Occiditur

Star Collector

The funeral was rushed and very on the spot. Micky'd had no will; who would at his age? Samantha couldn't handle making the plans so she gave Power of Attorney to Charlotte, Micky's sister.

Charlotte planned an open casket ceremony at a local church Davy was attending. The service would take place three full days after Micky's tragic death.

The service would be guarded and only family and close friends were allowed to enter the church. As expected many reporters and fans of the Monkees showed up. Both on the day of the visitation and the next day that was the funeral.

None of us wanted to face the reporters in this time of pain. All we wanted to do was hide in a dark room and punish ourselves for being so oblivious to Micky's antics.

But of course we couldn't ignore the public. They did deserve to know what happened. So Peter, Davy, and I got together and devised a story for the press. Whenever someone asked me or the others about Mick's death we told them the story. We couldn't tell them the truth. It was too violent! So instead we told them that an intruder had infiltrated Micky's home and attacked his family. When he stood up to the attacker, he was shot. The attacker ran away and was unable to be tracked down. We made him the hero, not the victim. That's who the people needed to remember him as. The hero.

This story however is not what is documented in the Emergency Medical files. The authorities knew what really happened, and why we couldn't tell the audiences the truth.

I was a bit angry at the fans though. On the day of the funeral they were held back from the other two boys and I by a wall of policemen. They reached through though and tried to touch us or asked us for autographs. Most of them were young to mid-teens. They were young, naïve, and ignorant as to what really happened, so maybe I shouldn't blame them so much. However what they were doing was completely disrespectful.

I was proud of one girl who was about seventeen that showed up. She'd worn a neat black dress and a short black veil. The girl was standing at the side of the porch, but only because she'd been pushed there by the mania of teenagers. She stood there with her head bowed and tears running down her face. When I passed our eyes locked and she seemed to tell me that she was sorry. I nodded a thank you to her. But as I slowed to do it another girl broke through the police's wall and wrapped her arms around me. I fought to pull her off as another guard rushed to help. In my struggle I tripped and landed in a mess of girls. They attacked me from all sides. Ripping at my clothes and at each other. It was the worst thing I'd ever expierienced. I just wanted to get into the building and say goodbye to my friend. And the people who kept telling me, screaming at me, that they loved me; were showing me anything but love.

The security guards worked feverishly to get the girls off of me. But none there were just too many! Once one was taken another took her place. Every inch of me was covered in girl. I received several rushed, and not so rushed kisses, both on my face and body. It was full on harassment and no one could save me from the torture. The torture did not lie in having my clothes ripped off, or getting kisses from star collectors. It laid in the paranoia that I may miss the visitation and never say goodbye to Micky. Every second my mouth was free I screamed for help.

Then I heard it! The voice of my savior.

"Hey!" She screamed. The girl was so terrifying that her compadres stopped mauling me, and turned their attention to her.

"What is wrong with you people!?" She continued. It was the girl in black that I had nodded to. In the chaos she'd made it onto the porch and was facing me. She looked angry.