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There is a side of me that no one knows. (I hesitate to mention it now, but I have noticed as I age, few things tend to embarrass me.) In 1969, like many girls my age, I fell in love with a longhaired drummer. His name was John Cowsill and he was 13. He and his family were in a pop musical group called, The Cowsills. The group consisted of John, his four brothers, his little sister, and their mom, Barbara.
Though not as widely popular at the Monkees, they did have some gold records. They made milk commercials. They recorded the song "Hair" from the Broadway musical. My mother warned me that "Hair" was about a bunch of hippie actors who appeared on stage in the nude. I was sure that the Cowsills never saw the play - they just sang the song and collected the royalties. They also sang the theme song for TV show, "Love American Style." And I watched it every week because of that although they never appeared on the show. Their biggest claim to fame was that they were the inspiration for the TV show, "The Partridge Family." I envisioned that they would become wildly famous and I would join their act.
I had plan for meeting the Cowsills and becoming a part of their group. I was going to win one of those contests that the teen magazines often had. They would fly me out to California and John would fall madly in love the second he laid eyes on me. Sometime during my flight to the west coast, the magazine editor would discover that I was a writer and she would offer me a job. Barbara, being the super mom that she was, would offer to let me live with them since she knew my mom would never consent to allowing a twelve year old to live on her own (especially in Los Angeles).
I wrote many practice articles and kept them in a notebook ready to show off the minute the job was offered to me. At twelve I as an expert on so many topics - hair care, acne, teenage angst, the generation gap - I was sure I would appeal to a huge audience.
I fantasized that when the Cowsills discovered my musical abilities, their mom would turn in her tambourine, and I would take her place on stage. I knew all their songs by heart and I practiced every night in my bedroom in front of my mirror. I didn't have a tambourine, but I found that an embroidery hoop was a good substitute and a perfume bottle was my microphone.
With the Cowsills' posters on my bedroom walls around me, I pictured myself wearing one of their matching plaid suits and singing and dancing on stage with them. It had not yet occurred to me that I had no musical talents and my dancing skills were not far behind.
The summer I was 13, my mom took our neighbor, Andy, and me to the Illinois state fair to see the Cowsills. From that day on, I knew I was going to be a member of the family. I worried a bit about our religious differences. I was a little Baptist girl and the Cowsills were Catholic, but I knew that love would prevail and we would work it all out.
My brother made intense fun of my obsession, taunting me with his opinion that they didn't play their own instruments or write their own songs. Mysterious moustaches would appear on my posters, causing me to retaliate in ways I still am not at liberty to discuss. I told my brother he was just jealous because he would never be in a musical group. He just laughed, obviously oblivious of my potential.
Somehow over the years, my preoccupation with the Cowsills faded and my interest in local boys increased. During the 80's my parents had a house fire and all my Cowsills memorabilia went up in smoke. It was a bittersweet realization, but at some point it occurred to me that I probably wasn't going to be famous after all (although now I am pretty popular in my kitchen at mealtime).
Recently I was cruising the Internet and stumbled onto some interesting news. The Cowsills still perform! My man, John Cowsills, also performs in The Beach Boys Band. Lately I have found myself looking at their upcoming schedules and wondering if I should plan a trip to see them. Now I can just blame it on that quirky eccentricity that happens to some of us after 30. I saw that they appeared in Evansville last April - I could have been there! Had I known, I probably would have sprung for a real tambourine and microphone. Well, if it is meant to be, they'll come back to Indiana - I think I still remember all those songs. Hopefully I won't have to wear a plaid suit.
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