Davy Jones wasn’t a teen idol for me. He was much, much more. He was whatever that very first crush is that you have long before you’re a teen or even a tween. I was little-- maybe four--when the Monkees were all the rage, but I remember that I’d feel all silly and gooey inside when I would watch “The Monkees” on Saturday with my older sister, Jeannie, and Davy would come on screen.
Plus, Davy developed crushes with whiplash speed and every time he’d see a new girl he liked--oh, every episode or so-- they added little white stars to his eyes in post-production and they would twinkle even more. Awwwwwwww. I knew that Davy was looking at some Malibu Barbie, but thinking of me. His hair was shiny as a pony’s and he was as frisky as a young colt...and as non-threatening, which is the key to any young crush.
The musical heroes of our youth are sacrosanct and stay forever pure in our hearts. I remember my editor at Billboard telling me that. It instantly came back to my mind today when I heard of Jones’ passing. Whether your first crush was Jones, Shaun Cassidy, a member of New Kids on the Block or the Backstreet Boys or Justin Bieber, that boyish sprite will forever remain in your heart in some way.
As an adult, I interviewed Jones a few times because of the reunion tours and other assorted ventures, and what I remember so clearly is the first time I met him, I was shaking as if I were little again. I felt like I should ask him to sign my pillow case or something so I could practice kissing on it (don’t worry, I didn’t).