I don’t know why the death of Buddy Holly, so many years ago, had such an impact on me. I ran into a cemetery on North Main Street in Providence, hit in a vault, and cried my heart out for hours, so long the police were out looking for me. I suspect I was crying for more than Buddy Holly, and I suppose it was the first time the notion of real loss and grief entered my consciousness in that way. In any case, I have never forgotten it, and today is the anniversary of his death, which I learned of on my little pocket transistor radio. I think I learned that day that life happens, and it’s good to know you can change some parts of it, and affect your life, and cannot change others.
  Tough lesson to learn.