Once Upon a Time: The Captivating Life of Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy audiobook

 

Audiobook's Club presents "Once Upon a Time: The Captivating Life of Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy" (2024) by Elizabeth Beller: In this video, we delve into the mesmerizing life of Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy, the iconic figure who captivated the world with her elegance and grace. "Once Upon a Time: The Captivating Life of Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy" explores her journey from a private upbringing to becoming a style icon and beloved wife of John F. Kennedy Jr. Through personal anecdotes and insightful commentary, we uncover the untold stories of Carolyn's life, her enduring legacy and the profound impact she left on fashion and society. Join us as we celebrate the timeless allure of Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy.

"Brats" (2024) by Andrew McCarthy, exploring the Brat Pack, Molly Ringwald's offbeat candor

Brian Tallerico: I have seen so many hagiographic clip reels masquerading as documentaries that I kind of just presumed that Hulu’s “Brats” would be a similar love letter to the young stars of the ‘80s, the actors and actresses who shaped pop culture in the middle of the decade in a way that’s still being felt today. I’m happy to report it’s not that. It’s an ambitious, introspective look at how pop culture and acting careers can be shaped by reputation and even just a nickname: "The Brat Pack". The well-spoken interviewees make an intriguing case that the Brat Pack were the main driving force in an entire cultural shift to stories of young people, which gives “Brats” unexpected poignancy in that these actors and actresses who made such an impact were reduced to an undeniably insulting label. Even if it derailed the dreams he once held, McCarthy appears to find some peace with his membership in this exclusive club—which never really existed, since they never hung out or even knew each other—by grasping that it made him and his “branded” brethren the very thing all movie actors aspire to be: immortal. “Brats” is a reclamation and a reshaping of that label. And it’s overdue. Source: rogerebert.com

Molly Ringwald: "The character of Claire in The Breakfast Club was the most different from me, because I never considered myself a popular kid, and I didn’t come from a wealthy family or anything, so at the time that was a real stretch for me. Also, I have never actually given my panties to a geek." Source: people.com

Pauline Kael review on Pretty in Pink (1986): Molly Ringwald, who possesses a charismatic normality, is enshrined as the teenage ideal in this romantic movie of teenagers, although its script slides at moments with the consistency of watery Jell-O. The spoiled-rotten richies are mean to Ringwald's Andie, a poor-girl high-school senior who lives in a dinky, rattletrap house on the wrong side of the tracks. But she's the opposite of trashy: blessed with quiet good taste, she's proudly conventional. And so she ends up wining both a college scholarship and the rich boy of her dreams. John Hughes, who wrote the script and supervised the work of the first-time director, Howard Deutch, seems to project the Boomers' approach to a teenage romance. In its sociological details, it might have been made by little guys from Mars. With the winsome comedienne Annie Potts as Andie's closest friend, Andrew McCarthy as her rather passive young prince, Jon Cryer as the smartmouth nerd who follows her around, Harry Dean Stanton as her  stricken daddy, and James Spader as a snobby hunk. 

In Sixteen Candles (1984), Kael reviews: Samantha (Molly Ringwald), a high-school sophomore, is having the worst day of her life. It's her 16th birthday, and, in the midst of preparations for her older sister's wedding, the whole family has forgotten about it. And in the evening, when she goes to a school dance and longs to be noticed by the handsome senior (Michael Schoeffling) who's the man of her dreams, she's subjected to the unrequited attentions of a scrawny freshman (Anthony Michael Hall), who's known as Geek--a pesty, leering smartmouth with braces on his teeth. Less raucous than the usual 80s pictures about teenagers, this new comedy by writer-director John Hughes is closer in tone to the gentle English comedies of the 40s and 50s. Hughes devised too much of a farcical superstructure, and a lot of the characters function at a sit-com level, but he brings off some fresh scenes, and he has a feeling for teenagers' wacko slang. The geek confesses that he has never "bagged a babe." And Molly Ringwald has a lovely, offbeat candor, a truly weird creation. 

Anthony Michael Hall as nerdy Brian Johnson in The Breakfast Club: "Dear Mr. Vernon, we accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong. You see us as you want to see us... In the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions. But what we found out is that each one of us is a brain... and an athlete... and a basket case... a princess... and a criminal... Sincerely yours, the Breakfast Club." Pauline Kael's review of The Breakfast Club (1985): "Set mostly in the library of a suburban Chicago high school, this encounter-session movie by the writer-director John Hughes is about five students, a cross-section of the student body, who in the course of serving a 7-4 Saturday detention peel off their layers of self-protection, confess their problems with their parents, and are stripped down to their "true selves." The five are: a champion wrestler (Emilio Estevez), a popular redhead "princess" (Molly Ringwald), a nerd (Anthony Michael Hall), a glowering rebel-delinquent (Judd Nelson), and a shy skittish weirdo (Ally Sheedy). 

With the exception of Ringwald and Sheedy, who have a marvellous comic sprite and transcend their roles until they are jerked back into the script mechanics, the movie is about a bunch of stereotypes who complain that other people see them as stereotypes. Hughes has talent, and when the kids are just killing time the dialogue has an easy, buggy rhythm, but this is a wet enterprise that appeals to young audiences by blaming adults for the kids' misery. Judd Nelson, who is supposed to represent what authorities want to crush, has the worst-conceived role, though Paul Gleason's part as the callous dean is a close runner-up. Each kid in turn tells the group of the horrors of home: the wrestler's father pushes him to compete, the princess is given things but not affection, the brainy grind is pressured to be a straight-A student, the (secretly sensitive) rebel is beaten and burned by his brute of a father, the shy girl—the basket case—has parents who ignore her. It's she who puts her finger on the source of all their troubles. "It's unavoidable," she says. "When you grow up, your heart dies." The dean's heart is dead, all right—he hates the students. He's a bureaucrat who's in the school system strictly for the money. He tells the rebel that he's not going to let anyone endanger his thirty-one thousand a year.

There are stray bits of oddball parody when you can't tell exactly what is being parodied. But the scenes involving the snotty, callous dean ring false right from the start, and though Paul Gleason seems miscast, maybe anybody playing this villain would seem miscast. Judd Nelson's role as the catalyst-rebel—the working-class kid who's good with his hands (he loves shopwork), and is also a hipster, and fearless—is a dud, too. And Nelson doesn't seem to have a speck of spontaneity. After his early scenes, he becomes too self-pitying, and he's given to tilting up his head and pointing his nostrils at the camera. The four other leading performers fare a lot better than Nelson. 

As the straight-arrow jock, Estevez is a little heavy on sincerity—but he does a creditably good job, especially in his long monologue about his father's always telling him to ''win, win." Molly Ringwald's role isn't as festive as her birthday-girl part in Sixteen Candles, but she slips into the well-heeled Miss Popularity languor without any unnecessary fuss. And Anthony Michael Hall delivers a thoughtful, nuanced performance. He excels in math and is active in the Physics Club, but is a frightened, virtuous dork away from his books. And then John Hughes makes his soggiest mistake: the princess takes Allison in hand, scrubs all the black eye makeup off her, gets her out of her witches' wrappings, and brushes her hair back and puts a ribbon in it, and she comes forth looking broad-faced and dull. But she's supposed to be beautiful, and she captures the jock's heart. The Breakfast Club is The Exterminating Angel as a sitcom." For a more extended discussion, read Pauline Kael's book State of the Art (1989) —The Age of Movies: Selected Writings of Pauline Kael: A Library of America Special Publication (2016) by Sanford Schwartz 

Lou Reed, Jeff Tweedy & Wilco

What defines Lou Reed’s best work—besides fearlessness, beauty, intelligence, and switchblade New York City wit—is what places it at the highest level of art making: its empathy. Reed wrote his way into other voices, not all of them pretty, some belonging to “the other half/the irredeemable half”. These kindred humans, regardless of gender, spoke as if with Reed’s own voice, a compassionate ventriloquism that always seemed geared toward understanding both the subject and himself. And when you sensed Reed was indeed writing about himself—in a song like, say, “Waves of Fear,” as visceral a depiction of end-stage addiction and the panic-attack hellscape of withdrawal as any musician is ever likely to record—he seemed to be doing it to commiserate as much as to exorcise. New York, his most consistent and satisfying album attacked the greed and hypocrisy of America’s poisoned political and economic systems as they played out among the haves and have-nots on his hometown streets. And toward the end, in a storybook denouement, he achieved a kind of redemption, and grace, in large part through love.

“It was a devastating thing for me,” Reed said of Kennedy's assassination. “I thought Kennedy could change the world.” Indeed, a generation looked to Kennedy—the youngest president in history, elected at forty-three—and Jackie Onassis as the ultimate inspiration. Even that nascent counterculture skeptic Bob Dylan was impressed. “If I had been a voting man,” he affirmed in one of his memoirs decades later, “I would have voted for Kennedy.” John Cale believed that Reed’s “fears about sanity” led him toward “provocative behavior, actively and purposefully trying his darnedest to set people off. That made him feel he was in control, rather than living in a state of uncertainty or paranoia. This put him in the position of perpetually seeking a kind of advantage for himself by bringing out the worst in people.” Lou Reed often combined Desoxyn with heroin. Desoxyn was straight methamphetamine, stronger and longer-lasting. Either way, speed was the ideal New York City drug. Distributed widely via legit prescriptions from psychiatrists and general medical practitioners, as well through gray-market diet clinics and assorted black-market channels, it’s estimated that between 8 and 10 billion amphetamine tablets were ingested annually in the United States between 1963 and 1969. 

Lou Reed remarked about “Waves of Fear”: “It’s about anxiety and terror about which nothing can be done. Terror so strong that the person can’t even turn a light on, can’t speak, can’t make it to a phone. Afraid to turn a light on for what they’ll see—for what he is.” “What motivation,” Bruno Blum asked, with astonishment, “could you possibly have to approach that subject?” Reed responded flatly and plainly, as if there was just one conceivable answer: “Empathy,” he said to the French author and journalist Bruno Blum. Reed was performatively frank about his tastes. He called the Beatles “garbage” and claimed he never liked them, while the Doors were “painfully stupid and pretentious.” He expressed dislike for Stephen Sondheim (“Broadway music I despise”) but admiration for Randy Newman. Reed was largely dismissive on the topic of Bowie. —Lou Reed: The King of New York (2023) by Will Hermes

Jeff Tweedy: "It’s hard to believe that someone with a reputation for being as relentlessly thorny and unkind as Lou Reed could write something as empathetic and tender as “Candy Says.” But he did. This is all my way of saying that I don’t quite believe the nasty image most of us have of what Lou Reed was really like. I don’t doubt the stories of his mistreatment of people that deserved better. But what doesn’t make sense is the idea that any amount of bad behavior could conceal a heart big enough to write “What do you think I’d see/If I could walk away from me?” I love this song so much. And I love that Lou Reed that belongs to only me, partly fictional as Lou might be for me. That Lou Reed made of a powerful magic able to move one’s mind behind someone else’s eyes. Maybe surrendering to an unwanted emotion is the only way we survive without getting trapped in our sadnesses and angers and jealousies... at least I think that’s how it works." 

Not unlike Kurt Cobain, Jeff Tweedy actively demythologized the figure of the rock & roll hero. Instead of painting a self-indulgent portrait of bravado, Tweedy related tales of social awkwardness and panic attacks overcome by hard work, claiming vulnerability as his defining artistic trait. Jettisoning the hackneyed image of the womanizing rock star, Tweedy defied that archetype, recounting a haunting story about a sexual encounter with a female friend named Leslie (25) when he was just 14. After Farrar left Uncle Tupelo after a bitter quarrel over Farrar's girlfriend Monica, Tweedy and his remaining bandmates formed Wilco, whose album Being There gained critical acclaim. Tweedy met his wife Sue Miller in 1991 at the Chicago club Lounge Ax and they were married on August 9, 1995. In 2001 Tweedy would fire Jay Bennett from the band. Tweedy suggests that he and Bennett were enabling each other's addictions: "I fired Bennett from Wilco because I knew if I didn't, I would probably die." Tweedy's music has never shied away from darkness, but he's also never been afraid to celebrate joy. His personality, like his music, has been alternately sorrowful and triumphant. Source: npr.org

 

Jeff Tweedy: My girlfriend had left Belleville to attend SIU–Carbondale college. She met a guy there during her first semester away while she and I were still technically dating. I was devastated. I’d experienced rejection before, but not that world-shattering feeling of betrayal. That feeling marked the beginning of the first identifiable pattern of depression in my life. When you’re prone to depression, this is the kind of catalyst that can bring it on and turn something upsetting into something debilitating and seemingly insurmountable. I drove down to Carbondale to see her, and I found her walking hand in hand with a guy toward her dorm room. And then I knocked the door. They were already in bed. God, it was a full-on catastrophe. Almost comically hurtful. And as inconsequential as it would be in the grand scheme of things, at that moment I couldn’t see it as anything less than the end of my life. I wrote “Gun” a little while after that: “It hurt much worse when you gave up/which way I oughta run/Crawling back to you now/I sold my guitar to the girl next door/She asked me if I knew how/I told her, I don’t think so anymore.” That was probably the most honest and direct I’d ever been in a song up to that point. Telling the world that I’d sold my guitar wasn’t saying I’ll kill myself, but it was close. To me, it was almost the equivalent of killing myself at that point. I was in so much pain I was willing to give up the one thing in the world that was sustaining to me, the only thing that mattered. That might seem like a martyrdom fantasy—“If I can’t have what I want, I don’t want anything!” It is grandiose, but I was serious about it. The feeling that “anything is better than this,” even giving up the only thing you love if it would just make it go away, is real. I can still identify with that. When I play Gun, that’s what hooks me in.

While Sam Jones's "I am trying to break your heart" documentary progressed, Jay Bennett started pitting people against one another, whispering rumors and stoking paranoia. If you weren’t in the room, he was talking behind your back or diminishing your contributions. I heard about all the nasty things he’d been saying about me when I wasn’t around—I guess it never occurred to him that the rest of the guys in Wilco would compare notes—and when it was just Jay Bennett and me alone in the studio, he said the rest of Wilco wasn’t pulling their weight. I suggested to create sounds that didn’t involve us, like an organ with some keys taped down, or a tape echo feeding back on itself, an electric fan strumming a guitar. The plan was to come back the next morning, turn all of our self-playing instruments back on, and hit record. But when I got to the Loft, Jay Bennett was already there, walking the camera crew and talking about how he’d put it all together, the whole room was buzzing, and he was fielding questions from Sam Jones about 'his' sonic experiments. I didn’t say anything—I knew that was petty and I didn’t want to get into another fight in front of the cameras—but I was furious. That was an idea that I’d suggested. There were many reasons I didn’t want to make music with Jay Bennett anymore. I fired Jay Bennett from Wilco because I knew if I didn’t, I would probably die. I know that sounds like hyperbole, but it’s really not. I told him I knew what was going on. That’s one of the first things I said to him. “You’ve been getting FedEx packages full of pills.” 

The guy who was running the Loft for us would see him there in the mornings, counting his pills on a desk in the back. I told Bennett we would help him. If he wanted to find somebody to talk to about addiction and maybe get into a program, we would pay for everything. But he was incredulous, saying: “If I had a problem I would admit it.” I had to confront my Vicodin addiction in rehab. My thoughts were: “I’m not some junkie who wants to disappear. I have real migraines. I have real panic attacks. And I’m only being responsible by finding a way to control them so I can keep doing my job.” Some fans thought I should have stayed with Jay as a sign of loyalty for the band. But I think that kind of devotion, to something entirely made up like a “band,” is silly and even dangerous. There are only three people I’ve committed myself to completely for the rest of my life: my wife Susie, and my sons Spencer and Sammy. My actual family. 

Jeff Tweedy and her wife Sue Miller (married August 9, 1995)

Jeff Tweedy: My wife is Susie Miller Tweedy. I’m tempted to say that if you aren’t married to her then your life is crap. But hearing her voice in my head, I’m thinking better of saying such a thing. See, even without consultation, she’s been steering me toward a subtler and kinder way of saying what I want to say. Which all goes to show what a force she’s been in my effort to get better. After 29 years of marriage and over 30 total years of going steady, I still can’t believe my good fortune. Somehow the coolest and funniest woman alive thought enough of me to take my hand. I love her more every day and I wouldn’t be here without her. Happy Anniversary, Sukierae! Source: www.avclub.com

Carolyn Bessette and John Kennedy Jr (25th Anniversary) video, Elizabeth Beller's book review

 

Carolyn Bessette and John Kennedy Jr: video dedicated in honor of the 25th Anniversary of their passing.

My review of Once Upon a Time: The Captivating Life of Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy (2024) by Elizabeth Beller: This magnificent book by Elizabeth Beller is a state of art biography, an all-encompassing account of the life and career of Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy. Despite some reviewers protesting about the book being a bit too benevolent, I wonder if they had heard a previous unbiased version until this book arrived? The answer is a resounding NO. All the previous accounts about this extremely accomplished trailblazer woman referred to a soulless mannequin and were surrounded by sexist toxicity. It was about time some writer, and in this case Eizabeth Beller is unrivaled, expounded another different side of this fashion icon, a young woman who had daddy issues and mood swings, she was a perfectionist and she could be stubborn, she became increasingly paranoid due to her harrassment by a voyeuristic press, but guess what? She was actually a nice woman who in the early 90s stumbled upon the beloved John Kennedy Jr and she fell in love with him (not the public persona, his real self). Beller summes it up best: "The assumptions were from the pictures that she was icy, that she was cold. What I quickly learned was that she was warm and effervescent. She was joyful and loved to laugh.” A splendid biography totally worth your time. Highly recommended. Available now on Amazon.com

New Beatles book: Shake It Up, Baby!

Ken McNab’s new book, Shake It Up, Baby! The Rise of Beatlemania (May 7, 2024) is a gritty account of the Beatles’ rise to fame. McNab, an award-winning journalist from Glasgow, breaks down the Beatles’ concerts, business deals and bloody fights month by month during the transitional year of 1963. Much of the grit stems from Brian Epstein, the dapper, driven manager who kept the Beatles working incessantly. The group' stints in Hamburg between 1960 and 1962 exposed them to the rough quarters of the city’s Reeperbahn as the band tightened their sound. Success on the level the Beatles achieved was unprecedented in British pop, causing inevitable mistakes as Epstein learned the ropes of a cutthroat music industry. Tensions on the personal front also loomed. During a holiday to Spain, Epstein, a gay man who made no secret of his attraction to John Lennon, faced a potentially devastating scandal after the two vacationed separately from the other band members. Although McNab discredits rumours the relationship turned physical, rampant homophobia in England (where homosexuality was still illegal in 1963) made the insinuations dangerous. Lennon fueled the fire by violently assaulting a comedian who joked about the alleged “relationship” with Epstein. The author’s compulsion for detail makes Shake It Up, Baby! feel scholarly without sacrificing readability. Source: popmatters.com 

Albert Goldman was a celebrity ghoul who took advantage of his subjects being dead to avoid libel laws. His mission of undeifying icons like Lenny Bruce, Elvis, and John Lennon gave him the money and notoriety he could have never otherwise gained as a writer. His main sources usually had axes to grind or self-serving legal agendas they were trying to service. Albert Goldman was a celebrity gravedigger and a ghoul who wrote salacious books about those dead celebrities who conveniently couldn't sue him. His primary sources were usually disgruntled people in serious legal troubles. Goldman assaulted cultural icons he seemed to loathe and he could list his questionable and tainted sources so he could defend his tripe as "well researched."

Peter Doggett, in You Never Give Me Your Money, wrote about  Goldman's book: "The Lives of John Lennon was lousy with errors of fact and interpretation, speculative in the extreme, ill-willed and awash with snobbery. Yet Goldman pinpointed Lennon's almost clinical need for domination by a strong woman; the dark ambiguity of a man of peace being governed by violence, either vented or repressed; the unmistakable decline in his work after he left England in 1971, which led him from guru to guru, each obsession spilling into disillusionment and creative despair." People well versed in the Beatles lore think of The Lives of John Lennon as plain historical fiction. 

I remember Philip Norman's biography of John Lennon was the one that made him seem the most like a real person to the reader. The Lives of John Lennon portrayed Lennon as a volatile, perverted drug-user who had a gay affair with The Beatles' manager Brian Epstein and maybe even had killed Stuart Sutcliffe in Germany. It's not a question of whether his books were best sellers, it's a question of what kind of person devotes years of research to destroying a dead man's reputation, even for cash. One wonders whether Goldman himself, or anyone else, could have withstood the merciless scrutiny he devoted to his subjects. Goldman's first biography, "Ladies and Gentlemen, Lenny Bruce!!" helped him get an advance for the Elvis Presley book. Its success earned him a seven-figure advance for the Lennon rip-job. At the time of his death, Goldman was picking over Jim Morrison's bones for yet another book. Fortunately for the rock music fans, he died in a flight crash in March 28, 1994. Source: consequenceofsound.net

It’s impossible to tell how many books have been written about The Beatles, but definitely in the thousands. Mark Lewisohn alone has written 15 detailed books. Instead, about their main influence Buddy Holly, there are only about ten books published. Despite Paul McCartney admitting there would have not been The Beatles without Holly: “John and I started to write because of Buddy Holly.” In an interview with Skip Brooks and Bill Malcolm, Holly's former manager Norman Petty still found it difficult to address why he hadn’t been more supportive of Buddy Holly’s need to experiment as an artist; Petty admitted he had lacked vision. As John Beecher (author of Remembering Buddy: The Definitive Biography Of Buddy Holly) recalls: "Norman and Vi Petty sent us information, but mostly they obstructed us in our efforts to gain access to photographs, recordings, and footage of Buddy and The Crickets - something I found really hard to understand until later, when I worked out that Norman Petty was just waiting for an opportunity to make some money." 

"I suspect that by the time Buddy discovered what had been going on with their income that had been directed to Clovis, it was too late for Norman to regain trust and he knew this. Thus, he burned all his boats with Buddy and cold-shouldered his attempts to get his royalties. Soon, lawyers were involved in getting Buddy his money and the process would have taken years to resolve. When I visited Clovis, I saw the problem at first hand; it was not until MPL took over Nor Va Jak that writers received regular statements and payments." About Ellis Amburn's mean-spirited biography, of which Bill Griggs said "that book belongs to the trash can," John Beecher agrees: "I don't much dig what Albert Goldman had to say on Elvis. I knew that a lot of what he attributed to John Lennon wasn't true; he tried to destroy Lennon's soul for commercial gain and I think that's unforgivable. A bit like the tales Ellis Amburn told on Buddy Holly - so many of his facts that were able to be checked were so out of line that it made one doubt his assertions on anything he wrote. It looked like Goldman again." —"Rave On: The Biography of Buddy Holly" (2014) by Philip Norman

Saving Buddy Holly: Blue Days & Black Nights

 

"Starlight" written by Buddy Holly, backed by The Crickets and recorded at Norman Petty's studio in April 1957.

For Charlie, the pleasant endorphin-induced positive mental experiences by Buddy Holly’s music converged in his mind. And thus began Charlie’s love for his music and later the man. As Charlie became more passionate about Buddy Holly, he read rock ‘n’ roll books and more biographies about him. Charlie became interested in time travel and time machines when he first read H.G. Wells’ book “The Time Machine”. Charlie had shared his thoughts about time travel and his 'multiple time lines' theory with his wife Sue. “I like to call paths through time ‘time lines’.” Being a rock ‘n’ roll fan, he decided to watch “The Buddy Holly Story.” When he was watching the final scene of the movie, Buddy Holly’s last show (a triumphant concert with the music filling the screen with exuberant joy), Charlie felt tears welling up in his eyes. It didn’t make sense for Sue that Charlie was about to cry. And then the movie ended suddenly with the announcement of Buddy Holly’s death. Charlie found Sue and fell into her arms sobbing uncontrollably. Buddy Holly had died at the peak of his career.

He was looking forward to a career of writing, singing, playing and producing records. He was full of confidence. Buddy was a happy man and should have enjoyed a much longer life. As Charlie’s time travel ideas evolved, Artie became an important sounding board for Charlie’s time concepts. Charlie had started with basic physics equations that he had learned: E=mc2, E=hv, F=ma. He loved formulas, symbols and numbers. As Charlie’s time travel visions progressed, they incorporated quantum mechanics and theories beyond quantum theory. His formulas became more complex and sophisticated as he refined and expanded his theories. Artie said, “I remember talking to you about going back in time and warning Buddy Holly not to get on that airplane.” “I have thought about it lots of times. Maybe I will go back in time and warn Buddy Holly of his impending fate. I think that if I could get close to him somehow,” Charlie continued: “Some of my memories and knowledge might pass into Buddy’s mind and warn him about what happened after he played at the Surf Ballroom in February 1959.” 

Like in Isaac Asimov’s story ‘The End of Eternity.’ Charlie thought how Buddy seemed to have an innate goodness within the double helix of his DNA. Carlie and Artie kept talking about the details of the fatidic night on February 2, 1959. “The plane the three musicians had taken was the N3794N. What color was the plane?” “In the Ritchie Valens movie La Bamba, the plane is blue and white. That’s wrong. It was a red and white V-tailed Beechcraft Bonanza.” “Was the Buddy Holly movie pretty accurate?” “The two Crickets in the movie had the wrong names.” “Why would they do that?” “There were two versions of the movie being filmed at the same time and copyright issues screwed things up before the movie was finally released. The screenwriter commited suicide just days before its screening." Charlie had started his crusade to meet and try to save Buddy Holly a long time ago. 

At a time when the general public was convinced that every rock and roll singer was a millionaire, The Crickets only ever stood to collect $40,000 between them in mechanical royalties should the single go on to sell a million copies. Not too many musicians in those days did the math, although there seemed to be a theory at large that if you sold a million records, then you ended up with a million dollars. In fact records sold in shops for just sixty-nine cents each, and the royalty was often as low as one cent per side. Buddy of course would have been aware of this. His first royalty statement from Decca Nashville in June 1956 showed that having sold just under 10,000 copies of Blue Days Black Nights, he had earned a grand total of $113.77! Not that he even got this pittance from Decca who had added a charge of $500 for the recording session, meaning that he would not get his first cent in royalties until he had earned another $385.97 for the label.

Buddy Holly would marry Maria Elena Santiago at Buddy’s parents’ home in Lubbock, Texas on Friday, August 15, 1958. Charlie set his time machine to Lubbock, August 14, 1958. Buddy and Maria Elena were living on Fifth Avenue in New York City. The Crickets Jerry Allison and Joe B. Mauldin had split with Buddy in November 1958. Buddy had been talking about going on a tour to make some money, but Maria Elena did not like the idea of Buddy going on the Winter Dance Party tour. “I’d take you along but you’re still getting nauseous from the pregnancy,” Buddy sighed. “This will be like the Summer Dance Party that I did last summer. Norman owes us a lot of money, but I can’t wait for that anymore. The idea that lawyers and accountants are holding things up drives me nuts. In Lubbock I was taught that a handshake was a deal,” lamented Buddy. “I always trusted Norman. I just can’t believe he’s cheating me. Norman said he is being screwed around by the record companies and businessmen in New York. I know that Jerry said he thought we were being ripped off by Norman when he added his name as a writer to our songs. Norman explained that it was only fair. He let us use his studio for a lot of time that he didn’t charge us for. Getting writer royalties for songs was how he got paid back for that session time. He told us that if the records never sold, he would never get paid for his work. Maybe we made a mistake in trusting Norman, but it made sense back then."

The bus rides on the Winter Dance Party Tour were far from glamorous. Buddy was daydreaming about the good times he'd enjoyed in England. On their way to Green Bay for the February 1 show, their bus had broken down. A passing truck driver saw them and alerted the sheriff’s office. Deputies had come out and saved them. The driver and his passengers had been fortunate that none of them had lost a limb or died of exposure to the freezing temperatures. Wisconsin’s winter was so record bad in 1959 that some people had died. There was little time between shows and travelling for them to get enough rest or get their clothes cleaned. Buddy had hoped to get to Moorhead, Minnesota early after the Clear Lake show so he would have time to do laundry and get some sleep. Now Buddy knew what the expression 'bone-chilling' meant. Everyone on the bus was paying attention and considering what Buddy was saying. Buddy had asked the manager of the Surf Ballroom Carroll Anderson to get a plane to the next show in Moorhead. 

There was a struggle going on in Buddy’s mind. Something in his brain seemed to know that he must not get on that plane. The eerie conflict continued in his mind. 'Am I going insane?' Buddy thought. Tiny snowflakes were drifting down and landing on his glasses. Buddy started to move toward the plane when the front page of a Clear Lake newspaper flashed into his mind. He was seeing the front page of the Clear Lake Mirror-Reporter. “Death of Singers Shocks Nation” was the headline. Buddy felt like he had seen this headline before. He had never been to Clear Lake except for this Winter Dance Party tour, yet he felt certain that the front page was one that he had read before. Although it was very cold, he was perspiring now. He opened his eyes and closed them again. Yet Buddy thought the sooner they got to Fargo, the sooner he would get some rest. But the image was clear and pervasive: “Death of Singers.” Buddy had already decided that he was not getting on the plane. Buddy Holly, once he had made up his mind, was like a huge ocean liner, hard to turn. So Buddy knew he had to try and convince Ritchie Valens and The Big Bopper not to fly that night. –"Saving Buddy Holly: Blue Days Black Nights" (2024) by Gerard Goldlist

June Allyson: Myth or Reality?

“Lou,” they said, “it’s like this.” And then they told me what it was like. “There’s this June Allyson,” they said. “Nice kid. Very upsetting. Her sex appeal isn’t wrapped like Lana Turner’s,” they said. “She can’t strip your nerves like Davis. Bergman’s face is more beautiful. But for four years, we’ve been polling our readers, and our readers have been yelling ‘Allyson’! Howcome?” They said that that was what I was supposed to find out. They said they had it figured it must be personality. The only thing was, whose? Did the personality that emerged from the pages of Modern Screen month after month actually belong to June Allyson? Was she truly a creature composed of two-thirds whimsy, and the other third dedicated to the idea that wrinkling one’s nose was irresistible? Or was this personality a hoax, a creation destined to wrinkle its nose down the years, while the real Allyson marched off in six other directions, ignoring her fictional alter ego?

A lot of caustic readers had questioned the Allyson of the stories, already. “Nah,” they sneered. “There ain’t no Santy Claus. There ain’t no fairies. And there ain’t any such a person as Junie-bug.” MODERN SCREEN had thereupon taken the problem to Dick Powell. “Look,” it had said. “Write how she isn’t always cute, your wife.” But he couldn’t. When Powell finished talking, she was still cute and radiant. Cuter, even. So they—the editors—finally settled on me. “He’s her husband,” they said deprecatingly. “But you—you’re unprejudiced. Go see the girl. Take a stop-watch. Stay away from ice-cream sodas. Go there coldly, fishy-eyed. And let us have it straight. Is she there, or did we make her up?” I went. But first I checked everybody else in town who'd ever heard of Allyson to find out all there was to know. I read her official biography at M-G-M. It said she loved sailing, among other things. Yet everyone in Hollywood claims Dick Powell sold his boat because June couldn’t stand the water. Significant? If you’re me, yes.

You check with Dick at RKO, where he is making Station West, and show him the biography. He says it’s wrong. June hates sailing. You check back with M-G-M, and they say biographies are based on stars’ own statements, and therefore there can’t be a mistake. Then you find out from people who know June well that she used to be wild about sailing, but changed after her marriage. You dig further, and finally a confidante of June’s snitches. Both Dick and June love to sail. But June soon noticed that Dick always got bad sinus attacks after a cruise. Knowing he’d never admit that his favorite sport got him down, she didn’t point it out. Instead she began to complain of not feeling well after a sail. That was different. Dick decided he wasn’t going to make June suffer, and he got rid of the boat. And June’s eyes narrowed into that adoring little squint of hers, as she thanked him for being so thoughtful! (When Dick reads this, it’s going to be a surprise. He still thinks she can’t stand the water.)

The idea for a bit of feminine strategy like that just doesn’t come out of the blue. You have to sit down and think it out. Her not too happy childhood may have had something to do with it. She remembers her first dance, at the age of fourteen, because she was wearing a brace under her dress at the time. She also remembers it because of the look on the boy’s face when he put his arm around her and felt the metal. His mouth fell open, and with the clumsiness of youth, he started to ask her what she had on. June fled, tears spouting, and never went to another party until she’d won her first job on the stage, freed at last from the cage she’d had to wear so long.  June had a natural interest in people, and learning how others felt and thought helped her to manage her own life and affairs. She was dancing in a Broadway show when her first movie bid came in the form of a telegram from Louis B. Mayer of M-G-M. She didn’t call her agent. She didn’t have one then because she didn’t think she was important enough to interest one. 

The wires went back and forth between Hollywood and New York for two months. At the studio Mr. Mayer was surrounded by a battery of legal experts on contracts. In New York, June was surrounded by the none-too-cheerful decor of a furnished room. The studio wanted her for just one picture, Best Foot Forward, which she had done on the stage. June insisted on a term contract. She got it. As they will tell you now at M-G-M, June not only knew what she wanted, she knew what M-G-M wanted! It is one of Mr. Mayer’s pet jokes. It was a nice piece of business, but June isn’t particularly proud of it. She is more proud of being fair in life, of something, for instance, that happened only recently in connection with her latest picture, Good News. Good News is a top production, boasting some of the studio’s most important stars, yet its director, Chuck Walters, never directed a picture before in his life! He had only handled dance sequences.

Take another incident. It is pretty well known that Edwin Knopf, who has produced some of June’s best pictures, is crazy about her. You ask why, and someone says it’s because Knopf considers her one of the most considerate and cooperative of stars. Maybe you would have a good slant on June if you happened to be a bit player in one of her pictures. Even if you have only two lines to say to her, June will rehearse with you as conscientiously as she will with a principal or the star playing opposite her. More than that, she’ll help you on your lines, and then ask you fo coach her on her own. “She partners up quick,” comments one extra. June is human. She has done some mean things in her life. She still does. But when realization hits her, she marches right up to the party she has hurt and makes a full confession—and a staunch friend. Soon after she started at M-G-M, June became jealous of Gloria De Haven. Gloria was gorgeous. The makeup experts fussed with her for hours. Soon after that Gloria began to get in wrong with the director; she was always coming in late on the set, while June was always on time. Gloria said nothing but looked at June in a puzzled way. 

It was too much for June. She ran the director and told him the truth. She had made it her business to watch for Gloria’s arrival at the studio every morning, and then duck into the makeup chair just ahead of her. There she would stall and insist on elaborate attention until she knew Gloria could never be made up in time for the set call. After she told this to the director, June ran right to Gloria and repeated the whole story. She didn’t spare herself; admitted her jealousy of Gloria’s beauty. June and Gloria are the best of friends. If any two girls understand each other, they do. June makes it her business to be on the same footing with everyone else she meets or works with. Talking about her work, one producer will say, “She has magical presence on the screen. Some of the most talented actors and actresses know that the second they get in front of the camera they’d better start acting or there will be a lull. Their presence counts for little. It’s the opposite for June. Just seeing her is almost enough.”

At the opposite end of the studio personnel is the young, third-assistant director who has to summon June to the set when a scene is ready to go. “She doesn’t play hide-and-seek with you, like so many others,” he says. “She knows I’m responsible for having her ready. Just when I'm told to get her, I turn around and there she is coming up and giving me a reassuring wink. Boy, is a girl like that a comfort!” I considered the testimony gathered so far: “considerate and cooperative . . . fair . . . gave me my chance . . . honest with herself . . . magical presence . . . boy, is she a comfort . . .” I didn’t know, so I went to visit June, myself. And I’m still gasping; I’m bowled over. What charm! What gaiety! What a personality! And they wanted me to tear that cute little girl apart! I’m insulted. -Article by Louis Pollock for Modern Screen magazine (January 1948)