So yesterday at work, the managing editor called to ask me to put something on social media about the death of “The Monkees” frontman Davy Jones, and she led in with, “Do you know who Davy Jones is?”
I think she was trying to gauge whether I was the right age to know who he was. And, by extension, if most of our readers would.
I said “Yes!”
Even though I was just born when Jones’ show “The Monkees” first aired, and only about 2 when it went off the air, he was a pop star well into my elementary years, and we definitely watched reruns of the shows. It made me think of all times I’d heard his songs, and all the babysitters who’d played them for me, and watching “The Monkees” at a beach house with my cousins Mark and Robert (and we all tried to act out the arm-in-arm beach-walking of “Here we come … walking down the street …”), and listening to Davy Jones on 45s in the bedrooms of my friends’ older sisters. All the older girls and babysitters in my life at that time thought Davy Jones, with his swoon-worthy British accent and fun-loving nature, was the epitome of marry-able. Everyone fancied herself to be a possible Mrs. Davy Jones. Continue reading