THE DAY THE MUSIC DIED

On February 3, 1959, parents would lose children, siblings would lose brothers and grandchildren would die. This was the day a plane crash took the lives of singers J.P. Richardson (The Big Bopper), 28, Buddy Holly, 22 and Ritchie Valens, 17. Since all three were so prominent at the time, February 3, 1959, became known as "The Day The Music Died."

At the time of his death Ritchie Valens was a young man with superstar potential who, even though was still in his first year as a recording artist, had already made a name for himself in the music industry.

Growing up music would become a large part of my twin brother Alan’s life. His interest in “The Wizard of Oz” would lead to an admiration of Judy Garland and in time Liza Minelli. He had seen many of Liza’s concerts often sending her mail-grams of well wishes much to my mother’s disproval. It was her fear that he would get arrested for harassment. We would travel often to other concerts as well including Billy Joel, Bruce Springsteen, Diana Ross, Whitney Houston, Kenny G and even Yanni.

Alan's interest in music and the arts began in high school with the artistic productions. After graduation from Temple University he would become entrenched in the Philadelphia cultural scene. Much of his free time was spent volunteering for arts, dance and theatre organizations. His name would be listed in the credits of many artistic productions. He, like Ritchie Valens, was just starting to realize his dreams. Then came June 25, 1992. Alan had died of an AIDS-related brain tumor that had started not more then two months earlier. This was-for me-the day the music died.

Don McLean immortalized the February 1959 tragedy with his 1972 hit “American Pie”, a song that took Alan and I years to understand and memorize. I would mark my personal tragedy by constantly changing the radio station. So much that I thought I would break the buttons. A break-up song would remind me too much of my loss. While in a friend’s car I had him turn off the radio rather then risk crying.

Then one day a few years later, upon leaving the cemetery, on the radio I heard Whitney Houston’s “The Greatest Love of All”. Alan and I had recorded an awful rendition at a Hershey, PA amusement park recording studio. We agreed that no one else would hear the dreadful outcome. I switched stations twice only to hear the song two more times. It was my reflection that Alan was telling me to enjoy the music once again. To take pleasure in life and to do what we enjoyed doing together. I hear Alan’s voice saying the words inscribed on Ritchie Valens grave "Come On, Let's Go."

Daniel Yoffee, TCF Board of Directors Sibling Representative. Reprinted from the summer edition 2003 of We Need Not Walk Alone – The national magazine of The Compassionate Friends.

THE CITY THAT ALAN LOVED

I find it very important to spend each anniversary going somewhere or doing something that my twin brother Alan enjoyed. This year for the 11th anniversary my Mom and I, after visiting Seaside Heights, NJ, went to Philadelphia - Alan’s second hometown.

At the shore I remembered Alan by buying raffles tickets for a Mustang convertible, eating a steak sandwich and getting a temporary tattoo with his initials. I was told the tattoo would last ten days - it lasted one. In Philadelphia we decided to eat in the places where we had shared meals and return to see the places where Alan lived.

Our hotel faced Alan’s very last apartment building. I remembered the times we had spent looking in the direction I now stood in - eleven years later. I frequently gazed at his bedroom window, thinking of all that Alan - the writer, publicist, AIDS activist, volunteer and advocate for the elderly has missed, and what might have been.

A Bette Midler song talks about places remembered, “some have changed, some forever not for better.” Alan, who enjoyed many of his meals at various restaurants, would be surprised to see that some had closed ten years after his death due to the poor economy. The Savoy, Houlihans and IHOP (all places where we spent numerous times talking about college, careers, family and life) are also now just memories.

Alan had moved 11 times in 12 years for a variety of reasons. I realized there wouldn’t be any new memories and I worried about forgetting the old ones - so I took pictures to remember each apartment and some of the memories they hold. As I looked through the camera I remembered many special moments –his hosting a neighborhood coffee-klatch for a mayoral candidate; moving from a duplex apartment to a studio; staying up late to help with volunteer projects; dropping a box containing hundreds of pennies while walking across the street which Alan gave to a homeless person and the Wizard of Oz mural he had painted on his last living room wall.

As the years go by I think of Alan each and every day and feel life has become easier - except for some moments at family gatherings. As a recently bereaved father told me "the wound can heal but the scar is always there." With each move since 1988 an ad for the movie Beaches was affixed to Alan’s refrigerator. It says, “Once in a lifetime you make a friendship that lasts forever.” My greatest joy is being Alan’s twin-brother –keeping our friendship and his memory alive.

THE WORST LOSS…MY GREATEST JOY

The worst loss that I will have ever suffered took place on June 25, 1992. I lost my twin brother Alan to AIDS that June morning at 5:10 am. I had spent the previous four days at his bedside, 24 hours a day. Even though he had been HIV+ for almost six years, I thought he would be around when he was 80. Until two months before his death he was still working full time. I was in complete denial until a few weeks before his death. He died of an AIDS related brain tumor.

Later that June morning I went back to his apartment, the one with the Wizard of Oz mural painted on his living room wall. I wouldn’t let anyone else in until I took pictures of everything just the way that Alan had left it. Those items included many family pictures, Hershey memorabilia, Alan’s large music collection and posters for events he publicized. Photography was my hobby and this was my most difficult assignment. It wasn’t until I was finished that I would have my brothers and Alan’s friends over to give them each something of Alan’s.

For some time after Alan’s death, hearing the music that we enjoyed would bring great pain. Any love song reminded me of the loss of my brother and greatest friend. It took some time to enjoy the music again. I attended a recent Simon & Garfunkel concert mainly to hear the song Sound of Silence, a song Alan and I perform as youngsters with our graduating class. The words “Hello darkness my old friend” remind me of all that he is missing.

An interest of mine (and Alan’s) since the age of nine was Hershey, PA and the history of the man who created it all, Milton Hershey. An article on Alan after Alan’s death said that “He was like the man behind the curtain in his favorite movie - behind the scenes, working miracles that have nothing to do with magic and everything to do with good will.” It was written about Hershey “He had persevered, refusing to quit. In spite of his struggles, he stayed true to his passion…” This was also very true of Alan, who knew that he was going to die.

I think an inscription on the base of the Statue of Milton Hershey that reads "His deeds are his monument, his life is our inspiration" describe Alan as well. It has been said “If you never loved, you never cried.” I realize that I would gladly endure the hurt to have had Alan in my life. It is my hope that my obituary will read that being Alan’s twin brother was my greatest joy.