This Monkee's Gone To Heaven

If you have listened to me opine for more than fifteen minutes about my torturous youth, you've probably heard me moaning about how my older brother got first pick of everything: He got Hot Wheels. I got Johnny Lightning. He got Quisp. I got Quake. He got the Beatles. I got the Monkees. You can't get Quake anymore. You can order Quisp online. You can pick up a new Hot Wheels car at Target. Good luck finding a Johnny Lighting car, even at suggested retailers.
But I got lucky with the Monkees. They kept recording after the Fab Four went their separate ways. They also did something the Beatles never even threatened to do: reunited. Sure, Mike didn't show up for most of these get-togethers, but there was still Monkee music to be had. In various permutations, Peter, Micky, Mike and Davy could be found somewhere on a stage off and on over the past forty-plus years.
Now, the "pre-fab four" are down to a trio. Davy Jones took his final bow this week at the age of sixty-six. His passing came as a surprise, and was met with a flurry of kind words and reminiscences. As a guy, I can confess that Davy was never my favorite primarily because he was the cute one, and I found this threatening. You wouldn't catch Mike holding still for a Tiger Beat cover shoot. That was Mickey and Davy's territory. Being cute can take its toll on a person, but Davy always wore it well, from his appearance on the Brady Bunch TV show to his return to glory in the Brady Bunch movie, decades later. The years weren't quite as nice to Micky Dolenz, and Peter Tork has been even a little harder to find between reunion gigs.
And now, there will be no more Monkees shows. Davy shuffled off to Buffalo and left me with pleasant memories of Saturday morning reruns in the sixties, and MTV marathons in the eighties. I guess second pick wasn't so bad after all. Aloha, Davy.