- Day Seven, Thursday, July 24: Dyersville and Clear Lake, Iowa
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| "Ghost Players" |
I opened my eyes to the sound of birds outside our motel room window, checked my phone and saw that it was about 7:00 AM. I shook the cobwebs from my head, trying to remember where I was. Yesterday had been a full day of travel. We had driven almost 250 miles, from Northbrook, Illinois, to Milwaukee, Wisconsin, and on to Dubuque, Iowa. In truth that's not a very far drive, but we had also squeezed in an exploration of Miller Park, a Brewers game and a fantastic dinner in the city of Milwaukee as well. On another day I might have grumbled, pulled the pillow over my head and tried to catch another 30 minutes or so of sleep, but not today. Today, though I was tired, I was too excited to sleep. Today was an "off day," but we were going to visit three places I had dreamed of seeing my whole life: the Field of Dreams, the Surf Ballroom (where Buddy Holly played his last gig) and the site of Holly's plane crash.
First up would be the Field of Dreams movie site, located about 25 miles from Dubuque, in Dyersville, Iowa, and I wanted to be there just as it opened, so it was time to get the sleepy-heads moving.
I rolled over and saw Rob, Tony, Nick and Shawn still sacked out, but Ryan was nowhere to be found. Then I heard the sound of running water in the bathroom and came to the realization that he was already up and in the shower. "That's one less to worry about," I thought, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and throwing off the covers. Then again, Ryan was never the one who had issues getting up when there was somewhere we had to be.
As I started thinking about what I hoped the day would bring, Ryan bounded out of the bathroom, dressed, teeth brushed and ready to hit the road.
"You're up early," I laughed.
"This is the most important non-baseball game we're going to see," he told me. "I've been up for 45 minutes.
"Shhh, let's not wake the others just yet," I said softly.
"Bah...they can sleep later. I won't be loud, but I'm not whispering either. I want to get on the road."
I wasn't about to argue with his logic, so I grabbed a towel and headed into the bathroom for my turn under the hot water, or whatever was left of it.
By the time I had gotten out, Rob, Nick and Shawn were up and waiting for their turn, while Nick was still sacked out.
"Nothing changes much, no matter how long we're on the road," I laughed.
"We'll let him sleep and then while he's in the shower we'll pack the car," Tony informed me.
"That's fine with me," I told him, as I got Ryan's and my gear packed and ready to be stowed.
By 8:30 we were all awake, clean, had the car packed, had grabbed a bite, and some coffee, and were ready to make one of the ultimate baseball pilgrimages...to a cornfield in Iowa.
Now anyone who knows me is aware that Field of Dreams is my favorite movie of all time. It has everything I hold dear, love of family, baseball and magic, so how could it not be?
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| Movie Poster |
Based on the book Shoeless Joe, by W.P. Kinsella, the movie tells the story of an Iowa farmer, Ray Kinsella (Kevin Costner), who is "haunted" by a voice, while out tending to his cornfield, that tells him "If you build it, he will come," and showing him a vision of a baseball field in the corn.
Kinsella is an avid baseball fan who became estranged from his father during his teenage years and the only thing that held them together was baseball. Eventually, though, Kinsella and his father had an argumentative parting, and Ray said something to his father that would haunt him for the rest of his life.
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| Ray and John Kinsella |
The movie opened slowly, in few theaters, right before Memorial Day 1989, and quickly became a box office blockbuster. It stayed in circulation until Christmas that year, and has become a modern day classic that is always listed as a favorite of baseball fans and non-baseball fans alike, and has provided many memorable scenes and quotes that have found their way into the modern lexicon.
It embodies the beauty of baseball as something timeless that brings fathers and sons together, and since that's the binding theme of our journey, stopping there was an obvious must. This summer of 2014 would be the 25th Anniversary of the movie's release, so we couldn't have timed it better.
"Hey Dad, Wanna Have a Catch?"
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| "If You Build It, They Will Come" |
It took us about 35 minutes to drive from the motel to Dyersville, but that seemed like an eternity to me. I was antsy to get there, but I didn't want the time to go by too quickly once we were there. It did entertain us for a little while when we found out that Nick had left his pillow back at the hotel; no one could figure out why, exactly, he'd brought it inside in the first place. After all, it was a motel; they do have pillows and if there were not enough we could have always gotten more from the front desk. Either way, they just inherited a new one and Nick was not really happy about getting an earful from everyone.
The twenty-five-mile drive went by quickly, but the landscape never changed. It was miles and miles of farmland, the majority of it being corn, as far as the eye could see. We rode the highway until we reached our exit, which put us on a small, little, two-lane road, which shrunk down to a one-lane, small-town thoroughfare. It reminded me of a song I had heard about traveling highways and byways and even though I have to admit I don't know exactly what a byway is, this is exactly what I would picture it being.
After glancing at the directions I had printed out, we determined that the next left turn would lead us directly to the field. As we made the turn a big sign, in the shape of a baseball diamond, proclaimed us to be at "The Original Field of Dreams Movie Site." We quickly stopped the car to get some pictures of the sign (after dreaming of being here for 25 years I was going to capture every moment), before proceeding down the dirt road that led us to the actual field itself.
As we pulled into the parking lot I refused to look at the field; I know it sounds stupid but I didn't want my first view of "Baseball Movie Nirvana" to be through the windshield of a rental van. I closed my eyes, opened the door, got out and looked around. It was just as if I'd stepped onto the movie set, twenty-five years ago.
Off to the right, up on a rise, was the white, clapboard, farmhouse that Costner and Amy Madigan called home. There was a white picket-fence keeping visitors from getting too close, which is understandable as the house is someone's actual residence. I just shook my head, as if trying to make sure I was actually seeing what was in front of me, but the best was yet to come.
I turned and walked towards the field, which actually did rise out of the corn. I was momentarily overcome and felt myself taking a deep breath, trying not to let my emotions overwhelm me. Some folks may have their moment staring at a beautiful sunrise, others when they set their eyes on the Eiffel Tower, the ruins of ancient Greece, a snow-capped mountain or the waves crashing onto the beach at sunset, but this was everything I ever dreamed it would be...and more. I had waited to see this since I had sat down that first time in the theater and every viewing since then. I always swore I would visit this place and here I was, with my own son. It was almost too much to digest.
As I stood behind the backstop staring out at one of the most beautiful fields I had ever seen, I felt Ryan saunter up next to me. We gazed across the sun-splashed infield, so perfectly manicured and green, towards the outfield where Ray Liotta had portrayed Joe Jackson in the film and finally our eyes stopped at what should have been an outfield wall, but, instead, was just what we were hoping to find: a tall, lush field of corn, just like in the movie. I had heard stories of folks who had come early in the season and the corn had not yet grown, leaving them feeling slightly gypped, but we were here at just the right time, and everything was perfect.
"Is this Heaven?" Ryan asked, laughingly stealing a line from the movie.
"I do believe it is," I altered the script.
"It's everything I hoped it would be," he said.
"Me too," I told him, in a soft, hushed, tone. "Me too."
"Race you to the center-field-corn-fence," he laughed and took off.
I gave him a head start, just to watch him run, with pure joy, on the field that we both had been so excited to see. He took off running, with the breeze blowing back his hair, and just for a moment he appeared to be about seven again, happy, joyful and carefree, at one of our favorite places in the world, a baseball field. I smiled to myself thinking "this place is magical," as I took off after him.
We reached the outfield and decided the first thing to do was get some
pictures coming and going from the corn, as the "ghosts" do in the movie. We laughed over our escapades, took more than a few pictures of Ryan in the corn, me in the corn, the two of us in the corn and were then joined by everyone else. After getting pictures of everyone else coming and going in the cornfield a lady offered to take a group photo of all of us, which came out perfect (I have it hanging in my office today. It's the one you see at the top of this section, right now.
After playing around in the corn Ryan walked over and, again, decided to quote the movie.
"Hey Dad, wanna have a catch?"
I always get a catch in my throat when I see that scene and now, having my own son say it to me, here, made it even more poignant. I don't know if it was just me, the moment, or a combination of everything, but I could swear he had trouble getting the words out too.
"I've been waiting for this my whole life," I told him, grabbing my glove.
I pulled out two "Field of Dreams" commemorative baseballs I had bought just for this occasion, as well as four more brand new balls I had brought for the others. I kicked off my sneakers; after all if "Shoeless" Joe Jackson played here, going barefoot seemed only right. I started off tossing the ball back and forth with Ryan, while Tony played with Nick and Rob with Shawn. After five minutes, or so, Rob peeled off to take pictures and video, while Shawn went over to play with Nick and Tony. A little while later we switched up and I played catch with Rob, then Ryan took a turn as well. Ryan then had an idea and asked Uncle Rob to film him and I playing catch and when we would end our little game we would walk off and "melt" into the cornfield, as the "ghost players" do in the movie.
After our game of catch we started heading back to the infield, to get some pictures there, when I noticed Ryan running back to the corn.
"What are you doing?' I asked him.
"I was grabbing some of the corn for our scrapbooks," he told me.
"But you grabbed three fronds," I said looking puzzled.
"One's for Grandpa," he replied. "He should be here, but since he couldn't come I thought we should bring some of the field back to him."
Once again my son had showed me what kind of a person he was becoming. Knowing how important it was for me to be there with my son, he extrapolated out and thought it would be even better were I with my dad as well. I was so proud of him; I grabbed him, gave him a big hug and told him so.
We wandered around the infield for a while, taking pictures on the pitcher's mound, playing catch at the bases, running the bases, and just generally being goofy. Everyone was having a blast and it had been a very special morning. If we had been able to get our hands on a bat we would have taken some batting practice. I most certainly would have loved to hit a corn field home run, but no one walked off the field disappointed.
We headed over to the souvenir stand to grab some t-shirts, postcards and a 25th Anniversary movie book, to commemorate our time here, when Tony suggested we get a group shot on the bleachers, right in front of the farm house. I thought it was a great idea, but the boys just wanted to get back in the van and kick the A/C on. Unfortunately for them I had the keys and the door was locked, so we ended up taking the picture, much to their chagrin. I thought it came out great, but they just wanted to get on the road. I really couldn't blame them, as it was getting hot and we had done all we could at the "Field of Dreams," so we climbed in the van and headed north to our next stop, Clear Lake, Iowa.
Holly was the musical equivalent of a shooting star; blasting off from the west Texas city of Lubbock he took the musical world by storm, with rock hits like "That'll Be The Day," "Peggy Sue," Rave On," "Oh Boy" and "Maybe Baby," but he also showed a softer, more creative side with his introspective songs such as, "Raining In My Heart," "Words of Love" and "True Love Ways." Unlike many performers of his day, Holly wrote, played, sang and engineered his own recordings, putting him at the forefront of the music industry by the time he was 21 years old. Then on a tour known as "The Winter Dance Party," which cris-crossed the Midwest during the winter of 1959, Holly grew tired of riding in the cold, always-breaking-down bus and decided to hire a private plane to fly he and his band to Fargo, North Dakota, after their show in Clear Lake, Iowa, so they could do some laundry, sleep in a warm bed and get out of the elements.
The other headliners on the tour, 17-year-old Ritchie Valens, from Pacoima, California ("Donna," "Come On Let's Go" and "La Bamba") and 28-year-old J.P. "The Big Bopper" Richardson, from Texas, like Holly ("Chantilly Lace") begged for a seat on the plane. Holly left it up to his band-mates, Tommy Alsup and Waylon Jennings, to decide what to do. Jennings reluctantly gave up his seat to Richardson while Alsup lost his to Valens on a coin toss, setting the stage for the ill-fated flight.
The twenty-five-mile drive went by quickly, but the landscape never changed. It was miles and miles of farmland, the majority of it being corn, as far as the eye could see. We rode the highway until we reached our exit, which put us on a small, little, two-lane road, which shrunk down to a one-lane, small-town thoroughfare. It reminded me of a song I had heard about traveling highways and byways and even though I have to admit I don't know exactly what a byway is, this is exactly what I would picture it being.
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| Entrance To The Field of Dreams |
As we pulled into the parking lot I refused to look at the field; I know it sounds stupid but I didn't want my first view of "Baseball Movie Nirvana" to be through the windshield of a rental van. I closed my eyes, opened the door, got out and looked around. It was just as if I'd stepped onto the movie set, twenty-five years ago.
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| The Farmhouse |
Off to the right, up on a rise, was the white, clapboard, farmhouse that Costner and Amy Madigan called home. There was a white picket-fence keeping visitors from getting too close, which is understandable as the house is someone's actual residence. I just shook my head, as if trying to make sure I was actually seeing what was in front of me, but the best was yet to come.
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| The Field of Dreams |
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| Ryan and I on The Field of Dreams |
"Is this Heaven?" Ryan asked, laughingly stealing a line from the movie.
"I do believe it is," I altered the script.
"It's everything I hoped it would be," he said.
"Me too," I told him, in a soft, hushed, tone. "Me too."
"Race you to the center-field-corn-fence," he laughed and took off.
I gave him a head start, just to watch him run, with pure joy, on the field that we both had been so excited to see. He took off running, with the breeze blowing back his hair, and just for a moment he appeared to be about seven again, happy, joyful and carefree, at one of our favorite places in the world, a baseball field. I smiled to myself thinking "this place is magical," as I took off after him.
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| Rob In The Corn |
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| Tony, Nick and Shawn In The Corn |
pictures coming and going from the corn, as the "ghosts" do in the movie. We laughed over our escapades, took more than a few pictures of Ryan in the corn, me in the corn, the two of us in the corn and were then joined by everyone else. After getting pictures of everyone else coming and going in the cornfield a lady offered to take a group photo of all of us, which came out perfect (I have it hanging in my office today. It's the one you see at the top of this section, right now.
After playing around in the corn Ryan walked over and, again, decided to quote the movie.
"Hey Dad, wanna have a catch?"
I always get a catch in my throat when I see that scene and now, having my own son say it to me, here, made it even more poignant. I don't know if it was just me, the moment, or a combination of everything, but I could swear he had trouble getting the words out too.
"I've been waiting for this my whole life," I told him, grabbing my glove.
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| "Shoeless" Jim |
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| Playing Catch |
After our game of catch we started heading back to the infield, to get some pictures there, when I noticed Ryan running back to the corn.
"What are you doing?' I asked him.
"I was grabbing some of the corn for our scrapbooks," he told me.
"But you grabbed three fronds," I said looking puzzled.
"One's for Grandpa," he replied. "He should be here, but since he couldn't come I thought we should bring some of the field back to him."
Once again my son had showed me what kind of a person he was becoming. Knowing how important it was for me to be there with my son, he extrapolated out and thought it would be even better were I with my dad as well. I was so proud of him; I grabbed him, gave him a big hug and told him so.
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| Ryan and I on The Mound |
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| Ron and I on The Mound |
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| (Top) Rob, Tony, Me (Bottom) Shawn, Nick, Ryan |
The Place The Music Died
Clear Lake is a small town in north central Iowa, about two hours from Minnesota's twin cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul. It is home to about 8,000 residents and is an oasis-like stop on I-35 for tired and hungry tuckers, as well as vacationers who come from all over to enjoy the pristine body of water for which the town is named. This, however, is not what the town has come to be known for around the world. It was here, on February 3, 1959, that Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and J.P. Richardson (The Big Bopper) played their last gig and later that night died amidst the frozen corn fields.
It took us about two hours to cover the 165 miles from Dyersville to Clear Lake; we had stopped once for a quick drink, but otherwise the ride was uneventful. The miles of farm land passed by quickly as we talked and discussed exactly why we were going to this remote town and what we were expecting to see there. Along the way Tony put on a 1950s satellite radio station to set the mood and the boys had fun singling along, once they found out they knew more songs than they thought they did.
Now, my earliest memories of music growing up were the early Rock & Roll artists. I can fondly recall hearing all of the big names; Elvis, Chuck Berry, Fats Domino, Jerry Lee Lewis, The Every Brothers, Little Richard, and many more, blaring from my parent's stereo, but none of them captivated me more than Buddy Holly.
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| Buddy Holly |
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| The Bog Bopper |
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| Ritchie Valens |
The plane took off from Mason City Airport, shortly after midnight on February 3, 1959, with pilot Roger Peterson behind the controls. Snow was falling as the plane climbed into the night sky and out of sight of the watching control tower, which lost contact with the aircraft about five minutes into the flight. When there was still no contact the next morning a search plane was sent up and after five minutes in the air the wreckage was discovered, in a cornfield, less than six miles from the airport.
The bodies of Holly and Valens had been thrown from the plane but lay in close proximity to the wreckage, while Richardson was found over a fence, about 25 yards away and Peterson was still entangled in the aircraft. The county coroner determined that all four persons had died instantly, from gross brain trauma. An FAA investigation concluded that the plane had struck the Earth, in a nose-first dive at the right wing, which sent it cartwheeling across the field almost 600 feet before coming to a rest against a wire fence. Pilot error was deemed the cause.
To say the loss to the music world was extreme would be an understatement. No one cane say with certainly what these three men would have accomplished, but one can only imagine a different path that could have been taken.
As I said earlier, I grew up loving Buddy Holly's music and it was always a desire to visit the last place he played (The Surf Ballroom) and visit the crash site to pay my respects. When Rob and I looked at the map to determine the distance between the Field of Dreams and Minnesota we determined Clear Lake was an obvious stop along the way, so we had gladly added it to the itinerary.
As we pulled into Clear Lake, Ryan immediately noticed that the street signs were named after the fallen musicians. We made a left onto Buddy Holly Place, drove another couple of blocks before making a right on Ritchie Valens Drive, and there it was in front of us, The Surf Ballroom.
The Surf is still a working concert venue and in 2009 was declared an historic Rick & Roll landmark, by the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, in Cleveland. In 2011 it was added to the list of National Register of Historic Places in the United States, based on it's place in musical history. The venue holds concerts; in fact ZZ Top was going to be there a few days after we left, and every year on February 3 there is a memorial concert honoring the fallen stars which is attended by people from all over the world, as well as family members and friends of the musicians themselves.
From the outside The Surf looks like any other concert auditorium seen around the country, but as you get closer you realize the significance of this particular one. Right outside the front entrance stands a granite memorial, paying tribute to the three musicians who played there for the last time. It stands about three-and-a-half feet tall and has all three names engraved, along with a brief synopsis of what happened. At the very bottom of the memorial are inscribed the words "THEIR MUSIC LIVES ON," and no truer words have been spoken.
As we walked through the front door I noticed the billboards on each side of the entrance contained Holly posters. I knew right away, before even stepping foot inside, that aside from being a working concert hall this place was going to be a shrine and they took their job of preserving the legacy very seriously.
The main lobby of The Surf confirmed my initial thoughts. The first thing I saw was a large framed photo of all three musicians with autographed index cards under each photo. I had no idea what it was worth, and I had never imagined anything like it before, but to me it was priceless. A little farther into the lobby was a plaque commemorating what happened that fateful night, as well as the last photos taken of Holly, Valens and Richardson, on stage.
"This place is amazing," Ryan whispered, in a reverential tone.
"If you think this stuff is good, head on in the back there," a gentleman who had been watching us said. "There's an entire museum devoted to that night just down that hall."
The hallway, itself, was a "teaser" for what we were going to see. All along the wall were mementos of The Winter Dance Party and that fateful last night. We saw a letter, written by Holly's band mate Tommy Alsup, who lost the coin toss to Valens, a poster with a map, explaining what The Winter Dance Party was and where it went, as well as a 50th Anniversary poster from the 2009 concert. We all stopped and read every word of every exhibit that was available. It all led us into a back room, which really was a museum, dedicated to The Surf's musical history.
As we walked into the museum section of The Surf the first thing I noticed was the framed front page of theRock 'n' Roll Idols Among Lake Crash Dead," and the story, with a picture of Holly, was the main read. For a sleepy little Iowa village this news must have hit them like a ton of bricks that morning.
Mason City Globe Gazette, from February 3, 1959. The headline, splashed across the top of the paper read: "
Walking further into the museum it amazed me to see all of the exhibits. There were entire cases filled with memorabilia from all three of the artists, which included guitars, photos, letters, pictures and albums. Each artist had his own section and some unique artifacts from their short lives in the music industry. I, of course, was drawn to the Buddy Holly stuff, but made sure to spend time reading each and every item that was available to me.
"What's with the phone in the Big Bopper's case?" Ryan asked me.
"It was a stage prop," I told him. "His song, 'Chantilly Lace,' was sung as if he were talking to his girl on a phone."
"That's a little corny," he laughed.
"Well, it was the 1950's and things were a little different back then."
The Ritchie Valens exhibit contained the hand-written lyrics to his hit "La Bamba," which were penned in Spanish. There were also pictures, one of his electric guitars and a gold record for his hit "Donna," which was his biggest hit at the time of his death and had made him a national star.
The Holly exhibit, which I mentioned earlier was my favorite, contained the gold record for "Peggy Sue," the hand written lyrics to "Not Fade Away" and an acoustic guitar he had played while at The Surf that night. It also had pictures and a biography as well.
"Okay," I told the guys. "We've taken the mini-tour, now it's time to see the living history to this place."
We all walked to the other side of the building and stood in the doorway, peering in at the actual ballroom before us. I, for one, found it an amazing sight, as it was like stepping back into 1959. Everything in the place looked original, though it had been refurbished over the years. The back of the room was full of booths, where the kids would sit to see the show, which gave way to the dance floor, covered with tables for the patrons who would be having dinner while watching the show, and then the stage itself.
Quietly we walked among the booths, snapping pictures, looking and sitting to see the view. Quickly we did the same thing with the tables on the dance floor, until we came to the edge of the stage, standing there not wanting to break the moment, but wanting desperately to go on and stand where Holly once did.
"We can go up there, right?" Ryan wanted to know.
"Absolutely," I told him, though neither of us moved towards attaining that goal. We just sat, mesmerized by where we were.
"Oh this is ridiculous," I said, climbing up on the stage. "Get up here."
Ryan hopped up and we had Uncle Rob take a picture of the two of us sitting there, grinning like a couple of escapees from the loony bin. After taking the picture we walked around the stage, surveying the scene. Ryan pretended to play guitar at the foot of the stage and I was sure that in his head he heard the cheers and clapping of the fans. I stepped to the edge, myself, and got a good look at what Buddy Holly must have seen, looking out at the crowd, on that winter night, so many years ago. It gave me chills knowing that we were standing in the footprint of Rock & Roll history and also made me wonder, for the millionth time in my life, what could have been had things been different. Sadly, I climbed down and headed back to the lobby of the venue.
Before heading out we stopped in the gift shop, where I grabbed a poster commemorating that last show. I thought it would be a great piece of memorabilia from an iconic spot, which I could have matted and framed for the house.
"I'm hungry," Ryan announced to everyone. Both Nick and Shawn agreed.
"Okay, let's head into town, grab a bite someplace local, and then hit the crash site." I told them, without realizing exactly what I said.
"Not very punny," Ryan laughed.
"Huh?"
"Hit the crash site?" He said in a mocking tone.
"Oops," I laughed, as we piled into the van for the five minute drive to the downtown area.
Downtown Clear Lake is a very Rockwellian-looking kind of town. The main street sits on a hill that leads down to the lake and has all the kinds of establishments one would be looking for in a small Mid-western town. There was, of course, a post office, a bank, a pharmacy and a few towny-type restaurants. There was a small town park, with a band-shell that overlooked the lake and sitting across the street was a deli. We decided to eat there.
The food was good, it was filling and there was a lot of it, which we all hoped would be the case. The boys had bacon cheese burgers while I had an Italian combo, Rob had pastrami and Tony had a corned beef reuben. The service was great, the food was plentiful and we enjoyed the quiet, serene, lake-front scene that sat in front of us for the better part of the next hour.
Once fed, we hopped back into the car and headed the approximate five miles to where Holly's plane had crashed, in the snow-covered cornfield. The ride itself was short, after all it couldn't take long to drive five miles, but it wasn't quick due to the fact that it wasn't a straight line. Paved roadways turned into gravel-covered, unmarked, lanes, where gravel flew out in all directions as the tires kicked it up from the road.
"We're looking for 315th and Gull Avenue," I told everyone. "But you'll know where we are long before you see a street sign."
"How are we going to know, without a street sign?" Nick asked.
"Oh, you'll just know," I laughed.
"Found it," I heard Shawn call from the back.
"Where?" Nick wanted to know.
"Right there," Shawn said, pointing.
Standing at the corner of 315th And Gull were the biggest pair of "Buddy Holly glasses" that I think has ever been made.
"That's fitting," Tony said, as I pulled the van over and parked.
"Wow, he was blind if he needed those glasses, and how come no one has stolen them, you'd think they'd be worth something," Rob joked.
Five heads all turned towards him and rolled their eyes at the same time.
We looked down an empty "alley" of corn and it was apparent where we were supposed to go. The problem was that you couldn't see anything but the path, as far as the eye could see.
"How far do we have to walk?" Shawn wanted to know.
"All the way to the crash site, son," I laughed.
"Well yeah, but how far is that?" he asked, clearly not getting the joke.
"About three-quarters of a mile," Rob told him.
As we headed into the corn, which was at least two feet over our heads, everyone became quiet. No one spoke a word; all you could hear was the wind rustling the cornstalks and the sound of footsteps in the quiet afternoon air. It felt somehow reverential, like when walking into a graveyard, and no one wanted to disrupt the quiet solitude.
Every step we took brought us deeper into the corn, yet no where near our destination it seemed. There was nothing to see except corn, corn and more corn. Eventually we saw a small clearing about 50 yards ahead and knew that was where our journey would lead us.
A minute or two later we entered the clearing to find a makeshift memorial to the four men who had perished here, on that cold, snowy evening.
The main memorial, a stainless steel guitar with the names of the three artists engraved in it, as well as the crash date, and three records (the biggest hit for each artist, Holly, "Peggy Sue," Valens, "Donna," and Richardson's "Chantilly Lace") above the guitar's neck memorialized where these three men perished. This sculpture was created by Ken Paquette, Wisconsin, and placed at this spot in 1988. 21 years later Paquette came back with a second memorial, a set of pilots' wings in honor of Roger Peterson, which was placed just to the right of the main memorial.
Fans from all over the world have flocked to this site, to pay respects to these men, and have left small tokens of themselves there upon leaving. We saw a pair of Buddy Holly-style glasses, photos of the legendary performers, as well as cards, flowers and hand written notes.
We stood for a few moments, quietly lost in our own thoughts, no one wanting to break the silence. All you could hear was the wind, still rustling the corn, as it blew across the field, swaying the stalks around us. Eventually we all just looked at one another, nodded in the direction of the road and, still not wanting to break the silence, headed out.
Ryan was the first to speak once we got back to the van.
"That was a pretty desolate place to die," he said, quietly.
We all looked around; there was nothing as far as the eye could see, except corn stalks swaying in the breeze.
"It must have been even worse then," I said, in reply. "Think about it. It was winter, there was no corn growing, there was snow on the ground, no houses as far as the eye could see and it was freezing cold."
Everyone just shuddered at the thought. Silently we climbed back into the van and turned back towards the interstate, as it was time to head to Minnesota and a St. Paul Saints game in a few hours.
This, third, incarnation of the Saints was "born" in 1993, the brainchild of Mike Veeck, the son of former MLB owner Bill Veeck. The team, through its outlandish promotions, giveaways and over-the-top public relations, has become one of, if not the, most successful teams in all of the independent leagues around the country. They have had many notable players pull on their uniform, such as Darryl Strawberry, J.D. Drew, Leon Durham, Kevin Millar, Jack Morris and Minnie Minoso (who joined the ball-club when he was 67 years old. He also came back in 2003 and drew a walk, which made him the only player to appear, as a player, in seven different decades). Needless to say the team is embraced by its fans and they come out in droves for a fun night at the ballpark, which is exactly what we were looking for.
Painted on the outside of the stadium was a mural that made it seem you were standing inside the stadium at that very moment. It was done well and we all couldn't help but get a chuckle out of the Mid-western charm you would never see back east, even at a minor league park. The atmosphere was very down-home and we were having a blast.
Once the gates opened we got in line and saw, above us, what was listed as the "Professional Baseball Scouts Hall of Fame". I was expecting some kind of room inside the stadium, or even something small outside, but it was nothing more than those words, and some plaques, on the wall above the entrance to the park. I did recognize two names I was familiar with and wanted to see who else might be.
"Okay, guys," I said looking at the five of them. "Who were Tom Greenwade and Hep Cronin?"
"What's so funny," Tony wanted to know.
Sure enough, when we looked over at the Sioux Falls Canaries (yes, that's their real name) there was a banner hanging across the rail that said "SINNERS." We all just started laughing at the obviously bad joke, at the visiting team's expense. It made perfect sense though; if the home team was the Saints, what could the away team be if not the Sinners?
As we made our way to our seats we noticed some very interestingly-dressed fans. There was a guy who looked like a gym teacher, another dressed as a train conductor, a rather old lady in a leopard skirt trying to kiss all the guys around the stadium, and an Oriental gentleman dressed in a white shorts suit with a long coat, which looked like a robe.
"They have some strange fans in Minnesota," Nick mused.
"It's Okay, provided she doesn't try to kiss me," Tony laughed, pointing at the woman in the leopard outfit.
As if on cue the woman walked over to us and made every attempt to give each of us a kiss. We all, thankfully, managed to fend off her advances and she settled for having a thunderstick-sword fight with Ryan, who was quite happy to play, as long as she didn't try to kiss him again. After a few minutes of play time the lady moved on to the next unsuspecting fan.
"Who the hell is that?" I asked the group of young men sitting next to me.
"That's Gert the Flirt," I was told.
"Who?" I wanted to know.
"Gert The Flirt," he laughed.
"I'm sorry, this is my first game," I explained. "Please explain."
"Gert is one of the Saints' Entertainment Team," he told me. They are paid employees who wander the crowd, interact with the fans and keep the crowd into the game. Watch as the game goes on, they'll be all over and it'll be fun. Trust me"
I didn't have much of a choice, but as long as Gert stopped flirting with us everything would be fine. We grabbed some beers and sausage sandwiches, along with some Killebrew root beer for the kids and settled in for the game. I had never heard of Killebrew and learnedthat it is a Minnesota brewing company that has been providing beverages across the Mid-west since 1996. They are named after former Twins player Harmon Killebrew and having one is listed, by Living Social as one of the to-do things in the Twin Cities. We were always looking to try something local and this was fantastic root beer. We made a mental not to make sure we had more over the next three days.
The Canaries led off the game with a single and a walk, in the first three batters, but could go no farther and the Saints worked out of the first inning jam.
The Canaries, however, were not quite as lucky. Their pitcher allowed a walk, a single and another walk to the first three batters, loading the bases with no one out. The fourth batter struck out, but the fifth place hitter, Angelo Songco, also walked, forcing in a run to make it 1-0, St. Paul. With the bases still loaded, right-fielder Evan Bigley singled in two more and the rout seemed to be on. Jake Taylor, however, bounced into a 6-6-3 double play and the Canaries escaped with no further damage.
The Canaries fought back to make the score 3-2 in the fourth inning. After the Saints got the first two outs of the inning, catcher Kevin Dultz reached first on a fielding error by Saints' third baseman Devin Thaut. Steve Tinoco's double made it 3-1 and when Saints pitcher Ben Hughes uncorked a wild pitch another run came home, making it 3-2.
The Saints got one run back in the bottom of the inning, when Sam Maus walked and came around to score on Willie Cabrera's double. The Saints' lead was up to two runs, the carnival atmosphere that we had heard about was in full force and it was rounding out to be a fun night.
As the gentleman next to us promised, the Saints' Entertainment Team was out in full force. "The Coach" was leading the crowd on our side in a cheering contest against the first base side, which was led by "Al Aboard" (the train conductor), which everyone was enjoying. Gert the Flirt was trying to kiss all the boys and men and then in the bottom of the seventh inning Seigo Masubuchi, the Oriental man in the white suit, picked someone out of the crowd for a promotion called "Sing Karoke With an Actual Asian."
We had a nice, relaxing, evening and the 4-2 lead would be all the runs that the Saints would need. The Canaries wouldn't really threaten again and the Saints bullpen shut the door for the next five innings. At the end of the evening we had seen our first minor league home win of our trip, in our final minor league game.
We lingered around the ballpark for a bit as the other fans cleared out, just enjoying the night. It had been a long, fun day and no one was in a hurry for it to end. We decided to talk to the announcers, who were cleaning their gear up, on the top of the Saints dugout. We milled about, discussing our trip, where we were from, what we had seen and what we had planned in Minnesota. They offered to let the boys up on the dugout to "make a call" and take some pictures, which thrilled the kids and provided a few laughs.
The bodies of Holly and Valens had been thrown from the plane but lay in close proximity to the wreckage, while Richardson was found over a fence, about 25 yards away and Peterson was still entangled in the aircraft. The county coroner determined that all four persons had died instantly, from gross brain trauma. An FAA investigation concluded that the plane had struck the Earth, in a nose-first dive at the right wing, which sent it cartwheeling across the field almost 600 feet before coming to a rest against a wire fence. Pilot error was deemed the cause.
To say the loss to the music world was extreme would be an understatement. No one cane say with certainly what these three men would have accomplished, but one can only imagine a different path that could have been taken.
As I said earlier, I grew up loving Buddy Holly's music and it was always a desire to visit the last place he played (The Surf Ballroom) and visit the crash site to pay my respects. When Rob and I looked at the map to determine the distance between the Field of Dreams and Minnesota we determined Clear Lake was an obvious stop along the way, so we had gladly added it to the itinerary.
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| Buddy Holly Place |
As we pulled into Clear Lake, Ryan immediately noticed that the street signs were named after the fallen musicians. We made a left onto Buddy Holly Place, drove another couple of blocks before making a right on Ritchie Valens Drive, and there it was in front of us, The Surf Ballroom.
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| The Surf Ballroom |
From the outside The Surf looks like any other concert auditorium seen around the country, but as you get closer you realize the significance of this particular one. Right outside the front entrance stands a granite memorial, paying tribute to the three musicians who played there for the last time. It stands about three-and-a-half feet tall and has all three names engraved, along with a brief synopsis of what happened. At the very bottom of the memorial are inscribed the words "THEIR MUSIC LIVES ON," and no truer words have been spoken.
As we walked through the front door I noticed the billboards on each side of the entrance contained Holly posters. I knew right away, before even stepping foot inside, that aside from being a working concert hall this place was going to be a shrine and they took their job of preserving the legacy very seriously.
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| Autographs and Photos |
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| Last Known Photos |
"This place is amazing," Ryan whispered, in a reverential tone.
"If you think this stuff is good, head on in the back there," a gentleman who had been watching us said. "There's an entire museum devoted to that night just down that hall."
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| Explaining The Winter Dance Party Tour |
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| Front Page, Feb. 3, 1959 |
As we walked into the museum section of The Surf the first thing I noticed was the framed front page of theRock 'n' Roll Idols Among Lake Crash Dead," and the story, with a picture of Holly, was the main read. For a sleepy little Iowa village this news must have hit them like a ton of bricks that morning.
Mason City Globe Gazette, from February 3, 1959. The headline, splashed across the top of the paper read: "
Walking further into the museum it amazed me to see all of the exhibits. There were entire cases filled with memorabilia from all three of the artists, which included guitars, photos, letters, pictures and albums. Each artist had his own section and some unique artifacts from their short lives in the music industry. I, of course, was drawn to the Buddy Holly stuff, but made sure to spend time reading each and every item that was available to me.
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| Big Bopper Exhibit |
"What's with the phone in the Big Bopper's case?" Ryan asked me.
"It was a stage prop," I told him. "His song, 'Chantilly Lace,' was sung as if he were talking to his girl on a phone."
"That's a little corny," he laughed.
"Well, it was the 1950's and things were a little different back then."
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| Ritchie Valens Exhibit |
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| Buddy Holly Exhibit |
The Holly exhibit, which I mentioned earlier was my favorite, contained the gold record for "Peggy Sue," the hand written lyrics to "Not Fade Away" and an acoustic guitar he had played while at The Surf that night. It also had pictures and a biography as well.
"Okay," I told the guys. "We've taken the mini-tour, now it's time to see the living history to this place."
We all walked to the other side of the building and stood in the doorway, peering in at the actual ballroom before us. I, for one, found it an amazing sight, as it was like stepping back into 1959. Everything in the place looked original, though it had been refurbished over the years. The back of the room was full of booths, where the kids would sit to see the show, which gave way to the dance floor, covered with tables for the patrons who would be having dinner while watching the show, and then the stage itself.
Quietly we walked among the booths, snapping pictures, looking and sitting to see the view. Quickly we did the same thing with the tables on the dance floor, until we came to the edge of the stage, standing there not wanting to break the moment, but wanting desperately to go on and stand where Holly once did.
"We can go up there, right?" Ryan wanted to know.
"Absolutely," I told him, though neither of us moved towards attaining that goal. We just sat, mesmerized by where we were.
"Oh this is ridiculous," I said, climbing up on the stage. "Get up here."
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| Ryan and I On The Stage |
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| Holly's View |
Before heading out we stopped in the gift shop, where I grabbed a poster commemorating that last show. I thought it would be a great piece of memorabilia from an iconic spot, which I could have matted and framed for the house.
"I'm hungry," Ryan announced to everyone. Both Nick and Shawn agreed.
"Okay, let's head into town, grab a bite someplace local, and then hit the crash site." I told them, without realizing exactly what I said.
"Not very punny," Ryan laughed.
"Huh?"
"Hit the crash site?" He said in a mocking tone.
"Oops," I laughed, as we piled into the van for the five minute drive to the downtown area.
Downtown Clear Lake is a very Rockwellian-looking kind of town. The main street sits on a hill that leads down to the lake and has all the kinds of establishments one would be looking for in a small Mid-western town. There was, of course, a post office, a bank, a pharmacy and a few towny-type restaurants. There was a small town park, with a band-shell that overlooked the lake and sitting across the street was a deli. We decided to eat there.
The food was good, it was filling and there was a lot of it, which we all hoped would be the case. The boys had bacon cheese burgers while I had an Italian combo, Rob had pastrami and Tony had a corned beef reuben. The service was great, the food was plentiful and we enjoyed the quiet, serene, lake-front scene that sat in front of us for the better part of the next hour.
Once fed, we hopped back into the car and headed the approximate five miles to where Holly's plane had crashed, in the snow-covered cornfield. The ride itself was short, after all it couldn't take long to drive five miles, but it wasn't quick due to the fact that it wasn't a straight line. Paved roadways turned into gravel-covered, unmarked, lanes, where gravel flew out in all directions as the tires kicked it up from the road.
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| Roadside Marker For The Crash Site |
"How are we going to know, without a street sign?" Nick asked.
"Oh, you'll just know," I laughed.
"Found it," I heard Shawn call from the back.
"Where?" Nick wanted to know.
"Right there," Shawn said, pointing.
Standing at the corner of 315th And Gull were the biggest pair of "Buddy Holly glasses" that I think has ever been made.
"That's fitting," Tony said, as I pulled the van over and parked.
"Wow, he was blind if he needed those glasses, and how come no one has stolen them, you'd think they'd be worth something," Rob joked.
Five heads all turned towards him and rolled their eyes at the same time.
We looked down an empty "alley" of corn and it was apparent where we were supposed to go. The problem was that you couldn't see anything but the path, as far as the eye could see.
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| The Path To The Site |
"How far do we have to walk?" Shawn wanted to know.
"All the way to the crash site, son," I laughed.
"Well yeah, but how far is that?" he asked, clearly not getting the joke.
"About three-quarters of a mile," Rob told him.
As we headed into the corn, which was at least two feet over our heads, everyone became quiet. No one spoke a word; all you could hear was the wind rustling the cornstalks and the sound of footsteps in the quiet afternoon air. It felt somehow reverential, like when walking into a graveyard, and no one wanted to disrupt the quiet solitude.
Every step we took brought us deeper into the corn, yet no where near our destination it seemed. There was nothing to see except corn, corn and more corn. Eventually we saw a small clearing about 50 yards ahead and knew that was where our journey would lead us.
A minute or two later we entered the clearing to find a makeshift memorial to the four men who had perished here, on that cold, snowy evening.
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| Three Stars |
Fans from all over the world have flocked to this site, to pay respects to these men, and have left small tokens of themselves there upon leaving. We saw a pair of Buddy Holly-style glasses, photos of the legendary performers, as well as cards, flowers and hand written notes.
We stood for a few moments, quietly lost in our own thoughts, no one wanting to break the silence. All you could hear was the wind, still rustling the corn, as it blew across the field, swaying the stalks around us. Eventually we all just looked at one another, nodded in the direction of the road and, still not wanting to break the silence, headed out.
Ryan was the first to speak once we got back to the van.
"That was a pretty desolate place to die," he said, quietly.
We all looked around; there was nothing as far as the eye could see, except corn stalks swaying in the breeze.
"It must have been even worse then," I said, in reply. "Think about it. It was winter, there was no corn growing, there was snow on the ground, no houses as far as the eye could see and it was freezing cold."
Everyone just shuddered at the thought. Silently we climbed back into the van and turned back towards the interstate, as it was time to head to Minnesota and a St. Paul Saints game in a few hours.
A Minor League Game For Saints and Sinners
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| Time For Some Baseball |
The drive from Clear Lake to St. Paul, Minnesota, is about 140 miles and I figured we could cover that ground in about two hours, but first the mood in the car had to change. Everyone seemed a little drained, and down, after having trudged through an empty corn field to see where some of the brightest musicians of their day had died. I decided we needed some music.
"OK guys," I started off. "Can any of you tell me what famous musician came from Minnesota?"
"Bob Dylan, dumbass," Rob said, looking at me as if I was nuts for even having asked that question.
"I know YOU know, I was asking THEM," I told him.
"Bob Dylan," the three in the back called out, laughing.
"Well it's time to play some Dylan," I told them, adjusting Tony's iPad.
With the opening guitar chords of "Like A Rolling Stone" echoing throughout the van we headed north, towards the Twin Cities and some baseball.
We pulled in to St. Paul about two hours before game time and headed right over to Midway Stadium, the home of the St. Paul Saints. The Saints are an Independent League team, meaning they are not affiliated with an MLB club, but unlike the Frontier League, which we had seen more than enough of, this was pretty good baseball.
There were two different incarnations of Saints teams in Minnesota over the course of the last 150 years, the first lasting from 1894-1899 before joining the new found American League and moving to Chicago to become the White Sox, and the second from 1901-1960, when they were a minor league club for the White Sox, Brooklyn Dodgers and, finally, the L.A. Dodgers. This team pulled up stakes when the Twins came to town in 1961 and became the Omaha Dodgers.
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| Home of The Saints |
We pulled into the lot and were immediately accosted by a beer salesman who was serving two 24 ounce cans for $5, so naturally we bought four cans. As we walked around the outside of the stadium we got to see the meet the fans who were dressed in Saints gear and as friendly as the folks in Milwaukee. Ryan, of course, found the area where they were giving out free food and parked his butt there, which was fine because no one was interested in moving after the long day in the car.
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| Stadium Mural |
Painted on the outside of the stadium was a mural that made it seem you were standing inside the stadium at that very moment. It was done well and we all couldn't help but get a chuckle out of the Mid-western charm you would never see back east, even at a minor league park. The atmosphere was very down-home and we were having a blast.
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| Scouts Hall of Fame |
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| Tom Greenwade |
"They were baseball scouts," Rob shot back, being a wiseass.
"True, but now the million dollar question. Who did they discover?"
"Tom Greenwade was a Yankees' scout," Ryan chimed in. "He found Mickey Mantle."
"Not just Mantle," I told him. "Mantle, Bobby Mercer, Elston Howard, Hank Bauer, Clete Boyer, Ralph Terry and a few others. In fact, before he was a Yankees scout he worked for the Brooklyn Dodgers and convinced Branch Rickey that Jackie Robinson was up to the challenge of breaking the color barrier." I told them. "Okay, who was Hep Cronin?"
"I've never even heard of that name," Rob said, puzzled.
"Me either," I admitted. "I just wanted to see if any of you did, before I looked it up."
Apparently no one was amused, Ryan cuffed me in the back of the head, Nick told me I was "lame," Shawn shook his head and Tony told me the first beer was on me.
The ballpark was a fun place, typical of a minor league ballpark, but we noticed something a little different right away; the play-by-play announcers were setting up shop on top of the Saints dugout and would be interacting with the fans, while doing their work, all night long.
We walked around a little, grabbed another beer and some sausages and sodas and took our seats. Right away, Rob started laughing.
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| Mudonna, The Pig |
"Two things. First, they have a pig bringing out the game balls," he said pointing, "and it's wearing a tutu. Secondly, look over the away team's dugout."
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| Away Dugout |
Sure enough, when we looked over at the Sioux Falls Canaries (yes, that's their real name) there was a banner hanging across the rail that said "SINNERS." We all just started laughing at the obviously bad joke, at the visiting team's expense. It made perfect sense though; if the home team was the Saints, what could the away team be if not the Sinners?
As we made our way to our seats we noticed some very interestingly-dressed fans. There was a guy who looked like a gym teacher, another dressed as a train conductor, a rather old lady in a leopard skirt trying to kiss all the guys around the stadium, and an Oriental gentleman dressed in a white shorts suit with a long coat, which looked like a robe.
"They have some strange fans in Minnesota," Nick mused.
"It's Okay, provided she doesn't try to kiss me," Tony laughed, pointing at the woman in the leopard outfit.
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| Ryan and Gert Duel It Out |
"Who the hell is that?" I asked the group of young men sitting next to me.
"That's Gert the Flirt," I was told.
"Who?" I wanted to know.
"Gert The Flirt," he laughed.
"I'm sorry, this is my first game," I explained. "Please explain."
"Gert is one of the Saints' Entertainment Team," he told me. They are paid employees who wander the crowd, interact with the fans and keep the crowd into the game. Watch as the game goes on, they'll be all over and it'll be fun. Trust me"
I didn't have much of a choice, but as long as Gert stopped flirting with us everything would be fine. We grabbed some beers and sausage sandwiches, along with some Killebrew root beer for the kids and settled in for the game. I had never heard of Killebrew and learnedthat it is a Minnesota brewing company that has been providing beverages across the Mid-west since 1996. They are named after former Twins player Harmon Killebrew and having one is listed, by Living Social as one of the to-do things in the Twin Cities. We were always looking to try something local and this was fantastic root beer. We made a mental not to make sure we had more over the next three days.
The Canaries led off the game with a single and a walk, in the first three batters, but could go no farther and the Saints worked out of the first inning jam.
The Canaries, however, were not quite as lucky. Their pitcher allowed a walk, a single and another walk to the first three batters, loading the bases with no one out. The fourth batter struck out, but the fifth place hitter, Angelo Songco, also walked, forcing in a run to make it 1-0, St. Paul. With the bases still loaded, right-fielder Evan Bigley singled in two more and the rout seemed to be on. Jake Taylor, however, bounced into a 6-6-3 double play and the Canaries escaped with no further damage.
The Canaries fought back to make the score 3-2 in the fourth inning. After the Saints got the first two outs of the inning, catcher Kevin Dultz reached first on a fielding error by Saints' third baseman Devin Thaut. Steve Tinoco's double made it 3-1 and when Saints pitcher Ben Hughes uncorked a wild pitch another run came home, making it 3-2.
The Saints got one run back in the bottom of the inning, when Sam Maus walked and came around to score on Willie Cabrera's double. The Saints' lead was up to two runs, the carnival atmosphere that we had heard about was in full force and it was rounding out to be a fun night.
As the gentleman next to us promised, the Saints' Entertainment Team was out in full force. "The Coach" was leading the crowd on our side in a cheering contest against the first base side, which was led by "Al Aboard" (the train conductor), which everyone was enjoying. Gert the Flirt was trying to kiss all the boys and men and then in the bottom of the seventh inning Seigo Masubuchi, the Oriental man in the white suit, picked someone out of the crowd for a promotion called "Sing Karoke With an Actual Asian."
We had a nice, relaxing, evening and the 4-2 lead would be all the runs that the Saints would need. The Canaries wouldn't really threaten again and the Saints bullpen shut the door for the next five innings. At the end of the evening we had seen our first minor league home win of our trip, in our final minor league game.
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| Saints Win |
Post Game Wrap-Up
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| On Top of The Dugout, With The Announcers |
Eventually it was time to leave, so we headed out to the van, checked out the map and started heading towards Brooklyn Park, Minnesota, which would be our "home" for the next few days. Tony's cousin, Joe, lived in here in Minnesota and had graciously offered his home to us so we wouldn't have to spend the next couple of days in a hotel. We were very appreciative and couldn't wait to get there, and relax.
It took us about 30 minutes to make the drive from St. Paul to Joe's house; the directions were perfect and the traffic was light at this time of night. Tony told us that Joe and his family had moved to Minnesota, from Brooklyn, New York, years ago and though they were New York through and through they had carved out a very nice life for themselves out in the "Land of 10,000 Lakes."
We arrived at the house around 11:30, rang the bell and out bounced Joe, with a big smile on his face and hugs and handshakes for all. Tony introduced us all, but it felt like we had known him forever the way he made us feel welcome. I knew right away that were in the company of good people. My opinion was further solidified when we walked through the door and were greeted by his wife Maria and daughter Jessica.
Maria, a pretty, sweet woman came to the door with a big smile on her face, instantaneously making us feel at home, and gave each boy a bear-hug, as if they were her own, before doing the same to the rest of us. She immediately offered food, drink, whatever we could want, and treated us as if we were family returning from war. It felt good to be welcomed in this manner, especially since it was almost midnight and we didn't even know these folks.
About two minutes later Joe and Maria's daughter, Jessica, came bopping into the room. She was petite and pretty, with a smile and a laugh that lit up the room. She immediately started laughing and joking with us, as if she had known all of us her entire life. These three wonderful people just exuded Mid-western hospitality and instantly made me feel at home. I knew we were going to enjoy our time with them and was thankful they had opened their home to us. I was so relaxed and happy to be in this environment, nothing was going to spoil my mood.
"Daddy?" Ryan came over and sheepishly whispered in my ear. "I think we have an issue."
"Whatsa matter, kiddo?" I wanted to know.
"Well, I had to go to the bathroom," he started.
My face fell; I didn't have to hear another word.
"You have got to be kidding me," I said, praying he wasn't go to say what I knew he was going to say.
"Code C," he said, so only I could hear.
"Come on," I sighed. "We'll get this fixed."
I went quickly to the bathroom and tried to flush the toilet, two or three times...nothing. We had been here less than thirty minutes and we had already stuffed up Joe's plumbing. This was more than a little embarrassing, but there was nothing I was going to be able to do without a plunger. Quickly, I pulled Joe aside and explained the situation to him. Ryan was standing next to me, looking upset and worried, but Joe quickly burst out laughing, got me a plunger and threw his arm around Ryan, telling him: "I love that you have made yourself at home so quickly." That made both of us feel better and five minutes later all was good with the bathroom.
Joe, Maria and Jessica quickly showed us the sleeping arrangements; the boys would have a room in the basement, while I would sleep on a nice-sized couch there as well. Tony would sleep in the living room and Rob got a bedroom to himself, upstairs. We quickly went about getting ready for bed; after all we didn't want to keep this wonderful family up any later than they already were and tomorrow was going to be another busy day. We didn't have a ball game planned, but we were going to tour Target Field, see one of Minnesota's outdoor attractions (Minnehaha Falls), visit the University of Minnesota and have dinner at an old-fashioned, traditional, German restaurant that was highly rated and recommended. We were excited, but it would have to wait, as we were all exhausted and fell fast asleep the minute the lights went out.
Next Stop
Saturday, July 26
Minneapolis, MN
Target Field
Chicago White Sox vs Minnesota Twins
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