Haunting Tales, part deux.

It’s been almost ten years since I last set foot in Norman Petty Studios. It’s been almost nine since I last performed for money. Well, unless you count the donkey show, then it’s … er … was that out loud?

What I’m trying to say is, it’s been a long time. I think I remember the history of Norman Petty’s original 7th Street Studio, but memory may falter. Sue me.

The studio itself was originally a gas station. A Texaco, I think. The gas station moved to a busier street and the property came up for sale. Norman bought it and proceeded to turn it into a studio. The front of the building became the studio proper: What used to be the sales area was converted into the foyer and the engineering booth, and what had once been part of the garage and the office was opened up and became the performance area. Unlike the Mesa Theater studio where we recorded - with the separate booths for each instrument as well as a vocal booth - the 7th Street Studio was wide open. Everyone played together.

On occasion, Norman actually had to move the Crickets’ drummer out into the foyer. Apparently, he was so skin-happy that his drumming was bleeding onto all the other tracks. He was, therefore, excommunicated.

One of the major renovations Norman did to the studio, however, and what seemed to make recording there a most pleasurable experience, was the addition of a kitchen and sleeping quarters off the back of the studio. To get there, you had to squeeze through a long narrow hallway. (I am skinny and my shoulders only had a few inches breathing room when I walked through.) The hallway spilled out into the kitchen, which in turn led to the beds. (When I went on the tour, they still had the original two sets of trundle beds: Just enough space for the four musicians.)

Well, time went on. The world lost Buddy in February 1959 to a famous plane crash. Norman went on to do work with The Fireballs. He bought the old Mesa Theater in Clovis and turned it into his dream studio. The old 7th Street Studio became a museum.

Shortly following Norman’s death in 1984, a journalist from England called Billy Stull (our producer and then head of the studio). Apparently, Buddy Holly was experiencing a huge rebirth in England. Would it, then, be possible to come take a tour of the old studio for an article?

Billy didn’t see why not. When the journalist arrived in Clovis, Billy greeted him and proceeded to give him a VIP tour of the old studio. Afterwards, the journalist asked if it would be okay to sleep there that night.

Billy was concerned about this. He’d never been asked to grant such privilege before. After discussing it with Vi Petty, Norman’s widow, it was decided that he could stay, but that Billy would have to lock him in the building - you know, security.

The journalist was very pleased.

The next morning, Billy headed straight for the old studio. He made a point to inspect everything on his way through the studio back to the bedroom, where the journalist was surely still sleeping. Nothing seemed out of place and no equipment appeared to be missing.

He squeezed through the narrow hallway and into the kitchen. The kitchen light was still on and as he moved closer to the bedroom he noticed that the lights were still on back there, too. When he stepped into the room, he found the journalist sitting up in one of the beds, back firmly against the wall, eyes wide open, skin white as a sheet, forehead dripping sweat.

Initially, Billy feared the man was having some sort of seizure. He rushed quickly to his side and took his face in his hands. “Are you okay??”

The journalist grabbed tightly onto Billy. “Just let me outta here!” he demanded.

Billy quickly led him out to the parking lot. After a chance to calm down, the journalist explained:

About half an hour after you left, I heard the front door of the studio open and close. I was working on the outline for this article there on the bed. I kept waiting for you to appear, but when you did not, I went to check. The door was still locked.

I didn’t think much of it at first, so I went back to writing. Half an hour later, it opened and closed again. I set my notebook down and went to check right away. Still nothing, still locked. That time, I left the lights on in the studio. I was suddenly paranoid.

I went to my bag and found your business card. It has your home number on it and I wanted to call you. The phones in this building don’t work.

I wasn’t able to get too much work done after the second incident. The third time it happened, though, I jumped and ran in. Nothing. I came back here and decided I would put on some music - I brought my own stereo, just in case. I turned it up so that I wouldn’t be able to hear the door if it opened again.

But then the first song on the tape ended. In the silence following, I could hear other music. At first I thought it was coming from outside, and I jumped up to try and flag down whoever it might be to let me out.

That’s when I realized it was coming from inside the studio. At first, I was relieved thinking that you were here. But once I started to make my way back there, I noticed there were no lights on, even though I had left them on earlier.

About halfway down that awful hallway, I could clearly hear the song ‘Heartbeat’. But the studio was dark and I couldn’t see anyone or anything. I called out, hoping to get your attention, still thinking it might be you.

That’s when the music stopped. And I could hear movement in the studio, footsteps. I flipped on the light again. There was no one else in the room.

Then the music started again, louder. I ran to the window of the booth to see who was in there. The booth was empty. I turned and began to head out of the room. Just as I was about to step into the hallway, the lights went out and the music stopped.

I kept moving. About halfway down the hallway, I could hear someone … something walking in the hallway behind me. I looked back. There was no one there. I ran back to the bedroom. Only a moment later, I heard the door open and close again.

The British journalist wasn’t the only one to encounter strange happenings at the old 7th Street Studio. Both Billy and Vi (among others) had heard things off and on over the years, but never anything quite as sensational as what the journalist recounted.

Happy Halloween. And pay no attention to those sounds behind you.