In a sense Diane and I had an attack of second childhood in 1986 when the Monkees reunited for their 20th Anniversary.
By coincidence we were collaborating on a book about the group-she doing the illustrations me doing the writing when we heard the announcements of the upcoming tour and conventions. Being enthusiasts, and seeing the conventions as a way to visit the folks back east while doing more research, we jumped at the chance-especially when we got a good airline ticket deal! (ah yes! remember when everyone had money?)
We brought all our research up to that time and samples of Diane's illustrations with us and had a great time. We met a lot of fellow fans and with a few of them formed a club for fellow researchers and archivists called the Monkees Press Club. When we got back home, Diane and I along with a handful of the folks we met at the convention began what turned into a fanzine for the club, Press Club News.
Members joined quickly, from all over the country then from abroad as well. We weren't a regular fan club, per se. We took our research and archiving seriously, even asking for (and often receiving) corrections on mis-information about the group (the persistent rumor about them not playing their own instruments, unfortunately, never seems to stop). We had local reporters at concerts and events, we also volunteered to help at conventions and other Monkee-related gatherings.
We showed support for the band by being among the many fans and fangroups lobbying for their star on the Hollywood Walk Of Fame.
And the MPC took on Sony/Columbia Pictures Studios up close and personal when the company tried to make the band members pay a ridiculous amount of money per concert to the corporation in exchange for the right to use the Monkees name, logo and character likenesses. We marched up and down the sidewalk outside of Columbia, singing protest songs and staging protest actions all day long. And it worked. (well, I'm sure all the letters and phone calls from all over the world from generally loyal fans-members of many clubs not just ours-must have helped. But we did cause local news coverage on the subject.)
But there was more to the Press Club than running amok with banners, going to concerts, helping out with conventions and actually acting as security once in a while for our energetic heroes. Much more.
There was a wonderful, diverse group of people that never would have met if it weren't for the fact that those guys decided to reunite. A few of them are still in my life to this day...and I treasure them dearly.
During the Press Club's hey day, Diane and I lived in Venice, California so we were near enough to Hollywood to attend anything the group might be having when in town. We got a call one morning, the band was going to be shooting a video and how would we and a few club folk like to be "extras" in some of the crowd shots.
Yo! Don't ask twice, eh? So several frantic phone calls later Diane and I were trundling down to H-Wood on a Los Angeles city bus, dressed like a couple of punk/greasers (the characters we were supposed to be) to be in a Monkees video.
We tried to round up some other fans, and everyone agreed to meet at the shoot location. It was fun. We got to hang out with each other and with David, Micky and Peter. They were, as usual, friendly and grateful for the fan support.
The Press Club was an amazing experience for everyone, I'm sure. But like all things it had to come to an end. Diane and I decided to move back to San Francisco, we were both tired of the smog and heat. We almost turned right around and moved back, but love...as it's been known to do...had other plans.
At thirty one, I felt we were accomplishing a lot of important things beneath the guise of Monkee fandom. Diane and I met a bunch of wonderful people, honed our skills on desktop publishing (cut and paste at that point in time), and learned some valuable lessons. We made some lasting friends and some that I'd love to see again...and we had a ball!
So for today, fifty five is about having fun, treasured friends and staying young at heart. So, go ahead...call me a Daydream Believer. You're right, I am!
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