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Screen Shot 2013-07-08 at 9.09.30 PMThe entire Kaitlyn Hunt fiasco, about an 18 year old young woman having sex with a 14 year old girl finally reminded me of my pursuit of Davy Jones, when I was either 13 or 14, but no older than that.  About a year before he died, I was able to talk to him about the incident, which occurred in Greenville, SC, after a Monkees’ concert.  His reaction said a lot about him, morals, basic societal decency, and rules of proper behavior.

I’m not quite sure the year, but I was maybe 13 at the time.  The Monkees were in Greenville.  A half dozen of us managed to get second row seats for the afternoon performance, at the old Memorial Auditorium.  My mother’s best friend took us.  My parents took off for the weekend, like a bunch of cowards, leaving Miss Eff as we called her, to do the dirty deed.

Oh, I was all dressed up in teenybopper glory.  I wore a pumpkin orange silk mini skirt, quit short.  It had a square cut neck, and long sleeves.  The flats were forest green.  (I still have both the dress and the shoes, somewhere.  It was my only moment of teenage glory.)  I wore rust colored love beads, which I also still have.  I had frosted pink Yardley lipstick.

We were absolutely disgusted with the opening act.  It was some annoying guitar player, no one liked.  We all booed him.  I later learned it was Jim Hendrix! All we wanted was Davy Jones!  The audience, almost all girls our age, was so loud, I swear my hearing is still damaged.  We were later to learn the Monkees considered that specific audience the loudest, they ever encountered.  Having seen news clips of how girls were to act, we did just that, screaming, jumping up and down, and crying.  My mother’s friend endured every minute of it.

Once the concert was over, a bunch of us took off.  In what would be the first of many back-stage attempts during the course of my life, we went hunting for Davy Jones.  (FYI, my back-stage forays with opera have been extremely successful, but that’s another story.)   When the security guards at the auditorium tried stopping us, I simply told them that they were depriving us of our Constitutional rights to life, liberty and the pursuit of Davy Jones.

With that, we took off at a run, going all around the block, to the back stage entry.  We knew where we were going.  We saw window shades moving back and forth.

We had them trapped!

Then the cops showed up, and just sat in the middle of the road, watching us, until my mother’s friend came around in her old green station wagon and told us to behave.

That was that…. or was it?

About a year or so before he died, Davy Jones did a concert here at the Inn of the Mountain Gods.  Once it was over, my friend, Alicia, told me I had to go talk to him.  I did.  We waited until everyone has left, with us being the last in line.

I told him about the Greenville concert, and how I screamed that I had my Constitutional rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of Davy Jones.

“That was you?” He started laughing.  “You and your friends were the cutest bunch of kids who ever chased us.”

He then told me that we had indeed tracked them to the backstage entry.  He said we were so cute, they were watching us run around outside.  When the cops came, having been called by the management of the auditorium, he said they told them to leave us alone. We were the cutest bunch of girls they had every encountered.

“Why didn’t you let us get autographs.”

“You were little girls.”

I told him we were maybe 13 or 14.

“And, that’s why we did not go near you.”  He laughed. “There are laws about that sort of thing.  We could have ended up in jail.  The whole bunch of you were so innocent and so cute, you never would have known the difference.”

We talked for awhile.  He said that, of all the concerts and all the teenage girls he had ever encountered, we were the most fun.  They had talked about it, for years. If they had been different kind of men, they could have taken us in, given us something to drink, flirted with us, and we would have gladly done whatever they wanted.

But, these three men, Mike Nesmith, Micky Dolenz, and Davy Jones were honorable men.  They knew the difference between right and wrong.  They had enough regard for themselves, enough common sense to know that they would have ended up in prison.  Trust me, with our family political connections, they would have spent much of their lives in prison.

That’s the difference between good and honorable men and woman and  people like Kate Hunt and her family.  We would have been just like the Smith girl, absolutely thrilled to receive such attention.  That’s what happened to her.  Instead of encountering someone who was honorable and decent, she was preyed upon by an adult who had no problem molesting her.

For those fools who are still think that Kate Hunt did nothing wrong, consider the story of the Monkees and the screaming teenyboppers.  They knew the difference between right and wrong.  Evidently, these people are clueless.

What could easily have become a nightmare became, instead, a cherished memory, made even sweeter by the knowledge that Davy Jones, who was one of the greatest teen idols, ever, was a man of honor and decency.  There are rules that constitute civilized behavior.  The Monkees followed those rules.  The Hunts and their associates have thumbed their nose at them.

The reason there are rules of civilized behavior and laws is because of people like Kate Hunt, and her parents Steven Hunt and Kelley Hunt Smith.  They have no regard for honor, decency, and the protection of the innocent.  We have those laws to keep people like this from preying upon and destroying those they encounter.  Anyone who doesn’t grasp this fact is as guilty as are they.

Kate Hunt’s defenders say that the Smith child was as in love with Kate as Kate was with her.  No, I beg to differ.  The Smith child was seduced by Kate’s age, her alleged glamour, and flattered by the attention.  Like what would have happened to us, she never knew the difference. Kate Hunt did, but was so lacking in basic human decency that she used and abused that admiration.

For awhile, I’ve thought that she just needs ‘help’.  After thinking about it, in perspective of my story about the Monkees, she needs to go to jail.  She violated the law, and molested an innocent child.

She is a child molester.  There is no other way to describe her.

 

 

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