The Romanian and the money. So the last night they do their show—Frankie kills ’em, by the way. I was there. He was doing “I Want To Love You”—he hadn’t even recorded it yet, but you could see it was gonna be huge by the way the girls were jumping up and down. So when the show finished, again the musicians line up at the tent, and I went down, too, because it was the last chance to get the money, see? It’s hot as hell. Frankie’s nowhere to be found. We’re all waiting for the big Romanian. Suddenly there’s this screaming and yelling and everyone scatters because—you ready for this?—the elephants are loose !
You ever hear such mishugas ? The elephants are loose? So everyone runs. You don’t want to get crushed by an elephant, right? The police cars arrive, the sirens, it’s crazy, and suddenly a car pulls up and Frankie is driving with a girl next to him, and he yells to me and the Everly boys, “Get in!” And we take off. And everyone is a little shaken up—except Frankie, who seems perfectly calm. He drives us to the hotel.
“Where did you get this car?” I ask him. And he just smiles. You know that Frankie smile? Those God-blessed white teeth? Ach, I wish I had his chompers. Mine are mostly gone now, all bridgework . . .
Anyhow, I know not to ask again, and the Everly boys get out at the hotel, and Frankie runs after them and he says, “Hey, hold up.” And he gives them this envelope, and I see it’s money. And he whispers something and they pull him around by the neck, give him a hug, and when they leave, I say to him, “Just tell me you got paid, too,” and he smiles and says, “Leonard, come on.” And then he remembers the girl, and that was the last I saw of him that night.
But here’s what I was telling you about the date, February 1959. The next morning, I’m in my office and the phone rings. It’s Frankie. And he says, “Where is Pacoima?”
Well, Pacoima is this little town in the San Fernando Valley. He says he wants to go there. Right away. I say okay, what, you want me to drive with you? And he says he doesn’t have a car. I say, what about the car from last night? He says he doesn’t have that car anymore. Don’t ask.
So a few hours later I drive out to pick him up, and I turn on the radio. That’s when I hear the news. Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and the Big Bopper were killed in a plane crash. You know that story? In Iowa, that’s right. A snowstorm.
Well, Frankie makes me drive to Pacoima, because that’s where Ritchie Valens was from. Valens was just a kid when he died, maybe seventeen, but he met Frankie once, on a road show, and since he was Mexican and Frankie was from Spain, they took to each other. Frankie loved that Ritchie actually had a hit song in Spanish, “La Bamba.” He thought that was the greatest thing.
So we drive to Pacoima, and we stop at a gas station and Frankie goes in and he comes out with an address. It’s Ritchie Valens’s mother’s house. We drive over and there’s a bunch of cars and some reporters outside. So Frankie makes me wait. We wait maybe four hours, sitting in that car parked on the street, until all the people are gone. It’s dark out now, and he says, “Okay, I’ll just be a minute,” and he gets his suitcase from the back. And he opens it. And what do you think he takes out?
A gray cash box.
Yep. The Romanian’s cash box. He’s got it. My right hand to God.
And he walks up to the porch and he leaves the cash box there, just inside the door. Doesn’t even knock. Then he gets back in and says, “We can go.”
I said to him, “Frankie, what did you do?” But he never really answered me. He just said losing a kid had to be hard, and Ritchie’s mother would need some help now. Can you believe that? He’d orchestrated the entire fiasco—the elephants, everything—just so we’d get paid. Then he gave it all away. The whole ride back, I’m looking in the rearview window, hoping that crazy
You ever hear such mishugas ? The elephants are loose? So everyone runs. You don’t want to get crushed by an elephant, right? The police cars arrive, the sirens, it’s crazy, and suddenly a car pulls up and Frankie is driving with a girl next to him, and he yells to me and the Everly boys, “Get in!” And we take off. And everyone is a little shaken up—except Frankie, who seems perfectly calm. He drives us to the hotel.
“Where did you get this car?” I ask him. And he just smiles. You know that Frankie smile? Those God-blessed white teeth? Ach, I wish I had his chompers. Mine are mostly gone now, all bridgework . . .
Anyhow, I know not to ask again, and the Everly boys get out at the hotel, and Frankie runs after them and he says, “Hey, hold up.” And he gives them this envelope, and I see it’s money. And he whispers something and they pull him around by the neck, give him a hug, and when they leave, I say to him, “Just tell me you got paid, too,” and he smiles and says, “Leonard, come on.” And then he remembers the girl, and that was the last I saw of him that night.
But here’s what I was telling you about the date, February 1959. The next morning, I’m in my office and the phone rings. It’s Frankie. And he says, “Where is Pacoima?”
Well, Pacoima is this little town in the San Fernando Valley. He says he wants to go there. Right away. I say okay, what, you want me to drive with you? And he says he doesn’t have a car. I say, what about the car from last night? He says he doesn’t have that car anymore. Don’t ask.
So a few hours later I drive out to pick him up, and I turn on the radio. That’s when I hear the news. Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and the Big Bopper were killed in a plane crash. You know that story? In Iowa, that’s right. A snowstorm.
Well, Frankie makes me drive to Pacoima, because that’s where Ritchie Valens was from. Valens was just a kid when he died, maybe seventeen, but he met Frankie once, on a road show, and since he was Mexican and Frankie was from Spain, they took to each other. Frankie loved that Ritchie actually had a hit song in Spanish, “La Bamba.” He thought that was the greatest thing.
So we drive to Pacoima, and we stop at a gas station and Frankie goes in and he comes out with an address. It’s Ritchie Valens’s mother’s house. We drive over and there’s a bunch of cars and some reporters outside. So Frankie makes me wait. We wait maybe four hours, sitting in that car parked on the street, until all the people are gone. It’s dark out now, and he says, “Okay, I’ll just be a minute,” and he gets his suitcase from the back. And he opens it. And what do you think he takes out?
A gray cash box.
Yep. The Romanian’s cash box. He’s got it. My right hand to God.
And he walks up to the porch and he leaves the cash box there, just inside the door. Doesn’t even knock. Then he gets back in and says, “We can go.”
I said to him, “Frankie, what did you do?” But he never really answered me. He just said losing a kid had to be hard, and Ritchie’s mother would need some help now. Can you believe that? He’d orchestrated the entire fiasco—the elephants, everything—just so we’d get paid. Then he gave it all away. The whole ride back, I’m looking in the rearview window, hoping that crazy
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