219: IF YOU BUILD IT, MLB WILL COME AND RUIN IT

For a little over two hours on the morning of Friday August 5, 2022, my dream of standing on the spot where Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and The Big Bopper all performed for the final time at the Surf Ballroom came true. The moment Tom and I walked through the front doors of the Surf, I had been transported back in time to February 2, 1959. And even though I didn’t see any ghosts during my visit, I could feel the presence of the three stars who were killed shortly after their performance. When it came time to leave, it was a sad moment for me – I wanted to stay in the 50’s where everything seemed slower and was more innocent. It was a time when Coke was a Coke, and crack’s what you were doing when you were cracking jokes. It was also a time when, according to Archie Bunker, you knew what you were then – girls were girls and men were men. And when we heard about Russia, the only threat from them was a 184-pound silver sphere they had dubbed Sputnik 1.

We left the Surf Ballroom shortly after 10am and headed southeast through the vast lushness of Iowa cornfields for over 160 miles before arriving at “the place where dreams come true”, at least according to John Kinsella in the movie ‘Field of Dreams’. Tom and I had hoped to tour the 1989 Kinsella movie site home and walk into the cornfield from the famous ball diamond, but those dreams were dashed – all thanks to Frank Thomas and Major League Baseball.

After the movie ‘Field of Dreams’ hit theaters in 1989, fans have flocked to the small baseball diamond that was built in the middle of a cornfield just about four miles northeast of Dyersville, Iowa. For over three decades, people of all ages made the pilgrimage to the site where they played baseball and walked in the footsteps of actors Kevin Costner, James Earl Jones, Amy Madigan, Ray Liotta, and Burt Lancaster. It was a magical place where adults felt like kids again; where grown men reminisced about being a boy and playing catch with their father. As a matter of fact, Tom and Vicki brought their kids to the movie site in 1992 where little nine-year-old Tommy Watson had a catch with his dad. Over twenty years later, in 2015, my two companions returned with me. For any baseball fan or movie buff, the ‘Field of Dreams’ was a slice of heaven; a place where one could “dip themselves in magic waters.” And the best part of all, at least to my cheap photographer, it was free.

That all changed in 2020, however, when former MLB player Frank Thomas and his partners purchased the entire ‘Field of Dreams’ property. Shortly thereafter, Thomas worked with Major League Baseball to capitalize on the movie’s popularity by constructing a larger ballpark just 500 feet west of the original movie site. There, on the new field, a single MLB was scheduled to be held in August of that year; but the COVID pandemic pushed the game back to August 12, 2021. After the Chicago White Sox beat the New York Yankees 9-8, movie purists had hoped MLB would return the site to its original ambience. But that wasn’t about to happen; not when a lot of money could be made. The innocence and peaceful tranquility of the site was lost forever.

We got a first-hand glimpse of the greed when we arrived around 12:30pm and the driveway leading to the movie site was blocked by security. Hundreds of vehicles were scattered everywhere on the property, while construction workers put the finishing touches on the site for the August 11th game between the Chicago Cubs and Cincinnati Reds. From a spot along Lansing Road, we could easily see the white, two-story, three bedroom “Kinsella Home” in the distance. While it was a bit more difficult to see the original movie ball diamond from our proximity, the huge monstrosity eyesore that was built by Major League Baseball the previous year stood out like Godzilla towering over Tokyo. James Earl Jones, who portrayed author Terence Mann in the movie, said it best: “America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It’s been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt, and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game – it’s part of our past, Ray. It reminds us of all that once was good, and it could be again.” The three of us knew Mann was right – it could be good again. But, thanks to Major League Baseball and a bunch of greedy investors, that wasn’t likely to happen. People will still come; but when they arrive, they’ll discover the magic waters have dried up.

PHOTOS FROM OUR 2015 VISIT TO THE ‘FIELD OF DREAMS‘

During the half-hour we were parked along the shoulder of Lansing Road near the entrance to the ‘Field of Dreams’, I listened as my photographer complained to anyone who would listen about what had been done to the movie site. I found it funny because Tom was okay with Major League Baseball building a temporary ballpark in the cornfield for the one regular season game in 2021 – especially since the White Sox were playing. He thought it was a great way to salute the movie and introduce the classic film to a whole new audience of young fans. But when he heard MLB was back in 2022, and the White Sox were not one of the teams playing, my photographer became angry. His displeasure grew worse when Tom heard Frank Thomas’ investment group was in the process of building a youth softball and baseball complex on the site as well. “I can’t stand Frank Thomas. He was a fraud when he played and is a bigger fraud now. There’s no doubt in my mind he enhanced his career with steroids as a player, and nobody blinked an eye. The ‘Big Hurt’ charmed his way with the reporters all the way to Cooperstown and those same hypocritic writers won’t induct Barry Bonds or Roger Clemens into the Hall of Fame – that’s just wrong. To top it off, that phony hawks Nugenix on TV, which is a testosterone supplement. How ironic! Frank Thomas would sell his soul for a buck and now he’s destroying the ‘Field of Dreams’. I hope that bastard has trouble sleeping at night.”

By the time we headed out of Dyersville, my photographer had already calmed down. Even though the ‘Field of Dreams’ was permanently destroyed, not even the ‘Big Hurt’ could alter Tom’s memory of when he had a catch on that field with his son – back when the site and surrounding farmland looked like it did in the movie. To my photographer, that cornfield was more than just a movie site. It was heaven!

In the past four days, I had visited the home and grave of Doc Graham, as well as the baseball field that had brought ‘Moonlight’ back to life on the silver screen. When we headed across the Mississippi River for the final time on the trip and we arrived in Galena, Illinois, I figured my ‘Field of Dreams’ portion of our adventure was behind us. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Galena was the small town used in the film as a substitute for Chisholm, Minnesota – “Moonlight” Graham’s hometown. While that small town in the northwest corner of Illinois inhabits a little over 3,330 people, it was one of its famous residents from the 19th century that had brought us back into town. No, not “Moonlight” Graham. I’m talking Ulysses S. Grant!

Tom and Vicki had taken me to Galena in 2015 where I had an extensive tour of Grant’s home. But this time, there was a secondary Grant site that was the main focus of our time in Galena – and it was located less than a quarter mile south of where Ulysses and Julia Grant had lived. After Vicki parked the Jeep along 3rd Street just north of our destination, I about fell out of the camera case when I heard Tom say: “Roll ’em out – we’re here. This is the Elihu Benjamin Washburne House.”

At first, I thought my photographer was trying his hand at yodeling when he said “Elihu”; but it turned out Washburne was a fairly famous figure in his own right. The Galena lawyer was a member of the United States House of Representatives for eight terms, during which time he was good friends with both Abraham Lincoln and Ulysses S. Grant. After Grant was elected President, he appointed Washburne as his Secretary of State, which lasted only 11 days due to illness, then as our nation’s Ambassador to France.

I posed for a few photos near the exterior of the two-story mansion before Tom took me inside for a tour. My photographer was extremely lucky – the home was open to visitors for only three hours on Fridays and Saturdays. And the best part of all was, at least to Tom, the 30-minute tour was free. Once inside, Tom explained to our guide that he was extremely interested in the home’s library, which was where General Grant first learned he had been elected as our 18th President. Although we visited every room on the first floor, as well as two second-story bedrooms, it was the library that stole the show for my photographer and me.

Roughly ten minutes after our Washburne home tour had finished, the three of us headed a block or two north because my photographer and I wanted to see the Ulysses S. Grant House once again. We had visited the General’s digs seven years earlier, but the two of us couldn’t resist the temptation to go back – even though Tom decided an interior tour was out of the question. That decision grew clearer when we arrived as Vicki questioned the rationale behind another visit. “Haven’t we been to this house several times in the past. Why do we need to keep coming back?” I laughed when Tom went into his usual spiel, which included logic from his friend Bob Moldenhauer. “It’s a Presidential home that was only down the street from where we were. As Mongo once said – it’s like eating pizza. We’ve eaten pizza before and liked it, so we buy more pizza and eat that too. Pizza is always good whenever we have it. I liked Grant’s house each time I’ve visited, so I’ll keep going back when I’m in Galena.” As we left the Jeep and walked onto the property, Vicki just rolled her eyes as though she had eaten a salty anchovy.

When the three of us returned to the Jeep that was parked across Bouthillier Street from the historic Grant House, I wondered if that would be the last time I’d ever see it. It had been 142 years since President Grant last visited the site and I wondered if my time had come to an end as well. Tom was right when he told Vicki re-visiting a site over and over was like eating pizza; but the fact was, there’s a ton of different slices of pie all around the country. And each one of those historic slices are delicious in its own way as well.

Minutes after we left the Grant site behind in the rearview mirror, our Jeep suddenly transformed into a 1973 Volkswagen van as we crossed the “magic waters” of the Galena River and into downtown Chisholm, Minnesota. We had gone the distance in the ‘Field of Dreams’ and I thought for sure it was time to visit some film locations used in the movie. But first, Tom needed to ease his pain by stuffing his face with a couple of Coney Dogs.

From the moment Vicki drove the Jeep through the Galena Gates and north along Main Street into downtown Galena, it was easy to see that we didn’t have the place to ourselves. As a matter of fact, it seemed as though a countless number of people were walking the sidewalks and Main Street was clogged with their vehicles. It took some time, but my photographer’s wife finally found a place to park a couple of blocks off the main drag. Once parked, the three of us set out on foot to find a place for my companions to eat – which ended up being at Paradise Bar & Grill. Tom had his taste buds set for Coney Dogs and Vicki ordered a patty melt, but unfortunately their expensive meal didn’t meet their expectations. I laughed to myself when I heard my photographer say to his wife: “How in the hell can anyone mess up hot dogs, chili, and onions? Those dogs were as rancid as the ones I had last year at the Wienery just north of Watkins Glen.”

Shortly after Tom had choked down most of his two “Phony dogs”, the three of us embarked on a one-hour search for “Moonlight”. With a list of sites and addresses at his disposal, my photographer guided us up and down Galena’s Main Street where we visited a handful of buildings and other locations used in the movie ‘Field of Dreams’. We started at the northern-most site, which was the Galena Chiropractic building used in the movie as Dr. Archibald Graham’s Chisholm office, then we strolled south to see several more film locations. The Galena sites looked different to me for several reasons – one reason was the movie was filmed over 30 years ago, and the second was the Chisholm scenes were shot at night. Please take a moment and check out my pursuit of ‘Moonlight’ Graham in Chisholm, Minnesota. Oops, I meant Galena, Illinois.

Once Tom and I had made it to the Galena Gates, which was roughly a mile south of the Chiropractic Center where we had started our hike, it was time for my exhausted photographer to ‘huff and puff’ his way back to meet his wife. During our continued search for “Moonlight” sites, Vicki had stopped at a small gift shop to purchase ‘Sandlot’ movie tee shirts for their grandsons. By the time the three of us made it back to the Jeep at roughly 6:30pm, my companions were exhausted – but unfortunately, we weren’t close to being finished for the day. That was due to the fact that my photographer had asked his wife to secure our hotel room in Rockford, Illinois, which was 90 miles east of Galena.

Shortly before eight o’clock, the three of us arrived at the Courtyard by Marriott in Rockford. I could tell Tom was excited to be in Rockford as it’s the hometown of ‘Cheap Trick’, one of my photographer’s favorite rock bands. As a matter of fact, as Tom pushed the luggage cart towards our room, I heard him muttering to himself: “Mommy’s alright, Daddy’s alright, they just seem a little weird. Surrender. Surrender; but don’t give yourself away.” In my mind, the only thing he gave away was the money for singing lessons.

Both of my travel mates had surrendered to exhaustion by 9:30pm. It had been a long day that began with Buddy Holly and Ritchie Valens at the Surf Ballroom in Clear Lake, Iowa and ended with Robin Zander and Rick Nielsen in Rockford, Illinois. Just as the clock strikes ten, I started to think about the Rockford Peaches baseball team – Tom planned on paying an early morning visit to Beyer Stadium where the Peaches once played ball. Ain’t that a shame there isn’t a women’s professional baseball league anymore?

At precisely 4:30am, I heard voices coming from the parking lot outside of our first-floor hotel room; and the two people didn’t seem to care one iota who overheard their loud vocal fight. Initially, I thought I must be dreamin’, but the intensity of the argument increased as vehicle doors slammed shut. I knew for a fact it was all too real. After ten minutes of uncensored verbal volatility, the male axed the female if she was gonna raise hell if he drove off. That’s about the time I saw my photographer go to our window to investigate the situation. I had a feeling in my resin gut I would hear the sound of gunfire, but luckily that never happened. Suddenly the yelling stopped; the doors once again slammed shut, and the vehicle sped off with a loud squealing of the tires. I listened carefully for sirens, but the Dream Police remained hidden inside my head until Tom’s alarm clock rang at seven o’clock.

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The sky was partly cloudy when we left the hotel at roughly 8:15am on Saturday August 6, 2022. Although the eight-mile drive to the south-side of Rockford was relatively traffic-free, I noticed through an opening in the camera case that our route also took us past several chapters of the local VFW – which didn’t exactly make my day. We had run the gauntlet; the torch of women’s professional sports was held high when we arrived at Beyer Stadium. My companions felt the safest place to park our Jeep was in a lot next to the Beyer Early Childhood Center, which sat adjacent to center field of the historic ballpark.

Beyer Stadium opened as Kishwaukee Park in 1913 when a Rockford minor league baseball team from the Wisconsin-Illinois League played there. A decade later, the ballpark was sold to Rockford High School for use as their athletic field. For 23 years, the high school called the venue Rockford Municipal Stadium. In 1948, however, it was renamed Beyer Stadium in honor of Charles Beyer, a long-time high school coach.

Tom proudly carried me through centerfield and onto the infield diamond where my photographer carefully placed me onto the pitcher’s rubber. I toed the slab and looked towards catcher Dottie Green for my signals. That’s right – I was standing on the pitcher’s mound once used by the Rockford Peaches, the most celebrated team from the All-American Girls Baseball League. The Peaches played their home games at Beyer Stadium from 1943 through 1954; winning the league championship in 1945, ’48, ’49, and ’50. When the AAGBL folded in 1954, the teams and players faded into obscurity with it – at least on a national level. That all changed in 1992 when the film ‘A League of Their Own’ hit the silver screen. The movie, which featured actors Geena Davis, Rosie O’Donnell, Madonna, and Tom Hanks, brought the Rockford Peaches and the AAGBL back to life.

As I was carried around Beyer Stadium, from the mound and into the third base dugout, and finally out to the original ticket booth down the left field line, the ghosts of Peaches’ past were there with me. In my mind, I saw ballplayers in peach-colored dresses, highlighted with red socks and hats, as they played baseball in front of an enthusiastic crowd. Out of nowhere, Dorothy “Dottie” Kamenshek stood in the left-handed batter’s box and swatted a double down the right field line; she slid into second base in a cloud of dust. The Peaches were alive on this Rockford ‘Field of Dreams’, and I felt a tear well-up in my painted resin eye. But I stopped and remembered – there’s no crying in baseball.

It was 10:15am when we left Beyer Stadium and returned to the Jeep, but the home of the Rockford Peaches wasn’t the last ballpark on our agenda. While my companions discussed visiting a couple of antique malls in the Rockford area, they also thought about driving straight to Lansing, Michigan where the West Michigan Whitecaps were scheduled to play the Lansing Lugnuts in a 7pm baseball game. In my mind, their scheme was doable – even though Jackson Field was 310 miles from Beyers Stadium. Tom figured it would take five hours to get to Lansing; however, the time zone change would cost us another hour. I laughed to myself when I heard my photographer say: “I think we have time to hit the two antique malls and still get to Lansing in time for the game. As long as we get out of Rockford by 12:30, we’ll make it to the stadium before the first pitch is thrown.”

The first antique mall on Tom’s list was called ‘Hidden Treasures Mall & Antiques’. The large antique store was located six miles north of Rockford in Loves Park and it took us 15 minutes to get there. Unfortunately, that place turned out to be a waste of time and effort, at least according to my photographer. With our clock ticking, Vicki drove the Jeep to ‘East State Antique Mall’, which wasn’t too far from the Courtyard hotel we had left earlier that morning. As soon as Tom carried me into that mall, I heard him say: “I think we just hit the honey hole!” My photographer was in search of an autographed Cheap Trick album, which he thought wouldn’t be too hard to find because we were in the band’s hometown; but unfortunately, he struck out. Then it happened – at the very moment Tom noticed an antique KISS lunchbox in a display case, a familiar song began to play over the store’s speaker system. A huge smile filled my photographer’s face. Right now, you’re thinking the song was ‘Detroit Rock City’, since we were close to the lunchbox. But the song was more symbolic than that – it was a 1963 tune that has filled our lives since our 2021 Texas trip. That’s right – it was the Singing Nun and her hit song ‘Dominique’. I couldn’t believe my resin ears; and I laughed to myself when I saw Vicki roll her eyes as Tom ‘belted out” some of the lyrics he knew – which was only ‘Dominique inique inique’.

We spent about 90 minutes wandering the aisles of that antique mall, but at the end of the day, my companions once again emerged empty handed. Tom was unable to find any vinyl records to add to his collection and he didn’t see any Presidential memorabilia. At one point, I thought my photographer would pull the trigger on the KISS lunchbox, but it wasn’t the original 1977 collectible he’s been searching for. That particular piece was made in 2000 and it fell short of Tom’s expectations.

The stops at the two antique malls had put us over 45 minutes behind the eight ball. Tom recalculated our arrival time, and he figured if his wife would exceed the speed limit for over half of the 300-mile journey to Lansing, there was a chance we could still make it to the ballgame on time. But that all changed when a wrench was thrown into our plans just outside of Chicago – the Saturday afternoon traffic was horrible. As a matter of fact, our route was altered due to a traffic accident near the Illinois-Indiana border, which caused another delay. I think Vicki was more disappointed than my photographer because she had hoped to see her cousin, Jared Tobey, pitch for the White Caps during the game. Tom solidified the change in plans when he said: “With all of the unexpected delays, there’s no way possible for us to get to Lansing in time for that baseball game. I’ll set our course for Grand Rapids, and we’ll spend the night there.” My photographer’s wife had no idea that Tom had an ulterior motive with his new plan – Grand Rapids was where our 38th President Gerald R. Ford was buried.

During a stop for fuel near the city of Niles, Michigan, Vicki found a good deal on a hotel located on the east side of Grand Rapids. My companions were hesitant to stay at an Econo Lodge, but everything else in that area was either already booked or very expensive. In my mind, I couldn’t stop envisioning large cockroaches. Hopefully they’ll be friendly.

Once we had made it to the outskirts of Grand Rapids, Tom and Vicki picked up a Papa Johns pizza for dinner. When I saw that, I couldn’t help but laugh to myself. We had been to that same Papa Johns in the past, but Vicki didn’t blink an eye when we returned. There’s no doubt her outlook would’ve been different had that been a Presidential site. I wondered if Tom’s wife will have the same demeanor in the morning when we visit Jerry’s gravesite.

The Econo Lodge in Grand Rapids turned out to be okay; from my spot alongside the TV set, I didn’t see any large critters running around. My companions polished off their pizza and Vicki went to sleep. Tom and I stayed up and watched a few episodes of ‘Seinfeld’ before he extinguished the lights at 9:45pm. I spent the entire night wondering if we’d experience another domestic confrontation outside of our room – thankfully, that never happened.

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Tom’s alarm went off at 7:00am on Sunday morning August 7, 2022. Well, at least that’s what time my photographer thought it was. It turned out his phone never adjusted to the Eastern Time Zone when we got back into Michigan; his phone was an hour behind. The actual time was eight o’clock when my companions rolled out of bed. Since it was the final day of the trip and my travel mate’s goal was to pick up their dog Abigail in Bay City at some point in the early afternoon, the clock snafu wasn’t a deal breaker. We had half the day to make it across the state of Michigan. But first, Tom and I had a Presidential gravesite to visit.

After breakfast at the hotel, Tom and Vic got their stuff packed and loaded into the Jeep for the last time on the trip. When the three of us boarded the vehicle, that’s when my photographer sprang the news to his wife that he wanted to take me back to Gerald Ford’s gravesite – and Vicki’s reaction didn’t surprise either of us: “Oh noooo – why? Why do we have to go back there?” Tom shot back with his mentally pre-arranged spiel: “Because we’re only ten miles away. Visiting a Presidential gravesite is the perfect way to end a great trip. Besides, the museum is closed – so you won’t have to spend any time inside there. We’ll see the grave, then hit the road to Bay City.”

My photographer’s logic worked – before anything else was said, we were headed into downtown Grand Rapids and to the Gerald R. Ford Presidential Museum. Tom knew the museum wouldn’t be open that early on Sunday morning, but he was also aware the three of us would have easy access to the gravesite. Once Vicki pulled the Jeep onto the private roadway that led to the museum’s parking lot, however, they discovered there were locked chains that prevented her from getting to the individual parking spaces. My photographer’s wife was left with no choice but to park our Jeep in a ‘No Parking’ zone that was labeled a fire lane. Tom felt it was our only option; we had to leave the Jeep somewhere. My photographer justified the decision by saying: “It’s not our fault some moron didn’t do their job this morning. The museum doesn’t open until noon, but the gravesite opened at nine o’clock and this is the only place for people to park. If we get a ticket, we’ll fight it. Besides, there’s plenty of room for other vehicles to get around ours. What’s the chance the museum will catch on fire while we’re here?”

The three of us set out on foot towards the gravesite of President and Mrs. Ford, which was located roughly 500 feet from where we had illegally parked the Jeep. Our path took us along a sidewalk directly in front of the Presidential Museum; it was the same route used by the military when they carried the President’s coffin to its final resting place on January 3, 2007. The burial place of Gerald and Betty Ford is a tapered concrete wall nestled into a shaded hillside just north of the Presidential Museum. The site has been meticulously manicured and beautifully landscaped; the peaceful serenity broken only by the rushing water of the nearby Grand River or by the voice of a homeless person asking for spare change.

Five minutes after my companions and I had arrived at the gravesite, a badged security guard silently strolled past us, which caused Vicki to panic. So much so, in fact, she made a hasty return to the Jeep and stayed with the vehicle until Tom and I were finished. It might be hard to believe, but I hadn’t visited Ford’s gravesite since September 22, 2014 – even though he’s buried in the same state we live in. It took nearly eight years to make it back; and I was happy Tom didn’t let his wife persuade him to bypass the visit.

After we visited a couple of statues dedicated to Gerald and Betty Ford, Tom and I made it back to the Jeep where Vicki patiently waited for us. While my photographer’s wife was anxious to see Abigail and her grandkids in Bay City, it was a sad moment for me because our trip was essentially over.

The 125-mile drive across the state to Bay City seemed to take forever. We arrived at my photographer’s son’s house at 1:20pm and Abigail was excited to see her parents. Vicki gave the ‘Sandlot’ tee shirts to Bo and Rory, who surprisingly didn’t seem very excited to get them. I thought to myself: “Next time, they’ll get nothing.”

With no more sites to visit, I looked forward to seeing my Presidential bobble head friends back home. I knew they missed me and were anxious to hear my stories from the trip. When Vicki pulled the Jeep into our driveway at roughly 5:30pm, our trip was officially over ten days and 2,727 miles after we left home on July 29th. While I had seen some incredible sites during the past ten days and met some interesting people, I’ll never forget the feeling I had when I stood on the three stages where Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and the Big Bopper performed during the 1959 Winter Dance Party tour. The ‘Day the Music Died’ tragedy came to life for me in a cornfield just north of Clear Lake, Iowa, however, when I stood on the hallowed ground where the performer’s 1947 Beechcraft Bonanza crashed on February 3, 1959.

I have no idea what adventures lie ahead for me. I do know I’ll face some minor surgery on my right arm before I hit the road again; there’s a small gap where my arm didn’t set properly in Minnesota. I’ll likely have another medical procedure done to both of my legs as well. Next year, on July 10, 2023, I will celebrate the ten-year anniversary of my first trip. Since that day, I’ve traveled a total of 60,243 miles and have visited 41 states. I have a lofty goal of hitting 100,000 miles of travel before I call it quits, as well as setting foot in all 50 states. What are the nine states I have yet to visit? Hawaii, Alaska, Washington, Oregon, Idaho, Montana, North Dakota, Nevada, and Arizona. I’m sure I’ll be able to find a Presidential or historical connection in each one of those states. Anyone ready for a road trip?

“Now for ten years we’ve been on our own
And moss grows fat on a rolling stone
But that’s not how it used to be.
When the jester sang for the King and Queen
In a coat he borrowed from James Dean
And a voice that came from you and me.

Oh, and while the King was looking down
The jester stole his thorny crown
The courtroom was adjourned
No verdict was returned.

And while Lenin read a book of Marx
The Quartet practiced in the park
And we sang dirges in the dark
THE DAY THE MUSIC DIED.”