My friend Sharon went to see Paul McCartney in concert in Salt Lake City earlier this week. She was ecstatic over the concert and her front row seats. She sent her Midwestern friends a blast email extolling the joys of seeing one of the remaining lads from Liverpool up close and personal.
She admitted to tears in her eyes when Sir Paul strode on stage.
I'm happy for her, but I have to admit something.
I've always pretended that I wanted to marry Paul, but it isn't true. Of course I love the Beatles, but when they played Shea Stadium I was in second grade, praying to not be called last for Red Rover on the playground.
My secret fantasy was about a five foot nine inch dreamboat from Van Nuys, California. I adored Bobby Sherman. When the theme song, Seattle, of Here Come the Brides played on ABC, I could not wait for Bobby to appear on the screen. He was one of three brothers, and by far the most beautiful.
The theme song said, "The bluest skies you've ever seen are in Seattle," but the blues eyes I've ever seen were on Bobby Sherman.
Bobby Sherman frequently appeared on the cover of Tiger Beat, which I bought for a quarter at our Rexall Drug Store. There I bought my album of "With Love, The Scrapbook Album" (1970) for $3.99 and played it on my Close and Play until it was warped. The album covered stood up to resemble a picture frame. There Bobby sat on my bureau, his cute little smile flirting with me every day.
By the time I entered my teenager years, John and Yoko had already gotten a little peace at the Amsterdam Hilton, and Paul had long been married to Linda. Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy were dead, we were mired in the jungles of Southeast Asia with no way out, and Woodstock was history. The National Guard would shoot four dead in O-h-i-o that same year, and Bobby was still my love.
Sources: bobby sherman, retrocafe.com, the monkees lp, themonkees.com