The front of the Electric Park Ballroom in Waterloo, Iowa. Author
Arlene and I attended the wedding of Sarah Shirk and Paul Fuller. Sarah is the daughter of our dear friends Rob and Tracey Shirk. Arlene and Tracey grew up together in Waterloo and Rob and I became instant friends the moment we met in 1973. We have enjoyed a long and enduring relationship even though we live 350 miles apart. The Shirks are more like family than friends.
“Since we are going to be in Waterloo for the wedding,” Arlene mentioned a few weeks before, “this would be a good time to get your trip to Clear Lake and the Surf Ballroom out of the way.”
It sounded so irreverent when she said it that way, but I knew what she meant. She was trying to be efficient and she was right: it would be a good time to go. “Great!” I responded. “We can drive over in the morning and drive home from there. But I’m not going to get it out of the way, Arlene,” I replied, perhaps a bit defensively. “This is an important trip. And of course, I want you to come with me.”
“We?” Arlene sounded surprised. “Speaking French? I’m not going. We’re going to have two cars there. I’m driving out on Wednesday to help Tracey prepare for the wedding and you aren’t coming until Friday morning. I’m spending the day with my mom on Sunday while you go to Clear Lake. We’ll meet somewhere on the way home.”
“Then I’ll get Rob to go along with me,” I answered. “This is too important. This is something you share with others.”
“Sure, get Rob to go with you if you want to cause World War III,” said Arlene. “He’s going to have family in town and Tracey isn’t going to understand why you need someone to hold your hand as you walk into a cornfield. You’re gonna have to do this one alone, big boy.”
She had me on that one. But, I thought, there will be 250 people at the wedding. Someone will want to tag along to see the Surf and the site of the plane crash, right?
I’m an extrovert. An extreme extrovert. My Myers-Briggs Personality Profiler result (a test that classifies personality type—you can find it on the Internet and take it yourself) is ENFP. That means Extrovert, Intuitive, Feeler, Preceptor. I am heavy on the “E.” I hate being alone and hate doing anything by myself. If I cannot find someone to have lunch with, often I don’t eat. If I were alone on a desert island, I would probably starve to death—but not before going stark raving mad from loneliness and boredom. In the strictest sense, the differences between an extrovert and introvert are determined by what gives them energy. In my case, I gain energy from being with others and I drain energy when I am alone. I don’t like being or doing anything alone. It truly wears me out. I know that must sound strange coming from an author, but I rarely write alone. It is something I do alone in my head, but I usually write in a room while others are present. The more, the merrier.
The wedding was perfect and the bride was simply stunning. When I mentioned to several people during the course of the evening that I was driving north to Clear Lake to visit the Buddy Holly crash site and hopefully the Surf Ballroom, they all looked at me like I was brain damaged.
* * *
On Sunday morning I loaded my luggage into the car, said my goodbyes, and set out for Clear Lake alone. “So I drain off a little energy,” I told myself. “I can do this alone.”
First, however, I stopped in Waterloo to see the old Electric Park Ballroom where Dick Cole snapped his famous photo of Buddy sitting on the freezer tuning his guitar. It was on the way to Clear Lake and I thought I should take a look.
I made the thirty-minute drive from Independence (where Arlene’s mom lives) to Waterloo, easily found the old ballroom, and pulled into the parking lot. The ballroom’s portico extends out from the front door with a neon light (turned off) proclaiming “Electric Park” in a half-circle on the top. I snapped a few pictures and walked toward the door, hoping I could catch a glimpse of the stage inside. Still, it was a Sunday and I was fairly certain the place was locked and empty. You can imagine my surprise when I approached the door and it opened! I caught the door and stepped inside. It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the darker interior.
Standing in front of me was a bearded man with the darkest eyes I had ever seen. He was just standing there, leaning on a mop.
“Thank you,” I said. “I didn’t expect anyone to be here.”
The front of the Electric Park Ballroom in Waterloo, Iowa. Author
From left to right: Maria Elena Holly, Buddy Holly, Jackie Everly, and Phil Everly (of the Everly Brothers) in the El Chico restaurant in New York City. The exact date is uncertain, but it was on or after August 30, 1958. Steve Bonner
Without asking why I was here, the bearded man did a half-turn and tilted his head. “This is the original stage,” he began. “Buddy played here July of 1958 and made a lot of friends in town. They took him water skiing the next day.”
I didn’t know what to say, so for several seconds I didn’t say a single word. In fact, the skin crawled on my arms. “How did you know why I was here?” I asked.
“You have that look about you,” answered the bearded man. “They show up here all the time and always ask the same questions. They all want to know if that is the stage Buddy played on. Most ask if they can go up and stand there.” He motioned toward the stage. “Go on.”
So, I did. I walked up and stood on the old stage and looked around. It was a beautiful old place. “Has it changed much since 1958?” I asked.
“I don’t rightly know,” he responded. “I’m sure there have been some changes.” He shrugged and looked around. “Not many, though. Before you ask, there’s the kitchen,” he said, pointing to a door off to the side of the large dance floor. “I don’t know where Ol’ Dick Cole snapped that photo that made him so famous. You’ll have to look around and figure it out for yourself.” The bearded man sounded like I was beginning to wear my welcome thin. I think he was anxious to finish mopping and get home.
“You’re kidding, right?” I asked.
“Kidding about what?”
“How did you know I’d want to see the kitchen?” I wondered whether Arlene called ahead.
This time he sighed before answering. “I told you already. You have that look. I’ve seen it lots of times through the years. You all ask the same questions.”
I walked back into the kitchen but had no idea where the photo was taken. It looked like what it was then and is today: a kitchen. I was hoping to see something or feel something—maybe know right away, “Ah, that’s where Dick snapped the photo!” In that regard I admit disappointment. I remained a couple of minutes, walked around inside a bit, and walked back out.
A view of the stage where Buddy played in 1958—the same concert photographer Dick Cole attended as a fan and where he captured the iconic image of Buddy on the freezer tuning his guitar. Author
I was taking a final look around inside the ballroom when I noticed a unique painting of Buddy hanging on the wall. The bearded man saw me staring at it.
“Local artist painted it,” he said while leaning again on his mop. “That’s all I know about it.”
I looked back at this bearded stranger, caught his eye, and thought really hard, How long will it take me to get to Clear Lake? I waited for several seconds but he didn’t answer. Actually I was relieved. I was beginning to think he could read my mind.
“Thanks for letting me in,” I told him as I headed for the door.
“Are you driving to Clear Lake?” he asked.
I stopped, turned around, and began laughing. “I have that look, right?”
“Right,” he said. For the first time he offered me a big smile.
I smiled back. “I guess I am.”
“Never been there,” he replied. Before I could ask him why not, he had turned around and was busy mopping—and laughing quietly.
Even with the door closed behind me and half way across the parking lot I could hear his laugh echoing inside my head. He was laughing at me. There was something Stephen King-like about the entire experience inside that old ballroom. Suddenly I had the overpowering urge to have Arlene with me.
I climbed back into my car, reached back and pulled my seatbelt tight, and turned the key. It was nice seeing the stage and the kitchen, but what struck me the most was the size of the ballroom. It seemed so small. I guessed the capacity was about 800 (and later learned it was closer to 1,200), but that would be jammed to the gills. Buddy was well on his way to being a national celebrity in the summer of 1958, and this is the type of venue he was playing? We tend to think of larger venues and even stadiums when thinking of Rock legends, so it serves as a good reminder about how new Rock & Roll was when Buddy was out on the circuit in the late 1950s A capacity crowd at that time must have been considered pretty good. Buddy was one of the pioneers who made larger audiences possible for those who followed in his footsteps, but he didn’t get to experience or enjoy them himself during his short reign at the top.
I was only a few miles from the Gallagher-Bluedorn Performing Arts Center at the University of Northern, Iowa, where John Mueller played for two sold-out nights. The seating capacity there was about 1,700. More than five decades later Mueller was selling out back-to-back shows to larger crowds than many of the places Buddy played. The Mueller event in Columbus, Ohio, was several times larger again. Did Buddy ever play in front of that many people? I didn’t know.