It had been a long three months since my last cross-country journey, and I was itching to hit the road – even though my photographer had dubbed our early February trip “The Winter Dance Party Tour”. In my mind, that name only spelled J-I-N-X for the three of us. How could I think differently? After all, look what happened in 1959 to Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and The Big Bopper on their Winter Dance Party tour. Then, when I saw Tom’s agenda, I became even more concerned. Tom and his wife had purchased tickets to John Mueller’s ‘Winter Dance Party’ tribute concert in Eau Claire, Wisconsin that was scheduled for February 3rd – The Day the Music Died. That meant we needed to complete a 650-mile drive to the northwestern part of Wisconsin in the heart of winter. Had my cameraman turned into Edward John Smith, the Titanic captain who boasted “Even God himself couldn’t sink this ship”? Thankfully, Tom refuses to fly in February, or I may have insisted on staying home with my other bobble head friends.
We were originally slated to leave St. Clair, Michigan at 5:00am on Wednesday February 2, 2022, with me and my companions spending the remainder of the day and night in Woodstock, Illinois – which was a little over halfway to Eau Claire. But then my worst nightmare came to fruition. Winter Storm Landon was headed our way and meteorologists had predicted the powerful weather system would hit Michigan roughly around 2am on Groundhog Day. At the last possible moment, our plans were changed; but they were not cancelled.
With my photographer behind the wheel of our Jeep Grand Cherokee L, the three of us headed out of St. Clair at precisely five o’clock in the evening of February 1st, which was twelve hours ahead of our original departure time and nine hours before Landon’s projected arrival. Tom was confident we had nothing to worry about because the temperature was 46 degrees when we left town, and we’d likely only see rain during a portion of our trip that night. Wouldn’t ya know it, he was right. It began to rain when we reached the half-way point across our state. However, the rain stopped and the roads were dry when we crossed the border from Indiana into Illinois. Six hours after our departure, we arrived safely at the Country Inn & Suites in Crystal Lake, Illinois. My photographer’s plan had worked to perfection – we had beaten the storm. Once we were registered, unpacked, and settled in our room, I stood alongside the television set where one thought popped into my resin mind: “Let’s Go Landon!” For once, I wanted to play Captain Smith and throw caution to the wind!
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Tom’s alarm went off at 5:00am on Wednesday February 2, 2022 – Groundhog Day. My photographer insisted on getting an earlier-than-normal start to the day because he wanted the three of us to attend the 7am Groundhog Day celebration that was only 11 miles away in Woodstock, Illinois. And that wasn’t an ordinary celebration, mind you. Woodstock, which is roughly 60 miles northwest of Chicago, was the setting for the 1992 Harold Ramis movie ‘Groundhog Day’; which starred Bill Murray and Andie MacDowell. This year was the 30th anniversary of the classic movie and a dozen or more sites around town were featured prominently in the film. I had hoped to visit all of them on that historic day.
Seconds after the LED digits on the alarm clock in our Country Inn & Suites room read 6:00, I heard the opening lines to Sonny and Cher’s hit song ‘I Got You Babe’, which was featured numerous times in the movie. As I stood next to the clock for the first of my many posed images of the day, I heard Vicki say out loud: “How did I know you’d play that song at six a.m.?” I laughed when Tom replied: “It’s likely being played thousands of times right about now. And why not? It’s Groundhog Day!”
Even though Tom and I were up and at ’em by five o’clock, it took a bit longer to get his wife motivated to see a “large squirrel predicting the weather.” By the time we left the hotel parking lot, it was 6:20am and we were in danger of missing the groundhog. A late-night dusting of snow had made the 11-mile commute to Woodstock a bit of a challenge. When we finally arrived at the Woodstock Square where music was playing and people were singing, we only had ten minutes to spare before the official festivities began. A few hundred revelers were gathered around the large gazebo in the center of the town’s square; each were doing their best to keep warm in the frigid early morning air. After a few speeches were delivered by local dignitaries, including a recital of his film dialogue by radio DJ Richard Henzel, Woodstock Mayor Mike Turner knocked on Woodstock Willie’s artificial tree stump. The plump and furry rodent was plucked from its lair; held up near the mayor’s ear where Turner listened intently; and Willie’s prediction was read aloud: “This February 2nd, at 7:07, Woodstock Willie, the seer of seers, prognosticator of prognosticators, emerged very reluctantly but alertly in Woodstock, Illinois, to wish his faithful followers a Happy Groundhog Day. Willie looked skyward to the east and then behind to the ground and stated in very clear groundhog-ese: ‘I definitely do NOT see my shadow.'”
After the three of us waited in a short line to get a close-up glimpse of Woodstock Willie, Tom spent the next 45 minutes photographing the exterior movie sites situated around the square. Those iconic sites included the street corner where Ned Ryerson first spotted Phil Connors; the location where Phil stepped into the water-filled pothole in front of the Tip Top Cafe over and over again; the Pennsylvania Hotel where Producer Rita Hanson and cameraman Larry stayed; and the bank where Phil took money from the armored truck.
Although the cafe and bank had changed names since 1992, the entire downtown section of Woodstock looked virtually the same as it did in the movie. Over the years, city officials had placed bronze plaques at the film locations, but those sites were so recognizable that we didn’t need the signage to know where we were at. Please take a moment and check out the images from our time in downtown Woodstock, Illinois. Or should I say, Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania?
At roughly nine o’clock, the three of us once again returned to the Jeep to warm up. Throughout the morning, we had used our vehicle as a much-needed warming station. Even though the temperature had gone up slightly in the past two hours, I was worried the frigid air would make my legs crack open again. As we thawed, my photographer asked his wife to purchase on-line tickets for the 2pm showing of the movie ‘Groundhog Day’ at the Woodstock Theater. How awesome was that? A chance to see THAT movie in THAT theater, which was featured in the movie when Phil Connors and his date arrived at the Alpine Theater to see ‘Heidi II’. Even though we’d seen the movie several dozen times in the past, Tom figured being inside the historic theater would give the three of us a chance to get warm; he knew his wife was chilled to the bone. As a matter of fact, I laughed when Vicki said: “Why did we come here in February. It’s too cold to enjoy the town.” My camera guy, who at times is sarcastically quick-witted like Bill Murray, replied: “The last time I checked, Rita, Groundhog Day is always in February. And unfortunately, it’s usually cold in the northern states in February. If you recall, when we came to Woodstock in July 2014, you complained it was too hot.”
It had been nearly eight years since we spent the night in the Bed and Breakfast on Woodstock’s Fremont Street, and I was excited to see that beautiful home once again. In the movie ‘Groundhog Day’, the Royal Victorian Manor was called the Cherry Street Inn, and it was where Phil Connors stayed night after night after night. Before we left on the trip, my photographer tried to reserve a room in the famous B&B, but it was sold out. That meant only one thing – we would be forced to stand on the sidewalk and capture exterior images of the large Victorian-style home that was once owned by Everton and Karla Martin.
The B&B was less than a half mile from the town square and it took only a few minutes to get there. There seemed to be a lot of vehicular traffic near the place and Vicki was forced to park along Fremont Street a short distance from the home. But after Tom carried me to the front gate of the home, all three of us were stunned – the B&B was now called the Cherry Street Inn and it was open to the public. That’s right, the new owners – Lori and George Miaracki – had their famous three-story house available for tourists to enjoy a self-guided tour of the interior. After I posed for a few images near the exterior of the house, we walked through the front door where a flood of fond memories came rushing back. My companions talked with Lori for a bit as they discussed our first visit to the home in 2014, which was three years before the Miaracki’s had purchased the place. The highlight for me, which was no surprise, was a return visit to the room where we had stayed eight years ago – the ‘Bill Murray Suite’. And the best part of all? The view down Madison Street from that second-floor window was the same view Phil Connors had each day he woke up on Groundhog Day.
Once we returned to the Jeep after our amazing 45-minute visit in and around the Cherry Street Inn, Tom wanted to see the house featured in the movie where Phil paid the owner one thousand dollars for a piano lesson. Although the wooden two-and-one-half-story home, known by locals as “The Piano Teacher’s House”, was located only seven doors north of the B&B, my photographer insisted we drive there instead of going on foot. It didn’t matter to me because I travel along in the camera case anyway. When we arrived at the Madison Street home, Tom had discovered the tree in front of the place had also been featured in a scene of ‘Groundhog Day’. In the scene, a youngster had climbed that same tree; and each day Phil hustled to catch the kid when he fell from an upper branch.
After our short stay in front of the Piano Teacher’s House had concluded, the three of us made our way to a handful of other film locations around town before we stopped for an early lunch. And where do you think we ate? That’s right – The Tip Top Cafe; which was known today as La Placita Taqueria, an authentic Mexican taco restaurant. After lunch and a brief stop at the local Walmart (which was not in the movie, thankfully), we spent some time in a bar called ‘The Public House of Woodstock’. That pub/eatery was featured in the movie when Phil and Rita “drank to world peace”.
My two travel mates didn’t order a sweet vermouth, on the rocks, with a twist. Instead, both ordered a can of Michelob Ultra where they drank to world peace. The three of us hung out in the bar, which turned out to be a great place to keep warm before we headed off to the Woodstock Theater to watch the two o’clock feature movie ‘Groundhog Day’.
Not wanting to walk in the extreme cold, Tom asked his wife to drive the three of us closer to the theater. I had to laugh because Vicki drove the Jeep around the square and parked almost in front of the place we had just left. When Tom carried me up to the front of the historic theater, I thought for sure I heard a voice say: “I told you, call me Bronco!” Then I looked up at the marquee and there it was – in large, bold black letters: HEIDI II. That was the same film listed on the marquee in ‘Groundhog Day and it turned out to be a movie that Bronco loved and one he had seen over a hundred times.
Even though my companions’ stomachs were full after their lunch and beer, that didn’t stop the two of them from buying a large tub of popcorn and a large Diet Coke at the concession stand. The interior of the theater was nothing special; it looked like a regular theater, except it didn’t feature reclining seats for our show. Once the movie started, so did the most annoying sound I had ever heard. A woman in the row behind us had a high-pitched cackle that sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard; it was so loud and shrill I thought my resin ears might crack. And wouldn’t you know it, at the end of every punch line or funny scene in the movie, the woman let out that god-awful sound. At one point, I heard my photographer whisper to his wife: “I know this movie is funny, but not funny enough to yell out like she’s a Pterodactyl in search of a mate. Has she not seen this movie before? Heck, I can almost recite every line in the movie word for word, so none of the funny parts are a surprise anymore.”
When the movie was finished and the final credits rolled across the silver screen, our ‘Groundhog Day’ experience in Woodstock was over. And thankfully, the Pterodactyl behind us must’ve found a mate as her hideous screeches went silent as well.
When the clock hit four o’clock, my companions decided to make their way to our hotel, which was the Best Western Woodstock Inn located roughly a mile south of the town square. As we approached our hotel, Tom noticed another place of interest – the Roscoe Woodstock Antique Mall. Vicki couldn’t whip the Jeep into the parking lot fast enough. That particular antique store is usually closed every Wednesday, but it stayed open on that Wednesday because of the ‘Groundhog Day’ crowd in Woodstock. My photographer and his wife had no time to waste as the store closed at five o’clock. With me in the camera case, Tom hustled around the store as he searched for historical artifacts and certain rock and roll albums. Then out of nowhere, his cell phone rang – it was Vicki who had discovered an item of interest. When the two of us got to the place where Tom’s wife was waiting, there it was. My photographer couldn’t get his hands on the 16 by 20-inch historic photo of Buddy Holly fast enough. It turned out the photo was captured by Larry L. Matti on February 1, 1959 when he was backstage at the Riverside Ballroom in Green Bay, Wisconsin. Not only was that the last published photo ever captured of the Lubbock native before his death a little over 24 hours later, but the image was also signed on the back by Matti. The photographer, who died in 2010, had autographed only a dozen of those photos on the 40th anniversary of the historic Winter Dance Party concert.
The three of us stayed inside the antique mall until we were kicked out at 5pm. A minute or two later, my companions were busy unpacking their gear at the nearby Best Western. Once in our room, Tom set me alongside the television set before he decided to take an hour-long nap. My photographer’s goal was to go back into downtown Woodstock to capture some night images. But when he woke up at 7:30pm, the outdoor temperature had dipped below ten degrees, which caused him to put the kiboshes to his impromptu photoshoot.
Once the lights went out for the night at eight o’clock, I stood alone in the room where my thoughts turned to one thing; and it wasn’t ‘Groundhog Day’. At that very moment, 63 years earlier, the Winter Dance Party show got underway at the Surf Ballroom in Clear Lake, Iowa. The five headliners were Frankie Sardo, Dion and the Belmonts, The Big Bopper, Ritchie Valens, and Buddy Holly. For nearly four hours, the performers rocked the Surf in front of 1,100 screaming teenagers who paid the $1.25 admission to see the nation’s biggest rock and roll stars in person. No one could’ve imagined, not in their wildest nightmares, that three of those five headliners had taken the stage for the final time.
As the show on February 2, 1959 neared its climatic finish, Buddy Holly called Valens and Bopper onto the stage with him to sing ‘Brown Eyed Handsome Man’, a Chuck Berry cover. When the trio finished, the crowd screamed for more; the high-octane teens didn’t want the night to end. The final song of the show, which happened when the 17-year-old performer from Pacoima, California grabbed his guitar, strutted up to the microphone, and belted out ‘La Bamba’ for the second time that evening. At the stroke of midnight, the show was over; the performers packed up their instruments, amps, and other equipment. Some boarded the bus; but three of the entertainers got into Surf manager Carroll Anderson’s car for the three-mile ride to the airport.
From my position near the TV set, I watched as the room’s digital clock hit 12:55am. A sense of sadness suddenly overcame my resin body. I envisioned the four-seat Beechcraft Bonanza plane as it roared down the snow-covered runway at Mason City Municipal Airport. In my mind, I saw 21-year-old pilot Roger Peterson as he pulled back on the stick of the red, white and black aircraft as it gently lifted off the ground. Buddy Holly, who had turned only 22 the previous September, was in the front seat alongside Peterson. Jiles Perry Richardson, who was the 28-year-old known by his stage persona ‘The Big Bopper’, sat behind the pilot while Ritchie Valens was positioned behind Holly. In the dark night sky, as the snow intensified, I saw the plane’s lights and knew Peterson had banked left after takeoff. Peterson’s flight plan was to take the three musicians 311 miles northwest to the airport in Fargo, North Dakota. Five minutes later, at the moment I saw the clock hit 1:00, my body shuttered in our eerily quiet room. Buddy, Ritchie, J.P. and the pilot were gone. It was the Day the Music Died.
