In honor of his 64th birthday today, I am reposting this blog, which originally aired on November 15, 2013. I’m pleased to say that after the first time I posted it, I was contacted my David’s web mistress and am thrilled to say that my post has been added to David’s website!! You can find it here. Or you can just read below:
I fell in love for the first time on September 25, 1970. I was nine. And a half. His name was David Cassidy, star of the new hit-show The Partridge Family. Every Friday night for the next four years I tuned in to watch him sing his hit songs. I bought every album and played them until my sisters screamed for mercy.
I saved my allowance to buy the most recent Tiger Beat magazine, and I hung posters of him on the back of my door and kissed him goodnight. Every night. I even hung one on the ceiling above my bed so I could see him first thing every morning and last thing before I turned out the light.
My love for David has been an enduring love. Though he dropped off the radar screen after the show ended in March of 1974, he has remained firmly implanted in my heart. I’ve been in love a few times since David—Donny Osmond was next in line—but nothing can ever replace or even equal that special feeling you get from your first true love.
And then one day, a few years ago, I happened to be talking to the entertainment manager at the Indian Casino I work for. “Ben,” I said, “you should think about getting David Cassidy to perform here.” To my surprise and delight, Ben thought it was a great idea. My heart began to flip-flop at the thought.
Ben called me a few weeks later to share the good news. David Cassidy had been booked. He was coming to my home turf, and I couldn’t wait to get my hands (and hopefully lips) on him. “I’ll need a front row ticket,” I told Ben. “And a ticket the meet-and-greet.”
I spent the entire week before the show trying on every possible outfit combination. When the big night arrived I left work early, checked into the B&B down the street with two girlfriends, and primped like I was going to the Prom. Over dinner, my friends and I thumbed through the Tiger Beat magazine I’d bought on EBay for $20 to find all the places where David had autographed (courtesy of Ben). We laughed hysterically at the back page:
Finally, the big moment arrived. I took my seat in the front row, dead center, and sucked air in through the narrow opening in my throat. When the lights dimmed and he took the stage, I was no longer a forty-something, happily-married woman. I was a young girl, and I was in love.
David began singing—not sure what song—and I pulled out my cell phone to capture the moment. I knew cameras were forbidden, but hey, I knew the security director so I was pretty sure I wouldn’t get kicked out. David stood on the stage, directly in front of me, and motioned with his finger for me to come to the stage.
My heart raced and my cheeks burned. Crap, he was going to take my phone. And then something I never expected happened. David bent down, leaned over, and kissed me! Full on the lips, he kissed me. The feel of his lips on mine—comingled with the scent of his cologne—was more than I could bear.
I can die now. My life is complete.
It was then that the women rushed the stage. I stayed put with my forearms resting on the stage, claiming my spot, daring the other women with my eyes to even try impinging on my territory. I craned my neck and stared up at him with adoring eyes, and it seemed every song was sung just for me. And then, something else unexpected happened.
David towered over us, wiping the sweat from his brow with a small blue towel, and my friend Janine asked David if she could have the towel. Incredulous, he asked her why she wanted it. “Because my friend here has been in love with you her entire life,” she said. A few minutes later, David dropped it in front of her.
After the show, I slapped my meet-and-greet pass on and stormed the line, managing to position myself second (the Casino’s CEO is always first). I have no idea what I said to him that night, but I do remember our second kiss. I remember that he was charming, and gracious, and he seemed genuinely happy to meet me. I held him close—he held me closer—and smiled for the camera. And then I waved goodbye to the boy man I will always love.
As I tucked my nine-year-old self into the twin bed back at the B&B, I stared up at the ceiling, an enormous smile fixed to my face, and I knew that nothing could ever top this night. My childhood yearning was complete. I never wanted, or needed, to see David Cassidy again. Except maybe in my dreams.
What about you? Who was your teenage heartthrob? Did you buy magazines and hang posters?