The day the Music Man died

Mason City to Clear Lake, Iowa Saturday, July 10, 2021

Today turned out to be one of my wimpiest days ever, but at least I didn’t take another zero. Continued rain all day, with my head still cloudy from caffeine withdrawal, there was going to be a tailwind so I decided to go for it. I couldn’t leave Mason City without stopping by the Music Man’s grave, in Elmwood cemetery.

The rain hadn’t quite started as I was blown down the Trolley Bike Trail to Clear Lake, but it was pouring by the time I made the Surf Ballroom.

As with the Field of Dreams and The Music Man, it’s hard to explain my fascination with “the day the music died.” It’s not like I was a particular fan of Buddy Holly, Richie Valens, or the Big Bopper. I was only 4 when it happened. But American Pie hit the charts when I was 17, and my infatuation with rock n’ roll was just beginning. The lyrics were so complicated and cryptic, therefore sure to pique my curiosity. Although the Day itself was never in doubt, rock scholars have argued long and hard about the meaning of the dozens of other references, and Don McLean wasn’t talking. “It means I don’t ever have to work again if I don’t want to,” he quipped. The rest of us puzzled if it was Lenin or Lennon who read that book on Marx, or if Jack was JFK or Jumpin’ Jack Flash. Dylan in particular bridled at the assumption he was the Jester. “A jester? Sure, the jester writes songs like ‘Masters of War‘, ‘A Hard Rain’s a-Gonna Fall‘, ‘It’s Alright, Ma‘ – some jester. I have to think he’s talking about somebody else.”

Whatever, it was fun to memorize, argue about, and hear the various covers and parodies. And the titular tragedy was compelling. Weird to think that Holly was only 22, and Valens 17. Richardson was the old man at 29. Also poignant to see that the whole mess was because of a nutso concert tour, the Winter Dance Party, where 3 bands crammed into condemned school busses and ricocheted all over the frozen north with no breaks, minimal sleep, no heat in the busses (one of them got frostbite) and nobody to load their gear. It truly was a voyage of the damned.

The Surf Ballroom was their 11th gig in as many days, and Holly was frantic with fatigue and dirty laundry, and Richardson had the flu. Rather than take another hellish 365-mile bus ride to Moorhead, MN in the early morning hours of February 3rd, 1959, Holly chartered a plane that could take three of them (and all the laundry). They argued and flipped a coin about who got to go. Waylon Jennings magnanimously offered his seat to the ill Richardson, and when Holly said in jest: “Well, I hope your ol’ bus freezes up,” Jennings responded: “Well, I hope your ol’ plane crashes.” He was forever haunted by his quip.

The 21-year-old pilot, Roger Peterson, was quite experienced but did not have a full instrument rating, was not familiar with a new gyroscope in the plane, and was not fully informed of impending blizzards. The plane was not in the air for five minutes before it went down in a cornfield, cartwheeling and ejecting the bodies. There was no evidence of plane malfunction, it was surmised that Peterson simply lost the horizon. Eerily similar to what made JFK Jr’s plane go down near Martha’s Vineyard, 40 years later.

Listening to their songs now, I’m impressed by their pioneering roles in pop music, especially Holly, but I do think it’s a stretch to refer to it as the day the music died. Still, I had to go. It’s who I am.

The Surf Ballroom is still active, and was in fact hosting a wedding soon, so we only got a few minutes in the lobby. Not enough time to fully absorb all of the rock ‘n’ roll memorabilia.

The crash site was 7 miles away, but now there was an 80% chance of thunderstorms, and my local motel options were evaporating in front of my eyes. I guess it was that wedding. I was just able to snag an overpriced room at America’s Best Value Inn, a chain I had avoided because of a creepy/hilarious voicemail I got last fall after staying in one in Putnam, CT. Many of you have already heard the X-rated diatribe. I can text it to those who are interested. Let’s just say, I’ll be careful to lock the door tomorrow, when I leave early to see the site.

Distance 15 miles, 3,623 total. Time 3 hours with stops. Elevation gain 223 feet.

©️ 2021 Scott Luria