vehicle for transport to Evansville, where she thankfully survived. Leaving was no easier than arriving; Dan Davis developed pneumonia and had to be rescued by his sister after collapsing under an overpass. People were “dirty, tired,” and simply wanted to go home, yet many also carried a sense of wonder at what they had just endured.
An Infamous Memory: Disaster or Defining Moment?
In the press, the **Erie Canal Soda Pop Festival** was largely remembered as a disaster: bands walking out, food stands looted, and chaos reigning supreme. However, for those who were there, the memories are far more nuanced. Keith Reeves found it a singular experience, knowing he’d “never see anything like that again.” Herschell Gossett called it a “once-in-a-lifetime experience,” a sentiment echoed by Richard Wallace, who, while admitting it wasn’t a “great concert,” declared it “a great time” and an “experience I’m glad I got to experience.” This complex legacy, balancing the undeniable hardships with the unique thrill of collective survival, is a testament to the human spirit’s ability to find meaning in extraordinary circumstances.
The memory of the 1972 Erie Canal Soda Pop Festival has been kept alive by dedicated individuals. Ray Kessler, a Posey County historian who passed away recently, was instrumental in preserving its history, even emceeing a 50th-anniversary event. Eric Vincent maintains a vital Bull Island Facebook page, a hub for shared stories and artifacts. And Herschell Gossett diligently collects posters, flyers, and buttons, ensuring that this incredible moment in Midwest history continues to resonate. For all who were there, it was unforgettable.
Infamous Afterthoughts: Your Questions on the 1972 Erie Canal Soda Pop Festival
What was the 1972 Erie Canal Soda Pop Festival?
It was a large, infamous rock music festival held in 1972 in the Midwest, known for its chaotic conditions and massive attendance.
When and where did the festival take place?
The festival happened in 1972 on Bull Island, a location along the Wabash River that legally belonged to Illinois but was geographically on the Indiana side.
Why was the festival also known as “Bull Island”?
It was held on a specific piece of land called Bull Island, which had a unique legal status that allowed the promoters to host the event there last-minute.
What were the conditions like at the festival?
The conditions were primitive and chaotic, with severe overcrowding, a dire lack of sanitation, and issues with food and water supply for hundreds of thousands of attendees.
Did all the promised bands perform at the festival?
No, some major bands like Black Sabbath and Joe Cocker walked out due to financial disputes, but others like Albert King and Ted Nugent still performed.
