Sure, they were a joke when they first arrived. Only a couple actually played instruments and the Beatles comparisons were rampant. But after a while, and collaborations with songwriters like Neil Diamond, they became a force no one expected. Just like the Beatles, everyone had their favorite Monkee. I liked them all...how could I not? Peter who was goofy and always wore his belt buckle to the side. Mike, with his signature wool cap, was the "responsiblish" leader of the group. Mickey always had the perfect expression, accent or silliness for every occasion...and one of the heart throbs. And then there was Davy. The cute British one, always being kidnapped by gangsters or chased by lovesick girls...quick to make a funny remark, made all the better by his lovely accent. I was twenty years too late in my obsession, using all of my babysitting earnings for records, tapes, books, posters and tshirts. Even in college, I went to see them in concert, though Mike was sadly absent. Their version of "Papa Gene's Blues" is still one of my all time favorite songs. A joke to me they were not.
It was a sad alert I received today announcing Davy's death. I find that with every year I gain, people older than I don't seem so ancient anymore. Sixty-six seems so young these days, especially with one who was so active, fit and full of life. I mourn, with countless others, the loss of a precious piece of youth, whether it was going on in real time or twenty years later. Godspeed, Davy Jones. My life is a little more rich, a little more happy and a little more musical since I've known you. Thank you, Reuben the Tadpole....
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