Is there anything more head scratching than
“Davy Jones is Dead”
on all the news places?

If you’re 17, you scratch your head and ask “Davy Jones, the pirate guy of the Caribbean?” If you’re 50-ish you scratch your head and ask “Davey Jones, the Saturday morning cartoon? Is Bugs dead too, how about Wiley?”

“Davy Jones is dead”

Richards, Dylan, Young, deserve to be old, earned oldness, crept into age at our pace. We wonder maybe they might be dead already, earned it and bought it.

But “Davy Jones is Dead” seems such a misplaced notion. Fer christs sake, were the Archie’s dead as well? Were we really sold a notion of goodness on the fiction of really? Really good teeth.

The revolution had a small good beat and spoke good clearly. Inoffensive, groomed, you had your choice of adoration. Patty had Peter Michelle had Michael Donna had Davy.

Then we found out it was all a cartoon, concocted for our entertainment and the small allowance dollar. So they became a cartoon, in our minds. A technicolor to be dismissed, a frivol to be forgotten. In our minds a cartoon. To be somehow weighed against the boughtness of our endearments, a cartoon.

Then you see Mickey Dolenz in an interview with a big white smile fedora and a shiny black suit and tales of the beginning and you realize. It was all real.

“Davy Jones is Dead”