We walked out into the lobby and saw that a long line had formed at an autograph table. As I noted earlier, it was hard for me to leave the theater. I felt drawn to say something to Mueller, but had no idea what words would come out of my mouth. Anyone who knows me would never accuse me of being tongue-tied, but I had no idea what to say even though I wanted to say something!
Bob asked me to drive. Instead of getting in line to greet Mueller we loaded into their new ruby red Buick Le Sabre and headed for home. I was making the turn onto Highway 20 when Bob mentioned again the picture of Buddy tuning his guitar while sitting on the chest freezer. “That shot was taken in Waterloo, Gary, at Iowa’s Electric Park Ballroom.”
“What is Electric Park?” I asked.
“It’s an old ballroom. It’s at Electric Park, which is next to the Hippodrome. It’s owned, I believe, by the Cattle Congress. Back in the day it was quite the place. There was an amusement park and, of course, the ballroom.”
“Is Electric Park still around?” I inquired.
“Oh yeah,” replied Bob. “It’s still there. They’ll never tear it down. It’s part of Waterloo history. Tommy Dorsey, Guy Lombardo, Conway Twitty, and of course Buddy Holly and others, they all appeared there.”
I was surprised how much he knew about the subject and of course, my mind wandered. Is the freezer he sat on still there? Is the stage he performed on still around? I thought about driving the 20 miles to Waterloo tomorrow to see. But to see what? A five-decade old freezer? An empty ballroom whose best days were decades in the past? And why would I even waste my time thinking about all this?
“Is the freezer still there?” I blurted out as if I had been drinking coffee all morning and was suffering from a caffeine rush. I felt stupid even before I had uttered the last syllable. “Is the original stage still there?” I quickly added, hoping he would ignore the question about the freezer.
“Oh, yeah. I think the stage is built in as part of the old place,” replied Bob as if it was a question he was asked with some regularity. “I doubt if the freezer’s around, though.”
I bet he thinks I’m an idiot, I thought. Still, I could not stop asking questions. “Bob . . . did you ever see the real Buddy Holly?”
“No, but he played all around here. His last performance was at the Surf Ballroom.”
“Where is the Surf?”
“Clear Lake.”
“Iowa?”
“Yeah, Clear Lake, Iowa. Over near Mason City,” replied Bob as he pointed over his left shoulder.
I have many Mason City connections. John Skipper, a well-known baseball author and veteran newspaperman from Mason City mentored me as I wrote my first book, and Jim Zach designed the jacket for that book because he designs jackets for the publisher. And speaking of the publisher, Theodore P. Savas, the managing director of Savas Beatie, was born and raised in Mason City (eight miles from where Buddy Holly’s plane went down). I knew that Meredith Willson, who composed The Music Man and The Unsinkable Molly Brown, was also from Mason City.
“Mason City,” I mumbled aloud.
“What about it?” asked Bob.
“I just remembered something. About fifteen years ago I was flying in a private plane with my friend Roberto Martinez. Roberto was a flight instructor at the Kankakee airport. We landed for fuel in Mason City. Roberto and I were standing next to the wing watching the lineman fuel the plane when Roberto mentioned to me that this was the airport Buddy Holly took off from right before his plane crashed. The lineman—he was probably no more than about eighteen—overheard our conversation and said, ‘Yeah, and the wreckage from the plane is still in that hangar right over there,’ pointing to a row of hangars.”
Bob’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “Was it?” he asked.
I shrugged in reply. “I have no idea if the kid was just showing off and making it up, or if the plane was still there, tucked away in some remote corner of the airport.” I paused. “If you think about it, it sounds like one of those urban myths.” But was it? Was I once that close to perhaps the most famous piece of aviation wreckage in American history?
“I guess the Clear Lake airport makes sense,” offered Bob.
I shook my head. “Maybe it is, but I doubt it.”
“Well, I guess it has to be somewhere,” Bob continued.
Back then, I could not have cared less about Buddy Holly. If that kid had invited me to see the wreckage, I probably wouldn’t have bothered. But after seeing John Mueller perform as Buddy Holly something had changed inside me. Now I needed to know.
“I’ll find out,” I said. “Is the Surf still there?”
“Oh yeah—it’s a landmark. They’ll never tear it down,” Bob answered, emphasizing the word “never.”
“How far is it from here?” I asked.
He thought for a moment. “I guess about two hours from Independence, give or take a few minutes.”
“Really? It’s that close?”
“Yeah, it’s not far.”
We pulled into the garage at Norma and Bob’s home. They were exhausted and after telling us they had a wonderful time, went straight to bed. Arlene and I headed for our room, where I detoured to get my laptop.
“What are you going to do with that?” she asked.
“I have to Google something.”
Arlene cast a suspicious glance in my direction and went into the bathroom to brush her teeth. I sat on the bed, brought up the search window, and hesitated. What should I search for? I thought a moment and typed the two obvious words: Buddy Holly.
To my complete surprise, 9,390,421 results shot back at me. Tim was right. The fact that I was in my fifties and knew next to nothing about Buddy Holly was weird. Millions of web references and I don’t know more than his name? He’s everywhere on the Internet and I was starving for any information I could find. I scanned the first page of listings and decided to begin with the Wikipedia listing. After devouring that I clicked on the official site. Then something about musical influences. Then . . . I was reading everything that seemed remotely interesting as fast as I could.
Wait! John Mueller must have a website, right? I easily found www.yourbuddyjohn.com and smiled at the cleverness of the name. At first I admit to feeling a bit let down. His website was nothing fancy. I guess I was expecting something super modern and high tech. Within a few seconds it was obvious there was more behind the design than functionality. If there had been an Internet in the late 1950s or early 1960s, this is what a website might have looked like back then. Near the bottom was an embedded video of his tribute song “Hey, Buddy.” I clicked it and the song came to life for the second time that evening.
The first few notes from John’s guitar were playing when Arlene walked into the room, toothbrush in hand. “What are you listening to?”
“Don’t you recognize it?” I shot back excited. “This is the final song from tonight’s performance!”
“Is it? Why are you listening to it again?” She stuck her toothbrush into her mouth and continued brushing.
“Don’t you find yourself wanting to hear it again?”
“Not really,” she slurred through a mouth full of toothpaste. “It isn’t one of Holly’s original songs.” She walked back into the bathroom, rinsed the toothpaste from her mouth and leaned back into the bedroom. “Play ‘Peggy Sue’ for me.”
I ignored her request, my mind still firmly fixed on what I was convinced was a masterful piece of music. “Of course it’s not a Holly original,” I agreed, “but this song is so well written. It’s really triggered something inside me.”
“Triggered something? Oh boy,” she said with a wide smile. “That’ll be the day that you start obsessing over something.”
“Very funny.” I smiled back. Arlene knows me better than anyone, and when I latch onto something. . . I clicked on the icon to start the song again, clicked the pause button, and looked up. “Come and sit next to me. I want you to listen to each and every word. You can also watch the video for the song. It’s really well done.”
Arlene sat on the side of the bed next to me, put her head on my shoulder, and stifled a yawn. “If I watch this, can we turn it off and go to bed afterward?”
“Yeah, in a bit. I have a couple of things I want to look up first.” I clicked play and the video came to life.
“Hey, Buddy”
Tribute to Charles Hardin “Buddy” Holley
(Correct last name spelling)
by John Mueller
Hey, Buddy…Look At Me, I’m just sittin’ here Reminiscing
And I know your Words Of Love will Not Fade Away…
But something’s still missing.
Well, Alright but It’s So Easy to feel this way,
I start Wishing you were here but I know That’ll Be The Day
And Maybe, Baby I shouldn’t be so sad
But it starts Raining In My Heart when I think of all you had…
Hey, Buddy . . . I got those Early In The Morning blues
But I’m Gonna Set My Foot Right Down on my Valley Of Tears,
I got nothing to lose.
I’m gonna start Rocking Around With Ollie Vee
Everyday a Rock-a-Bye-Rock will be the cure for me
I’m gonna tell my blues Don’t Come Back Knockin’
Cause I’m Changing All Those Changes now and I’ll be Rockin’…
Chorus:
Hey, Buddy…Rave On and sing us a song
Baby, Won’t you Come Out Tonight
We’re all Looking For Someone To Love down here
You help us make it thru these Blue Days And Black Nights
Hey, Buddy…Listen To Me, I got a Girl On My Mind
And when I play her your True Love Ways…
Oh, Boy, it works every time.
You see now, Love’s Made A Fool of me before
But now It Doesn’t Matter Anymore
Cause your songs Tell Me How and What to Do
Yeah, I’m Learning The Game now with Peggy Sue…
Repeat Chorus. Repeat Chorus again with new lyrics:
Hey, Buddy…Rave On your songs live on
Baby, Won’t You Come Out Tonight
We’ve been Crying, Waiting, & Hoping for so long
Help us make it thru these Blue Days And Black Nights
Hey, Buddy . . . We’ll see you on Down The Line.
Bold highlights denote titles of songs
written and/or performed by Buddy Holly
Words and Music by John Mueller
Copyright 1998 Mueltone Music ASCAP
When the song ended I looked over at Arlene. “Isn’t it moving? I just love this song.”
“I know. I can tell.” Arlene leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Good night.”
My laptop and I moved into the family room. I spent the next four hours listening to the song over and over and reading and watching everything on the Internet I could find about Buddy and John. I read the accident report and looked at the pictures from the crash site. I watched John Mueller clips and clips of others visiting the actual crash site. I looked at pictures of historical “Buddy locations” in Lubbock. The more I learned, the more I wanted to know. Hours slipped past.
It was early in the morning when I found myself clicking on the “contact John” button on Mueller’s website to send an email to john@yourbuddyjohn.com.
But what should I write? I started and stopped several times, unsure of what to say or ask. The last thing I wanted to do was come across like some nut. I finally decided to send him a thank-you note to let him know how much I enjoyed the show and how much I loved “Hey, Buddy.” I reread my brief email and hit send.
And then it hit me. I was 55 and had just written the first fan letter of my life. But who and what was I a fan of, exactly? Buddy Holly? John Mueller? A song? I wasn’t really sure.
What I did know for certain was it was time to get some sleep.
* * *
The next morning Arlene and her mom were trying to decide whether to go into Waterloo to do some shopping. I surreptitiously opened the GPS on my iPhone, cast a quick glance at Arlene to see if she was paying attention to me, and typed in “Clear Lake, Iowa.” It was 117 miles away. How much trouble would I be in if I was MIA for five or six hours? Could I make it there and back before anyone noticed I was missing? Sadly, I concluded I could not.
A few minutes later Arlene and Norma left to shop at Dillards at The Crossroads Mall in Waterloo. (Dillards is Arlene’s favorite store and we don’t have one near our home in Illinois. A trip to Iowa is not complete unless Arlene hits a Dillards.) With the two women gone and Bob taking a nap, I had the morning free! I headed over to the Independence Public Library in search of a place with a faster Internet connection and promptly found it.
Independence Public Library is a new facility and was lightly occupied on this Saturday. I found my way to a comfortable chair near an electrical outlet, plugged in my laptop, and got to work. The first place I visited was www.yourbuddyjohn.com to watch the “Hey, Buddy” video once more. I clicked back to YouTube and found recordings of pilgrimages of people from around the globe who visited the crash site and posted their videos online for the world to see. Why?
Why would they do that? Why travel to a remote cornfield in north-central Iowa, record the experience, and place it on the net? As proof they were there? Why was this so important to them? I watched and read everything I could find in a three hour period that felt more like three minutes.
During that time I pulled my yellow legal pad from my computer case and began a “to do” list.
• Download every song recorded by Buddy Holly available on iTunes. Listen and try to understand who he was.
• Visit Electric Park in Waterloo and see if the freezer still exists. (Why?)
• Visit Lubbock, Texas, and Buddy Holly’s final resting place. (Why?)
• Rent and watch The Buddy Holly Story.
• Download “American Pie.” (The song, not the movie.)
• See what I can find out about Don McLean’s interest in the day the music died.
• Contact John Skipper in Mason City and see what he knows.
• Visit the Surf Ballroom in Clear Lake and while there, the nearby crash site.
• Find out if the plane still exists and where? (Why?)
• Write about everything that moves me and try to figure out why.
• Call Jim Riordan. (If anyone knows Buddy Holly, it will be Jim)
• Call Tim Milner. (See if he plays Holly on his radio stations)
• Call John Mueller.
• Call Ted Savas. Ted’s from Mason City. See what he knows.
• What else? What am I missing? Who am I missing? What should I know?
There was more. I was sure of it. After some items on my list I had placed a “why?” in parenthesis because I didn’t understand “why” I wanted this task on my list. I guess I felt it should be there. No logic really, just pure feelings. There was more I would want to know, but I didn’t know yet what it is I didn’t know, so it was hard to know what I would need.
My ringing cell phone pulled me out of my “Holly” trance. A couple of patrons shot a “Don’t you know better” glance in my direction. I cringed with embarrassment, mouthed the word “Sorry!” in their direction, leaned over in a vain effort to be discreet, and whispered “Hello?”
“Where are you? You aren’t trudging around some cornfield near Mason City are you?” demanded Arlene.
“That’s silly. Why would you ask that?” I tried to sound offended, but try pulling that one off while leaning into a library corner and whispering into a cell phone.
“Because I know you,” she said. “I’ve seen you obsess this way before.” There was a moment of silence on the phone. “You are, aren’t you? I knew it!”
“Obsess? What are you talking about? Don’t be silly.” I said in my best non-defensive voice. “I’m at the Independence Library and I’ll be home in ten minutes.”
“The library? Okay, I’m timing you.” I heard Arlene laughing as she hung up the phone. I packed my laptop and headed for the door.
“Mr. Moore?” I turned to see a librarian waving in my direction. “Can I bother you to sign this before you leave?” She held up a hardcover copy of Playing with the Enemy.
“Of course,” I responded with a smile. “It would be my pleasure.” As she handed me the book I asked, “What do you know about Buddy Holly?”
“Only the basics, I guess. He created a large volume of music in a very short time that has been recorded and re-recorded through all the years since his death. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious,” I answered.
She smiled. “I bet you attended the Winter Dance Party last night in Cedar Falls, right?”
“I did! How’d you know?”
“There was a group of women in here this morning and it was all they could talk about. Most of them attended last night and a few tried to get tickets for tonight again but it is sold out,” she said.
“Does this surprise you?”
“Does what surprise me?”
“That they were all hyped up about a guy who’s been gone for over fifty years.”
She furrowed her brow for a moment in thought. “Not really. It was an older group. It’s their music. I’m sure it allows them to relive their past and remember their younger days.” She paused. “No, it doesn’t surprise me, but when I say it’s their music, I don’t mean it is not relevant or still current today. I guess I mean that back then, their age group was on the cutting edge of a new kind of music. We have our music today, good and bad, because of them.”
“So you view it as ‘their’ music?” I really wanted to understand what she meant.
“No, I didn’t mean it that way,” she replied quickly. “They were his age back then. They were eyewitnesses to the musical movement. It was new and like I said, cutting edge. I love it. ‘Peggy Sue’ is one of my favorite songs. I guess I mean it is their music and we have inherited it. I don’t know if I am making sense.” She laughed.
“You are,” I assured her. “Thank you. That was very insightful.”
“I was just thinking,” she continued. “Would you be willing to come back for a book signing and discussion?”
“Sure, I would love to do that.” As anyone who knows me can tell you, getting me to shut up when I am passionate about something is darn near impossible. Any excuse to talk about my dad’s unusual baseball career, the World War II generation, and baseball was fine with me. I handed her a card, thanked her, and headed for the door.
Before I had taken two steps the librarian blurted out, “You know he died here, right?”
I stopped and turned around. Her bright smile was gone, and in its place was a somber, heavy look. “Here?” I asked.
“In our state,” she clarified, pointing west. “A farm near Mason City.”
“Yes. I know.” We looked at each other for a moment. She nodded and I turned for the door.
I walked to my car surprised that this thirty-something librarian in a small Iowa town knew so much and had such an interesting opinion of early Rock & Roll. When I asked what she knew about Buddy Holly, I really expected a shrug and a response of “not much.” I was also surprised she stopped me to say that he died here. She seemed sad. She hadn’t been born yet.
I opened the door of my car and loaded my laptop case in the back seat. “Is Tim right?” I wondered. “Do I really know less about Buddy Holly than any other human being?” Maybe twenty-four hours ago that was true, but not today.
When I opened the door and walked into Norma’s and Bob’s home, Arlene and her mom looked at me and laughed. “What’s so funny?” I asked.
Arlene got up from the table, walked to the door, and picked up my boots as I took them off. She examined the soles and laughed again. “No mud!” she proclaimed. I think she was disappointed.
“What?” I asked.
“I’m surprised.” Arlene and her mom chuckled again. “I thought for sure you were out walking through a bean field somewhere looking for ghosts.”
“That’s silly. What would make you think that?”
“I know you, Gary. I know how you are when you get that look in your eyes. When your interest moves to intrigue . . . then obsession. I know what you do. I’ve seen it before.”
I gave her the “Let’s change the subject look” and she dropped it.
When I walked downstairs to put my laptop away I mumbled, “The ground is still frozen. There wouldn’t be any mud.” I would have gotten away with it. I should have gone.
My iPhone vibrated just as I hit the last step. I had an email. I looked at my phone and felt a quick wave of anxiety. It was from John@yourbuddyjohn.com.
Hello Gary, thanks for the nice response and interest. I have another show tonight and will be traveling all day Sunday. I will give you a call on Monday when not so chaotic.
Cheers, John
He answered. Now what?