The Day the Music Died

This post is dedicated to my friend, Bill, who lives near Chicago. Bill is a loyal follower of my blog. He doesn’t always agree 100% with what I say, but he never hesitates to give me sensible and useful feedback which I appreciate. Bill’s wife of over 30 years died yesterday, so I know he is having some of the same feelings I have had for the past 6+ years. God bless you and your family, my friend.

At the risk of offending the music industry, I’m borrowing a phrase from Don McLean’s song, “American Pie,” written in 1971, but prompted by the 1959 death of Buddy Holly. The lyrics, as explained by McLean, chart the decline of our country and its loss of innocence since the plane crash that killed Buddy, Richie Valens, and The Big Bopper. It’s a great song that stirs my emotions every time I hear it, and I’m listening to it as I write this.

Music has been a very important part of my life ever since I was a young boy proudly standing beside my grandfather in church (First Baptist of Fayetteville, NC) and singing the old classic hymns, trying to imitate his bass voice. I still know the lyrics to most of those hymns, many of which are on my iphone and listened to while I’m walking or exercising. I feel like every phase of my life is depicted in the music I listen to; not necessarily because a particular song might have been popular at a phase in my live, but more so because the lyrics seem to describe me or what was going on in my life at the time. When I was writing the manuscript for my first book, “Leavings: Honeycutt to Cooper Ridge,” I originally included partial lyrics, one or two key lines, to about 80 songs that had special meaning for me in whatever part of my life I was writing about at the time. On the advice of family and friends, I deleted those lyrics from the final writing, lest the music industry come after me for infringement. I still have that draft, and may use excerpts in future posts.

Those who have ever lived with me for extended periods of time, especially family, college friends, and Officer Candidate School classmates, know that I’ve always had the inclination to burst out in song at just about any time. I was a mainstay with the “Gospel Ship Five” in my fraternity at Clemson, singing at every social event. In OCS, and also with the Clemson baseball team in 1967, my singing was usually done in the shower. I loved to sing and didn’t have to be asked – if I had to wait until being asked, I would have had very little opportunities to sing. I was asked by my uncle John a few years ago to sing at the “Greater Martin Family Reunion” in a church, no less, in St Pauls, NC, for about 100 distant relatives. I sang “Be Careful of Stones That You Throw” to a generous, if not rousing, applause.

On December 17, 2012, the music died for me. When Leigh died, I quit singing. I couldn’t even listen to my favorite old songs without getting emotional. This lasted for about two years, at least until we moved to Clemson. I still get emotional when I hear certain songs, but I’m trying to bring my music back to life. I have all the old songs on my iphone, and I can now listen to most of them and even sing along with a few. But it’s just not the same. I miss you, Babe.

Bill, I hope the music hasn’t died for you, or if it has, that you can bring it back after awhile.