The Day the Music Died - Tribute to Harold LeMay

The Summer of 1977.  My little South Tacoma Church – Immanuel Baptist – held a slave auction (not politically correct to call it that today, I know, but that’s what they were called then) to raise money for our youth group.  I can’t even remember what we were raising money for, but I do remember that I donated 40 hours of my labor to the cause.  You wouldn’t guess by looking at me today, but at 16 years of age I was in-shape and a fine athlete, and sure enough, I received the top bid that day - $10 an hour (minimum wage back them was like $2.25, so this was an impressive bid).

My buyer that day was a long-time member of our church, Harold LeMay.  Commonly known as “the Garbage Man”, Harold owned a garbage hauling company in Tacoma.  He gave me an address to report to, told me to wear some work boots and work gloves, and said he’d meet me there to get me started.

At the designated time and place, Mr. LeMay was waiting for me, dressed in his usual red coveralls and holding a shovel.  “I need a ditch dug around this field, 2 feet deep and 4 feet wide.  I figure it’s 40 man hours.  If you get done sooner, I’ll still pay for 40.  You can start here and I’ll be out to check on you later.”  And after pointing out the property lines, off he drove in his old flatbed truck.

Not knowing what the ditch was for, I started digging.  Fortunately, the dirt was pretty soft, so the digging for the most part went pretty fast.  But it was hot – very hot.  The field was overgrown with tall, dead grasses and it surrounded 3 huge, boarded-up chicken coups.  Seemed like a strange assignment, but I dug away at it.

That afternoon, Mr. LeMay came to check up on my progress.  He was pleased and said so.  “But what am I doing this for anyway?” I asked.  Looking back, it would have been easy to tell me something fatherly like, “Because I said so”, but I think he might have felt like my hard work deserved some reward.  So he said, “Let me show you something”, and walked off towards the chicken coups.  I followed fast on his heals.

He unlatched a secret latch and pushed open the barn door.  There before me were hundreds of old cars or parts of cars.  Many were just rusted out old hulks, but others were in pretty good shape.  He stood gesturing at his collection and said, “Can’t let my babies get all rusty, and that ditch will help the field drain.”  I remember instantly falling in love with an old rusty Desoto and its shiny chrome conquistador hood ornament and I can still smell the dust and feel the cracked leather as I crawled behind the wheel to check it out.

A few days later was August 16^th, and as I dug KTAC 850 AM broke the news that Elvis Presley had died.  For two hours, they played a tribute to Elvis while I dug more ditch in 90 degree heat.  At the end of the tribute, DJ “Don Wade in the Morning” played Don McLean’s “American Pie”.  For all 8 minutes and 28 seconds, I sat in silence on the edge of my ditch and listened to the words – the day the music died.  I might have shed a tear or two – or it could have been nothing more that a good face sweat – but whenever I’ve heard that song since then, I am instantly 16 years old, back in that ditch, thinking of Elvis, life’s choices, and Harold LeMay’s chicken coups and old cars. 

I had the same kind of reaction the day I heard that Harold had passed away in Nov. 2000.  At the time of his death, the humble Garbage Man and his wife Nancy had amassed the largest private automobile collection in the world (over 3,000 vehicles – see related story inside).  He lovingly restored those rusted out hulks to their former glory – not because the hulks somehow deserved the second chance, but because he loved providing said chance.  Even then, the heavenly metaphor did not escape my notice.  Undeserved second chances - from garbage to glory. 

Tomorrow, part of Harold's collection goes on display at the LeMay America's Car Museum in Tacoma.  I'm sure at some point I will be visiting this fancied-up display of the history of automobilia.  But I remember Harold differently - his overalls, his flat bed truck, his love of the potential he saw in things.  I'm happy that big fancy museum has finally opened, but I'm even happier that Harold's Spanaway Museum location will remain open and will portray Harold's collection in a much more simple and down to earth manner.  Check out both locations!  And thanks for the memories Harold and Nancy!