When Tom’s alarm rang at 5:45am on September 9, 2023, it was easy to tell he had a bounce in his step and a song or two in his heart. Even though there were no Presidential sites on our day’s agenda, my photographer had dedicated the entire weekend to the 1959 Winter Dance Party tour. On that Saturday, the three of us were scheduled to see the Laramar Ballroom in Fort Dodge, Iowa; then we’d pay our respects at the gravesite of pilot Roger Peterson in Storm Lake; and we’d end our day at the Iowa Rock ‘N Roll Hall of Fame in Arnolds Park where the three stars were enshrined. The next day, we’d head north into Minnesota where we’d visit the site of the Fiesta Ballroom in Montevideo, then the site of The Armory in Moorhead, where the three stars were headed when they were killed.
During the initial planning stage of our trip, Tom had reached out to Iowa Hall of Fame President Ralph Kluseman after my photographer decided to possibly loan or donate some of his Winter Dance Party collection to the museum. Tom thought if his artifacts were displayed at the museum, in the state where three of the performers had perished, others could enjoy his beloved collection as much as he does. My camera guy also attempted to arrange a meeting with Connie Valens, who lives in Arnolds Park and is Ritchie’s sister. In Tom’s mind, he hoped he could discuss the potential loan with Connie since she’s a regional consultant for the Hall of Fame. After my photographer had several telephone conversations with Kluseman, and had sent photos of his Winter Dance Party artifacts to the President, everything seemed to be on track for the get-together with Valens. But at the last minute, a week or so before we left Michigan, Ralph didn’t hold up his end of the bargain and all of the plans fell through. Sadly, Tom has never heard another word.
When Tom, Vicki, and I left the Days Inn in West Branch, Iowa at 7:30am for the 190-mile drive to the Laramar Ballroom in Fort Dodge, the early morning temperature was a brisk 53 degrees and low-hanging fog made the drive more challenging. That weather paled in comparison to January 30, 1959 when the Winter Dance Party bus was enroute from Davenport, Iowa to the Laramar. As a matter of fact, during their ’59 trip in the blowing snow and freezing cold, the bus driver stopped in Tipton, Iowa to have the vehicle’s heater repaired, which delayed their arrival in Fort Dodge. But the three of us were on schedule. At roughly 10:45am, we arrived in Fort Dodge where my photographer’s wife parked the Family Truckster down the street from the historic ballroom. Even though Tom knew the ballroom had its Grand Opening celebration on June 22, 2023 after an extensive renovation project, he didn’t know for sure if we would be able to get inside or not. I tried to cross my resin fingers, but I didn’t want them to break off.
Moments after we arrived, Tom carried me to the front of the Laramar Ballroom where I posed for several images near the building. Suddenly, a woman standing in front of the Laramar noticed my photographer’s Surf Ballroom tee-shirt he was wearing, and she made a comment. “Surf Ballroom? That’s cool – you must be a fan of the Winter Dance Party and that’s what brought you to Fort Dodge.” The woman turned out to be Sadie Andersen, the Event Manager and Wedding Coordinator for the newly renovated ballroom. “If you have time, I’d love to show you what we’ve done inside. We just had our Grand Opening this past June and we’re very proud to show it off.” While Tom smiled and said we had plenty of time, I thought to myself: “Oh baby, you know what I like!”
Sadie opened the front door of the Laramar Ballroom and the three of us followed her into the main lobby. At first, everything was quiet and only the four of us were inside the building. Then, as Tom held me in his hand, everything went dark for a minute or two. When I regained consciousness, Sadie was gone, and my photographer and his wife looked like teenagers. I was stunned – I had never seen a “skinny Tom” before. I had to admit, he looked awesome in his collared shirt, thin tie, and a full head of hair that was slicked back with Brylcreem. And my photographer’s wife had changed as well. Vicki was now somewhat flat-chested, and her tee shirt, jeans, and sneakers had been traded in for a pleated skirt. bobby socks, and saddle shoes.
I noticed a clock on the wall of the lobby read seven o’clock when I suddenly saw a man as he walked towards us just inside the entrance. The guy said to my photographer: “Hey kid, if you want to see the biggest stars in the country, you gotta buy a ticket. Admission is a buck and half each, and I’ll let the bobble head in for free.” The man turned out to be Larry Geer, the owner of the Laramar. Tom seemed very confused and asked Larry who was performing that night. Larry replied: “Have you ever heard of Buddy Holly and the Crickets, or Dion and the Belmonts? What about The Big Bopper and his song Chantilly Lace? And there’s the new kid – Ritchie Valens, he’s here tonight, too.” As soon as those names came out of Geer’s mouth, I thought for sure my teenaged photographer would fall face-first onto the lobby floor.
Tickets in hand, the three of us made our way onto the crowded wooden dance floor. I looked up towards the balcony and I saw dozens of people, likely folks who drove their kids to the ballroom, as they waited for the show to begin. It turned out balcony seats were one dollar each and were reserved for adults only as they weren’t allowed on the dance floor. When the house lights went down, and Frankie Sardo took the stage to sing his hit song ‘Fake Out’, the three of us were quite far from the stage. But during Sardo’s three songs, and while Dion played his entire set, Tom and Vic slowly made their way closer to the performers. As a matter of fact, when J.P. Richardson recited his famous words “Hello Baby, yeah this is the Big Bopper speaking” into the microphone, we were so close to the stage I thought The Bopper might sweat on us.
Our section of the dance floor, closest to the stage, became very congested by the time Ritchie Valens performed. The teenaged girls, including my photographer’s wife, screamed when Valens opened his set with his hit song ‘La Bamba’. Even though Tom held me tight in his left hand, I felt the crowd pushing to get a closer look at the seventeen-year-old performer from Pacoima, California. Ritchie strutted around the microphone in his black trousers, blue and silver sequined shirt, while he played his Stratocaster guitar. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing with my own painted eyes – Ritchie Valens was alive on the Laramar stage and we were front and center witnessing Rock and Roll history. After he played ‘Come On, Let’s Go’, Ritchie slowed the pace with his latest hit single ‘Donna’, and I watched the kids around me melt with every word. Two more songs, ‘Fast Freight’ and ‘Framed’, finished Valens’ set – then the anticipation grew feverish for the final act of the night.
There was a definite sense of excitement in the large crowd following Ritchie’s energetic performance, and there was no let down when the headliner, Buddy Holly, began playing. Surrounded by Waylon Jennings and Tommy Allsup on guitar, and Carl Bunch backing the group on drums, Holly kicked off his set with a couple of cover songs. And that was a surprise because his catalog of hits was a lot larger than the rest of the artists on the tour. It turned out the native of Lubbock, Texas was just warming up – he belted out six consecutive hits that had made him a Rock and Roll legend. I was hypnotized by Buddy’s performance, and right at the start of the song ‘Rave On’, which ended his set, I made eye contact with Holly. That’s right – my painted hazel eyes locked on Buddy’s, which I saw through his black, horn-rimmed Faosa glasses. That’s the moment when Tom set me on the Laramar stage – and I wanted to pinch myself. I was sharing the stage with the legendary Buddy Holly. But 30 seconds later, Larry Geer made his way to our position and immediately plucked me off the stage. I was nervous as Larry held me in his burly hand. As I heard Buddy’s voice fade out with the words “Tell me, not to be lonely. Tell me, you love me only; Rave on to me”, everything went dark and silent. The feeling was similar to the couple of times in the past when my head became detached from my body. When I regained a sense of consciousness, Tom and Vicki were standing in front of me – and both looked like they did when we arrived in Fort Dodge. And thankfully the person holding me was Sadie Andersen, and not Larry Geer. Our host smiled and said to my companions: “You can go anywhere you want in the ballroom, even up to the balcony area – the place is all yours. But first, I’d like to show you the motif I’ve created for the two main restrooms near the lobby.” As we headed for the pair of restrooms, I hoped Tom would check my breeches to see if I had soiled them or not. In all of the excitement during my amazing adventure, there was a good chance that happened – especially when Larry Geer snatched me off that stage during Buddy’s song.
It’s hard for me to describe in words the feeling I had during our time inside the historic Laramar Ballroom. Even though the place had been beautifully renovated to accommodate modern wedding receptions, banquets, reunions, and concerts, the ambiance of the past was thick enough to brush from our faces. Even after I came out of my trance, it was easy to feel the presence of the Winter Dance Party performers inside that ballroom. After all, when Buddy, Ritchie, and J.P. Richardson had finished singing “Brown Eyed Handsome Man’ along with Frankie and Dion to finish the show, they performed only three more times before getting onboard the airplane with pilot Roger Peterson near Clear Lake, Iowa.
When the Winter Dance Party performers walked out of the Laramar Ballroom and onto their cold bus, they headed on a 375-mile route north towards Duluth, Minnesota for a show at the Duluth Armory the following night. The three of us, on the other hand, had a 70-mile journey to the west where we had a scheduled rendezvous with pilot Roger Peterson. When Tom told his wife and me that Peterson’s grave in Storm Lake, Iowa was our next destination, the first thing that popped into my resin melon was: “Please don’t let me get caught in another time warp where I’m getting on Peterson’s ill-fated plane.”
Roughly halfway through our drive to Storm Lake, dark ominous clouds began to form on the western horizon. As a matter of fact, when we were only ten miles or so from the Buena Vista Memorial Park Cemetery, rain drops began to hit the Truckster’s windshield. As soon as my photographer said he was concerned the weather could put a damper on our gravesite visit, Vicki quickly nipped his pessimism in the bud – “It’ll stop raining before we get there. You need to relax, there’s nothing you can do about the weather anyways.” Tom shot back, “I am relaxed, but I also can complain about the weather, which is what I’ll do if we get soaked.”
For once, Vicki was right – as she drove the van through the main entrance and into Buena Vista Memorial Park Cemetery at roughly 12:40pm, the sprinkles we saw hitting the windshield had stopped, even though there was a definite threat of rain in the air. That was the good news. The bad news was – every grave marker in the cemetery was flush with the ground and each looked similar. Thankfully, Tom had done some pre-trip analysis of Peterson’s final resting place, and my two companions found the small marker about two hundred feet east of the entrance after only a few minutes of searching.
The bronze grave marker, adorned with an airplane above the pilot’s name, also featured the date of Roger Peterson’s birth and the date of his death – February 3, 1959. A small bouquet of white impatiens had been placed in the holder, which was part of the one-by-two-foot marker and was centered just above the raised image of the plane.
Twenty-one-year-old Roger Peterson had been flying since he graduated from high school in 1954 and earned his commercial pilots license in April 1958, which was about the time he started working for Jerry Dwyer, owner of Dwyer Flying Service at the Mason City Municipal Airport near Clear Lake, Iowa. While Peterson had over 50 hours of instrument training and had passed a written test, he failed an instrument flight check the previous year. He also had no instrument training whatsoever on a Beechcraft Bonanza, which was the model he was flying on that fateful night.
Even though Roger had worked all day at the airport, when he was asked by Dwyer to transport passengers to Fargo, North Dakota in the middle of the night, he couldn’t say no. After all, the person who requested the chartered flight was one of the biggest recording stars in the country.
At roughly 12:40am on February 3, 1959, Surf Ballroom manager Carroll Anderson drove the three musicians to the airport where they met their pilot, Roger Peterson. J.P. Richardson and Ritchie Valens climbed into the four-seat plane first and were positioned in the back. After the pilot took his seat behind the controls, Buddy Holly shook hands with Anderson and boarded the plane; he was seated to the right of Peterson. The Winter Dance Party stars were ready to head to Hector Airport in Fargo, North Dakota. At 12:55am, the single-engine 1947 Beechcraft Bonanza took off in light snow from runway 17 on a southbound trajectory and quickly made a 180-degree left bank to head back north past the airport. Five minutes later, something went tragically wrong. Instead of climbing to a higher altitude, the small plane had descended until it suddenly impacted the frozen terrain at 170 mph. For roughly 540 feet, the perilous plane cartwheeled nose-over-tail through the darkness, leaving a path of debris in the frozen cornfield owned by farmer Albert Juhl, whose farm was located roughly five miles northwest of the airport. The plane came to rest against a barbed wire fence with Peterson still strapped to his seat inside the ball of mangled fuselage. The bodies of Buddy Holly and Ritchie Valens were ejected from the plane and came to rest seventeen feet from the wreck site, while The Big Bopper’s body was thrown forty feet into the neighboring field. All four victims had died upon impact.
Initially, weather was believed to have played a huge role in the incident as the pilot didn’t get an accurate advanced weather advisory. But following investigations revealed pilot Roger Peterson likely became spatially disoriented when he lost sight of any lights on the ground and didn’t know which way was up or down. Unable to use the instruments on the plane properly, Peterson believed he was ascending, when in fact, he was flying the plane into the ground.
My photographer placed me on the grave of Roger Peterson where Tom and I thought about the final moments of that fateful flight in 1959. It was a very somber moment for me; after all, Peterson was only 21 years old and had just married his high school sweetheart, DeAnn Lenz, on September 14, 1958 – less than five months before he perished. As I stood on the small bronze grave marker, the most amazing and ironically unbelievable thing happened. I saw a small, black cricket hop onto the marker and it stopped about five inches to the left of my base. To me, that small insect represented Buddy Holly, whose words instantly popped into my head: “Crying, waiting, hoping, that you’ll come back, I just can’t seem to get you off my mind.”
For a few years, Tom blamed pilot Roger Peterson for killing Buddy, Ritchie, and The Big Bopper. And I think the families of the musicians blamed Peterson for the deaths as well. But after my photographer was trained in the science of how and why errors happen, he changed his tune – and at the gravesite of Roger Peterson, he made peace with the pilot. “Roger, while no one should’ve taken a small plane off the ground in those conditions that night, you had little choice to alter history. No one would’ve turned down an opportunity to transport three of the biggest stars in the music business. It didn’t matter how tired you were, or how much snow was falling, or whether or not you were comfortable flying at night, you had a chance to sit next to music royalty and you weren’t about to turn that once-in-a-lifetime chance down. No one would. You did your best and ultimately it wasn’t good enough. I don’t blame you for the crash – and no one else should either. If there is blame to be placed, or fingers to be pointed, they should be pointed directly at Buddy Holly for insisting on flying that night. He could have stayed overnight in a hotel in Clear Lake with the other two guys, then have you fly them to Fargo the following morning during the light of day. But instead, Buddy wouldn’t wait – and that impatience cost the lives of four young men. I call it ‘star-power pressure’, and combined with time pressure, led directly to your decision not to let down the biggest music stars in the country. While it’s true the pilot of an aircraft is ultimately responsible for the final ‘go’ or ‘no go’ decision, Buddy could’ve easily helped make that decision a lot easier for you. Roger Peterson, you are forgiven.”
I was stunned – Buddy Holly is one of Tom’s favorite all-time singers and he’s blaming Holly for the plane crash. But the more I listened to my photographer’s spiel, the more I agreed with his assessment. Most incidents are preventable, and the one that killed Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, J.P. Richardson, and Roger Peterson was definitely preventable. That’s one moment in history where I wish Tom and I could hop into a Delorean time machine. We’d go to the Surf Ballroom and try to convince Holly to spend the night in Clear Lake and fly to Fargo in the morning instead of trying to make the 311-mile flight in the snow and darkness. Can you imagine all of the music and innovative ideas that went down in that frozen cornfield?
Whenever someone talks about “The Day the Music Died”, they mention Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and Jiles Perry Richardson – The Big Bopper. But there were four victims on that tragic day, and we mustn’t forget the young pilot Roger Peterson, who gave his life trying to make the lives of his three famous passengers a bit easier. In his tradition to honor the Winter Dance Party tour and the members who perished in the plane crash, Tom carefully scooped up a small shovelful of dirt from Roger’s grave and placed the sample in a bottle for the trip home. Once we get back, my photographer will place that bottle alongside those representing Buddy, Ritchie, and The Bopper – as well as dirt collected from the crash site.
As soon as we departed Buena Vista Memorial Park Cemetery, it began to rain; and at times, it rained hard throughout our 54-mile drive to Arnolds Park, Iowa. But once we got to the vicinity of the Iowa Rock ‘N Roll Hall of Fame, however, the rain suddenly stopped.
Minutes after we arrived at the Hall of Fame, my photographer had me pose for a photo near the entrance of the museum before he carried me inside. Even though I was excited to see what the museum had to offer, I could tell my photographer went through the doors with a chip on his shoulder – and quite frankly, for good reason. He had been let down and deceived by Hall President Ralph Kluseman, who originally claimed to be interested in my camera man’s collection. And to some extent, Tom was disappointed in Connie Valens as well. Ritchie’s sister likely knew of my photographer’s request to meet her, and yet she chose to completely blow him off without any verbal or written explanation. Despite the disappointment, we still made the pilgrimage to the Hall of Fame anyway, mostly because Tom is a fan of Rock and Roll music. But I truly believe my photographer’s main purpose for the visit was to see for himself if the museum’s displays were far better than his own collection that he had offered as a loan or possible future donation.
Originally conceived in 1997, the Iowa Rock ‘N Roll Hall of Fame is located next to the popular Arnolds Park Amusement Park along the Eastern shore of West Okoboji Lake. Since everything in the area seemed freshly renovated and beautifully designed, I expected the Hall of Fame to be top-notch as well. But once we passed through the gift shop and entered the actual museum, I heard the sound of a muffled trumpet go off in my resin head “Wah, Wah, Wah, Wahhhhh!”
I was stunned by what I saw. There were a handful of large display cases that featured a few artifacts from singers and bands, but most of the artists were ones my photographer and I had never heard of. Perhaps the highlight of our visit, if there was one, was when Tom carried me close to a display that featured a few items once used by the 1960s band Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs. The Winter Dance Party was well-represented in the Hall, as Buddy (2000), Ritchie (2007), Bopper (2010), Surf emcee Bob Hale (2010), and Tommy Allsup (2017) were all inductees. Even the Surf Ballroom itself had been inducted in 1998.
The 1959 Winter Dance Party tour was historically famous in Iowa, yet there were zero artifacts from any of the artists on display – and the sister of one of the performers was a regional consultant to the Hall of Fame. I was stunned to discover there wasn’t anything used or worn by Ritchie Valens anywhere in that small museum. Even though there wasn’t an entry fee for people to visit the museum, one would think Ralph Kluseman would’ve made sure the Winter Dance Party had been represented in that museum with something other than a replica poster. He had that chance, and he blew it. After our fifteen minutes of disappointment had ended, Tom carried me out of the museum as he sung his revamped lyrics to a Buddy Holly song: “There’s no use in me a-crying, I’ve done everything now I’m sick of trying. I’ve thrown away my nights, wasted all my days over you. Now you go your way Ralph, and I’ll go mine. Now and forever, Connie, till the end of time. I’ll find a new place, that wants my stuff. And you won’t matter anymore. No, you won’t matter anymore.”
As soon as we returned to our van, Vicki made a startling and unsolicited statement to my photographer: “Your collection is a lot better than theirs. Everything they had were from people I’ve never heard of. Thank goodness it was free – please don’t ever bring me back.” Tom was instantly stunned because he thought his wife never paid any attention to the artifacts he has on display in his showcase. Turns out my photographer was wrong; Vicki does think his stuff is good. And now, at least when it comes to the Iowa Rock ‘N Roll Museum, it doesn’t matter anymore because they’ll never get their hands on any of it.
Thanks to Ralph and Connie, our time inside the museum was a lot shorter than my photographer had planned, which gave Tom and Vic plenty of time to do some “freestyling” at some local antique shops. The first place we traveled to, called the Okoboji Antique Mall, was just down the street from the Hall of Fame. My photographer carried me into the large building where we browsed each aisle like kids in a candy store. While the two of us saw several Presidential figurines, my photographer left emptyhanded. But not Vicki – she found an old Hallmark Christmas ornament that met her fancy. When I saw that ornament in her hand, I thought to myself: “And she has the nerve to say Tom collects junk.”
Since it was only three-thirty, Tom and Vic wanted to continue their scavenger hunt, which took us north to the Spirit Lake Antique Shop. While I was taken inside the first antique mall we visited, my photographer left me alone in the van at this one. That was okay, because I was still peeved at him for not buying me the neck and shoulder relaxer at the last place. When my two companions returned to the Truckster after their hour-long shopping spree, Tom had purchased more “junk” for himself – and no, it wasn’t a neck and shoulder relaxer. Instead, he left the store with a 1958 Sun Records Johnny Cash 45-rpm record in pristine condition. I about dropped a nugget in my breeches – he hates country music and paid good money for that record. That’s when I heard him tell Vicki the story about his parents taking Tom and his brother Bob to see Johnny Cash perform in Port Huron, Michigan on October 27, 1967. My nostalgic camera guy continued by saying Cash was his dad’s favorite singer and that’s why my photographer makes an exception for his music. But there’s another reason for Tom’s acceptance of the Man in Black’s music – Johnny is considered one of the founding fathers of Rock and Roll. As a matter of fact, Cash took the stage at a Lubbock, Texas show on April 29, 1955 with Elvis Presley, Carl Perkins, and a young Buddy Holly, before Buddy formed the Crickets. Keep in mind, Holly had just graduated high school the previous year. I’m glad Tom explained his reasoning for the purchase because I thought for a moment he was a closet country fan – and that would be horrible for a man with a KISS tattoo on his right arm. That would be called Rock and Roll blasphemy!
After a short three-mile drive back south, Vicki pulled the van into the parking lot of our hotel at precisely five o’clock. While my photographer’s wife registered at the Arrowwood Resort & Conference Center, Tom once again unpacked the Truckster and transported their belongings, including me, to the room. A few minutes later, he placed me alongside the television set.
My two companions had dinner at Minerva’s, a nice restaurant located inside the hotel, then they returned to the room where I was still standing by myself. For the next couple of hours, the three of us watched the movie ‘Back to the Future’ on TV. I thought it was very ironic we were watching that movie. Earlier in the day, at Roger Peterson’s gravesite, I wished we had Doc Brown’s Delorean to keep Buddy Holly and his friends from getting on that airplane after the Surf show.
At ten o’clock, Tom turned out the lights in the room and was fast asleep within minutes. I, on the other hand, stood sentinel in the darkness with a flood of thoughts running through my resin mind. At one point, I had a haunting vision – Tom and I went back to 1959 in the Delorean and were able to convince Holly to get a hotel room and fly the next morning, which he did. The airplane crash in the Iowa cornfield never happened and the guys continued to perform on the Winter Dance Party tour and beyond. Roger Peterson continued his career as a pilot and was hired by American Airlines in 1970 as a commercial pilot.
Flashforward to September 1978 when my photographer and a friend of his flew to New York City to watch the Detroit Tigers play the New York Yankees at historic Yankee Stadium. During that game on September 6th, Tom saw Detroit outfielder Ron LeFlore’s 27-game hit streak come to an end. Then, after the pair had driven their rental car to Boston where their short trip ended, I watched as my photographer and his buddy boarded an American Airlines plane at Logan International Airport on Sunday September 10th for the trip home. Five minutes after take-off, which took the plane briefly out over the Atlantic Ocean, something mysterious happened to the aircraft and it crashed into the water. There were no survivors, including 41-year-old pilot Roger A. Peterson and 22-year-old Tom Watson.
I nearly yell out “Nooooooo!”, but then I realized it was a dream. Even though my head was still shaking from the traumatic experience, I was able to calm down when I heard my photographer snoring in the darkness. I’ll never try to go back to the future and alter history again.
** THIS POST IS DEDICATED TO SADIE ANDERSEN FOR HER TIME AND KINDNESS DURING OUR VISIT TO THE LARAMAR BALLROOM **
