buddy holly's glasses


On this day in music history: February 29, 1980 - Buddy Holly’s signature horn rimmed glasses are found in the archives of the Gordo County Sheriffs office in Mason City, IA. Thought to have been lost in the plane crash in February 1959 that claimed Holly’s life, they are discovered in a sealed manila envelope in the Sheriffs office in Mason City, IA. The prescription glasses were originally found on April 7, 1959, two months after the crash buried in a snow drift. Holly originally purchased the glasses from his optometrist Dr. J. Davis Armistead in 1957 for $20, who in turn acquired the Faiosa plastic frames while on vacation in Mexico City. They are returned to Holly’s widow Maria Elena, who keeps them until October 1998. The glasses are purchased from her for $80,000 by the non-profit cultural organization Civic Lubbock in Holly’s hometown of Lubbock, TX, and are on permanent display at the Buddy Holly Center along with numerous other artifacts that were owned by the rock & roll icon.

carrot-gallery  asked:

C 1??? thank you!!!!!

Jared had decided to get out of his comfort zone and explore by going to an underground punk show. He found the energy absolutely intoxicating and he saw someone he recognized from class in the crowd.

Gilfoyle was a skinny guy with Buddy Holly glasses and a septum piercing. His black jeans had an absurd amount of holes in them, including some that revealed the striped underwear underneath. Jared couldn’t stop staring at him thrashing in the pit.

After the show, he went over to the bar where Gilfoyle was drinking with a couple of his friends.

“Hi!” He could tell that Gilfoyle and his friends were all laughing at his appearance, but he kept his demeanor steady. “I think you’re in my computer science class at Vassar.”

Gilfoyle’s face fell. “Uh, you’re definitely thinking of someone else,” he said.

“No, I’m sure of it, your presentation on the future of system architecture was mesmerizing. Bertram, right?”

Gilfoyle’s friends snickered.

“Nope,” he said, managing to feel confident in the lie. “That’s not my name.’

Jared furrowed his eyebrows. "I’m sure it’s you. Bertram Gilfoyle.”

Gilfoyle closed his eyes and sighed as his friends both laughed. Gilfoyle grabbed Jared and pulled him aside.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Well, I recognized you and I was very intrigued by the fact that you’re so brilliant when it comes to computer science and so interested in alternative music, so I wanted to formally introduce myself,” Jared explained.

Gilfoyle twitched and said, “I’m trying to be friends with those guys and you just told them that my name is Bertram and I’m studying computer science at Vassar!”

“I don’t understand what the problem is,” Jared told him. “I mean, isn’t the point of punk rock that you don’t give a frick what anyone thinks about you?”

“I don’t care what anyone thinks about me!” Gilfoyle said.

“Then, why does it matter if people know that your name is Bertram or you’re studying computer science at MIT?”

Gilfoyle didn’t have a response to that.

“We got off on the wrong foot,” Jared said. “My name is Jared. Can I please buy you a drink?”

As Gilfoyle’s friends walked by, one of them said, “Hey, uh, we’re heading out, Bertram.” They all laughed.

Gilfoyle turned to Jared and said, “Sure. I guess I might as well just drink with you tonight.”

They went to the bar. Jared ordered a White Russian and Gilfoyle ordered a glass of whiskey.

Gilfoyle watched Jared’s polite smile as he thanked the bartender, who was clearly full of disdain and mockery at having to make a White Russian.

“So, do you just really not care what anyone thinks about you?” Gilfoyle asked.

“No, no, I care very deeply,” Jared said. “I’d love to make a friend at school. But, it hasn’t happened yet, to be honest.”

Gilfoyle stared at Jared. He wanted to run and never talk to this person again, but an equally big part of him wanted to hold onto him and protect him from the world.

“Did you actually understand my presentation on the future of system architecture? Because the fucking professor didn’t,” Gilfoyle said. He started chugging down his whiskey as fast as possible.

“I didn’t understand the technicalities, but I can tell when someone is onto something,” Jared told him. “I can tell you’re on your way to getting a high-level position some place on the level of Google or Hooli right out of school.”

Gilfoyle snorted and said, “No fucking way. I just want to build my own shit.”

“You’re not worried about security or students loans…”

Gilfoyle shrugged. He set his empty glass down and then asked, “Hey, do you want to go outside and smoke?”

“Oh, um… okay,” Jared said. He didn’t smoke, but he felt too honored by the fact that Gilfoyle wanted to continue talking to him to say so.

Outside the bar, Gilfoyle took out a joint and lit it. He took a hit, then passed it to Jared. Jared put it in his mouth and then frowned.

“Is this marijuana?”

“Yeah,” Gilfoyle said.

Jared looked around and said, “That’s illegal.”

Gilfoyle laughed as he took the joint back and continued smoking it. “You know, you remind me of me when I was, like, fifteen,” Gilfoyle said.

Jared smiled and asked, “Really?”

“That’s not a good thing,” Gilfoyle informed him. He flicked the joint onto the ground and stamped it out. “I need a ride back to campus,” he told Jared.

“Well, I took a bus here,” Jared said.

Gilfoyle sighed and said, “Of course you did.” He ran a hand through his hair and said, “Well, lead the fucking way, man.”