Please boycott the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum

Take a second to get over the shock that I’m writing a blog entry.

Now, do me another favor.

Please don’t ever darken the doors of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum in Cleveland, Ohio. It’s a sham. It’s a disgrace. It’s a farce. And now they’ve REALLY pissed me off.

I don’t even know where to start.

According to today’s headline in the Plain Dealer, Cleveland’s largest newspaper, “Rock and Roll Hall of Fame to evict ashes of Alan Freed, DJ who gave birth to rock ‘n’ roll, son says”.

According to Lance Freed, son of famed DJ Alan Freed, his father’s ashes have been on display at the RARHOF since 2002. It’s entirely appropriate that Freed’s ashes should be a part of the museum. If not for Alan Freed’s committment to rock and roll and his ongoing fight to cross color barriers in the 1950’s, simply put, there would be no Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum.

Think about that. It’s a bold statement. But you gotta ask yourself: Would there be a RARHOF without Run DMC? Yup. Would it still exist without Bonnie Raitt? You betcha. Would it still exist without Beyonce, the subject of its latest exhibit? ‘Fraid so.

Now let’s take a minute and forget about Freed’s contribution to rock and roll. Let’s think about his contributions to society. He was scrutinized originally for playing black music to white kids. To him, it made sense. “Hey kids, you like that watered down white crap? Check out the original tune performed by a black artist. It’s like going from artificial sweetener to pure sugar.” They tried to go after him with the payola scandal, figuring if they nailed him, other DJs would stay away from corrupting young white people with black music. It didn’t work. He later hosted a TV show, but it was cancelled because the sponsor backed out. Apparently, they were upset when they saw black performer Frankie Lymon dancing with a white girl. Freed refused to segregate his audience. Gotta admire that.

However, the Rock Hall doesn’t see it that way. Lance Freed was recently contacted by Greg Harris, Chief Executive Officer of the RARHOF and told to come and get his father’s cremains. They were being taken off display. Freed’s family will need to find another resting place for one of rock and roll’s most important pioneers.

Those who know me, and those who have read this blog in the past, know that I’ve never been a fan of the uninformed yo-yos that run this joint. But I gotta tell ya, I was almost there. That’s right, the dark clouds were starting to clear. I am travelling to Cleveland in September, and I was going to give it a chance. I thought “maybe I can look past all the corporate crap and actually see something worth seeing.” All along I’ve thought “if I can just see something legitimate, like Del Shannon’s guitar, it will be worth it”. I was actually going to pay the admission and take the tour. Yep, I was gonna drink the koolaid.

Not anymore. If they were giving away tickets to this shithole, I wouldn’t stand in line for them. As a radio fan, and as a rock and roll fan, I’m insulted that that they even put the name “rock and roll” on this place.

The worst part? They don’t care. The RARHOF has never cared for the input of fans. They decide who gets in and who doesn’t. If you’re not in the Jann Wenner club, you don’t count. There are tons of great performers who have made major contributions to rock and roll, and they will never get near the place.

I don’t know if any of you have ever been to the museum, or are planning on going there in the future. I just hope that at least some of you will join this boycott. Instead, travel to Nashville to check out the Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum. It’s well worth the trip. Or check out the Memphis Music Museum. In fact, there are several other music museums throughout the country that are worth seeing,  just google.

Please…just don’t go to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum in Cleveland.

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Let’s get random

You know, when you get right down to it, life is pretty dang random. Oh, maybe not all the time, but for the most part, pretty random. With this thought in mind, let’s get on the random train and take it to Randomville for some good ‘ol fashioned randomness.

Random thought 1: Enough already with famous people having affairs. You know what? In the time it takes to read this blog, millions of people all over the world will get laid. Know what else?  Some of them will be having sex with someone other than their spouse. Are each of those people going to have their faces and names plastered all over CNN?  Nope. Know why? Because NO ONE CARES if you’re just an average Joe or Jane and you’re gettin’ some. Good for you! I don’t know about your experiences, but I’ve always rather enjoyed sex, and considered it a good thing. Should our nation’s leaders be held to a different standard because they got caught having sex? I understand that people are worried about whether David Petraeus let go of some government secrets in the heat of passion. If he’s like everyone else, I’m sure he was talking to God more than anything, if ya catch my drift. As the saying goes, if you wanna run naked through town, go for it…if you wanna run naked through my living room, THAT concerns me.  David Petraeus having sex with someone doesn’t concern me.

Random thought 2: This thought comes from my good friend and neighbor, Lance. We were talking over the weekend, and he said (as politically correctly as possible, ‘cause that’s the way Lance rolls) “Whatever happened to all the blind entertainers? There don’t really seem to be any new ones.” After giving it a little thought, I had to agree. We started coming up with famous blind entertainers from the past…Ray Charles, Stevie Wonder, Jose Feliciano, Ronnie Milsap, Jeff Healey, Sammy Davis Jr (half credit)…that used to be something that would really get a performer noticed. The fact that they had that kind of challenge, and were still able to perform better than most other musicians amazed us. We thought “what a great storyline for American Idol” or any one of those talent-search programs that are all the rage these days. Can you imagine a blind dancer on “Dancing with the Stars?”  The viewers would eat it up! Blind Survivor? Why not? Enough said…I fear I’m starting to tread too close to the “good taste” boundry. Thanks for the contribution, Lance!

Random thought 3: Have you ever wondered what happened to instruments that were used by famous people or on famous recordings…or am I just a music geek? I remember my friend Mike, at one time, owned the clavinet that created the signature sound on “Tell Me Something Good” by Rufus. And my friend Mark who owns a recording studio in Champaign once had a mellotron that was owned by the Moody Blues. I read that the woodblock that made the haunting sound in Marvin Gaye’s “Mercy Mercy Me” was stolen almost immediately after it was used on the recording. No one knows who took it or where it is today. So whatever happened to James Jamerson’s Precision Bass? Or Rory Gallagher’s Strat? Duane Allman’s Les Paul? My friend Joe played in a blues band with Richard Hite, whose older brother was Bob “Bear” Hite of Canned Heat. Richard said that when ‘Heat guitarist Al Wilson died, the rest of the band members turned into scavengers who grabbed whatever they could, including his guitars and equipment. The bass that Larry Taylor played at Woodstock during Canned Heat’s legendary performance was in Richard’s possession when he died in 2001. According to Joe, Richard’s ex-wife still has the bass and is looking for the highest bidder. To her, it’s just a way to make money. I’m sure that many of these legendary instruments, like Eddie Cochran’s Gretsch guitar, eventually end up at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Museum. Pity…I’ll never see them.

Random thought 4: A couple of weeks ago, during a break at a Lem n Lime gig, I was talking to a couple of Buddy Holly fans. I mentioned that I met a guy one time who said he had seen Holly perform live with the Crickets in 1958. The three of us were astounded! Buddy Holly was around for such a short time that it seemed incredible that someone had actually seen him live. Since that Friday night a couple of weeks ago, I started thinking about performers I would like to have seen before death made it impossible. Here is the list I came up:

a-The Beatles on their second tour of the US.

b-The Who at Woodstock

c-Creedence Clearwater Revival circa 1969 (Tom Fogerty is dead, so this qualifies. I saw John Fogerty in the late 80’s when he was still refusing to play CCR tunes in concert. He was ok. I was actually more impressed with Delbert McClinton, who opened the show that night. I even mentioned how much I enjoyed McClinton’s set to Fogerty when I met him backstage. Instead of being taken aback, he merely agreed and said “Isn’t he great? Now that’s MY kinda music!”)

d-Chicago circa 1972 with Terry Kath

e-Buddy Holly and the Crickets in either late 1957 or early 1958.

f-Eddie Cochran circa 1959

g-Queen on the “Day at the Races” tour

h-Al Green circa 1973

i-Led Zeppelin on the “Physical Graffiti” tour

j-Otis Redding at the Monterrey Pop Festival

There, that’s ten. Can you come up with more? Let’s hear ‘em. And if you have random ideas that you would like to contribute, please feel free! For his recent contribution, my friend Lance will receive an official Groovy Rick coffee mug!  Does anyone know if Sharpee comes off in the dishwasher?

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Write something for Christ sake!

I just checked. My last blog entry was March 21, 2012. March twenty-fucking-first. What in God’s name have I been doing? I remember when I used to write a blog every single day, except maybe Saturday. Where the hell did I get all that free time!?!  I seriously have no idea.

The thing that really astounds me is that when I check my stats page, there are still people who visit my site every day. Maybe they’re enjoying “the best of Groovyrick” and re-reading their favorite entries. I even have new people who google something and my blog comes up, and they leave me a nice note.

I’ve been WANTING to write…really!  But…you see…I’ve been…it’s been…aw, forget it. You fine folks are too good to me to just fill you full of excuses.  I’ve been a slacker, and I’ll own up to it. If nothing else, I try to be honest…and I’ll try to get this thing on the move…at least once a week for now. Maybe, once I get back into the groove (boy you’ve got to prove your love for me)(sorry, random Madonna moment), I can even get back to that stupid damn book I started and try to make some progress there.

There. I feel like a huge weight has been lifted. Jesus, I don’t know about you but I REALLY feel better. I feel like we should have a party. A real party…alcohol…music…mimes serving snacks…scantily-clad women dancing for tips…and no catalogs…DEFINITELY no catalogs.

Why do they even call those “parties”? You know the kind…Tupperware, Scentsy, Thirty-One.  The kind where women invite a bunch of other women to their house, feed them some snacks, maybe a little wine, and then shove a catalog in their face and try to get them to buy something…so that they’ll get some of the same merchandise free. Why did that idea never catch on with guys? I’ve heard about tool parties, but have never been invited to one.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not entirely against the concept. When you think about it, it’s actually pretty cool.

Imagine attending one of these parties:

Beer Variety Party: Here’s the scenario…you invite a bunch of guys (or girls) over to your house and get them to try a bunch of different beers. Then you make the pitch: “Wanna buy some of this beer? If you do, I’ll get a bunch of free beer, and then we’ll both have a lot of beer!”  I’m guessing the more they drink, the more they’ll want to buy. Remember the wise words of 80’s comedian Gallagher: “You know how they tell you to eat a lot before you go to the grocery store so you won’t buy so much food? Well, that don’t work with the liquor store, does it? You go in there drunk, you want to buy everything they got!”

Nissan (or any vehicle) Party: My nephew sells cars for the local Nissan dealer. He gets someone like me to host a party or two. He brings out one of each Nissan model on their lot. I invite a bunch of friends, invite them to take a little drive in the model of their choosing, them give them a little alcohol and try to talk them into buying a new Nissan. Can’t miss, right? For every person that buys a new Nissan, I get points toward getting a new Nissan free! My friends get cool cars, my nephew gets a fat commission check, and I get a new car! If that’s not a win-win-win situation, I don’t know what is. Careful…don’t give them the alcohol BEFORE they test drive!

Chicken Ranch Party: For those of you who aren’t familiar with it, the Chicken Ranch is a legal, licensed brothel located about 60 miles west of Las Vegas near the town of Pahrump, Nevada. I think you can figure this one out for yourselves. Remember, the more your friends buy, the more freebies you get! Geez, and I thought the car idea was gold!

Bring Stuff For Me Party: I think this is the easiest, most satisfying party of all. There are no catalogs to look at…nothing to buy…hell, you wouldn’t even have to show up. Just give me stuff. Free stuff. Have it delivered if you want. I don’t have to go through the hassle of building points toward merchandise, and you don’t have to worry about hurting my feelings by coming to my party and not buying anything from my catalog. It can be just about anything of value…vehicles, guitars, alcohol, food, even money! Just give it to me!

I should have thought of this YEARS ago.

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Pure unadulterated randomness

Random thoughts from a random person SHOULD MEAN random thoughts from a random person, right? So it’s time for another installment.  Get ready…this stuff is REALLY random.

-As I write this, my daughter, Carly, is taking her voice lesson. She has a dynamite voice and a dynamite teacher.  Plus Carly is one of the wittiest people I know. One day, on the way home from church, we saw a homeless person with a cardboard sign asking for donations of money or food.  She looked over at him and said, “I can understand where homeless people get the cardboard, but where do they get the sharpies?” Great stuff.

-Speaking of church, lately our pastor has been talking about poverty and how it’s hard to understand, in our wealthy society, why there are still starving people on the planet. In fact, the subject of the sermon the other day was “What’s wrong with this picture?” He would show pictures of starving children and say “what’s wrong with this picture?” While listening to the sermon, I was in a multi-million dollar church building complete with huge screen monitors, flat screens all over the place, a huge room just for teens to “hang out”, and we’re currently trying to raise $4 million for a new addition to add a sports facility. What’s wrong with THIS picture?

-Did a thought ever come into your mind, and you couldn’t decide if it was something that really happened, or just a dream you had at some point in time? It happened to me yesterday, and I still can’t decide if it was real or something I dreamed. Who knows…maybe so much has happened to me in my life that I really can’t distinguish truth from reality any more.

-You know how there are certain things that you hated when you were a kid, but you really like them now? Lima beans fall into that category for me, and so does Bruce Springsteen. I always thought he was just OK, and then “Born in the USA” came out and I hated him for quite awhile, just because I thought he really sold out. Now I not only love his music, I have a huge amount of respect for him as an artist and performer.  I can listen to “Born to Run” and exclaim “What a great f*ckiin’ song!” And when I saw him perform on the Grammys a few weeks ago, I was so grateful that we “have seen the future of rock and roll, and it is Bruce Springsteen.”

-And lima beans have become my favorite vegetable.

-I was talking the other day with some friends about a person who had committed suicide by stabbing themselves repeatedly.  What a horrible way to go about it. Haven’t we all, at some time or another, whether we were serious or not, thought about how we would commit suicide if we ever got to that point? For me, it would be running the car in the garage…no contest.

-I love to talk to college and high school students about what they want to do with their futures. I always try to impart to them the importance of finding a career that you LIKE. Don’t even think about what it pays, because once you start working for the pay that you get, it sucks you in and you can never leave…because you get used to having that income, and it’s so hard to go back to apartment living. If you talk to someone who really loves their job and someone who makes a lot of money at their job, guess who’s going to be in a better mood.

-Why on earth do I think that other people really want to read my random thoughts? What an ego trip.

-I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating…I have the most caring, most awesome friends in the world.

-Finally, a question for everyone reading this, but mostly for my music-head friends: who is your favorite producer?  Producers can make a good song sound great, and can make a great song a religious experience. SO many names come to mind: Chips Momens, Phil Spector, George Martin. For awhile now, if anyone asks me about my favorite producer, I would probably say David Axelrod. David is probably best known for producing the great body of 1960’s output by Lou Rawls, but he did some solo sides as well. Here’s just a taste of a simple melody that he made into a symphony.  I don’t think anyone has ever implemented drums into music as well as Axelrod. Genius is a word we throw around a lot, but I’m not so sure it doesn’t apply here.

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I dreamed about Del Shannon the other night

There are dreams that are just plain dreams, and some that seem really vivid. For me, those vivid dreams usually occur right before I wake up, and I usually lie in bed for a little bit thinking about how real it all seemed.

Monday morning was one of those mornings. Right before I woke up, I was sitting in an old fashioned living room watching a black and white TV (most people claim that dreams are black and white, but I’ve never made the distinction). On TV was Del Shannon. He had just finished a song with a band behind him, and there was a rather plain white backdrop decorated with a few faint trees. Del was wearing black slacks, a white button down shirt that was open at the top, and a kind of herringbone sportcoat. And of course, he had his semi-hollow body Gibson guitar around his neck. He looked GREAT. His hair didn’t have that signature semi-pompadour, it was more parted to the side like he wore it in the mid-sixties. Like I was saying, he had just finished a song, and the host of the show was coming out onstage to chat with him for a bit. Del had a big smile on his face, as the studio audience was still cheering his performance.

Then I woke up.

Why did I dream about Del Shannon? There was no “anniversary” that made me think of him (he was born in December and died in February). I hadn’t been listening to a lot of his music, although I do listen to him quite a bit. But after I woke up, I felt so GOOD for him, as if I were witnessing him at his peak. I know this sounds crazy, but it’s almost like I felt a little bit of his spirit was with me.

Wanna hear something REALLY crazy? I’ve always believed that, in dreams, our minds take us to some sort of parallel universe. Think about it…how many times have you had dreams about your everyday life, or something that has happened in the past, and things were ALMOST the same, but just a little bit different? I remember having a dream one time about travelling down a stretch of highway that was near where I grew up. I swear, I know just about every inch of that highway for about a 20 mile stretch. But one night, in a dream, I was travelling that stretch of highway, and everything was the same…except for a patch of trees and, further down the road, a house that had never been there in my memory.

At this point in my life, I’ve experienced enough that I rarely question anything. As long as someone can give me a somewhat convincing argument about something that they believe, I don’t discount it. I’ve shared my thoughts about dreams with other people, and they didn’t look at me like I was an alien on crack…they know that the mind is an amazing thing that has capabilites that mortal man cannot even fathom.

Back in junior high, my friend Scott had read somewhere that if you write your dreams down every morning as soon as you wake up, eventually they all start becoming intertwined with each other, to where it eventually tells a story. And we weren’t even smoking pot yet! Of course, Scott also had the famous dream (in high school) that the Nazis were invading the small town of El Paso, just 10 miles south of our hometown. I’m sure the Third Reich had big plans for the IGA and the Dairy Queen.

When I worked in radio, I would occasionally have what we in the business call “DJ nightmares,” and they were VERY real. This was back in the days when we actually played music from vinyl albums that had to be “cued up” in order to start at exactly the right time. Sometimes it took a little bit to find the right album, the right song, and still deal with everything going on. In a DJ nightmare, you would be working feverishly to cue up a song while the previous song was fading. You would get the new song started just in time, and guess what? It would start fading almost right away, before you have a chance to even LOOK for the next song. And the phone was ringing off the hook, and you would have to get ready for a break and NOT be able to find any of the commercials you were supposed to play. All the while, your biggest worry was dead air. It could make you wake up in a cold sweat.

So have you ever had a really vivid dream? Vivid enough to make you wonder if it really happened when you visited a parallel universe?  Was it so crazy that you woke up thinking “wow, that was SO crazy” ?  Maybe you felt the way I did a couple of years ago when I dreamed that my wife and I went to a play starring John Travolta and his wife, Kelly Preston. Before the show I was just hanging out in the lobby, and John Travolta comes walking up and starts a conversation with me…and no one else even recognizes him! We talk about cars, and I mention that I have to go out and get something from my car…he says that he wants to come out with me and check out my car. Just then his wife comes up and says that they have to go backstage to get ready for the show. He says that he wants to talk to me some more, so Kelly writes down a phone number and hands it to me, saying “this is our private number…call after the show and we’ll get together.” Kooky.

Don’t be afraid to share your thoughts, or your dreams for that matter. I’d love to hear other speculation on what causes us to dream what we dream.

Maybe this tune can get you started.

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“What death means to me” by Groovyrick

I’m going to talk about a subject that may make some of you uncomfortable. I’m not even that comfortable writing about it, but it’s a part of everyone’s life.


There, I’ve said it. Yep, we’re all going to die. And I, for one, wish that I was the type of person that could stare death in the face and laugh ha HA…but unless I have one of those “never knew what hit him” kind of deaths, I’m probably going to be scared to death (ok, that was kind of funny…seriously, I wrote it before I even realized what I was writing).

Don’t get creeped out, but death has always been a bit of an odd obsession with me, maybe because I was introduced to it in a big way at a very young age. My father and my uncle, who was pretty much like another father to me, both died when I was 7, within about three months of each other. After experiencing that kind of trauma at such an impressionable age, other family deaths just kind of mildly phased me, some more than others.

You know how you sometimes do dumb things in junior high just so you can tell people about it? One summer afternoon, I was at the baseball diamonds with a few other neighborhood guys. We didn’t really have enough players for a game, so we were just batting the ball to each other. Right across the street from the ball diamonds was a cemetery. There was a funeral going on right at the edge of the cemetery so we paused to give the family a little silence. As soon as they all left, we walked over to watch them bury the guy. We asked if we could help. It was just manual labor to the guys with the shovels, so they quickly granted our request. I’ll never forget watching them lower the vault into the ground, and then hearing, “Ok fellas, put those shovels to work!” We couldn’t wait to tell our friends.

Celebrity deaths always fascinate me, too, just to see how the world reacts…and we’ve had quite a few high profile ones so far this year (just wait until we see the “Tribute” section of the year’s last issue of People!). The death of Davy Jones last week caused more of a sensation than I thought it would, and my blog about it generated some very flattering comments (thanks again, everyone). I guess losing a celebrity, especially one that has had a large impact on your life, is a lot like losing a family member.

Tonight, I looked at death from a couple of different perspectives. I didn’t plan my evening around it, but it just happened. First, I watched a movie that we had rented called “The Five People You Meet In Heaven” starring Jon Voight. Based on a novel by Mitch Albom, it follows an old amusement park maintenance man named Eddie who gets killed trying to save a little girl’s life when a ride at the park malfunctions. He wakes up in the hereafter, only to learn that he will meet five people who will help him understand some of the events that helped shape his life. Eddie had always planned to be an engineer, but he ended up taking his father’s job and never leaving Ruby Pier, where he and his father had both worked on the rides. He felt like his life had been pretty much a waste. I’ll have to admit, it was a very heart-warming movie that brought a few tears to my eyes at certain points, especially at the end (don’t worry, I’m not going to spoil it). The writer’s image of a heaven in the afterlife could only be described as paradise.

After the movie was over, I went downstairs to work out, like I do every night. While I work out, I watch TV, usually Family Guy or Big Bang Theory. Tonight, on the second Family Guy episode I watched, Lois wanted Peter to spend the day with her on their anniversary, but instead Peter tricked her so he could spend the day golfing. At the golf course, he was struck by lightning, and Death showed up. If you’ve never seen Family Guy, Death shows up about once per season. He is depicted as the Grim Reeper, but is kind of a regular guy (it was originally voiced by SNL alum Norm McDonald, then later by a guy named Adam Carolla). In this episode, he wasn’t going to take Peter because he was just having a “near-death experience”. As it turns out, Death is tired of living alone with his mom (“I wish my dad was still dead”), so Peter tries to find him a girlfriend. Yes, sometimes Family Guy is very irreverent, but shouldn’t we consider it someone else’s view of the afterlife?

Which one do you suppose is closest to the truth? I’m not even going to get into that whole argument, because that even creeps ME out. My mom was clinically dead during surgery for a couple of minutes, and she describes the place that she went as more the paradise-type place. I sure hope she’s right.

But I’m also going to get a chill if I suddenly hear a guy that sounds like Norm McDonald behind me.  

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Cheer up, sleepy Jean

What a day. What a depressing day.

Davy Jones died today.

I know what you’re all thinking: “Get a grip, Rick…it’s Davy Jones…it’s not like it was anyone big.”

And you’re all wrong. Davy Jones was very big. He had a big life. As a child, he trained to be a jockey. As a young man, he performed on Broadway. In his 20’s, he became a fixture on television and in the music industry as a member of the Monkees. You can make fun of the Monkees all you want, but they did some damn good songs. They got a lot of heat at the time because of the unconventional way they became a band. Critics slammed them because they didn’t play their own instruments on the first two albums. Guess what…most of the biggest groups of the time didn’t play their own instruments on their albums. They were passed off as bubblegum music for teenagers. Personally, I would put “Headquarters” or “Pisces, Aquarius, Capricorn and Jones, LTD” or “The Birds, The Bees and the Monkees” right up there with some of the best albums of the 60s. In fact, I often list “Pisces” in my top ten albums of all time.

Davy Jones was an important part of pop culture. But I’m not depressed because I feel that the world lost a great performer. I’m bummed because I lost a voice that could instantly take me back to an important part of my life.

It was small town living at its best. My entire world was anyplace I could get to on my blue stingray. I wasn’t scared of anything, because I felt like every single person in that town was looking out for me. My biggest decisions were what I would do with my dollar allowance that I received every Saturday morning…and that my brother and I had spent by Saturday afternoon. The dilemma usually boiled down to one thing…would we each spend our dollar to buy a record (we had a huge 45 collection) or would we put our money together to buy a model car? Big decision, right?  Many times, that allowance money went toward buying Monkees records, because we watched the show all the time, and each week the show would feature a new song.

Tonight, when I got home from work, the kids and I watched a few Monkees episodes after I told them the news (yeah, they’re fans, as you’ll see in a moment). It immediately took my mind to an image of our living room on Mary Street, and our black & white Admiral TV in the corner. I could see my brother and I sitting on the gold sculptured carpeting, laughing out loud, and wondering aloud which one of the Monkees we would want to be. There was no job stress…no worries about paying bills…no concerns about kids and whether I’ll be able to put three of them through college…no outrageous gas prices…no health concerns…none of the things that currently plague my mind on a daily basis.

At that point in time, it was just Davy, Mickey, Peter and Mike playing music, acting crazy, and making me laugh.

I saw Davy perform a couple of times, in the early 90’s with Mickey and Peter, and at a solo gig just a few years ago. That night, we met Davy after the show. He was very friendly, very outgoing, and was gracious enough to chat with fans and sign autographs. The next day, my wife was at the mall with our kids, just doing some random shopping…and there was Davy Jones! She introduced herself, said she had been at the show, and introduced our kids. Again, he was very friendly, shook hands with each of the kids and even gave my wife a hug. He knew that he wasn’t a McCartney, or even a Ringo for that matter. He was just Davy Jones.

Even though he was 66 when he passed today, I think most of us will always picture him as a young Monkee with the long hair and British accent. I’ll always picture him on my black & white TV in my house on Mary Street, with my brother and me singing and laughing along with him.

For those memories, Davy Jones, I am eternally grateful.

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