Who are we? We are our stories.

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

Buddy Holly

When Addy, the Ukulele Kid, was growing up we tried to expose her to as much music (and art) as we could. We dragged her to hear string quartets, made her to listen to scratchy old Delta Blues recordings, tied her to a chair and forced her to memorize the Patsy Cline and Billy Holiday songbooks. As she got older, I took a less draconian approach and just bought tickets for her and various boyfriends to attend concerts. For instance, she got to see Bob Dylan and Willie Nelson play their Midwest smalltown baseball park series, on my nickel. Later it was George Thorogood and the Destroyers at the Surf Ballroom. George at the Surf. Friends and neighbors, it doesn't get more Rock 'n Roll than George Thorogood at the Surf Ballroom.

When I was growing up, most of the small towns of the Midwest had ballrooms. The Surf, just 20 miles across the Iowa border, is the only one left around here. The only reason that it's still standing is because it's the last place Buddy Holly played before he died. It has become the monument to him, and the traditional rockers still come to play and pay homage. I was thinking about that today, as we approach the 50th anniversary of the his death.

A long, long time ago...
I can still remember
How that music used to make me smile.
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance
And, maybe, they'd be happy for a while.
But February made me shiver
With every paper I'd deliver.
Bad news on the doorstep;
I couldn't take one more step.
I can't remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride,
But something touched me deep inside
The day the music died.
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But lest we think of Charles Holley's passing in romantic terms, we have to remember, he wasn't a legend when his torn, broken body was in the twisted metal airplane wreckage strewn across a barren, desolate Iowa field. He was someone's young son, someone's husband, someone's baby. Reality:

From the Coroner's Report dated Feb. 4, 1959
The body of Charles H. Holley was clothed in an outer jacket of yellow leather-like material in which 4 seams in the back were split almost full length. The skull was split medially in the forehead and this extended into the vertex region. Approximately half the brain tissue was absent. There was bleeding from both ears, and the face showed multiple lacerations. The consistency of the chest was soft due to extensive crushing injury to the bony structure. The left forearm was fractured 1/3 the way up from the wrist and the right elbow was fractured. Both thighs and legs showed multiple fractures. There was a small laceration of the scrotum.
Personal effects found with the body are listed on a separate sheet in this report.
Fingerprints were taken of the deceased for purposes of identification.
Ralph E. Smiley, MD Acting coroner
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Personal effects, Charles Holley
Cash $193.00 less $11.65 coroner's fees - $181.35, 2 cuff links, silver 1/2 in. balls having jeweled band. Top portion of ball point pen.

4 comments:

Old Toad said...

I heard a story on NPR about Buddy Holly this morning and remembered that fateful day 50 years ago. As I recall, Buddy and his pals were scheduled to play the Fiesta Ballroom in Monte on their tour (and I was going to the concert). Didn't happen. Lots of tearful teenagers that day. If you want to hear some great music and more of the story (no coroner's report!), check out: (http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=100161470)

Gunnar Berg said...

As I recall the Fiesta was quite a bit larger than the Surf. Didn't it go down in a bad fire? I'm certain there are some Holly UTubes out there. I was tempted, some people fill their blogs with them. I resist because I view my blog as more of a diary shared with friends than a multimedia event.

Gunnar Berg said...

Just read this again. Correction, my blog is now a multimedia event.

Margadant said...

The memory is still vivid. I remember hearing about it on the news and having the strong urge to steal the old man's car out of the parking lot at the plant and going down to Iowa. Ever the one for a half-assed plan, I acted on the impulse and got to Glenville where I turned around; sure I would get my ass kicked clean off when there was no car to be found when 4 pm rolled around.