The Day The Music Died

I should warn you, several people will gasp at part of this post (I'll let you know when). February 3rd has always been a day my household marked on the calendar. It is this day in 1959 that Buddy Holly, the Big Bopper and Ritchie Valens died in a plane crash over Iowa. It was an important day at home because this was the day that, according to my father, the real King of Rock-n-Roll died. (GASP!) I know, shocking. But I was raised to believe that the real King of Rock-n-Roll was Buddy Holly NOT Elvis.

I listened to oldies radio almost exclusively until I was old enough for sleepovers. At the time, I'm not sure it occurred to me that there was new music being made. I listened to my parents' LPs, and I still think to to this very day vinyl sounds better than anything digital (although I wouldn't forfeit my iPod for anything). I listened "That'll be the Day" and "Everyday" countless times. 

This belief that Buddy Holly was indeed robbed of his crown was only strengthened by a family favorite, "American Pie" by Don McLean (circa 1971--I was horrified Madonna remade the song). My brothers and I knew all the words to the eight minute and thirty-three second masterpiece. (There are shorter versions of the song, but I'm always deeply offended when a radio station plays them.) 

This song also became the soundtrack to my most fond college memories. My father, two uncles, and several of my friends were TKEs at the same college I attended. Every night the guys would gather in a joyous circle to sing "American Pie" with slightly altered lyrics. Hearing this song always fills me with warmth, despite it's sad creation, because it makes me think of friends I miss, lost, and those that I don't talk nearly often enough.  

Derek Revord, who was one of those TKEs. I think of him everyday.