Today we both mourn and celebrate a Carmel Valley legend.

Pam Marino and Dave Faries here, very sad to report that Monterey County and the world of music lost one of its own this morning, the intelligent, creative and kind soul of Michael Nesmith, best known as a member of the 1960s music group The Monkees. “Nez,” as he was affectionately known, died of a heart attack at his home in Carmel Valley. He was 78.

When The Monkees aired on NBC in September 1966, I, Pam, was still a young child whose favorite TV show up to that point was Batman starring Adam West. I was immediately taken by the four cute young musicians, their cartoon-come-to-life antics and their catchy songs. 

I loved that show and the band. Yes, I know the critics liked to pan them, but they went on to sell 75 million albums, making them one of the most successful bands of the ‘60s. I didn’t realize until today that the show won two Emmy Awards in 1967, one for Outstanding Comedy Series (beating out The Andy Griffith Show, Bewitched, Get Smart and Hogan’s Heroes) and another for director James Frawley for Outstanding Directorial Achievement in Comedy. 

When I moved to Monterey County several years ago, I was delighted to learn that Nesmith was a neighbor of sorts. In addition to his longtime home in Carmel Valley, his Sand City studio is almost down the street from the Weekly’s offices in Seaside. Up until today I imagined running into him somewhere and wondered what I would say to the man whose performances on screen and through music had been such a gift to me through the years. 

I did get to see him and his band The First National Band Redux play live at the West End Celebration in Sand City in 2019. When he began singing a song he wrote called “Papa Gene’s Blues” I found myself singing along, but how, I wondered? I didn’t realize at that moment that I had learned the words more than 50 years earlier while watching The Monkees, and then listening to it on their first self-titled album over and over again on my parents’ stereo.

I hadn’t thought about the song in decades, but it was obviously locked away in my memory bank somewhere. As soon as Nez began playing those chords that day in Sand City, the words and the pure joy of that song were magically unlocked.

Dave chiming in here. In 1966 I was, like Pam, completely engaged in Batman. It was fun and thrilling. When The Monkees first aired, it alerted a social consciousness in me that had not been there before (I was four at the time).

Remember, this was a time when the nation was torn over music, hair, civil rights and a growing rebuke of our military involvement in Vietnam. It was largely a generational gap, and the voices of grave white men on television and radio, as well as from the pulpit and from grandparents warned of the moral damage being done by young people with their rock and roll and flowing locks.

But here were The Monkees, telling me “we’re the young generation and we’ve got something to say.” Their opponents on screen were largely establishment types, intent on confining the free-spirited group. As the decade wore on their lyrics and their antics on television resonated. The hippies, the peace activists, the young generation indeed deserved a voice, one to be heard.

Pam is lucky. She saw Micheal perform. But I had the opportunity to meet him. Weekly music writer Paul Wilner scheduled an interview with Nesmith in advance of the Sand City concert and invited me to drop by. 

It’s long been my role in life to speak with celebrated people—musicians, actors, professional athletes. In this moment, however, I was confronted with a childhood hero. He was charming, kind and soft spoken. It was exactly what I wanted.

I don’t recall saying much more than a “nice to meet you” and a few comments on how much I admired his work—genial nothings. I should have let him know that through a comedy series and through a band derided by others he helped mold young people to be inclusive, to gain from others and to more actively confront social issues.

So today we both mourn and celebrate this Carmel Valley legend. Do you have your own memories of Nez? We’d enjoy hearing them. Here’s a Weekly memory, a 2017 cover story.