Remembering Davy Jones

He was my first pre-teen crush. I was already 5' 7" at only 11, and he stood only 5' 4". No matter. I loved him, and like millions of other girls around the world, I fantasized about having him for a boyfriend.

Davy Jones.

My bedroom walls were papered with posters of Davy and The Monkees, all carefully pulled from the pages of Tiger Beat. My love of all things Monkees was inexplicable, even to me, a girl raised on the truly great music of Motown. But somewhere, between Marvin and Tammy, Stevie, The Temptations, The Supremes, and Smokey, the music of The Monkees is inextricably woven in the fabric of my youth.

The Monkees, known among wags as the Pre-Fab Four,  were America's answer to The Beatles. For The Monkees were created by a canny group of men in the entertainment industry, who, upon seeing the massive amounts of cash being raked in via the success of The Beatles, wanted a cut of that particular financial pie. Auditions were held...Davy Jones, Peter Tork, Mickey Dolenz, and Mike Nesmith were considered pleasing vocally, and attractive enough, and The Monkees were launched.

Then, in a few short years, it was over. The execs didn't factor in the possibility that Davy, Peter, Mickey, and Mike might be real people with their own dreams and serious musical aspirations. When they didn't go along with the program, the boys in the band found themselves abandoned by their mentors, who went on to other successes. The former Monkees were left to struggle on past their former Teen Idol status.

They did well, despite their abandonment. Davy seemed the one most at peace with realizing what he had been, and content to give the once-young fans what they wanted - the infectious pop of their youth, and a welcome trip down Memory Lane, a safe refuge from the craziness of their present world.

He did it well, and he did it cheerfully. Davy never took his fans for granted, never took the music that made so many smile for granted. He was a class act.

Last night, as has happened all too often recently, I took my own trip back to my youth. The night was filled with the music of The Monkees...my daughter, as expected, smiled in bemusement, as she shook her head gently, not understanding my sadness.

We all have to die. But I thought that Davy Jones, with his eternally youthful face, and his joy in the music that had made him a heart-throb so many years ago, would be around for many more years. But it wasn't to be.

Thank you, Davy, thank you, for the music, for the joy, and the wonderful memories.