Hey Buddy

The day arrived. We drove to Independence, Iowa under dark and overcast skies, the sun refusing to show itself the entire time. It was our typical Illinois to Iowa trip. Each time we approach the Iowa border I hold my nose and make pig sounds, just as I have done for thirty-five years. But once we are halfway across the Interstate 80 Bridge spanning the Mississippi River, Arlene breaks into a rousing version of the Iowa Corn Song, which invariably ends with her screaming “Iowa, Iowa, that’s where the tall corn grows!”

Yes I understand how crazy this sounds, but this is the ritual we have repeated over and over for our entire marriage. Thirty miles across the border, as always, we exit the interstate and pull into the Iowa 80 Truck Stop, which bills itself as the world’s largest. After walking through the ailes looking at their unusual wares, we climb back into the car for the final leg of the trip to Independence.

We arrived around 4:00 p.m. to find Norma and her husband Bob already dressed and pacing. After exchanging our usual greetings and hugs Arlene and I unpacked.

“She’s really looking forward to this. This is important to her,” Arlene replied while holding a pair of shoes in each hand. Her eyes darted back and forth as she wondered which to wear. “I think she’s a little upset that we’re late.” Early in our marriage Arlene used to ask my advice about what to wear, but she learned quickly I’m not much help in the fashion department.

“We’re not late, Arlene.” I glanced at my watch. “The concert doesn’t start for three and a half hours, and it’s only a thirty-minute drive.”

“I know, but she is so excited and I’m excited for her.” Arlene held up the pair in her left hand. I nodded and she put them on the floor. “You’re a musician. This should be fun. Please enjoy this tonight, for my mom.”

I reached for Arlene and pulled her close. “Of course I will. I am going to the Winter Dance Party with the two most beautiful women in Iowa.”

We left Independence an hour later and drove to Waterloo for dinner at Famous Dave’s and then made the short drive to the Gallagher Bluedorn Performing Arts Center on the campus of the University of Northern Iowa in Cedar Falls. The people in these parts have always taken their arts very seriously. The facility is beautiful, but what was waiting for me in the lobby when we entered was not what I expected at all. I thought the place would be filled with a younger Rock & Roll crowd brimming with enthusiasm. Instead, I entered to discover that I was the youngster. I’m fifty-five.

When I spotted an event poster I walked over to take a look. Across the top it said “John Mueller’s Winter Dance Party” and below were pictures of Buddy, Ritchie, and The Big Bopper. Arlene and her mom posed in front for a photo before walking away to mingle with others.

I was studying the poster when a woman about ten years my senior asked, “Aren’t you excited? I can’t believe this night is finally here. I’ve been looking forward to this for months!”

“This night?” I asked. I knew what she meant, but I really have no idea why I pretended I didn’t.

“Tonight! The Winter Dance Party, of course! I’ve been counting the days. I was so afraid I was not going to get a ticket, but I’m here and it’s like a dream!” The woman looked sixty-something but acted and sounded like a teenager. When I didn’t respond with the same youthful enthusiasm, she repeated, “Aren’t you excited?”

“Sure . . . well . . . yes . . . I guess.” I offered a small shrug. “I’m here.”

She laughed. “Not a fan of Buddy Holly or John Mueller’s Winter Dance Party?”

“No, I’m not a fan. I’m here with my mother-in-law. We brought her for her birthday. I’m sure I’ll find it interesting, though.”

“Wow,” she replied, nodding and smiling. “Your mother-in-law is hipper than you!”

Hmm. Déja vu, I thought. I wondered if she knew Tim. “These pictures,” I motioned toward the poster. “Are these the original performers or pictures of the impersonators?”

“Oh my,” she placed her hand over her mouth and shook her head as if she could not believe I asked the question. “Get in the spirit! There are no impersonators here. We are at the Winter Dance Party! I’m here to see Buddy, Ritchie, and The Big Bopper. It’s February 1959!” With that, she turned on her heel like a teenager spurned and walked away as if she was afraid I would spoil the magic of the evening.

I thought for a moment about clicking my iPhone and asking Scotty to beam me up. I felt stuck in some sort of time warp.

In her mind she may have understood the reality of time, but in her heart she was there to bring her memories to life. I felt bad. The last thing I wanted to do was dampen her spirit. I was about to walk after her when I spotted Norma and Arlene approaching. Am I killing the magic for my mother-in-law? I needed to get in sync with the spirit of the evening so I asked them to stand next to the Winter Dance Party poster and took a picture.

The doors opened at 7:10 p.m. We walked in and sat down in the twelfth row, slightly to the right of the stage. They were great seats, but something seemed wrong with the set-up. All I could see were the drums, guitars, a double (upright) bass, and a few microphones. Where was all the equipment? I looked all over the stage for the massive racks and towers of speakers usually associated with Rock & Roll, but they were nowhere to be seen. So this is what a 1959 Rock & Roll stage looked like, I thought.

Arlene Moore and her mom, Norma Wurster Wigant Jackson, in front of the Winter Dance Party poster in Cedar Falls, Iowa. Author

Norma leaned over and said, “They’re performing tomorrow night too, and both nights are sold out!” I nodded in reply.

Frankly, the news surprised me. They could fill this theater twice for an event like this? Of course, I knew little about Holly and even less about John Mueller and what he had to offer.

I’m a people watcher. I sat in my seat and observed as many people as possible and realized everyone had one thing in common: they were all smiling and excited. Everyone looked and acted as if they were there for a very special reason, and that reason was in the building and at that moment just a few yards away backstage. I realized again I needed to get with it. The enthusiasm was contagious.

At 7:30 the lights dimmed and a screen lowered on stage. A video presentation began, complete with music and a history of the original Winter Dance Party. I learned more about Buddy Holly during those few minutes than I had learned in a lifetime. All of it was interesting, but nothing about it really grabbed me.

When a picture of Holly sitting on a chest freezer tuning his guitar appeared, Bob, Norma’s husband, leaned over to me and said, “That’s from the kitchen at the ballroom at Electric Park in Waterloo.” When the presentation ended the backstage announcer welcomed us to the Winter Dance Party starring The Big Bopper, Ritchie Valens, and Buddy Holly. Several musicians walked out and the audience erupted with wild energy that grew even louder when The Big Bopper took the stage.

He was good, and to my surprise I recognized all of the music! I had no idea these were his songs. We learned that the performer was actually the son of the real Big Bopper. He explained that his mother was so hurt by the death of his father that she did not tell him much about his dad’s life as a performer until 1989. That touched an emotional chord within me. I had not known my father had a fascinating life in baseball and World War II until the night before he died in 1983—a story I recounted in the book Playing with the Enemy. I suddenly felt a strange connection to what was happening on stage. The son of The Big Bopper, Jay Richardson, performed “White Lightning,” “Big Bopper’s Wedding,” “Someone Watching Over You,” and then, of course, “Chantilly Lace.”

Next on stage was Ray Anthony as Ritchie Valens. When he appeared the eruption of enthusiastic applause surprised me. As the performer who played Ritchie began strumming his guitar and singing, I was struck by his level of talent. This was a high energy show performed with an impressive display of musicality. Ray, performing as Ritchie, played lots of songs, including “Come On Let’s Go,” “Framed,” and “La Bamba,” but “Donna” stole the show. As he was preparing to leave the stage I wondered how the Buddy Holly performer could possibly top all this. The Big Bopper and Ritchie Valens were really amazing.

John Mueller, the man who would be Buddy, walked onto the stage with confidence and projected instant charisma. The audience broke into wild cheers. I leaned over and yelled to Arlene, “He looks exactly like the pictures of Buddy Holly in the video presentation!” She only nodded in reply, too interested in what was happening on stage to pay much attention to me. While Mueller was playing I kept thinking again and again, “I did not know Buddy Holly wrote this.” “I did not know Buddy Holly performed this.” I knew each and every song, and for the entire performance John Mueller had me believing I was seeing the real Buddy Holly.

The show continued and the time flew by. I was surprised at how much I was really enjoying the evening. The show was coming to an end and I felt bad for dreading the event. I appreciated the level of professionalism I was seeing and hearing. It was good. No—it was excellent and more than worth the time, effort, and money. But I couldn’t imagine wanting to do it again. I enjoyed the experience, but was not a skeptic-turned-fan. It was fun, but once was enough.

“I’m going to end tonight with an original song I wrote in 1999 as a tribute to Buddy Holly,” announced Mueller. “I’ve written two new verses honoring Ritchie and The Big Bopper, too.”

I groaned. I wished he hadn’t said that. If anything could take this enthusiastic crowd out of the moment, it would be a song written in 1999 for an audience that was living Buddy Holly five decades earlier. And there was no way it could live up to the quality of the original music. What was this guy thinking? I was about to hear a song written by a celebrity impersonator after hearing an evening of outstanding original music by the legends themselves.

Mueller began playing his guitar and singing “Hey, Buddy,” but then spoke the next three words: “Look at me.” And I did. I was suddenly and abruptly awestruck. I don’t know exactly how to explain what I was feeling. It was as if John Mueller was speaking directly to me. He then said, “Listen to me,” and again, I did. I listened to every word and it impacted me on an emotional level I could never have predicted. His words were deeply moving, the melody was haunting, and I felt a connection to the man on stage that was both indescribable and unimaginable.

The rest of the audience was listening just as intently and, like me, seemed spellbound. I imagined they were still at the 1959 Winter Dance Party, but the haunting melody and words had taken me somewhere else entirely. I was not just inside John Mueller’s head, but inside his heart. I was feeling his emotion and listening to the words he had penned about the man whose music he performed. He was speaking directly to Buddy and I felt as though I had been personally invited in by John Mueller to witness his melodic conversation with a ghost.

John Mueller’s popular Winter Dance Party rocking the night away. Here, Jay Richardson as The Big Bopper (far left) and Ray Anthony as Ritchie Valens (far right) join John as Buddy Holly (center) on stage for a couple songs. John Mueller

“Hey, Buddy . . . I’ll see you . . . on down the line . . .” were the song’s last words.

When the performance ended and the lights went up I quickly wiped my eyes to hide my emotions from Arlene and anyone else close enough to witness my tears.

“Are you okay?” she asked, looking at me as if she knew something profound had just happened, but didn’t know what.

“Yes, it was a great show—don’t you think?” was the best I could muster. My words stumbled over themselves as they escaped my lips.

Arlene put her hand on my arm, squeezed gently, and smiled. “Thank you for doing this.”

As we walked out, I kept turning to look at the empty stage. It was almost like a magnet and I was made of iron. I didn’t want to leave, and the feeling was almost physical.

Chapter 2

Look at me