I saw "The Buddy Holly Story" in a theater with my then-fiance practically the minute it was released. I love music, almost every form of it there is, and that was a movie that was particularly easy to get caught up in, one of those 'you are there' moments. The song would end and it jolted you, realizing you were
not at a concert, it just
felt that way. And a nice feeling it was, too.
Just a few years before, Holly's music had been covered by Linda Ronstadt. I can remember dancing to her version of "It's So Easy" at the prom, rollerskating to "That'll Be the Day." My parents pretty much listen to nothing but country music, now, but they used to listen to what had been 'their' music, what I knew as oldies, and what I grew to love almost immediately. I remember hearing Richie Valens' tender, wistful "Donna," and thought about that, because my mom had been meant to be 'Donna Rose.' Rose was my grandfather's aunt; but my grandmother didn't like Aunt Rose and deliberately filled out the birth certificate with 'Donna Diane.' A pretty name, but she mostly went by DeeDee when she was younger, and I could see why....
But I digress. (And now you know why my daughter's middle name--her first one--is Rose.)
So I sat there in the theater, truly loving every moment, every song, wanting to move to New York and live in just such an apartment as Buddy and his bride. (I'd still love a place like that, truth be told; during our most broke times Griz and I have enjoyed planning all the homes we'll have when my books take off and I am, to quote him, 'supporting him in the manner to which he would like to become accustomed." We'll have a Golden Pond summer place, and an English countryside cottage, and a New York loft, and...you get the idea.)
But I digress. (Oh, come on, you knew I was going to say that....)
I've written before what I've long believed, which is that a truly great film makes you forget what you already know--that the shipwreck on "Titanic" shocked me, that I was all wrapped up, praying, for the Apollo 13 crew, and so on. And I knew that Buddy Holly and Richie Valens and JP Richardson had all died much, much too young, before I was born. But as the movie progressed, I got caught up in the energy and the passion of such talent blazing forth....and so when the screen froze and the crawl told us about Buddy's death that same night--I was heartbroken. I
knew he was gone. KNEW it. And still, I was stunned, and grieving.
Then it hit me: the 'day the music died,' February 3, 1959, was my mom's 17th birthday. She got engaged that night to her first husband, my 'father.' There is a lovely black and white snapshot of her at her party, proud of her new ring, starry-eyed and hopeful. It's sweet to see her so in love, believing she could make the life she had always wanted, but never had. Just like Buddy, she was on the verge of something big. And...just like Buddy, she didn't get it. She was so close. She married later that summer, and in rapid succession had me the next year and my brother the year later, and before that year was over, the man was gone. Just gone. She was 19, about to be divorced, with two babies. Mom and I have talked about so many things through the years, and she has said that while she might wish she had never married him, if she hadn't, she would not have had my brother and me. Oh, she'd have had children, but they wouldn't have been us. I might have been someone very different! Who might I have been? I guess we'll never know.
I think Maria Elena might have felt the same way: that she would rather have had the loss than never to have had him at all. I've tried to frame my own life in such a perspective: if I had never done
this, I would not now have
that.
~~If I had married his best friend, instead of him (I should have! I would have!), how different my life would be, and where would Grizzy have come into my life, and when?
~~If I had had the babies I longed for, there would never have been my blessed Betsy Rose.
~~If I had known what I meant to others so many years ago....
~~If I had believed in myself sooner.
Well. Shoulda woulda coulda. You can make yourself crazy that way. In the end, what matters is that music is immortality with talent like Buddy had. I saw a play just a few months ago called 'Buddy!' and it was mesmerizing; his death at the end just as shocking, because surely someone so vital, so young, so talented, could
not just die so tragically. Fifty years on, we're still remembering these singers, as it should be. And in the end, the woman I have become is in some small part because of my beginnings, true, but for the most part the pain, the losses, the triumphs, the dreams delayed and the nightmares conquered have shaped me into who I am. I like who I am. There was a time I would not have been able to say that. There was a time when every time I looked at anyone I knew, all I could think was how I had disappointed them.
My mom is a survivor. I learned a lot from her, about picking up and going on when your world has crashed into a frozen field. I learned that for all the disappointment I have caused, there are also those who call me when they need to talk, those who are purely delighted when we find one another again after too many years apart. There are those who light up when I walk into a room, even if it's just a chat room...you can feel the warmth across the miles.
I have long believed that Buddy Holly's talent, and his drive and determination would have taken him anywhere he wanted to go. I also believe that his firmly grounded belief in love and family would have kept him sane and safe and stable, that he would not have fallen prey to a Colonel Parker. I think he would have become a legend for the decades and decades of music he would be, still should be, performing today. But he gave all he had to give while he was here to give it. And so, too, it is with my mom. And with me. No matter how long we live....we will, I hope, still be remembered fifty years on.
Happy Birthday, Mom. Maybe the music died today, but I am so glad
you were born. I love you.
Post a Comment