People still come, even after 62 years have passed.
When we were there, a middle-aged couple helped an older man, probably one of their fathers, walk over to the roadside tribute. He was too frail to be able to walk the quarter mile into the cornfield to visit the actual crash site.
He looked sad.
I’m sure that he was a fan, and this was the only way that he could pay his respects to someone who meant something to him.
But contrary to the current catchphrase coined by one of the best lyricists in the modern rock era, Don McClean in his 1971 song, American Pie, “The day the music died”, the music of Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and J.P. Richardson (The Big Bopper) still lives on and is as important today as it was then.
I know, because we built a business around it.
The only other artist from that era that had as much influence was of course, The King, Elvis Presley. Mind you, this in no way diminishes any of the work or other artists from that era, but it seems that these two just rise to the top.
I don’t know of any other era that sparked any kind of themed restaurants. As fun as the 60’s, 70’s, 80’s and 90’s were, the anchor seems to be the 50’s and I’ll let it go at that.
So here I find myself the northwest corner of Iowa, having the motorhome worked on in a little town called Forest City.
I know the story; it was a cold snowy night in the winter of 1959. The concert ended and the buses that carried the headliners and musicians from some god-forsaken city to the next night after night, were drafty and had no heat. Buddy Holly got fed up with this and chartered a small plane for himself and three others. The story varies a bit but either by chance, coin flip, or necessity, the other two passengers found themselves the ‘Lucky” ones with the extra seats.
They weren’t found until the next morning, only 5 miles away from where they took off.
So, I said that I knew the story.
What I didn’t know was where it all happened. I knew it was somewhere in the Mid-West, but this place is huge and if anything defines the Mid-West, it’s ‘corn fields’.
When I found out that it was near here that it all occurred those may years ago, I knew that we needed to visit.
Near doesn’t do it justice, in reality it’s here.
The town of Clear Lake, where they played their last concert and the airport where they took off from are right next door. The field is in between.
It seems fitting that the day was not perfect. Cloudy, windy, and cool, although not wintery, seemed to be more fitting for a visit to both the crash site and the venue, the Surf Ballroom.
From the beginning the crash site has been visited by thousands and thousands of people. The farmer who owns the land keeps a path to the site mowed and free of crops, so that folks can come and visit. The Surf Ballroom, which looks like a small high school gymnasium, is now on the National Register of Historic Places and thankfully still holds small music gatherings. It’s hard to believe that back in the day that this type of place was standard issue for promoters to showcase national talent.
No Madison Square Garden.
No Giants Stadium.
Nothing larger than a high school gym.
Filled with screaming kids dancing their feet off.
He looked sad as we passed him on our way to the crash site.
Maybe he was one of those kids.