Hello, dear readers. Mrs. Crankipants here. I’m taking over the comics column this week as we harken back to a time when there were actually comics available and bought by legions of prepubescent girls. I’m talking about romance comics. I particularly liked the issues that catered to obsessive crushes. Publishers could always count on taking the nickels and dimes from my tight little grasp by including the most handsome balladeer in all the world – Bobby Sherman!
Back when Mrs Crankipants was regularly sporting a fringe suede vest, I was carrying a pretty big torch for Mr. Sherman. There was a time that my greatest regret was that my first name wasn’t Julie as in Bobby’s chart smashing hit Julie, Do You Love Me? My parents refused to let me have my name legally changed. Who was this Julie, anyway? I’m sure if Bobby just met me, I would be Mrs. Sherman, and we would travel the world entertaining foreign dignitaries and sharing hair care secrets.
Yeah, I had it bad for Bobby. When I saw this comic, I ignored the grabby creep with the mutton chops and striped trousers and zeroed in on FREE MOD 3-in-1 Picture of Bobby Sherman, I bought it without hesitation. Charlton Comics was getting my allowance money that day. Sorry, Bazooka Joe. Sorry, Bonnie Belle.I ran home and flew up to my bedroom, tore through the comic only to find this somewhat disappointing rendering of Bobby rendered by Tony Tallarico. It wasn’t really a poster, was it? It sort of looked like my own attempts at drawing Bobby on a sheet of loose-leaf paper with a fistful of Bic Banana Markers. I was disturbed that some of the ink from the opposite page transferred onto Bobby’s beautiful face like a pop singing piece of Silly Putty. Was that really Bobby’s signature? Did he see it? Did he approve? Bobby, if I could only talk to you and have my questions answered!
I never did become Mrs. Sherman, and Bobby enjoyed success, but he was soon rotated off of the Top 40 Am radio stations and off of the covers of Tiger Beat to be replaced by younger, more androgynous pop warblers. Sigh.