C'mon, Let's Do the Twist
It’s been a week since I made my way back to Clear Lake, Iowa. It’s home to the Surf Ballroom, where a winter dance party was held in memory of three fallen stars. Sixty-six years ago, Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and J.P. "The Big Bopper" Richardson played their last show here before their plane went down in a frozen field. But last Saturday, the Surf Ballroom wasn’t a tomb; it was a time machine.
The crowd was a parade of the young and the nearly dead, which is to say it was alive! The Duprees crooned like it was 1962. Albert Lee showed off his lightning-fast picking that’s made him a living legend. The Midnight Cowgirls rolled in and let loose a honky-tonk twang that felt ripped straight from a dusty Texas highway. Austin Allsup and Slim Jim Phantom were great, as always, but the real show was Chubby Checker. At 83, he performed like someone who drinks from the fountain of youth he’s bathing in, which happens to be doing the twist, moving your hips, and not giving a damn (as long as everyone is having fun).
The crowd was a mosaic of humanity - elders, children, white, Black, Latino - all mashed together like ingredients in a midwest casserole. I adored the party-goers dressed in outfits from 66 years ago, as if they’d raided their grandparents’ closets.
Some had their actual clothing from those yesteryears, wearing them like a second skin. And when Checker invited them onto the stage, it wasn’t a performance anymore. That room turned in to a revival.
It filled me with absolute glee as everyone made sure to “shake baby, shake,” as if they were trying to turn back time itself. And why not? Music is the closest thing we have to time travel. Chubby Checker didn’t just teach the world to twist in 1960s; he taught them how to forget, for a little while, that the world was on fire. The twist wasn’t just a dance. In a way, it was rebellion, a middle finger to segregation and sorrow. As I stood inside that ballroom, in a town surrounded by cornfields, I felt a hope and lightness we I so desperately needed. It was nice to take a collective trip to a simpler time, even if the world really wasn’t.
The Morning After
The next morning, I wandered around Clear Lake like a person who’d lost their purpose. The town was quiet, the kind of quiet that makes one think too much. But here I was, back at the beach, much like I’d do at home, except the water was frozen. Ice fishermen were sprawled across the lake, their shanties serving as little fortresses against the cold. It was a far cry from California, but Clear Lake has its own kind of warmth.
As I stood there watching the ice fishermen, I thought about Chubby Checker and the Surf Ballroom, how his music transcended racial barriers, and the way music makes time irrelevant. I thought about Buddy Holly and Ritchie Valens, who never got to grow old, and how so many Black artists have always been the architects of joy, even when the world didn’t want them to be. I thought about the twist; a silly, wonderful dance that brings people together when it feels like nothing can.
Come on, baby, let’s do the twist.
Ah, Sarah, thank you sooooo much for this share, especially the video. Felt like I was there. Many of us survived that chaotic time. Here’s to surviving this one!!
Great post! Beautifully written.