I am a first generation Beach Boy fan. I say that now, because new fans are born every day. I don't mean they are becoming fans, I mean they are still babes in arms.  The boys' music has proven itself to be timeless.

When we were growing up, big singing stars were just that, "stars" and unattainable. You'd put a picture in your school locker and dream about the someday when Elvis will see you in a crowd and sweep you off your feet. But did you ever picture him washing dishes? I'm sure Buddy Holly wasn't a big deal to the neighbors in Texas who complained about the noise coming from his garage, but in California, he was BUDDY HOLLY!

Then, a group of California tract kids, just like us, who ate at Fosters Freeze, raced go-carts, hung out at the record store and played school sports, started making noise in their garage. The Beach Boys sang about our ocean, our cars, our school rivalries, and our crushes on the perfect guy or girl. They were singing about us.  They understood us. They made us special. They WERE us.

I recently bought a copy of Dennis Wilson, The Real Beach Boy by Jon Stebbins.  I was truly impressed by his words.  It was a very honest book about an often unappreciated and frustrated young man who grew up in his brother's shadow and under his father's heavy hand.  It made me realize that The Beach Boys have always been with me, "Friends"...

"We've been friends now for so many years
We've been together through the good times and the tears
Turned each other on to the good things that life has to give

We drift apart for a little bit of a spell
One night I get a call and I know that you're well
And days I was down you would help me get out of my hole

Let's be friends
Let's be friends
Let's be friends

You told me when my girl was untrue
I loaned you money when the funds weren't too cool
I talked your folks out of making you cut off your hair

We've been friends now for so many years
We've been together through the good times and the tears..."

Dennis was my favorite Beach Boy.  It wasn't his impish good looks that drew me to him. OK, his smile could turn me to Playdough, but his eyes showed me the many mysteries behind the man. I never put his picture in my locker.  It was something different. Only years later did I find out what that was.  I never met Dennis Wilson, however, we shared two very personal things, the need to get out of the house and a love of the ocean.

My mother's boyfriend had two sons older than me. They were flip sides of Dennis. One was a fighter, the other a lover. They were both into mischief.  Their father believed in the old "spare the rod" adage, to the extreme.  My brother and I weren't the ones getting hit but we wanted to be anywhere but there. I couldn't wait to get out of their house. Even before trouble started, I'd find an excuse to go to the store or park. My heart still leaps to my throat when I hear the snap sound of leather. I realize this a small thing compared to the emotions that Dennis must have felt living in an abusive home. I just understood his need to get away.

The ocean is the perfect place to go.  There is something spiritual about the beach.  I never surfed.  I wasn't even a big swimmer. But, I can sit on the rocks and stare out onto the horizon for hours. I like winter best.  The tourists are gone and the beach bunnies are gone, only the true surfers remain. Man against nature, they are mystical gods on that water.  I remember the old long-boarders.  They didn't wear wet suits or safety equipment. It was just surfer and board. It didn't matter how cold the water was; the adrenaline kept them warm. As I sit and watch, the wind blows the smell of salt passed my face and the wet sand sticks to everything.

The wildlife is fascinating on the coast.  You can watch birds swoop down and pick fish out of the sea.  Sometimes you can see what looks like a mountain of fur, but it's only the rocks covered with seals.  If you climb high enough up the cliff, you might be able to see whales in the distance.  Dig deep into the wet sand and you'll find sand crabs.  They are cute little creatures that claw their way back into the sand as soon as you release them. The beach is the nearest place to Heaven on Earth.

The closest I ever got to living on the water was dating a guy who owned a houseboat.  This was perfect. The only problem was that I had a better relationship with the house than its owner.

I spent 6 years of my life loving a Dennis Wilson clone. I still do.  He was handsome and charming and sang love songs to me in piano bars.  When times were good, they were magical.  When they weren't, I waited.  I accepted the drinking and the other girls because he always came back to me.  We were going to spend our lives in paradise on the Kona Coast, but I came home.  He still lives there. I know he truly loved me, but for him, it just wasn't enough. We've been friends for 35 years.

That's when I met Mr. Right.  He was more conservative than anyone I'd ever dated before. He had a motorcycle, so I could forgive the fact that he wore a tie to work. The first time he kissed me the sky lit up like a Hawaiian sunset and fireworks went off in my head. I know you probably don't believe me. I didn't believe my grandmother when she told me it would happen, either. In keeping with his then conservative nature, we did not play Beach Boy music during our wedding ceremony, 26 years ago.

His friends had a garage band, literally.  They practiced in an auto repair shop.  They weren't the Beach Boys, but then, they weren't trying to be.  By this time the Beach Boys had gotten a little strange in their music, but not strange enough to be really "with it". We just didn't appreciate the new sound until later. So we continued to listen to the "oldies". 

We didn't really mind when our music became oldies.  After all, it was true. We just didn't realize how new our oldies were. Our kids grew up listening to the Beach Boys.  In fact, whenever the car radio signal gave out, Dad would only allow two tapes to be played, The Beach Boys and Neil Diamond.  Believe me, our kids knew ALL the words.  When they became teenagers, we worried about the current trends in music, but there amongst our son's tapes of Metallica and Guns and Roses were Beach Boy car songs.  Our girls also have their favorite Beach Boy albums.  One daughter even shares my passion for Dennis's music.

So, I went in search of Jon Stebbins, the author who forced me to dig deeper within myself than my senior English teacher.  I have written to other authors. I believe it's important to tell someone when he's touched your life. This philosophy, I'm sure, comes from my mother's insistence that we send hand written thank you notes for everything. Unfortunately, when sending notes through publishers, I usually received a polite form letter in return. "Thank you for your kind words. Watch for my new book, blah, blah, blah."  Some online bookstores offer email addresses for authors, so I decided to surf the web for Mr. Stebbins.

I came across the Dennis Wilson Forever Club on Yahoo.  At first glance, I thought I'd find another link to an online bookstore, but there he was on a message board.  He was corresponding with "kids".  He answered questions, shared stories and invited everyone to his book party.  I was intrigued, so I joined the club and sent him a note expressing my thoughts.  I also sent a general message stating what the Beach Boys meant to me.  I got responses from all over the world. Their enthusiasm was infectious. These "kids" range in age from teens to 40's. They all have an openness and vitality equal to the music they celebrate. I was hooked. I had become a middle-aged groupie! That's when I realized that the future is in good hands. Dennis Wilson and the Beach Boys will never be forgotten.

The Beach Boys' music IS timeless.  No matter what our future generations may face, there will always be guys drooling over hot cars and cool chicks, and girls dreaming about cool guys with hot cars. The beach will survive and so will the surfers. After all, this is CALIFORNIA!

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