Still Monkeeing Around

About 12 months ago, Davy Jones of the Monkees passed away unexpectedly. I vividly remember hearing the news and being smacked with a jolt of sadness.

I just realized it’s already been a year, and I’m not sure if it’s my subconscious giving me a nudge, but I’ve been on a Monkees kick for several weeks. 

Yet, it’s really nothing new. Ever since discovering the Pre-Fab Four on syndicated TV after school in the first grade, I’ve been an unwavering fan. From pop rock standards like “Last Train to Clarksville” to deeper cuts such as “As We Go Along,” I’ve been Monkeeing around with the group’s entire catalog for the better part of my life. And as owner of both seasons of “The Monkees” on DVD, I can be a believer anytime I want.

I even passed my love for the Monkees down to my kids, and when three of the four musicians reunited for a 45th anniversary tour in 2011, I had to score tickets.

I wound up snagging a front row table at Chastain Park Amphitheatre in Atlanta, our seats located on the far left side of the stage. The show was one big blast of warm and fuzzy nostalgia in the form of an exhaustive set list. Micky Dolenz, Peter Tork and Davy Jones may not have been the teen idols they once were, but they delivered a sizable chunk of the band’s catalog with more zest than a dozen of today’s hipster acts. They even dedicated a section of the show to the songs from “Head,” the band’s cult film, complete with Jones replicating his “Daddy’s Song” dance number step for step. 

My son Levi was mesmerized, and as the show picked up steam, he asked if he could move just in front of center stage to get a good look at the guys and bust a move himself. 

I sent Levi on his way, and he began shaking his groove thing to “Stepping Stone.” A gaggle of drunk older women, probably Monkees fans the first time around, were sitting at a table just behind him. One overzealous, tipsy broad was so enamored by Levi’s dancing, she decided to pick him up and plop him onstage right in front of the Monkees.

Just after she heaved Levi onto the stage, a security guard scrambled down to stop her. She heeded his instructions and brought back Levi back down to the amphitheatre floor.

As soon as the security guard was out of sight, she reached for Levi once again. My son has dwarfism, and I could just imagine the image from his point of view. A pair of pudgy hands coming at him, the woman’s red face looming from above and her slurring words revealing her plan. 

This time the old bag dropped Levi onstage right on top of Micky Dolenz’s shoes. Levi toppled over and began to cry.

Before I could really process what was going on, my wife had her hackles up and swooped in for the save. Andrea grabbed Levi off of the stage, and shot the drunken gal a piercing evil eye.

I know that look, and being on the receiving end of it is like getting torched by Superman’s heat vision. 

Back at our table, Andrea consoled Levi, who soon wiped away the tears and was back in concert party mode before we knew it.

Moments later I looked up to see Davy Jones dancing across the stage toward our table, shaking his patented tambourine. Once he made it right in front of us, he leaned over and handed Levi his tambourine. Levi beamed with excitement.

At just over 5 feet tall, Jones was no giant. Perhaps he felt a tug of empathy for Levi and his short stature, I’m not sure. For whatever reason the most famous tambourine rattler in the history of rock ‘n’ roll felt compelled to give my son his instrument. I’ll be forever grateful.

About a month later, our family trekked to the National Little People of America Conference in Anaheim, California. Among the weeklong activities was the annual talent show, and Levi got into the act. Wearing a ’60s-style Indian sari, he brought the house down with his rendition of the Monkees’ “I’m a Believer,” shaking Davy’s tambourine along to the beat.

When Levi heard the news of Davy’s passing last year, he was severely bummed. I attempted to lift us both out of the doldrums by blasting the Monkees over our home stereo. Instead of letting his emotions get the better of him, Levi cut some rug to a barrage of Monkees tunes, and I soon followed.

A few months later, Levi reprised his “I’m a Believer” performance at his school talent show, garnering the loudest, most raucous applause of the evening.

I like to think Davy Jones is smiling down from that big concert stage in the sky, as one of his shortest fans keeps the rhythm going with that tambourine while spreading some Monkee love.