Life In the Slow Lane

Lessons learned from an early morning train station conversation with a transient

In an earlier post, I wrote how I spent many early morning hours of my college years in Omaha's Burlington Station, usually writing bad poetry or short stories in a succession of stenographer's notebooks. I also had many interesting conversations with the kind of colorful characters you'd expect to meet in a train station at 3 a.m. To the best of my knowledge, I only kept a record of one of those exchanges. Here it is, my notes about a conversation I had with a fellow Earth traveler in the wee hours of June 12, 1967, in Omaha's Burlington train station:

"Transient approached me and sat beside me. Mooched a cigarette then told me that watching T.V. dements minds. I told him it depended on what the person watched. He agreed to a point but said that black and purple lights radiate from the screen and cause ulra-violet rays to damage the brain. He said that few people realized this supernatural phenomena. I asked him if that was why he wore shades and he replied yes. He was at the Y.M. the other night and couldn't take the black and purple rays from the T.V.

"He then told me about the many bruises incurred at the Douglas County jail. He said the wounds were inflicted by fellow inmates. He said that since he got out of jail at 8:18 AM yesterday, he's walked 17 miles. He also said he walked by O.U. [Omaha University, my school],

"He then went into a discussion of metaphysics and told me he was a reincarnated Christ. Said he has been reincarnated several times and said that this depot is 4,800 years old. Of course, I was skeptical.

"He then told me he used to work for a guy in Des Moines who had some weird ideas and was cremated after he died. He pointed out that guys like him were prejudiced against because of their beliefs. This guy (he said) died of lateral sclerosis but he (the bum) was saved by some secret mints which kept him from the disease. He also said that 71 percent of all 27-year-olds in Korea during the war died of sclerosis. Therefore, he said, we lost the war.

More and more ,,,"

As I typed this in from my notes, I realized how many of these type of conversations I've had in my lifetime. Not just from transients in rail stations, either. Many of my co-workers in my railroad jobs in the 1960s, for instance, spent their formative years coping with the Great Depression, World War II or Korea. Many of them didn't make it through high school. Indeed, many of them didn't make it into high school. But, man, did they have stories to share. Some may have even been true.

I think learning from these great storytellers helped transform me from a geeky math major in college into journalism, the absolute best profession for anyone who enjoys sharing meaningful stories with others. So, a tip of the fedora to all those black-and-purple-ray dodgers who took the time to talk to me. Thank you.

Author Larry Lehmer's book about Dick Clark and American Bandstand --  Bandstandland: How Dancing Teenagers Took Over America and Dick Clark Took Over Rock & Roll --is available from Sunbury Press. His book about the last tour of Buddy Holly, the Big Bopper and Ritchie Valens -- The Day the Music Died: The Last Tour of Buddy Holly, the Big Bopper and Ritchie Valens -- is available at Amazon.

Surf monument dedication is historic meeting of relatives of 'The Day the Music Died' victims

10:30 a.m., Saturday, June 18, 1988

It looks like it's going to be a scorcher. Although summer doesn't arrive for a few days yet, it's already 80 degrees on the shores of Clear Lake, Iowa, as a curious assortment of floats, marching bands and classic cars tumbles into single file before beginning its formal procession through this North Iowa town of 8,000. It's a bitter irony that townspeople and visitors have largely opted to wear t-shirts and shorts to an event to memorialize four people who were killed in a plane crash north of town in weather better suited to snow boots, parkas and heavy mittens.

Today marks the first time that relatives of the four people -- Buddy Holly, the Big Bopper, Ritchie Valens and Roger Peterson -- are in the same place at the same time. The occasion is a monument dedication outside the Surf Ballroom, where Holly, the Big Bopper and Valens made their final appearance on Feb. 2, 1959, before boarding a small plane piloted by Peterson.

Parade organizers managed to find a small fleet of classic convertibles to carry the relatives. Red seems to be the color of the day. For Maria Elena Holly, it's a red-and-white Ford Fairlane. Ritchie Valens' sisters -- Connie Alvarez and Irma Padilla -- get a red Mustang. Jay Perry Richardson, the Big Bopper's son, gets the most vintage of them all, a 1954 Chevrolet Bel Air. Roger Peterson's widow, DeAnn Johnson, takes her seat in a red corvette. Peterson's parents, Art and Pearl Peterson, buck the crimson trend, with a powder blue Ford LTD.

The Valens siblings hold up the start of the parade, first talking with Peterson's widow and sister, then with Art and Pearl Peterson. Pearl Peterson, looking splendid in her clasp pearl earrings, dabbs at her eyes as she weight of the moment appears to take hold.

The monument to be dedicated was not without controversy. First proposed for the three singers, Surf manager Darrell Hein suggested the pilot's name be included. Facing some opposition, Hein decided to fund the entire project himself, ensuring the monument would be honoring all four victims of the crash. Hein and Bob Hale, who emceed the Feb. 2, 1959, dance were emcees for the monument ceremony outside the ballroom.

Following an invocation, Hein introduced the special guests and read a letter from Bill Griggs, founder of the Buddy Holly Memorial Society, who reiterated his support of the decision to include Roger Peterson in the monument's design. Clear Lake Mayor Pro-Tem Dick Hughes then read a proclamation naming the street next to the Surf "Buddy Holly Place." Hale then presented a watch worn by the Big Bopper at his last show and later found at the crash site to the Bopper's son.

Hein then called the families around the shrouded monument before making the dedication and removing the shroud. Maria Holly embraced Pearl Peterson and Irma Padilla collapsed on the back of the monument, sobbing. The crowd pressed for photos as a band brought the occasion to a close by playing "God Bless America."

The families then gathered on the ballroom floor for a closed luncheon with local dignitaries and the media. Pearl Peterson told me she thought the day was going well. She said that she had dinner Friday night with Jan Fredrickson, Roger's high school coach, and was leaving after lunch to spend a week at Leech Lake, Minn. Emmett Johnson, DeAnn's husband, made the trip with Art and Pearl from their home in Alta. "All the way down here she was asking: 'Am I doing the right thing?'," Emmett said.

Pearl said she really warmed up to the Valens sisters, posing for dozens of photos with them. As we talked, Connie Alvarez came up and put her arms around Art and Pearl. "I love everybody here," she said, "but I love these people the best."

TV camera crews, including one from Entertainment Tonight, were scurrying among the tables, pulling family members aside for brief interviews while the cameras rolled. One was getting close to the Peterson's table. "I hope they don't stop here," Pearl said. They didn't.

The Surf opened to the public that afternoon as Don Larson set up his slide show about the tour that deposited Holly and the others in North Iowa in the dead of winter. There was another dance Saturday night, but it wasn't nearly as interesting as Friday's. Michael Montgomery was still working on his movie script, telling people that his Big Bopper movie will be a real love story.

I took just one note on Saturday night: "It was nice to see the band play 'Tequila"'and not see everybody doing 'the Pee Wee.'"

Note: Click here to go to the first post about the monument dedication weekend, my report on Friday night's dance.

Author Larry Lehmer's book about Dick Clark and American Bandstand --  Bandstandland: How Dancing Teenagers Took Over America and Dick Clark Took Over Rock & Roll --is available from Sunbury Press. His book about the last tour of Buddy Holly, the Big Bopper and Ritchie Valens -- The Day the Music Died: The Last Tour of Buddy Holly, the Big Bopper and Ritchie Valens -- is available at Amazon.

 

For better or worse, influenced by a Beatle

As a college student, I was intrigued by John Lennon's writing style in his books "In His Own Write" and "A Spaniard In the Works." I found his work to be satirical and whimsical, doubtless due to his proclaimed influence from Lewis Carroll. Here is a short piece I wrote at the time, obviously trying to emulate Lennon's style while riffing off Peter, Paul & Mary:

FARMER MacDONALD'S DOTTER

Long, long, not so long ago, America was knowne as Honnah Lee. There by the sea, in Honnah Lee, lived Pubb, a mystic dragon, whut breeved fir and turpentime. A dandruff named MacDonald lived by the sea, too, but was not dispatched much to turpentime, so left for greenly pasteurs.

In his trukk he plied his not-too-hansum wife and innocensed dotter and drived to the middle-west to seep his forshun on a nubbleberry farm.

Unfortified, nubbleberries begat worm-sills, and, as ever buddy nose, worm-sills begat more nubbleberries, knowne variously as haspid and loko weede. Pubb, the mystic dragon, itt so habbens, exited on nubbleberries, and mingled, too, to the middle-vest so he could engage hisself with nubbleberries.

Farmer MacDonald. being a former dandruff, grabbled his popp-gun to chase the mitee dragon from the nubbleberry fields. He ran into the fields waggling his gunn at the mystical being, known to we as Pubb.

Pubb was a smard dragon, oh yes and verily, he nebber trabled mit out his friends, a bastardly grupe of flour lubbers. Farmer MacDonald saw the cowardly lot and sayed, "Why, it's a bunch of umble-braned hibbies on my nubbleberry farm,  eating and danding and singeing all over the plays. Get offa my farm, you weerd-oh, flour-lubbing, nubbleberry theeves, or the Mann will brane you,"

Rustling in the leeves turned the farmer aroun from his spob. His nudely innocensed dotter got up -- nary a stitch from waste to naval -- wif her hibbie lubber, whut smiled a toobless grib to his fracture.

"Hab a nubbleberry, dabble."

The farmer robbed away from the hibbies high camp on the hill and shobbled hisself, using his poppie-gun while the hibbies ate, danded, and sangered all over his crumbly bod.

And Pubb, the mystic (tho obvertly rejectered) dragon, sabbly slid intoo his crevasse.

(I never said it was good)

Author Larry Lehmer's book about Dick Clark and American Bandstand --  Bandstandland: How Dancing Teenagers Took Over America and Dick Clark Took Over Rock & Roll --is available from Sunbury Press. His book about the last tour of Buddy Holly, the Big Bopper and Ritchie Valens -- The Day the Music Died: The Last Tour of Buddy Holly, the Big Bopper and Ritchie Valens -- is available at Amazon.

 

Summer Dance Party celebrates those who did not see the finish of the Winter Dance Party

Friday night, June 17, 1988

It's a warm Iowa night, the sun dropping towards the horizon as guests start arriving at the Surf Ballroom in Clear Lake, Iowa. It's a special occasion. Tomorrow they'll be dedicating a monument to the three singers who performed their last concert here before perishing in a plane crash north of town nearly 30 years earlier. But tonight they'll be celebrating the music that brought the musicians together on a Winter Dance Party tour of the upper Midwest in the dead of winter. Relatives of each of the dead singers are expected at the Surf tonight for the first time. The dance is advertised as a Tribute to '50s and '60s Rock 'n' Roll, but is informally known as the Summer Dance Party.

8:00 p.m.

Bruce Christensen, a banker from Atlanta, Ga., is keeping busy. A longtime member of the Buddy Holly Memorial Society, Christensen has been tasked with serving as a liaison between the press and Surf management, which is busy enough just putting on a sold-out dance in a legendary (and cavernous) ballroom. Sporting a "Surf Staff" button, Christensen is a gracious ambassador as he ushers me around the ballroom. He knows that I'm representing Iowa's largest newspaper, The Des Moines Register, a paper that has extensively covered Clear Lake's annual tribute dances since they started a decade earlier and am looking for fresh stories to tell.

The first person he introduces me to is Bob Hale who, as a young announcer at local radio station KRIB, had emceed that Winter Dance Party show on Feb. 2, 1959. He's emceeing tonight's show, too, and is working on an article that he thinks will be the lead story marking the 30th anniversary of the crash in the February 1989 issue of Memories magazine. Next I meet Don Larson of Evergreen, Colo., who's doing a brisk business selling "I Was There" t-shirts, posters of the Everly Brothers and The Buddy Holly Story as well as collectible record albums. Then I'm introduced to a contingent of aspiring movie folks. Gene Ruggiero, a man who owns an Oscar for film editing (Around the World in 80 Days) among his lengthy screen credits, is trying to put together a full-length motion picture about the Big Bopper. With movies already in the books on Holly and Valens, Ruggiero thinks it's time to complete the trilogy. His son, Rafael, persuaded him to track down the Bopper's son and Des Moines Roosevelt graduate Michael Montgomery was well on his way to completing the screenplay, Ruggiero said.

Celebrities start arriving as the Paul New Band struggles through sound issues in its oldies set. Bruce Christensen's wife, Sue, brings a sizeable Valens entourage, which includes Ritchie's siblings -- Connie Alvarez, Irma Padilla and Bob Morales -- to a table next to one occupied by Maria Elena Holly, Buddy's widow. Maria suggests they pull the tables together and as they're settling in, Jay Perry Richardson, enters the ballroom.

Though the Surf is only half full, there is an audible gasp as Richardson enters. He's the spitting image of his dad, the Big Bopper, with his flat-top crewcut, knee-length dark jacket over light blue jeans, white shirt and sneakers. With a hearty laugh, he pulls up a chair and joins the Holly-Valens group. Around 8:30 the persistent sound problems force the New band to stop, but few in the crowd seem to notice. When they finally resume, emcee Hale quips to the audience: "It's taken so long, Paul New is now Paul Old." The Surf's fabled cloud machine swings into action, projecting puffs of billowy clouds gently across the building's curved ceiling.

Peggy Sue

The opening chords of the Holly classic catch Maria's ears. She stops chewing gum for a minute as she refocuses her attention toward the stage. Bob Morales soon has her on the dance floor as a young woman circles them, snapping photos. Maria's fashionable star-shaped earrings glitter despite the dimly-lit ballroom. I wonder to myself where she would be tonight had Holly lived.

Some people remove a "Press Only" sign from a table and sit down as a new band prepares to take the stage. The sound problems continue with Elvis' "Trying to Get to You" struggling to get through the buzz of untuned instruments, patch cords not yet patched and cries of "Test. Test." Bob Hale is signing autographs in front of the stage; Michael Montgomery is taking notes as he talks to someone in front of the stand where beer tickets may be purchased. As somebody mentions Buddy Holly, Maria looks up from a tub of popcorn.

Rockin' Robin

As the new band, Rockin' Robin, opens with its namesake tune, the lead singer is obviously irked by the few people on the dance floor. He chides the crowd for sitting. "I guarantee we're not going to do any Michael Jackson," he promises.

Lonely Teardrops

It's a credible version of the Jackie Wilson tune, generating a trickle of new dancers. Another chiding.

Keep A Knockin'
Don't You Just Know It

9:06 p.m.

There's still a bit of light outside the ballroom. The lobby is empty except for a reporter and a couple of people talking with the ticket seller.

Duke of Earl

Bob Morales is one of few people on the dance floor and those brave souls hesitate, not quite sure how to dance to this song. Watching them dance proves there's no consensus. The singer prefaces the next song by proclaiming it "the saddest song in rock & roll."

Runaround Sue

A solo dancer takes over the area in front of the stage, not quite pulling off a split. He survives and appears to go into spasms, but at least he's on his feet. After another failed split attempt, he works his way into the spotlight, his sweaty face stealing it from the band as clouds swirl above. Maria Holly pulls the Valens sisters aside for a chat. They look very much like a group of best high school friends. They embrace.

Shout

This really revs the crowd up, at least as much as you can with this oldies crowd. Bob Morales cuts a mean path on the floor as his partner struggles to keep up.The solo dancer stands in one spot, his right leg in a spastic twitch, alternating with a pelvic gyration that was either obscene or comical. Sue Christensen and Michael Montgomery are shaking with the best of them while standing behind tables off the dance floor. The lead singer seizes the moment, wading into the crowd. "If you don't stand up and shout, you're not only not an American, you're not a rock & roller and you're a wienie." The solo dancer is running out of steam and falls out of sync with the rest of the crowd as the song winds down. Maria is looking at a fan's Buddy Holly scrapbook as another fan nearby is wearing a button: "Every Day Is a Holly Day."

9:34 p.m.

A recording of Buddy Holly music plays between sets. Jay Richardson is busy signing autographs when a fan suggests a group photo of him with Maria and the Valens family. It seems odd to have these people -- relatives of famous people but not celebrities themselves -- signing programs, record albums and guitars for an adoring crowd. Six months ago Richardson was quietly installing floor tiles in Houston, Texas. Hale and Surf manager Darrell Hein introduce the special guests from the stage and tell the story about how Valens, Holly and Richardson "had bratwurst in Green Bay and wanted to arrange a cookout when they came back."

9:59 p.m.

Great Balls of Fire

The Rockin' Robins resume playing but now that the crowd knows who they are, Jay Richardson and Maria Holly can't get away from the autograph seekers crowding the stage. One fan kisses Maria on the cheek; another has her sign a Ritchie Valens album while Bob Morales, looking dapper in his black pants, white shirt, black suspenders, black tie and black & white saddle shoes, looks on.

A few minutes later, the band pauses to introduce Wayne Jones of the Buddy Holly Memorial Society, who had flown in from his home in Connecticut. "It's great to hear some of that music that's gone from the charts, but not from our hearts," Jones told the crowd before introducing fellow BHMS members Bruce & Sue Christensen and Don Larson.

Tommy Sands, a 1950s heartthrob, takes the stage with the Rockin' Robins backing him up. After passable versions of "Roll Over Beethoven" and "Shake Rattle & Roll" (the original Joe Turner version, thank goodness), Sands proceeded to croon a string of his own slow-dancing tunes as the spotlight reflects flecks of gray in his dark hair, not surprising for an artist whose heyday was three decades earlier.

Goin' Steady
Graduation Day

Sands pauses to allude to to his five-year marriage to Nancy Sinatra, whose No. 1 hit "These Boots Are Made For Walkin'" came shortly after their marriage ended. "I'm the reason those boots were made for walkin'," he quips.

Teenage Crush

By the time the band got to "Blue Suede Shoes," Ruggiero and Montgomery had retreated to the ballroom's restaurant area, perhaps to discuss their movie. The band closed the set with "Johnny B. Goode."

10:37 p.m.

Walking Along

The night's headliners, the Diamonds, have taken over the stage. The crowd presses toward the stage as the autograph seekers thin out, though Maria is still busy.

Sh-Boom

Bob Morales moves to the center of the dance floor, looking like he wants to dance. He starts to dance by himself, shuffling closer to the stage as a couple of women back out of his way. He quietly moves back to his table, nursing what looks to be an almost empty screwdriver.

Love, Love, Love

Sue Christensen takes one of the young girls in the Valens contingent to the dance floor and gives her an impromptu dance lesson.

Unchained Melody

There's some serious slow dancing going on as Jay Richardson replaces Maria Holly at the autograph table. Bruce Christensen finally gets a chance to dance with his wife. Tommy Sands has gathered quite a crowd (mostly women) as he signs autographs to the side of the stage.

Why Do Fools Fall In Love

Maria stands transfixed, her head bobbing in time to the music, as the sax player unleashes a particularly energetic break in this Frankie Lymon classic.

16 Candles

Irma Padilla persuades Jay Richardson to join her on the dance floor, yanking on the long tails of his coat to get his attention. Bruce Christensen dances with Maria Holly, her arms straining to reach his shoulder. The booths ringing the dance floor empty as patrons take to the dance floor. Sue Christensen does an impromptu solo stroll before Bob Hale steps in to rescue her. Bob Morales, of course, is dancing, too.

High Sign

Bob Morales is dancing with two of the young Valens family girls. A woman starts to snap a photo of a friend sitting on Sands' lap when Hale steps in to take a photo with both women on Sands' lap. After the photo, the women won't leave.

Ka-Ding-Dong

The two women reluctantly leave Sands' lap.

Crying

Sue Christensen dances with Tommy Sands (Bruce Christensen is the better dancer).

The Stroll

Christensen and Sands start a stroll line, but Christensen soon leaves, leaving Sands confused. As Sands bungles his steps with his replacement strolling partner, Bob Morales sits this one out, enjoying a cigarette.

Silhouettes

A cluster of women from the Valens party dance together as Bob Morales snaps photos. The sweaty solo dancer from earlier in the evening has rested enough to make a weak encore.

One Summer Night
Little Darlin'
My Prayer

11:27 p.m.

The crowd is clearly thinning as Paul New sets up for a closing set. Irma is looking for Connie as the Valens party prepares to leave. Jay Richardson signs one last autograph in the lobby before exiting as a tape of Holly's "Well, All Right" is playing. It's been quite a night.

Author Larry Lehmer's book about Dick Clark and American Bandstand --  Bandstandland: How Dancing Teenagers Took Over America and Dick Clark Took Over Rock & Roll --is now available from Sunbury Press. His book about the last tour of Buddy Holly, the Big Bopper and Ritchie Valens -- The Day the Music Died: The Last Tour of Buddy Holly, the Big Bopper and Ritchie Valens -- is available at Amazon.

Remembering the monument dedication for Buddy Holly, the Big Bopper, Ritchie Valens and Roger Peterson

I found it!

For years I've been looking for the notebook containing the notes I took during the monument dedication ceremonies at the Surf Ballroom in Clear Lake, Iowa, in 1988. I covered the event for The Des Moines Register as part of a deal I made with Register features editor Pat Denato in which I covered Buddy Holly/Big Bopper/Ritchie Valens stories for a year while I restarted a project that ultimately resulted in my book, The Day the Music Died: The Last Tour of Buddy Holly, the Big Bopper and Ritchie Valens.

Over the years since the book's publication, I've periodically considered writing about that monument dedication weekend since it played such an important role in my completing the book. Up until a week or so ago I was periodically frustrated when I couldn't find my notes in all the obvious places. You can imagine how surprised I was to discover that it had been sitting in my bedroom all along, repurposed for something else.

A lot of people I met that weekend shared their memories of the Surf and the singers and pilot who died in the early morning hours of Feb. 3, 1959, following a teen dance at the Surf. Several of them were key sources as I researched the events leading up to (and following) that fateful night. Here are some of them:

Bruce Christensen. Bruce, a banker from Atlanta, Ga., was representing the Buddy Holly Memorial Society at the monument dedication. Wearing buttons that read "Surf Staff," Bruce and his wife, Sue, were escorting Ritchie Valens' family and dealing with several members of the media who were at the events that weekend, including Paul Galloway, who provided extensive coverage for the Chicago Tribune. Three years later, Bruce and Sue moved to Clear Lake to take over management of the Surf.

Bob Hale. Hale was the emcee at the last show performed by Buddy Holly, the Big Bopper and Ritchie Valens. Hale, who left his deejay post at KRIB a few months after the accident, was later a popular disc jockey at Chicago clear channel powerhouse WLS. Hale was making his first trip back to the Surf that weekend and he told me he had picked up a speeding ticket on U.S. Highway 20 while en route. "It's the first speeding ticket I've gotten in 20 years," he said.

Don Larson. Larson, a lifelong Holly fan after seeing him perform in his hometown of Eau Claire, Wis., on that ill-fated Winter Dance Party tour, made the trip from Evergeen, Colo., and set up shop inside the Surf selling all sorts of Holly and Winter Dance Party memorabilia. Larson told me he's listened to a Buddy Holly song every day since 1959.

Gene Ruggiero. Ruggiero, who won an Academy Award in 1956 for film editing on Around the World in 80 Days, was doing background research for a film he was planning to produce about the Big Bopper. He already had a script, written by Iowa native Michael Montgomery, and confided to me that he favored Robin Williams for the lead, although he'd settle for John Candy or Dan Akroyd. Vanna White was the top contender to play the Bopper's wife, according to Ruggiero.

I also met several family members of the singers -- Maria Elena Holly (Buddy's widow), Jay Perry Richardson (the Big Bopper's son) and Ritchie Valens' siblings (Connie, Irma and Bob).

Now that I've found my notes, I'll share my observations from the Friday night dance and Saturday dedication ceremony from that weekend in future posts. Please come back.

Author Larry Lehmer's book about Dick Clark and American Bandstand --  Bandstandland: How Dancing Teenagers Took Over America and Dick Clark Took Over Rock & Roll --is now available from Sunbury Press. His book about the last tour of Buddy Holly, the Big Bopper and Ritchie Valens -- The Day the Music Died: The Last Tour of Buddy Holly, the Big Bopper and Ritchie Valens -- is available at Amazon.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rewarding customers by picking their pockets

I love lagniappes, those unexpected little extras that sometimes tumble your way, like, for example, the complimentary sliver of cake you get at the end of a meal at the locally popular restaurant, Simon's.

Then there's the opposite of lagniappes, those unexpected little extras that sometimes tumble your way and are followed by a bill for them. That's the path taken by Gannett, the corporate media raider that's joining forces with GateHouse Media to continue picking at the carcass of what was once a thriving local newspaper industry. Newspapers, while not totally blameless for their decline in recent decades, have been beset by advertising losses to competing media and circulation numbers in free fall thanks to the accelerated evolution in information consumption by potential readers. Gannett, apparently, hopes to stem the tide by gouging the few remaining paying suckers, er, customers, it has.

For about a year now, Gannett has been slipping "Premium Editions" into its Sunday paper. These have included sections commemorating the centennial of U.SA. National Parks, the 75th anniversary of D-Day and the 50th anniversary of Woodstock. For each Premium Edition delivered in Central Iowa, $3 is tacked on to the subscription price. There is no opt-in or opt-out. If you're a subscriber, you get it. And you pay.

It's not unlike a vegetarian going through the grocery checkout line and having a clerk toss a pack of hot dogs in their bag while adding $3 to the bill.

Seems like an odd way to entice customers.

On the other hand, I really enjoy getting national and international news from our local NPR and PBS outlets, which we willingly support financially. Besides getting in-depth reporting on important issues, the diversity of their on-air reporters is obvious. Just hearing their names is a treat. Here are some examples:

NPR: Meghna Chakrabarti. Rhitu Chatterjee. Kat Chow. Mandalit del Barco. Lulu Garcia-Navarro. Domenico Montanaro. Doraya Sarhaddi Nelson. Sylvia Poggioli, Ofeiba Quist-Arcton. Ayesha Rascoe. Alina Selyukh. Laksmi Singh. Doualy Xaykaothao.

PBS: Yamiche Alcindor, Amna Nawaz, Hari Sreenivasen

Author Larry Lehmer's book about Dick Clark and American Bandstand --  Bandstandland: How Dancing Teenagers Took Over America and Dick Clark Took Over Rock & Roll --is now available from Sunbury Press. His book about the last tour of Buddy Holly, the Big Bopper and Ritchie Valens -- The Day the Music Died: The Last Tour of Buddy Holly, the Big Bopper and Ritchie Valens -- is available at Amazon.

 

 

 

 

 

Is heaven more country or more rock & roll? More broccoli or more sweet corn? And who decides these things, anyway?

I’ve had heaven on my mind lately and for no apparent reason.

As far as I know, there’s no life-or-death crisis looming in my immediate family. Nothing like that with my best friends, either. I’m at the age where the death of contemporaries is no longer as shocking as it was in our younger years, but I’m not concerned about my own prospects for eternal life, either.

My thoughts about heaven are more academic than personal. Since most religions use the promise of a heavenly afterlife as the ultimate reward for a compassionate and repentant earthly life, heaven could be seen as a powerful marketing tool.

Indeed, not all religions view heaven the same way. Similarly, the rules for entrance vary. I’m sure there are some religions that don’t even claim the existence of heaven. All this heavenly ambiguity leaves me with plenty of questions.

• Since not all religions see heaven the same way, is there more than one heaven? If there’s just one, how does it accommodate people with differing earthly views?
• Does everybody get in? If not, who decides? Isn’t heaven awfully crowded?
• Do residents of heaven resemble people or do they take on a different form? (Most religions I’ve checked opt for people, albeit perfect people, free of sin)
• Where do people live in heaven? (Most religions I’ve checked say heaven provides free lodging; sometimes even mansions!)
• Do people eat in heaven? (Apparently many religions provide heavenly space for gardens where people grow their own food. Sounds to me like maybe people in heaven are vegetarians, which makes sense.)
• How old are people in heaven? (This is a tough one for me. Some religions claim you enter heaven at the age you were when you died. This means old people are forever old – but not achy – and babies are perpetually babies. Most people, I think, would prefer to pick an age themselves, but I’m not sure that’s how heaven works).
• What do people do in heaven? Do they work? Play? Meditate? Do they get to decide how to spend their time or is there no concept of time at all.
• Is their music in heaven? Do residents have a say in what they hear and at what volume?
• Since most religions promise a better life in heaven than on earth, does that mean that heaven is overflowing with love and goodwill and that everyone gets along? That would truly be heavenly, but a person shouldn’t have to die to find it.

Author Larry Lehmer's book about Dick Clark and American Bandstand --  Bandstandland: How Dancing Teenagers Took Over America and Dick Clark Took Over Rock & Roll --is now available from Sunbury Press. His book about the last tour of Buddy Holly, the Big Bopper and Ritchie Valens -- The Day the Music Died -- is available at Amazon.

 

 

 

Jabberwocky: Why I'm awake at 5 a.m.

It's 5 a.m. I should be sleeping.

But I'm wide awake. My mind is spinning. Why? Jabberwocky, that's why.

It came to me as I slept. Jabberwocky. That's what's going on. It's plain as can be, to me, in the foggy limbo betwixt subconscious and conscious.

I stumble towards my computer. J-a-b ... Hmmm. Not exactly what I thought, but close. Still true, nonetheless.

We're divided, you see. Some of us believe one thing; the rest of us believe something else. Some of us play by house rules; the rest of us don't. There is disorder in the house and the rules don't seem to matter. Jabberwocky.

Up is down. Right is wrong. Say it often enough and it's true, no matter how absurd. Not exactly jabberwocky; closer to Through the Looking Glass, the story that lifted the nonsense poem, Jabberwocky,  to prominence. Those topsy turvy pronouncements were recognized as nonsense as soon as they hit print in 1871. Not anymore. Truths are lies; lies are truth. Jabberwocky is winning.  And I'm not sleeping.

Author Larry Lehmer's book about Dick Clark and American Bandstand --  Bandstandland: How Dancing Teenagers Took Over America and Dick Clark Took Over Rock & Roll --is now available from Sunbury Press. His book about the last tour of Buddy Holly, the Big Bopper and Ritchie Valens -- The Day the Music Died -- is available at Amazon.

 

Facebook: Where death is just a status update

At least 4.1 percent of my Facebook friends are dead. And that's just the ones I know about.

I shouldn't be surprised. In real life, people are born, live their lives and die. Relationships function in much the same way. Someone enters your life, interacts a while, then leaves your life (sometimes by dying).

But Facebook is different.

In real life, friendships develop more or less organically, and at close range. You can engage all your bodily senses when interacting with real-life friends. The closest you get to some of your Facebook friends depends on your typing skills. Some people collect Facebook friends like Niek Vermeulen collects airline barf bags (the Dutch collector has over 6,000 of them).

I have Facebook friends from different parts of my life. There are family and real friends, such as co-workers and classmates. I also have a considerable number of Facebook friends developed through my books or other writings. A few are still with me after my brief career as a personal historian or the time I spent in my local Chamber of Commerce, though it's been years since I was active in either one.

Although a person's circle of friends is constantly evolving over the course of a lifetime, it's been my experience that Facebook friends just sort of hang around, no matter how tangential the connection. I'm certain that the great majority of my Facebook friends pay absolutely no attention to whatever I post  and may have even hidden me. That's OK (I've hidden people, too). Managing a Facebook news feed can be a full-time job if you let it. Which brings me back to dead people.

I find it kind of creepy to get a birthday reminder or "Friendversary" greeting about a person I know is dead. Sometimes it evokes great sadness if it was a real friend. The only way to stop these reminders, apparently, is to "Unfriend" someone, which seems cruel and callous to me.

Some people don't mind messages about the dead, diligently sending "Happy birthday in heaven" messages to the departed. Some Facebook pages have been changed to "Remembering" or tribute pages. Some even accept new friend requests on behalf of the deceased.

Facebook, of course, wants to know everything about everybody -- dead or living -- and is taking bold steps to ensure that no one has to die, at least not on Facebook. In a brazen attempt to keep even the dead tethered to Facebookland, it has made it easier to preserve a person's Facebook legacy. In time, the dead will outnumber the living on Facebook. That should sound creepy to everyone.

Author Larry Lehmer's book about Dick Clark and American Bandstand --  Bandstandland: How Dancing Teenagers Took Over America and Dick Clark Took Over Rock & Roll --is now available from Sunbury Press. His book about the last tour of Buddy Holly, the Big Bopper and Ritchie Valens -- The Day the Music Died -- is available at Amazon.

 

The real lesson from the impeachment trial of President Bill Clinton: Go for it

A common refrain on cable news these days is that Democrats are reluctant to try to impeach Donald Trump because they fear the backlash suffered by Republicans in 2000 after their failed effort to oust President Bill Clinton. The impression is that the Republicans suffered greatly since their impeachment charge only made Clinton more popular and the Republicans paid at the polls.

But a look at the actual results of the 2000 presidential campaign show these concerns to be vastly overblown, if not downright wrong.

Whatever you think of the outcome of the 2000 presidential race (what with all the hub-bub over Green Party candidate Ralph Nader, hanging chads et al in Florida and the Supreme Court stepping in), the White House flipped to the Republicans' benefit with the inauguration in January 2001 of President George W. Bush.

That "bloodbath" in the House resulted in Republicans losing two seats and the Democrats gaining one (an Independent took the other) with the Republicans still holding a slim majority for the 107th Congress.

The Republicans did, indeed, pay a price in the U.S. Senate, where the Democrats picked up four seats on election day to forge a 50-50 deadlock between the two major parties. The Republicans effectively held the advantage, though, with Republican Vice President Dick Cheney available to break any deadlocks. Until, May 24, 2001, that is, when Vermont Senator Jim Jeffords switched from Republican to Independent and caucused with the Democrats, giving them a 51-49 advantage.

There are other interesting tidbits from that election in 2000: Hillary Clinton won her first election as a Senator from New York, Barak Obama lost his bid for an Illinois Congressional seat, the deceased Mel Carnahan was elected to a Missouri Senate seat (his wife was named to replace him) and Jeffords would be succeeded by Bernie Sanders six years later.

But all that talk about the Republicans being humiliated after trying to impeach Bill Clinton ... not true.

Larry Lehmer is a writer based in Urbandale, Iowa. His latest book is Bandstandland: How Dancing Teenagers Took Over America and Dick Clark Took Over Rock & Roll, now available from Sunbury Press and major booksellers. He is also the author of The Day the Music Died: The last tour of Buddy Holly, the Big Bopper and Ritchie Valens.