The morning of Thursday October 14, 2021 began without an alarm, mainly because our agenda was filled with Buddy Holly sites in Lubbock. Tom knew we didn’t have far to travel that day; each of those seven sites were within a dozen-or-so miles of our My Place Hotel. Even without the usual wake-up call, however, my photographer was “up and at ’em” by seven o’clock and the three of us were on the road by 8:45am.
The first site on Tom’s list proved to be the most difficult to find, as well as the hardest to establish as to whether or not the building was original to Buddy Holly’s time in Lubbock. That building was the famous Cotton Club, which had opened in 1938 and featured the largest dance floor in West Texas. But it wasn’t the dance floor that made the club famous, at least in the eyes of my photographer. In 1955, during a performance by Elvis Presley at the Cotton Club, an up-and-coming young musician by the name of Buddy Holley met the future King of Rock and Roll for the first time. As soon as Buddy saw the large crowd react to Elvis’ new sound, Holley turned to his friend and fellow bandmate Bob Montgomery, who had accompanied Buddy to the Cotton Club, and said: “We got to change.” After that show, the duo sold their acoustic western swing guitars and purchased electric Stratocasters so they could sound like Elvis. During Presley’s second visit to the club nearly eleven weeks later, “Buddy and Bob” opened for Elvis at the Cotton Club on April 29, 1955. Johnny Cash and Carl Perkins also performed during that historic show.
With the pictures my photographer had on hand, he knew what the building looked like. Tom also knew the address of the Cotton Club; or at least he thought the address was correct. However, when his GPS guided us to the location, which was about halfway between Lubbock and Slaton, Texas, something was amiss. The Cotton Club wasn’t where Tom thought it was. At one point during their 20-minute search, Vicki drove the ‘Truckster’ past a freshly painted building that caught my photographer’s eye. As a matter of fact, I heard him tell his wife: “The shape of that blue building looks similar to the one pictured in this agenda. I think that might be the old Cotton Club. I just don’t know for sure – the building in the photo looked gray and this one is bright blue.” My photographer’s wife, not wanting to waste any more time blindly driving in circles, pulled into the parking lot of an old grocery store. At that moment, I heard Vicki say to my dumbfounded companion: “You need to go inside that store and ask if that’s the Cotton Club down the road. If it’s not, then maybe someone knows where it’s at.”
Although I stayed inside the Jeep when my photographer went inside the grocery store, I heard his bizarre story when he came back out. Tom said the place wasn’t a grocery store – as a matter of fact, he didn’t know for sure what it was. He told Vicki the interior was very dark; he was met just inside the doorway by a big guy who immediately said: “I think you might be in the wrong place. This isn’t a grocery store.” My photographer asked the guy if he knew whether or not the blue building down the road was the old Cotton Club. Seconds after the man said he didn’t know; a young woman sat up in the darkness and said: “Yes, that’s the Cotton Club. It’s been closed down for a while. Someone just bought the place and painted it blue. They’re trying to fix it up.” I laughed to myself when I heard his story; only because “Clark Griswold” seemed very disheveled when he returned to the Jeep. It sounded as though Tom had unsuspectedly walked into a place of questionable clientele and he was fortunate to return with nothing more than accurate information.
Vicki drove our Jeep into the parking lot of the Cotton Club, even though it seemed like we shouldn’t have gone onto the property. When Tom carried me to the front of the building where I posed for a handful of photos, a strange feeling of uncertainty overcame my resin body. I couldn’t explain that gut feeling I had; but in my mind, something didn’t seem right. Although I knew we shouldn’t have trespassed, and I waited for the new owner or the cops to show up at any minute, my anxiety was short-lived. It was incredibly awesome to see the club where Elvis, Johnny, Carl, and Buddy had all performed in 1955; even though we learned later that wasn’t the case. It turned out the original Cotton Club was destroyed by fire in 1958 – which was three years after that famous quartet had performed on stage there. The building we visited, also named the Cotton Club, had opened shortly after the fire and was located three or four miles south of the original site. That version of Lubbock’s Cotton Club had remained in business until its doors closed in 1980.
When we were finished at the Cotton Club, it was time to go to church. At first, I wondered if my photographer felt the need to worship after he set foot in the “so-called” grocery store. But that wasn’t the case, and I should’ve known better. After we made the ten-mile journey north into Lubbock, Tom and I were once again standing in front of the Tabernacle Baptist Church. Not only did Lawrence and Ella Holley’s family worship in that church, but it was also the site of Buddy Holly’s funeral on February 7, 1959. During our time near the front of the building, it was as though I could see the pallbearers as they carried Buddy’s casket to the hearse for the short trip to the cemetery. As the casket emerged from the building, the deafening silence was broken only by the cries of the saddened mourners. Buddy’s former bandmates and Crickets carried their fallen friend – Jerry Allison, Joe B. Mauldin, Niki Sullivan, Bob Montgomery, and Sonny Curtis were pallbearers. However, one of Holly’s good friends was missing from the side of the casket. On that day, Waylon Jennings was at the Les Buzz Ballroom in Spring Valley, Illinois during a stop on the Winter Dance Party tour. Despite the tragedy that took the lives of Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and The Big Bopper, the surviving members of the tour were forced to continue performing – the show went on with heavy hearts.
Tom and I returned to the Jeep where Vicki was parked near the Tabernacle Baptist Church. Even though my photographer and I had visited that church in 2016, it seemed as though there was an increased emotional connection on that cool October morning. While I knew the visit had affected my photographer, the visions of Buddy’s tragic death and funeral weighed heavily on my resin-filled mind as well. I can’t remember if I cried when I thought about his widowed bride. But something touched me deep inside; the day the music died.
Located roughly five blocks from the Baptist Church, we found the home where Lawrence and Ella Holley had lived; not to mention their famous son. But it was more than just a childhood home or a place the musician had hung his hat for just a short time. It was in the living room of that house where Buddy Holly married Maria Elena Santiago in a private ceremony on August 15, 1958. The marriage was officiated by Pastor Ben Johnson; Crickets’ drummer Jerry Allison served as best man while Allison’s wife, Peggy Sue, was Maria Elena’s maid of honor.
Vicki parked the Jeep a short distance from the front of the house on 39th Street. While his wife stayed inside our vehicle, Tom carried me across the street and onto the sidewalk where I immediately noticed a man watering the lawn directly in front of the home. At first, my photographer made small talk with the guy; who turned out to be the owner of the Holley house. A couple of minutes later, Tom was invited to sit on the porch while Enes showed him photographs of Buddy Holly’s wedding. I couldn’t believe my resin eyes when we sat on an ornate bench directly in front of the living room window where Buddy Holly was married. After he browsed through the photo album, my bold camera guy asked Enes if he would allow the two of us to see the spot where Buddy and Maria Elena were married. In my mind, I knew for sure the homeowner would agree to Tom’s brazen request, but he didn’t. Even when my photographer told him about his Winter Dance Party tour display and mentioned all of the sites the two of us had visited in the past eight years, Enes remained steadfast. He told my photographer he’s owned the house for over 30 years, and he’s only allowed one person inside his home to see the living room – it was the guy who gave him the photo album. Enes was a very friendly guy and the two of us felt honored to have met him. Although Tom was disappointed because his usual spiel had failed, I understood Enes’ concern of letting strangers inside his home. And trust me – no one is stranger than my photographer!
Moments before we bid farewell to Enes, I heard Tom mention to the homeowner about the next stops on our agenda. My photographer said we were headed for the three Lubbock schools Buddy Holley had attended during his childhood – Roscoe Wilson Elementary School; J.T. Hutchinson Middle School; and Lubbock High School. I was concerned, at least for a moment, when I heard my old photographer and I were headed to three different schools to take pictures. I remembered, however, that Tom’s always very careful to never capture photos where school children would be in the image.
The first of three schools on our itinerary was the Hutchinson Middle School, which was located a little less than two miles northwest of the Holley’s 39th Street homestead. When we arrived at the school around 11am, Tom carried me to the front of the building while Vicki remained in the Jeep. Buddy Holley attended J.T. Hutchinson Middle School from 1949 to 1952 and it was in that building where he and fellow schoolmate Bob Montgomery decided to form a music act they called ‘Buddy & Bob’. Together, Holley and Montgomery played bluegrass music at local clubs and talent shows; they continued as a duo until Buddy went his separate way with ‘Buddy Holly and the Two Tones’ in 1956. That was also the year Decca Records had misspelled Buddy’s surname on a contract as “Holly” instead of “Holley”. Since he liked the new spelling, Buddy kept his last name as “Holly”. By early 1957, the Crickets were formed; and the rest, as they say, is Rock and Roll history.
After our quick photo-shoot at the middle school had ended, the two of us returned to the Jeep where my photographer entered the coordinates into the GPS for the next school on his list. When I heard Tom tell his wife about our next destination, I thought to myself: “Elementary, my dear Watson.” That’s right – the Roscoe Wilson Elementary School was the next site on our agenda, and it was only six blocks north of the middle school.
Roscoe Wilson Elementary School was built in 1940 and just three years later, on September 6, 1943, a youngster by the name of Charles Hardin Holley enrolled in the first grade. Not only was Buddy an above average student in that school, he also met Bob Montgomery there as well. They became good friends; both kids loved listening to the Grand Ole Opry, Louisiana Hayride, and Big D Jamboree on the radio. Holley was forced to leave Roscoe Wilson in the middle of his fifth-grade year when his parents moved outside of the city limits.
My photographer and I got very lucky during our time outside of the elementary school. While we noticed dozens of school children as they frolicked together in a distant playground, none of the kids were in front of the historic Roscoe Wilson school. Our timing was perfect as Tom managed to capture his images of me without any children in the background. Had there been kids there, I’m certain we would’ve returned to the school later in the afternoon.
From the Roscoe Wilson Elementary School, we headed for the third and final school of the day, which was located about a mile-and-a-half away. After Vicki found a parking spot at the Lubbock Activity Center, Tom carried me across the extremely busy, five-lane 19th Street to Lubbock High School. Even though my safety-minded photographer used the crosswalk, it seemed as though the two of us were forced to play a game of real-life “Frogger” during our attempt to get near the high school. I was happy to be safely inside the padded camera case, just in case one of those Texas drivers had graduated from the “Kim Johnson School of Driving”.
The moment Tom removed me from the camera case, my resin jaw nearly dropped off my face. Lubbock High School looked architecturally amazing to me, especially when I heard the school had first opened its doors in 1931. That meant students had attended Lubbock High for twenty years before Buddy Holley enrolled in ninth grade in 1951. At 90 years old this year, the place looked incredible. My photographer and I spent about 15 minutes near the exterior of the high school while I posed for a handful of images. During that time, I couldn’t help but think about some of the famous students who were educated in that building, including Crickets’ bandmates Jerry Allison, Joe B. Mauldin, and Niki Sullivan. But there were more: Sonny Curtis, who played in Buddy’s band before the Crickets were formed; Bobby Keys, who not only briefly toured with Buddy Holly, but he also played saxophone with the Rolling Stones; and Natalie Maines, who is the controversial lead singer for the Dixie Chicks. Perhaps the biggest music star, besides Buddy, to graduate from Lubbock High was Mac Davis. Davis not only had his own TV show in the mid-70s, he also wrote some hits for Elvis Presley, including “Memories”; “In the Ghetto”; and “Don’t Cry Daddy”.
It was an honor for my photographer and me to visit Lubbock High School. For this bobble head, and I know Tom felt the same way, it would’ve been even better had the two of us gotten inside the school’s auditorium where I could’ve stood on the same stage where Buddy Holley once performed. Maybe, baby, if we ever return to Lubbock in the future, the two of us will make it onto that stage before it’s too late.
It’s not everyday I see my photographer run, but that chunky guy scooted along pretty good to keep us from getting run over during our return trip across 19th Street. We had only one close call – a pickup truck with a dented door whizzed past us; the driver had no intention of slowing down or stopping. All I could do, as I stood inside the camera case with my painted eyes closed, was say to myself: “Oh boy, this might be the day when we say goodbye. I just hope this isn’t the day, when I die!”
Tom had one site left on the “Buddy Holly” portion of our agenda – the Buddy Holly Center, which was located roughly 15 blocks east of the high school. I was excited to get back to the museum dedicated to the late recording star and the headliner of the 1959 Winter Dance Party tour. In 2016, during my first visit to the center, the photos my camera guy captured when I stood next to Buddy Holly’s glasses were blurry. His lone goal on that Thursday afternoon was to capture striking images of the eyeglasses Holly wore when he was killed.
We arrived at the Buddy Holly Center at 12 noon and before I could say “Shake, Rattle and Roll”, I found myself standing on top of a giant pair of black “Buddy Holly-style” glasses. While those glasses were cool, they weren’t the real McCoys; they weren’t the glasses my photographer and I were eager to see. Vicki decided to stay in the Jeep rather than pay the museum’s eight-dollar entry fee. Tom’s wife claimed she saw everything five years earlier and didn’t need to go back inside. When I heard Vicki tell my photographer that she would wait outside, I thought to myself: “Well all right, suit yourself. But don’t come back knockin’ if you have a change of heart.”
Inside the center, Tom handed over the eight bucks; then he did something that shocked me – he asked the Center’s director for permission to snap a few images of the most historic eyeglasses in the world. My cameraman sought consent because he knew photography inside the Buddy Holly section of the museum was prohibited and he didn’t want to be reprimanded down the line should he get caught. In my mind, I thought it was really cool when the director said: “I’m glad you asked permission – most people don’t.” Then he smiled and looked up in the air as if to say: ‘What I can’t see, won’t hurt me.’
The two of us went inside the museum and luckily, we were alone, at least for a short time. Even though he had permission, Tom didn’t want to advertise the fact he was taking pictures. The Buddy Holly Museum was set up in a semi-circle design, which began with artifacts from his childhood and ended with items from his recording career. But there were two showcases that were segregated from the rest. One case contained some of his guitars, including his personal Sunburst Fender Stratocaster he had played at the Surf Ballroom on February 2, 1959. And the second case, which was the primary focus of our visit, protected the famed, black-rimmed glasses that Holly was wearing when he was killed in the plane crash.
When the Beechcraft Bonanza plane that carried Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, The Big Bopper, and pilot Roger Peterson crashed into a frozen cornfield just north of Clear Lake, Iowa in the early hours of February 3, 1959, the bodies of the three singers were ejected from the aircraft. At some point during the violent final seconds, Buddy’s glasses must’ve been propelled from his face; ending up on the ground covered with snow. Hidden from the first responders’ view as they gathered the victims’ belongings, the glasses were lost until the farm’s owner discovered them two months later when the snow melted. The farmer gave the glasses to the county coroner where they were put in an envelope marked “Charles Hardin Holley, rec’d April 7, 1959”. Somehow that envelope was misplaced during a move to a new county courthouse where it remained locked in a steel cabinet inside a storage vault for 21 years. After a curious sheriff was combing the storage vault on February 29, 1980, he stumbled upon the envelope. After a legal fight over the glasses ensued, they ended up in the hands of Maria Holly Diaz, Buddy’s re-married widow. In 1998, she sold her husband’s historic trademark glasses to the Buddy Holly Center for $80,000 where they’ve remained on display since.
Tom and I spent roughly 20 minutes inside the museum. In my mind, I knew my photographer would’ve spent a lot more time there had his wife not been waiting outside. While the artifacts from Buddy’s youth were cool, it was the memorabilia from his final tour that really broke my resin-filled heart. It was hard for me to take my eyes of Holly’s glasses. In my opinion, they were the most historically famous eyewear in American history. Even the blood-spattered glasses worn by John Lennon when he was assassinated would take a back seat to Buddy’s specs, at least in my and Tom’s opinions.
The two of us rendezvoused with Vicki who was seated on a bench outside the museum; she had been occupied with her cell phone the entire time she waited for us. I laughed to myself when I thought: “Give her a fully-charged cell phone and a glass of iced tea and we could’ve spent the entire day in that museum without her wondering what we were doing.” She did, however, walk with us to the last two sites near the Buddy Holly Center. The first was the boyhood home of Crickets’ drummer Jerry Allison and the second was the Buddy and Maria Elena Holly Plaza, located across the street.
During our 2016 visit to Lubbock, the three of us went on a tour of Jerry Allison’s boyhood home that originally stood a mile or two northwest of the Holly Center. When the home became rundown and there was a fear it would be destroyed, a local contractor volunteered to move it to the Center and his company helped renovate the historic home. As a matter of fact, the Allison home was VERY historic. In 1956, Jerry and Buddy Holly co-wrote their hit song “That’ll be the Day” in Jerry’s bedroom in the home. That song became so popular, in fact, the Quarrymen covered it for their first record. That’s right, “That’ll be the Day” turned out to be the Beatles’ first song they ever recorded. Jerry Allison once said: “Paul McCartney did tell me that if there hadn’t been the Crickets, there never would have been the Beatles.”
Early in the morning of February 3, 1959, after the Crickets had returned late the previous night from a recording session with Norman Petty in Clovis, New Mexico, Sonny Curtis was drinking coffee in the home’s dining room with Allison’s mother. Jerry was still asleep in his bedroom. A neighbor suddenly came to the door with the news she heard on the radio: The airplane that carried Holly, Valens, and Richardson on the Winter Dance Party tour had crashed in Iowa. All three singers were killed. Curtis was the one who walked into the bedroom that morning to inform the Crickets’ drummer that his good friend, Buddy, was dead.
Thanks to COVID restrictions, the Allison boyhood home was closed to visitors, which deeply disappointed me. In my mind, the Center could’ve insisted on proof of vaccination for entry into the historic home. And I was good with that scenario because my photographer, his wife, and I had all been vaccinated against the virus; a bug that seems likely will never go away. But as I stood outside the locked fence while Tom held me through the bars for a couple of photos, only one thought crossed my mind: “Well, that’ll be the day when you say goodbye. Yes, that’ll be the day, when masks made me sigh. They say it’ll soon be over; you know it’s a lie. ‘Cause that’ll be the day, when I die.”
The three of us made the long walk across the Center’s parking lot, then across Crickets Avenue, where we ended up in the Buddy and Maria Elena Holly Plaza. When Tom removed me from the camera case, the first thing I saw was the larger-than-life bronze statue of the man himself – Buddy Holly; and it was featured prominently in the middle of the West Texas Walk of Fame. Last night, I saw the same statue in a portrait on our hotel room’s wall. When Tom placed me on Buddy’s right hand as he strummed his Stratocaster, I could feel my resin heartbeat pounding in my chest. It was a proud moment – I nearly shouted: “Look at me”; even though I was worried to death about slippin’ and slidin’ off Buddy’s bronze hand and smashing to pieces on the statue’s circular bronze base below.
Tom packed me into the camera case before we headed towards the Jeep. It was an amazing day of Buddy Holly sites, and I was left reminiscing about Buddy’s life, his music, and his untimely death. It was a few minutes past one o’clock and my photographer had promised his wife we’d spend the entire afternoon visiting Lubbock’s antique shops, which was exactly what we did. After scouring the internet for the best shops, Tom narrowed the field down to three – Vintage Etc. Antique Mall; Grand Central Station Antiques; and the Antique Mall of Lubbock. When it comes to shopping for stuff in those places, my photographer and I have the same interest: Presidential artifacts, historical relics, and Rock and Roll memorabilia.
The first two places were duds, at least for the most part. Tom did purchase a Lubbock Avalanche-Journal newspaper from Grand Central Antiques. That 1977 paper featured a headline that broke the news of Elvis Presley’s death. My photographer thought the newspaper was cool because Elvis had performed some of his earliest shows in Lubbock. The last place we had stopped, the Antique Mall of Lubbock, was what my companion described as “the best antique shop I’ve ever been in”. That huge store had something for everyone, including my cheap and finicky photographer. Since we were in Lubbock, Texas, the birthplace of Buddy Holly, Tom had hoped to find some items related to the hometown Rock and Roll star. And the Antique Mall of Lubbock didn’t let him down. While there were several areas inside the mall that featured Buddy Holly memorabilia, my cameraman was literally blown away when we came upon one particular showcase. That locked case contained some unique Buddy Holly and Elvis items, including a 1954 Lubbock High School yearbook from Buddy’s Junior year. That historic book came with a $750.00 price tag as well. There were also several Holly vinyl LPs, which were released after his death, and a 78-rpm single that was cracked. But Tom didn’t leave that store empty-handed. On the third shelf of that showcase, tucked away behind the high-priced yearbook, was a Buddy Holly Music Festival commemorative bottle of Coke from 1997. Even though Tom is a Diet Coke consumer, he couldn’t get that collectible from the display case to the checkout counter fast enough.
We had spent over three hours in the antique shops and my traveling partners were getting hungry. On the return trip to our My Place Hotel, the two of them decided they wanted authentic Mexican food. That meant only one thing – Taco Bell. It was roughly 4:45pm when we made it back to our room with the food. After Tom placed me on the windowsill next to the Holly photo, I watched my photographer and his wife as they dined on their fine Mexican cuisine. For the remainder of the evening, my photographer and his wife watched Tampa Bay play the Philadelphia Eagles on Thursday Night Football.
After Tom Brady’s team squeaked-out a 28-22 victory over the Eagles, the lights were extinguished for the night. The solitude of darkness gave me time to reflect on the life of Buddy Holly. During our time in Lubbock, I saw numerous places and artifacts from all aspects of Buddy’s life, as well as his tragic death. But then my attention was broken by my taco-filled photographer. At first, I wanted to believe those six tacos he scarfed down wouldn’t affect his digestive system – but I guess I was just a fool. At some point, just past midnight, Tom began to rip it up; and the only thing that crossed my mind was “Oh boy!” But in the grand scheme of things, especially when I thought about how young Buddy Holly was when his life was cut short, there could be worse things than a little gas amongst friends. The one lesson I learned in Lubbock was: Life is precious, and life is short; don’t take life for granted. My newfound philosophy, thanks to Charles Hardin Holley, was: Take your time; enjoy each moment as if it were your last; and never, ever fly in February.
This post is dedicated to the late, great Buddy Holly. Gone too soon!
