The day the music died…

“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.”

Today, in Clear Lake, Iowa, we came to the spot where the music died – the cornfield where the small plane carrying Buddy Holly, Richie Valens and the Big Bopper crashed, following a concert at the Surf Ballroom. They died in the early morning of February 3, 1959, in a storm that no one should have agreed to fly in – and there is a painful and touching memorial there today, in the same cornfield.

First, you come to the small and simple set of glasses, next to the field. It’s incredibly touching, and there is no explanation needed of what they mean. Then you walk about half a mile down what would have been two rows of corn, which the farmer has so nicely kept moved. At the end of the path, there is a memorial to the four men who died that night.

All alone, in the cornfield, on a cold and sunny October morning, it just seems so sad and so holy. And Don McLean’s “American Pie” keeps running through your head…


Leave a Comment

%d bloggers like this: