Daydream Believer

Meeting Davy Jones, my childhood crush, felt dreamlike yet somehow preordained

I was 10 years old when "The Monkees" debuted on NBC, and I never missed an episode. In no time, I was obsessed, spending my allowance on things like a Monkees bracelet and a plastic hologram ring—trinkets I've kept to this day. Naturally I joined the fan club and still have my official membership materials, along with every one of their records. All four Monkees were adorable, but it was Davy Jones who captured my heart.

In 1967, my parents took me to see the Monkees perform at the Baltimore Memorial Auditorium. Later that night, I fell asleep clutching a copy of Tiger Beat magazine while listening to Davy sing "The Day We Fall In Love." I was absolutely certain he was directing those words to me.

When I turned 12, I decided that looking like Davy would bring us even closer. So I brought a picture of him to my mother's hairdresser and asked her to give me a bowl cut exactly like his. How I, Beverly, a small-town girl of modest means, would ever meet the greatest teen idol of all time from Manchester, England, I didn't know. It seemed an impossible dream.

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I never forgot about Davy, but life moved on. I grew up, moved to New York City and became an entertainment lawyer. I soon fell in love and, nine months later, got married. My husband and I had two daughters, Nicki and Ella. I'm racing through all of this back story so I can get back to the Davy Jones part.

When Nicki was 7, my husband came home one day with two tickets to the Monkees' 30th reunion concert at the Hammerstein Ballroom in Manhattan. I was touched and thrilled. My daughter knew about my childhood crush on Davy, and my husband insisted she and I attend the concert together.

I felt like a little girl again—sitting with my own little girl—watching Davy croon "Daydream Believer." It was heaven.

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"Are you going to the after-party?" a woman in the row ahead of us asked, handing me a flyer as the concert ended. I shook my head.

"Why aren't we going?" Nicki asked.

"It's late, honey," I said. "And that part of town isn't exactly safe for moms and little girls at this time of night."

"But Davy Jones will be there," my daughter said. She kept insisting and I kept saying no, all the while wanting to say yes.

Which, of course, I finally did. We drove to the party and when we walked in, there were Micky Dolenz and Peter Tork milling around, talking to fans and signing autographs. Davy was nowhere to be found.

"Are you sure your mom brought you here because she wanted you to see the Monkees?" Peter asked Nicki, winking.

"Where's Davy?" Nicki shot right back at him and Peter didn't know. Nicki repeated the question to another fan standing nearby and she directed us to a cordoned off area of the club.

As if in a dream, I followed my daughter to the table where Davy Jones sat. You'd think my heart would be fluttering, but it wasn't. Instead, a strange feeling washed over me—an almost inexplicable sense of this being somehow preordained.

Davy greeted us with a smile and a big hello. I blushed when he looked up at me—it was like he walked right out of an old Tiger Beat. He asked Nicki all about herself, and she told him how much she loved the stage production of "Oliver" in which he'd played the Artful Dodger. And then the two of them began to sing "Where Is Love?" It's a moment I will never forget.

"What does that mean?" Nicki asked when they finished the song, pointing to the silver symbol in the middle of Davy's necklace.

"It means peace," Davy said, as he took off his necklace and fastened it around Nicki's neck.

We left a few minutes later, and when we got back to the car, I hung my head over the steering wheel and began to cry. I told Nicki how much what she had brought about meant to me, even though I knew she couldn't fully understand.

Five years later, my husband left and filed for divorce. It was a rough time for all of us. One day soon after, Nicki came up to my bedroom and asked me to sit down next to her on the bed. Then she placed Davy's peace symbol around my neck.

"Davy's necklace means more to you than it does to me," she said. "I want you to have it." This time, she more than understood.