Boomer Journey…

Class reunions are the darnedest thing, as are our memories of high school a half-century ago. I graduated from high school 50 years ago. I will admit to you that I was a terrible student. How I graduated from high school remains a mystery, especially when I examine my report card from 1975. I think they gave me a pass just to get rid of me – or maybe it was out of sympathy (or fear) because holding me back for another year of education was unthinkable.

I was one of those awkward kids who didn’t fit in. There was the “in” crowd – the jocks and the cheerleaders – and those who appeared on “It’s Academic,” a local high school whiz kid quiz game show. I was the face you couldn’t find in the crowd. I was among the dorks and geeks who mingled together alone in the lunchroom whose names would never be remembered. I don’t know where any of my high school buddies are today. We hung together for a time following high school, then – one by one – went our separate ways.

My 50th high school reunion just passed. Nothing against anyone, please understand. However, I learned early on at my 10th high school reunion that I had very little in common with anyone I attended high school with. I approached the 50th reunion with the same mindset. I wasn’t likely to have anything in common with anyone then either. Were it not for name tags, I wouldn’t recognize anyone.

We have changed a lot in 50 years.

I do have some observations from some of the reunions I’ve seen in recent times. What’s with pom-poms and cheerleaders who never left high school? They still perceive they are pom poms. I will add there is appropriate attire for a class reunion, and there are outfits best left in the closet. As you age, avoid wearing the clothing you wore in high school. Ladies, leave your sleeveless articles at home. And remember, short skirts and open shoulders just don’t work visually when you are approaching 70.

And gentlemen – don’t come to a class reunion in a worn and faded Jimi Hendrix or Grateful Dead tee shirt and rip-torn jeans. Don’t embarrass your significant other by looking like you just walked out of an auto repair shop or a tractor pull.

Got it, everyone?

Dress appropriately for the occasion and remember – you are not 18 anymore.

Then comes the awkward issue of what to talk about 50 years later. If you haven’t seen anyone since the Bicentennial, what on earth do you talk about? Worse yet, there’s always the schmuck who won’t wear a name tag and that uncomfortable moment when the person walks up and says, “Hey, Jimbo – been a long time!” and you haven’t the faintest idea who they are. Politics is best avoided, considering the divided nature of our country right now. You could wind up with a high school cafeteria-style fist fight just like old times.

Reunions can be a wonderful thing, reuniting old friends and acquaintances we haven’t seen in a long time. They also have to be put into perspective. We’ve all been on life’s journey for a long time.

We have each experienced life-changing events. Bask in the moment and embrace the memories and each other – and keep on keeping on.

Do you remember when life stretched out infinitely ahead of us – when old age was way off in the future – not even worth thinking about?

There would be time.

Time passes with fluid precision without prejudice. Never take it personally.

It just is…

I suppose time is an element of our own minds. It owns us. Is there really such a thing as time? Time is a man-made invention that’s more mental than physical. The earth turns. We orbit the sun. The sun and our solar system make their way through the galaxy. The galaxy makes its way through the universe. We are constantly in motion through the cosmos. We’re always on the move, so why be concerned about time? Enjoy the ride aboard the good ship Earth until God comes calling and then consider how far we’ve traveled since we were young.

Bask in the wisdom we have gained.

I think the speed of time is mental. It is all in our heads. Does a day pass any faster for you than it does for me? I believe the busier we are, the faster time goes. And, when we are idle, time drags on.

When we were sitting in class 50-60 years ago, bored, listening to our educators, watching a Simplex clock journey through a school day one minute at a time, time passed slowly. I remember those older Simplex clocks when the minute hand leaped from one minute to the next. Do you remember that?

What’s more – we looked at the calendar…with days and weeks yet to come.

When we were young, we wished time away with reckless abandon. If only we had thought for a moment that time moved with or without our attention to time-keeping devices. Each day gone was a day closer to our own mortality.

Throughout our lives, we’ve watched others pass and wondered of our own mortality. Every funeral or celebration of life of a loved one has been a lesson in our own mortality. We’ve quietly thought about what it is like to die, gazing into a silent casket or a photograph, wondering when it will be our turn in the box.

Admit it. You’ve thought of it.

For decades, I feared my mother’s passing. She was my lifeline and emotional support system. When she did eventually pass at the age of 84 from a long journey through dementia, I felt a sense of relief, knowing she was finally at peace.

I’ve missed her terribly.

Dunno about you, but as I’ve grown older, I’ve become less and less concerned about my eventual passing. Please understand, I don’t want to die right now. I have plenty left to live for. However, I am unafraid of dying. Reason being, everyone who walks this earth will become a memory – a void – in time, so how bad can it be?

Your birth certificate ensures your death certificate.

The best advice I can offer anyone is to make the most of the life you’ve been handed and have left. Choose life. And ask yourself how you can best serve others. When you serve others, it manifests itself as a sense of inner peace – knowing you’ve made a difference that is felt and could be felt for generations to follow.

Every once in a while, I like to salute the great actors and film producers of our time. “The Way We Were” is an excellent example, though it doesn’t get much attention these days. “The Way We Were” was a highly acclaimed romantic drama about two conflicting personalities who fell deeply in love with each other but couldn’t live together in peace.

Sound familiar?

“The Way We Were” was an adaptation of a screenplay from Arthur Laurents’ 1972 novel, which reflected upon his college years and political issues of the times. This novel and screenplay became one of the greatest love stories of our time. I suspect a few of us can relate to it because “The Way We Were” was a reflection of ourselves – our loves, our successes, and our failures.

Boomers are surely the divorce generation, with so many of us in second and third marriages. We made it “okay” to divorce when it just wasn’t working out. By contrast, the Greatest Generation before us stayed together despite their differences and the unpopular decision to divorce.

Divorce just wasn’t discussed or done.

“The Way We Were” was a box office success, moving quite a few of us to tears as we walked out of movie theatres around the world more than 50 years ago. It was nominated for and won several Academy Awards for Best Original Dramatic Score and Best Original Song for the theme “The Way We Were,” sung by Barbra Streisand and heard around the world. “The Way We Were” was easily one of the greatest romantic films of our time. I would wager nearly every one of you has the 45 or record album in your vinyl collection.

The story begins at a college rally at the cusp of the 1930s. Katie Morosky (Barbra Streisand) caught Hubbell Gardiner’s (Robert Redford) eye with her persona and her passionate words. College ended, and both Katie and Hubbell moved into adult lives and a world war. Katie and Hubbell were both diametrically opposed – dramatically different people who lived a life of conflict from the time they met. He was conservative and carefree, and she was liberal and both serious and passionate about everything. Her life was her causes.

Hubbell was a WASPY guy who never took life too seriously – and Katie, who took everything seriously. The joy of “The Way We Were” was the authenticity. It captured the very essence of the 1930s and ’40s – the music, society, and the times. You get so lost in the plot that you forget it is 2025.

Years later, Katie rediscovers Hubbell at a New York nightclub and is immediately drawn to him. Because Katie was very forthright, she walked up to a sleeping Hubbell Gardiner, carefully balanced on a bar stool in full Navy full dress, and gently corrected his hair. This was who Katie was. She worked tirelessly to fix things she perceived as needing correction – even when they didn’t need correcting. She wanted him to care the way she did and be as passionate as she was. Her expectations of Hubbell and his circle of friends were never realistic.

The story follows their lives to Hollywood and a very different and certainly affluent lifestyle. While Hubbell finds comfort in a Hollywood lifestyle, Katie believes his enormous talent is being wasted in film. As the 1950s and McCarthyism unfolded and began to adversely affect their lives, her political activism returned, endangering his career. When Katie and others began confronting Washington over free speech, it began straining their marriage – which wound up in divorce.

Although fiction, perhaps Katie and Hubbell can serve as a lesson for a lot of us. As we journey through life, we learn something important about ourselves – and more importantly, the person we’ve chosen to spend life with.

Like life, “The Way We Were” wasn’t a perfect love story.

Do you remember the cure for boredom when we were growing up?

A day at the airport…

Such was the case for most of us. It gave parents a break and gave us something to do to while away the time. That never happened when I was growing up. The airport was for the departure and arrival of my father when he traveled internationally during his 35-year career with the National Security Agency (NSA). He traveled the Northern hemisphere, and we were always there for the sendoff and return – sometimes in the wee hours of the morning.

Seems airports have become departure and arrival only places, especially since the 9/11 attacks of 2001. If you’re not flying, they don’t want you in the building. Perhaps I am being cynical, but I think we’ve gone overboard with airport security in the years since. Going to the airport has become such a drag. The reason being Britain never allowed terrorism to deter them from tradition. Brits line fences and populate air parks next to airports where patrons can listen to ATC chatter and document airframes – and they’re mighty good at it.

The British have been notoriously passionate about rail transportation and aviation, and they’ve never wavered. Go to nearly any major airport in Britain and you will see dozens with binoculars and camaras capturing the action. Law enforcement is always there to keep a close eye on enthusiasts and would-be troublemakers, should anyone exhibit life-threatening behavior. They turn out in good weather and bad, enjoying the freedoms they currently have.

Whatever happened to this pastime in the US?

We’ve lost the freedom to do it.

My high school sweetheart, Robin Kramer, and I were at the Riverdale Theatre in suburban Maryland outside of D.C., taking in Irwin Allen’s “The Towering Inferno” in the winter of 1974-75. I was so obsessed with this action/adventure movie that we went to see it 11 times! I became obsessed with skyscrapers of all kinds and had a curiosity about fire in a skyscraper – everyone’s worst nightmare. The enormity of tall buildings and what it took to design and build them was awe-inspiring to me.

Growing up in Washington, D.C., I had to see something taller than a 30-story high-rise, even though we had the Washington Monument, 26 miles away on the National Mall, at 555 feet in height. Ironically, I had never been to the top of the Washington Monument. It just didn’t seem like a skyscraper.

In the summer of 1975, Robin and I hit the road for New York to see some really big buildings. We were on our way to New Hampshire to visit my cousin and just happened to be passing through New York. I looked down the Hudson River to the south as we were crossing the George Washington Bridge, and there they were – twin towers of 110 stories each in glistening stainless steel.

On our way back through New York, I decided to exit I-95 at the Hudson just short of the GW and head down the West Side to the towers. They loomed big on the horizon and were larger than life. When Robin and I pulled up in front of Tower 1, it reached to the heavens a quarter of a mile into the sky like I had never seen. I wanted so badly to know what it felt like to be on top, close to the clouds.

The following summer, I’d find out.

The Observation Deck on top of Tower 2 opened to the public in the summer of 1976. The pamphlet said, “It’s Hard To Be Down When You’re Up – The Observation Deck at the World Trade Center…” Robin and I and a friend of hers flew to New York and beat a path to the towers from Midtown. We boarded the elevator, which was larger than any room in my home, and rode this high-speed vertical transporter to 107 at a 23 mph clip in one minute. It was so fast it made your ears pop.

Escalators took you to the rooftop observation deck, which was startling because Tower 1 seemed so far away on the ground and was very imposing when you were on top of Tower 2. On 107, you could look straight down in any direction. On top, you could see for miles. They told us that on a clear winter day, you could see the Poconos 80 miles away in Pennsylvania. I still wonder if that was true. Nonetheless, it was the first time I’d ever stood on top of a building one quarter of a mile in the sky. I recall seeing a Boeing 727 climbing out of JFK so close you felt like you could touch it.

What made the World Trade Center distinctive was its “twin tower” status. Appropriately spaced and positioned diagonally, they could be seen for miles. When we were heading north on the New Jersey Turnpike, you could see them way down to the south of Newark. With the GW Bridge dead ahead, you just couldn’t take your eyes off of them. They were majestic in scope and dominated the skyline. Although New Yorkers despised them, they gradually grew to love them, especially in the wake of the 1993 bombing, when New Yorkers almost lost them.

Years before September 11th, I was half-heartedly listening to a newscast while making a sandwich when it was said terrorists were planning to fly jetliners into the World Trade Center. My heart skipped several beats at the idea. I had to believe that was not possible. We were the United States, and no one would dare.

I was naive…

There’s always an enemy out there with a little more determination who could pull it off. Nineteen very committed hijackers did – much to the shock of the world in a Trojan horse moment with the power of four commercial jetliners. It was a quiet Tuesday morning when the phone rang. I was instructed to turn on the TV. We turned on the TV to a billowing Tower 1 in flames. At first, it was thought to be an accident. When a United Airlines 767 slammed into Tower 2, it was then a proven terrorist act – something I never would have believed possible.

When American Airlines Flight 11, a Boeing 767, left Boston’s Logan Airport headed for Los Angeles and vanished from the radar and headed off course for New York, the authorities sprang into action. At first, there was a lot of fumbling and confusion. The various agencies involved thought it was a drill and didn’t take it seriously. Amid the confusion, the American 767, at the hands of hijackers, was making its way south to New York. In minutes, it roared over the buildings of New York at over 400 mph and slammed into Tower 1.

Our world changed forever in seconds.

Minutes later, United Airlines Flight 175 came around from over the Jersey shore and crashed into Tower 2, stunning New Yorkers who looked skyward in utter shock. Within minutes, American Airlines Flight 77, after taking off from Dulles Airport, roared across Northern Virginia to the Pentagon, clipping light poles and startling employees in the parking lot, killing 168 people at the Department of Defense. United Airlines Flight 93, with gutsy, determined and informed passengers on board, erupted into chaos – with three passengers storming the cockpit and halting the 757’s planned journey to Washington, saving the US Capitol from total destruction and huge losses of life. These courageous human beings saved Washington that day.

We’ve never been the same despite the post 9/11 unity at the time.

When we were growing up in the 1960s, could you have ever imagined September 11, 2001? We grew up in fear of a nuclear attack with “duck and cover” in our classrooms, coupled with the Cuban Missile Crisis. Careful negotiations prevented what could have become a nuclear Armagedón in 1962.

With that knowledge, and the winning of World War II in two theatres with help from our allies, life seemed pretty secure for a time. What September 11th taught us was – anything can happen at any moment and did, teaching us to never take anything for granted. Not completely certain we learned anything.

God save us from really awful sitcoms – experiments in primetime television gone bad – some so bad they were canceled before the annual springtime wrap-up. There were more really bad sitcoms than we have room for here – but always worthy of mention. When I think of really awful sitcoms, I think of one-season wonders like “It’s About Time” and “My Mother The Car.”

Both were about as absurd as it gets.

“It’s About Time” was a wacky American sitcom that aired on CBS for a single season, consisting of 26 episodes in 1966–67. It got off to a good start in the ratings but quickly plummeted as the storylines became more ridiculous. Viewers quickly tired of two men in the strangest place.

Sherwood Schwartz, who had a vivid imagination, created “It’s About Time…” who also birthed “Gilligan’s Island” and “The Brady Bunch.” As silly as the latter two sitcoms were, they were very successful and have a huge following even today. Boomers spend their retirements watching these shows, repeating every line word for word. We eat this stuff up regardless of how ridiculous it seems.

Sherwood Schwartz was a brain trust of wacky sitcoms, such as “Gilligan’s Island,” that boomers still follow today in retirement between pharm’ and life insurance commercials.

Early on, there was “Mister Ed” about a talking horse and buddy, Wilbur Post. Like many sitcoms, Mister Ed was a secret known only to one person. Ironically, Mister Ed aired for five seasons, an unheard of success story on CBS’ Filmways division, the same division that aired “The Beverly Hillbillies” sitcom, that ran from 1962-70. There’s no explaining what has made boomers obsess with these sitcoms aside from the memories they yield today.

Mister Ed show was derived from long before short stories from the 1930s written by author Walter R. Brooks, which conceived The Talking Horse in Liberty Magazine. Producer Arthur Lubin‘s secretary, Sonia Chernus, introduced Lubin to the Brooks stories, which wound up being the “Mister Ed” television series.

Lubin had a challenging time selling Mister Ed to the networks, which led him to syndication. It was the magic and humor of Alan Young that led Lubin to success with CBS. Mister Ed ran from 1961-66 – an incredible track record for something as silly as a talking horse. Someone would walk into the barn and ask who Wilbur was talking to – which was always an awkward moment for Post.

I suppose we’ve all had these moments where we’ve been talking to ourselves and been caught doing so, which makes it easy to relate to Wilbur’s conversations with Mister Ed, and someone would walk in, and Wilbur, red-faced, had to quickly pretend he was singing or reciting a speech.

I remember June of 1975 – free at last…

Or so I thought…

It was the last day of school in my senior year. I roared out the parking lot in my Mustang and headed off to the future. Graduation would be June 15th at Cole Field House at the University of Maryland in College Park. Mid-June would prove to be hot and humid, and Cole Field House was not air-conditioned in those days. I was sweaty and we all were miserable. We were in our caps and gowns in a very regimented environment and there were more than 900 of us. It would prove to be a long day.

WTOP (WUSA) News Anchor, Gordon Peterson, spoke at our graduation, offering inspiring words most of us probably never heard. We were eager to get our diplomas and get out of the heat. Although it seemed a very liberating time, it was but the beginning of the rigors of adult life. Each of us had a lot to learn.

I sure did…

Headed to my Senior Prom in 1974…

Had I been able to see the future, I would have been terrified and paralyzed as a result. God doesn’t allow us to see the future. Seems unfair now doesn’t it. However, had we been able to see the future, we would have done something even stupider. At 19, I thought I had become a man. In the eyes of the law, sure… In reality, not a chance. There were plenty of mistakes and foolishness ahead at the University of Hard Knocks. There would be job losses, failed marriages, kids, car crashes, illnesses, losses, and a few things I haven’t thought of that it would be best to forget.

There are also the blessings, no matter how small, we should embrace and treasure, though we tend to forget to do that in the chaos of daily life.

So here we are at the other end of life, which seemed way off in the future some 50-60 years ago, wondering how to live out the rest of our lives. Maybe you are right where you want to be, surrounded by the love of family and friends. If you are like most of us, you have your share of regrets. Opportunities missed. Friends who are gone that you wish you’d spent more time with. Maybe you’re fighting health issues, wishing you were younger – wondering what it would feel like if you were 21 again.

Mankind has been humming the same tune for generations – oh to be young again. It’s the same old saw – searching for the elusive fountain of youth. All that said, I will say this – I am okay where I am in life. I’ve had a good run and enjoyed the love of family and friends – in fact, more than I’ve had a right to have. I’ve been butt stupid and have left my share of rubble in the rear-view mirror. Thoughtless and selfish would be an even better way to describe it. I could elaborate, but why?

All we have is our memories of our pasts and a vision of what we’d like our future to be. So, what about that? Unless you are facing a terminal illness, with very little time left, carve out your dream for the future and endeavor to work a plan. Doesn’t have to be all at once – but in baby steps toward the goal.

I’ve always viewed Life as a book with chapters – with each symbolic of a moment in time. Some good. Some not so good. Best we look at Life that way. As we head into the twilight, it is best to bask in the good memories and do our best to abandon the bad. The present is all we have. Best to live in the moment.

What is it about Ohio and NASA astronauts? The Buckeye State has spawned its share of great aerospace pioneers – super heroes who’ve left the surly bonds of Earth and ventured into the heavens while those of us void of courage have sat on the sofa in front of our televisions and marveled at the testosterone.

Ohio really is the heart of it all – with a plethora of hard-core aviators who’ve wanted to venture into space – John Glenn, Neil Armstrong, Judy Resnick, Gregory H. Johnson, Donald A. Thompson, Mary Ellen Weber, Nancy J. Currie-Gregg, Sunita Williams, Terrence T. Henricks, Donn F. Eisele, Kathryn D. Sullivan, Robert F. Overmyer, Thomas J, Hennen, Robert M. Sega, Michael T. Good, Michael L. Gernhardt, Mark M. Brown, Kenneth D. Cameron, Ronald Parise, Charles Bassett, Michael Foreman – and astronaut Jim Lovell who commanded Gemini and Apollo missions throughout the 1960s. Lovell was selected in 1962 from a second prestige group of select astronauts who would pilot the Gemini and Apollo missions.

Jim Lovell was chosen from a second grouping of astronauts who entered the qualification process to be among the first astronauts to go into space. A three-person panel of Mercury Seven astronauts, Alan Shepard, Deke Slayton, and one NASA test pilot, Warren J. North scaled the group down to 32 astronauts who were recruited for extensive medical exams that would determine who made the cut. Lovell was one of them. He would go on to pilot Gemini and Apollo missions on our journey to the lunar surface. It was a lofty goal that had to be met.

Who can forget Apollo 8 on Christmas Eve 1968 with astronauts Jim Lovell, Frank Borman, and Bill Anders. Apollo 8 was the first manned spacecraft ever to leave the Earth’s gravitational pull – the first to leave Earth orbit. With that journey was the risk they might never return to Earth. It was time for a bit of reflection.

A very real moment began with Anders with words from the Book of Genesis:

“In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.
And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.
And God said, Let there be light: and there was light.
And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light from the darkness.“

Lovell ran with:

And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And the evening and the morning were the first day.
And God said, Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters, and let it divide the waters from the waters.
And God made the firmament and divided the waters which were under the firmament from the waters which were above the firmament: and it was so.
And God called the firmament Heaven. And the evening and the morning were the second day.

Lovell handed it off to Borman:

And God said, Let the waters under the heaven be gathered together unto one place, and let the dry land appear: and it was so.
And God called the dry land Earth; and the gathering together of the waters called he Seas: and God saw that it was good.

And from the crew of Apollo 8, we close with good night, good luck, a Merry Christmas – and God bless all of you, all of you on the good Earth.

Billions watched in awe around the world because it was something that had never been done before – and Lovell was there to live the experience…in space. Ohio-born Jim Lovell was admired by millions for his accomplishments in the U.S. Navy and with NASA away from the Earth. He passed on August 7, 2025 at age 97 and will forever be missed and long recognized for what he did for the space program, the United States, and humanity.

 

What is it about Leave It To Beaver that keeps us tuning in year after year? I’ve been on a “Beaver” binge for weeks now, beginning with Season 1, Episode 1. I watch when I am bored and as I fall asleep at night. There’s something comforting about listening to Beaver when I am dozing off. It is also comforting to Beave’ binge as I nibble on a slice of pizza as an escape from the troubling news of our times.

I turn the News off and switch The Beaver on.

Those early episodes in 1957 began with a Hugh Beaumont narrative establishing the storyline. It set the stage for what Leave It To Beaver was and would be. These tiresome narratives ended after the first season. The first two seasons were shot on the backlot and in the sound stages of Republic Studios and wound up at Universal for seasons three through five.

I never cared much for the Cleaver house those first two seasons, but there was certainly something familiar about the neighborhood, which had turned up in untold movies and television shows, including My Three Sons.

Leave It to Beaver offered a moral to every story – perhaps as an important message for kids and parents alike. There were times when Ward learned a lesson from his own misunderstanding of a situation with Beaver, much as Sheriff Andy Taylor did with son Opie at times. Each parent misjudged their kid, donning a slice of humble pie when they realized the error of their judgment. I can relate to that one. I cannot count the number of times I’ve blamed our son for things he didn’t do, naturally assuming he’d done it, only to discover I’d done it myself.

Sigh…

Like a lot of us when we were kids, Beaver was always influenced by his closest friends. Troubles began with Larry Mondelo, who always managed to talk The Beave’ into doing what he was instructed never to do. No matter how much the two tried to cover up the misdeed, they always managed to get caught.

Then came Gilbert, Whitey, and Richard, who always managed to lead Beaver down an ill-gotten path. Easily the most memorable moment was the soup bowl billboard where Beaver and Whitey wondered if the bowl was actually filled with soup. With Whitey’s encouragement, Beaver climbed up there and fell in, discovering the bowl was nothing more than a prop with a smoke machine inside. The fire department came and there was no way to hide Beaver’s foolishness. The Zesto Soup billboard episode was the most expensive episode of Beaver ever done at $40,000.

Another moment was Ward’s autographed baseball Larry managed to talk Beaver into having a catch with. Larry aggressively threw the ball, which headed into the street and was run over by a garbage truck.

Leave It To Beaver is a reminder of our own childhoods and the times in which we lived and came of age. We watched Wally and The Beaver grow up on our television screens in an imaginary place called Mayfield. With the sweet combination of writing and direction under the supervision of producers Joe Connelly and Bob Mosher and a great creative team, they managed to make Mayfield a believable place, with realistic storylines and hilarious moments we could all relate to.

“The Monkees” – a fictional rock band series that aired on NBC for two seasons from 1966-68 – was a short-lived, yet very successful look at the youth-crazed, fan-based phenomenon. My sister had it bad for Davy Jones – with posters all over the bedroom and a “must-see” demeanor on Monday nights.

The timing could not have been better for NBC and Screen Gems.

The Monkees debuted on a Monday night, September 12, 1966, as part of NBC’s fall lineup. It followed the wacky adventures of a struggling rock band in pursuit of fame and fortune. The series managed to take two Emmy Awards in 1967, including “Outstanding Comedy Series.” I personally believe drummer and singer Micky Dolenz was the funniest with his gift of wit and charm.

It can be safely said The Monkees invented the music video made popular by MTV beginning in the 1980s, which remains a hot spot to this day. Although The Monkees was canceled after just two seasons, it enjoyed great success in syndication on both CBS and ABC, along with a rebirth more recently as Monkees band members have passed on one by one. The only surviving band member is Micky Dolenz.

The Monkees debut record album on the Colgems label in 1966.

The Monkees was born of filmmakers Bob Rafelson and Bert Schneider of Raybert Productions, who observed the great success of The Beatles films and believed they had a winning idea – yet there was virtually no interest from Hollywood. Raybert pitched the idea successfully to Columbia Pictures’ Screen Gems division in 1965. Word hit the streets – and hundreds of promising (and not so promising) actors/singers showed up to try out for four prime time television parts.

Micky Dolenz, whose father was actor George Dolenz, had child acting experience. Davy Jones, who ironically was a former jockey, had enjoyed some success as an actor in his native Britain. Long, tall Texan Michael Nesmith, whose mother invented Liquid Paper, tried out for one of the four parts. These four gentlemen were clear winners – especially if you’ve ever seen the screen tests. They had a natural chemistry and had impeccable timing.

It has been said Nesmith arrived at the audition with a laundry bag in hand. His wool hat, which was his trademark, kept hair out of his eyes while riding his motorcycle. Native Washingtonian (D.C.), Peter Tork, was a natural for his part. He had acting and singing ability. He was a born cutup.

Making The Monkees a huge success was never easy. It needed natural improv, quick cuts, and smooth, easy narratives. Every episode had at least one music video, which made it appealing to young people. Each Monkees actor played themselves, with good creative influence from director James Frawley (not related to William Frawley).

The Monkees was a terrific Monday night escape from life, regardless of how old you were. We watched with great consistency, as did our parents. It became a family ritual for two seasons while dining on Swanson TV dinners.

“The Monkees” years back – from left Mike Nesmith, Mickey Dolenz, Peter Tork, and Davy Jones. All are gone now except Mickey, who continues to make fans laugh some 60 years later.