Strolling through the mammoth Mall of America in Bloomington, Minn., it's hard to imagine that same expansive real estate filled with nothing but people celebrating the promise and possibility of recovery from addiction. But that's exactly what happened on June 26, 1976, when tens of thousands of people—including numerous celebrities from TV, movies, music and politics—gathered for FreedomFest '76. It was, and arguably still is, the largest "recovery advocacy" event in American history, held at what then was Metropolitan Stadium, original home of Minnesota's pro football and baseball teams, and what now is the nation's biggest shopping mall. Today, more than 40 years later, FreedomFest stands as one of the great legacies of organizer Wheelock Whitney, the Minnesota businessman and civic leader who died in 2016 at age 89. Addiction-related issues are more prominent in the news now, due to the opioid crisis and, I'd like to think, the growing voice of recovery advocates. But in 1976, addiction was totally taboo and recovery still secret, which is what made FreedomFest so significant. Somehow, long before the grassroots organizing power of social media, Whitney and a group of volunteers managed to bring together thousands of people who were willing to break from history and be part of a public event to confront an illness that had long remained a private matter, typically whispered about only in the shadows of shame. Observers were able to see the long-hidden reality that many people actually do recover from addiction—and that it's a disease which can be successfully managed to reveal people who are every bit as moral, productive, intelligent, talented—and humanly flawed—as the next person. "I was highly influenced by the event," said Marvin Seppala, MD, chief medical officer for the Hazelden Betty Ford Foundation, who attended during his first summer in recovery, just prior to beginning college. "It seemed to me recovery was an accepted lifestyle, even celebrated. It helped me to accept my illness and to speak openly about it." Whitney's innovative stigma-smashing strategy—the recovery festival—lives on today, with similarly-styled public events now held throughout the country. In 2015, a memorable Unite to Face Addiction rally was held on the National Mall. Thanks in large part to the modern promotional power of social media, it drew an estimated 15,000 to 25,000 people, despite a hurricane threat looming over the nation's capital, and launched a new advocacy organization called Facing Addiction. A Philadelphia "recovery walk"—or festival-on-the-go, you might say—attracts an estimated 25,000 annually. And many other—generally smaller but still very powerful—rallies are now held across America every September during National Recovery Month. We also hold our own event—HazelFest—a direct descendant of Whitney's groundbreaking FreedomFest—the first Saturday of every August on the grounds of the Hazelden Betty Ford Foundation's campus in Center City, Minn. HazelFest features music, speakers, food, exhibits, smiles, hugs and activities for the entire family. It serves as both a celebration of life for the thousands who attend and, once again, a widely publicized counterweight to the insidious and inaccurate stigma that still subtly colors too much of America's attitude and approach to addiction. As the nation's 23-million-strong recovery community makes more headway than ever in changing public attitudes—by demonstrating through our lived experience that addiction is, first and foremost, a health issue—it's valuable to look back at FreedomFest and, as historian William White wrote, "honor the brave men and women who first stepped into the public light to share their experience, strength, and hope with the world." Who were some of those brave men and women? For starters, actor Dick Van Dyke served as master of ceremonies and was featured in an inspiring event program Q&A entitled, "How I Won My Toughest Battle." Other public figures there to celebrate their own recovery were game show host Garry Moore, astronaut Buzz Aldrin, Major League Baseball MVP and Cy Young Award-winning pitcher Don Newcombe and former U.S. Sen. Harold Hughes of Iowa. Dennis the Menace creator Hank Ketcham, whose first wife died of a drug overdose, also contributed a FreedomFest cartoon to the event program. Among many others there to support the cause were radio and TV personality Art Linkletter, singers Etta Cameron and Marilyn Sellars, family therapy pioneer Virginia Satir and Minnesota's own Gov. Wendell Anderson, U.S. Sens. Hubert Humphrey and Walter Mondale, and Vikings quarterback Fran Tarkenton. Fran Tarkenton (left) and Art Linkletter. © Star Tribune. Several of the celebrities had participated six weeks earlier—on May 8, 1976—in a remarkable televised event in the nation's capital, during which 52 prominent citizens publicly proclaimed their recovery from alcoholism. Sponsored by the National Council on Alcoholism, it was called Operation Understanding. "It was a turning point in the collective consciousness of America, forever breaking the stereotype of alcoholism as the 'hopeless Skid Row wino'," said White. FreedomFest took the logical next step of inviting everyday Americans to proclaim their recovery in a public setting too—people like Willis Harrington, owner of a construction firm in Farmington, Minn., who told the Minneapolis Tribune: "I wouldn't have anything today if I were still drinking. An event like this is great—I knew there were a lot of alcoholics, but I just couldn't picture this many of them all getting together." Exactly how many people attended FreedomFest? The history is sketchy. It's clear in the records that organizers were expecting 40,000 in a stadium that held 45,919 at the time. The Tribune's immediate estimate was 20,000. A later report pegged it at 25,000. But former Minnesota Gov. Arne Carlson, in a 2011 tribute to Whitney, wrote that "the stadium overflowed." And, looking at pictures, the stands look rather full, so allow me to split the historical difference and estimate 30,000. Any way you slice it, the gathering was historically huge, especially on a Saturday marked by sporadic showers that prompted Van Dyke to tell the audience they were "the wettest bunch of 'drys' I've ever seen." "I remember Dick Van Dyke making that statement," said Dr. Seppala. "But most of all I remember the entire crowd, which seemed to fill the place, saying the Serenity Prayer. It was a glorious day for a guy early in recovery." The event kicked off at noon, with a "Sobriety Fair" in the surrounding parking areas and inside at the adjacent Met Sports Center, home to Minnesota North Stars hockey. It was a bona fide party, featuring 40 group reunions, tailgating (with "coffee, tea, pop and milk," of course), camping, educational booths, live music, bingo and other games, a variety show, dancing, arts and crafts, a teen drop-in center, recovery books and discussions, film showings, martial arts demonstrations, concessions and a sports clinic with famous athletes. Tom Siefert of Minneapolis painted a clown face on Shelly McGraw of St. Louis Park, Minn. © Star Tribune. At 7:30 p.m., Van Dyke, accompanied on stage by 60 prominent others as well as an orchestra and chorus, kicked off the main program inside Met Stadium by leading the crowd in a chant that ended emphatically with, "I'm Free! I'm Free!" Speakers and musicians then took their turns. One song, a contest winner named A Fest of Freedom by local musician Jerry Esnough, touched on the poignancy of celebrating freedom from addiction in the same year that America was celebrating the 200th anniversary of its founding on principles of freedom: "Once this country was young with rebellion, strugglin' to gather for release, aren't we all a bit like our own country, we want peace." With his lyrics in the event program, Esnough was able to get the whole place singing along. It was a festive performance, in front of his largest audience ever, and the reaction was memorable, especially that of then-Gov. Anderson. "He walked straight up to me, grabbed my hand, and with the most sincere, joyful gesture and handshake, said: 'Man that was great.' We talked a bit about how wonderful the event was," Esnough recalled. "As a representative of the long-haired hippie culture back then, connecting like that with 'the man'—'the main dude of Minnesota'—made me feel that FreedomFest was a real platform for bringing people together no matter what their station in life."