Sixty-six years ago today, February 3rd, 1959, when I was just 17, is a day that became known as “The Day the Music Died.”
The plane crash carrying Buddy Holly, Big Bopper, Richie Valens and the pilot crashed the 1947 single-engine V-tailed Beechcraft 35. All four on board died.
Although still young, only 22 years old, Buddy Holly insisted on playing rock 'n' roll, not country music which was the popular genre of the day. The group was on tour and after uncomfortable bus rides covering vast distances between gigs, a plane was chartered to save time and offer more comfort. The weather deteriorated causing a fatal crash.
There are numerous theories as to the actual cause and the remaining two band members, who went by bus, had survivor guilt for years afterwards.
Always a fan of Buddy Holly’s music, when in 2013 the now Hamilton Theatre (then Dunfield) showcased the Buddy Holly Story, I got tickets. It was a superb production and Andy Christopher in the role of Holly was exceptional. His guitar playing, rich vocals and stylish dance moves suited the role to perfection. The audience were humming along, the theatre was filled with positive, vibrant energy and all left smiling.
A few days later my daughter and young grandson who live in the UK were visiting. I bought tickets for them.
Turner, my grandson was very reluctant to attend. He had no idea who Buddy Holly was, said he did not want to listen to “old fashioned” music, and he told me he was not interested. I bargained with him that if he did not enjoy it his Mum would call me, and I’d pick him up during the intermission.
Turner was sitting in the front row and saw the Big Bopper (played brilliantly by Ryan G. Dunkin) was smiling at him, the youngest member in the audience. Turner just loved it and when the Big Bopper winked at him there was no way he was leaving. I did not get a call, and once home he was enthusiastically sharing all the event details with me as he told me he understood why I loved Buddy Holly.
When in 2014 David and I were on a 35-day road trip in the States to incorporate an association meeting he had to attend, we drove across to San Francisco. Then we took a leisurely tour down the coast road, visiting places of interest like Carmel, The Big Sur and Hearst castle on our way to Santa Barbara. We parked our car at a friend’s house, stayed a few days, before taking the train into Los Angeles.
On our return trip home, we dropped into as many states as possible. As a surprise to me David took a detour to Buddy’s birthplace where we visited the Buddy Holly Center in Lubbock, Texas. While a bit off our projected track, it was a visit where I was in my element.
After the guided tour and presentation, hearing his music throughout, once in the gift store I could not resist items for sale. Glasses like his, CDs, a silk scarf and other memorabilia.
How glad I am that over ten years ago we were able to cover the distance, visit so many states and learn so much about the different cultures between them, which I jokingly referred to as the Disunited States.
The association meeting was held in Los Angeles and certainly today with the recent devastating fires, visiting would not be possible. Nor do I think we have the stamina for an almost 13,000 km trip.
Since today is now the 66th anniversary of “The day the Music Died” this seemed like an appropriate time to share these memories.
To most of us the music we listen to in our teens and early twenties is something we long treasure. For me Buddy Holly was one of them.
