Monkees: Split Frame

I know Davy was the shortest Monkee, but I didn't think he'd have the shortest life.

 

I think I'll tell you my whole Davy story.

 

When I was younger, I thought The Monkees were better than The Beatles. Then I realized the Beatles actually wrote their own stuff and that they were kind of cute, too. This was when I decided The Beatles were better and I would completely disassociate myself from The Monkees. Forever. There couldn't be anything The Monkees could offer me that the Beatles hadn't done better.

 

Fast forward ten years to the moment God led me to find a videotape in my crawlspace; it was dusty, the footage was blurry, bad quality. I had to find a VCR to play it, too, and on top of all that, I was actually too embarrassed to watch it with anybody else. Who knew what this was going to be. I was older, but I still wondered why I had liked them so much for all that time. I couldn't remember their faces or names or any of the reasons they had made me laugh. I mean, I was only about five or six when this seemed like the greatest show on earth (it was kind of a circus). Was it possible it could be even a tiny bit funny to me now?

 

On that tape were four episodes of The Monkees: Monkee vs. Machine, Hitting the High Seas, Fairy Tale and Mijacogeo. There was one episode from the first season and the other three from the second. These were the only four episodes I'd watched over and over as a kid (and on that same tape, too). Sometimes, as I watched them, I could remember a line or someone mugging, definitely that time when the plastic pie explodes ...

 

I'd wanted to enjoy the show but when I sat down to watch it, I thought that would be hard work. The whole thing hit me over the head: I didn't even have to try. They were having fun; I was having fun. For real? Was it possible that some show from the 60s was actually entertaining me? I'd never watched old television! Why was I laughing so much? What was going on?! These ridiculous boys - truly, just the most absurd mix of personalities - just ran around surrounded in bizarre shenanigans and witty banter, all at the same time singing and "Want to read my palm?" "No, I'll wait 'til they make it into a movie." They weren't swearing or smoking and all we ever saw them drink was milk. They were in the middle of the 1968 craze of "love" (sex) and "peace" (political unrest), and whatever happened off screen, I'll never know. But to me? When you put them all together, I just saw four good-natured, lovable and unreasonably hilarious boys. They were funny! So funny!

 

That was when I realized: I could have both. The Beatles and The Monkees. OBVIOUSLY!

 

Micky was my favorite when I was little. Micky and Davy are soo tied for first.

 

But you guys - Davy Jones isn't very difficult to fall in love with, especially since that's what they wanted to happen. Obviously, he was the cute one, but there was more than that because he was the performer. He was the one who was there and knew what he'd signed up for. This little guy with this huge personality and this glow and, of course, his british accent. Davy Jones...

 

I got the seasons - the first for my birthday, the second for Christmas - and after

I'd seen all the episodes, their music defined my summer.

 

Then, a year and a half ago, I got to see Davy in concert. Nerves. For one reason or another, I was terrified, maybe because we had third row seats and I wasn't sure I could handle it. But did you know that when he was younger, he was on broadway in Oliver! and played the Artful Dodger? It just so happens that the Artful Dodger is my favorite Oliver! character, and his character's big song is called, "Consider Yourself". When Davy Jones walked out on stage and started talking, he welcomed everybody and then started singing that song. The air conditioner was broken in the theater he was performing at, and on a June night outside Chicago, everywhere was pretty humid. But when I think back on that concert, it doesn't seem like anything could have gone better.

 

Once, during the concert, a hysterical fan in the balcony screeched, "I LOVE YOU, DAVY" and there was a second of silence while he squinted up there. And then, Davy said, "Ahh, well. Looks like my sister's here again."

 

A week ago, a little after 12:30 pm, everything changed for me again. While I was curling my hair or sitting in French class, Davy was having a heart attack. And at some point during my regular Wednesday routine - stapling papers, filling in vocab blanks - he just went.

 

There's this moment in the show that keeps popping into my head. The episode's called "Friendly Neighborhood Kidnappers" - the fourth episode of the first season. They still matched their outfits, no one was famous, they were just starting out. This is how I always think of them. So, imagine: there's the four boys in their scarce, high-ceilinged beach house. Mike's jumping around on a pogo stick, Peter's shaking a soapy drink tumbler (which, to him, is just a device in which you wash your socks), Micky's impersonating Groucho Marx, and Davy - Davy's on an armchair balancing on his head. A scheming publicist walks in, trying to get on their good side so that he can walk all over them. And then, the publicist asks them, "Don't you want to be famous? The idol of millions?" And then Davy, still balancing on his head, simply replies, "No. We just want to be revered by a small minority."

 

"No. We just want to be revered by a small minority."

 

I'm happy to be part of that minority. I'm happy for all the people that they have made laugh, once or a thousand times, and for the people who can see the joy in their humor. That we get to love them, not idolize them. We get to laugh with them. They're still the underdog.

 

----

 

There's another episode in the first six episodes aired on TV. It's called Success Story, and it's about how the boys had to lie to Davy's grandpa; Davy had told him that he was rich and famous. Davy wasn't. When all is said and done, his grandpa calls their bluff and tries to take Davy back to England with him. At the foot of the spiral staircase, the boys all stand there to see Davy off. That's when Davy said it: "I hate good-byes."

 

He is still such a part of my life and I know he will continue to be.

 

Davy: "I hate good-byes."

Micky: "Okay. Welcome to America, Davy."

Done