“JULIE, JULIE, DO YA love me?” Oh, how I wished it was, “Audrey, Audrey, do ya love me?” Such were my thoughts when Bobby Sherman sang that Billboard Hot 100 hit in 1970.
Sherman died this week at age 81, leaving behind a generation of Baby Boomers like me who were hopelessly, madly in love with the teen idol. He was charismatic, good-looking with his shaggy long hair, simply everything a smitten girl could want in a crush.
And that’s exactly what our relationship was—puppy love. Like generations of teen girls before and after me, I fell in love with handsome heart throb singers. Others fell for Elvis, Donny Osmond, Justin Bieber… Ditto for boy bands.
But back in my day, in the 1960s and 1970s, the likes, looks and lyrics of Bobby Sherman and David Cassidy captured my heart. Sherman even made a guest appearance on Cassidy’s “The Partridge Family” TV show. Both were actors and musicians. And both often sang about unrequited love, as in Sherman’s performance of “Julie, Do Ya Love Me” by songwriter Tom Bahler.
It’s interesting that, upon Sherman’s death, I could not think of a single song he sang. But when prompted with playbacks, I remembered. Mostly, though, I remember how my cousin Joyce and I paged through her copies of Tiger Beat magazine whenever my family visited hers. She would pull out her copies of this American teen fan publication and we would swoon over photos of our much-loved celebrities like Bobby Sherman. I don’t recall reading the stories, but we probably did. Photos, though, left a lasting impression. Sherman graced the cover of Tiger Beat and Sixteen magazines countless times. I can picture him still all feathered or shaggy hair, big smile and a choker around his neck.
Beyond Tiger Beat, my cousin also plastered her bedroom walls with teen idol posters. Joyce was much more tuned in to celebrity life than me. She had older sisters. I didn’t. Regardless, we shared a love of Bobby Sherman, who sang about Julie. Not about Audrey or Joyce, just two teenagers hanging out in a southwestern Minnesota farmhouse bedroom, dreaming of love while thumbing through Tiger Beat magazine.
TELL ME: Did you have a favorite heart throb singer or band? Maybe Bobby Sherman. Let’s hear. I also really like/liked Rod Stewart, Chicago, Bread, Lobo, The Carpenters, John Denver…
© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
In which I protest, grieve & reflect June 19, 2025
Tags: America, assassination, commentary, government, grief, June 14, Minnesota, mural, news, NO KINGS protest, Northfield, protest, protest signs, reflections, Rep. Melissa Hortman, Sen. John Hoffman, thoughts, United States
I LEANED MY HEAD against Randy’s shoulder, my left hand gripping the rod of a protest sign and a small American flag. I felt such profound sadness in that moment. The moment when a pastor asked for a period of silence in honor of Minnesota State Representative/House Speaker Emerita Melissa Hortman and her husband, Mark, assassinated in their home during the early morning hours of June 14.
Flag Day. Nationwide NO KINGS protest day. A day of gathering turned tragic here in Minnesota.
I alternated between leaning into my husband and leaning my bowed head against the bottom of my NO MORE KINGS protest poster held high, the sign with the cursive words, “I value freedom,” scrawled on the back side. The wind blew, swept my hair across my face like a veil covering sadness. The heaviness felt palpable here, in Ames Park in Northfield, along the banks of the Cannon River. But so did the energy.
We were a group of hundreds—maybe even a thousand (I’m not good at estimating crowd size)—gathered to publicly express our concerns about leadership in this country, about decisions being made that negatively affect all of us, about the state of and future of our democracy… It was my first protest. Ever. I wanted, needed, to be here. To remain silent seems complicit.
I’d already arrived when a friend texted that Minnesotans had been advised by state law enforcement not to attend NO KINGS protests. That warning linked to the suspect in the shootings of the Hortmans and of State Senator John Hoffman and his wife, Yvette. We would later learn that NO KINGS fliers were found in the vehicle of Vance Boelter, now accused in the double murders and attempted murders.
That explained why, on the way to the riverside protest, I overheard a woman telling a couple that her police officer son had advised her not to participate in the rally. She was going home. I was not. Nor were any of the others converging on Ames Park at noon. I wasn’t scared. Vested safety people, trained in conflict resolution and de-escalation, were in place. I felt safe in the masses, which, I suppose, is an unrealistic perspective. But I refuse to be silenced by fear, by the words and actions of those who attempt to suppress voices. And intimidate.
And there were those, including the drivers of a white pickup truck and of motorcycles which repeatedly roared past the rally site, spewing their opposition in noise and in political flags bannering messages I won’t repeat. But they, too, have a right to protest. Peacefully. Just as I do. And I wrote that on the back of a second sign: FREE to PROTEST. But, mostly, passing vehicles honked in strong support.
At this rally of people opposing the current administration and its policies and actions, I felt a unity of purpose and a deep, cohesive concern for the future of our country. I felt uplifted, embraced, empowered. Speakers spoke (although I couldn’t hear most). The pastor led us in prayer. We sang—”The Star Spangled Banner” and “We shall overcome.” We cheered. We chanted. We waved our posters and flags. And a group held an over-sized American flag, which I couldn’t see from my vantage point deep in the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd.
We were mostly an older group. Baby Boomers. Grandparents. Even octogenarians. Perhaps some protested during the Vietnam War. Or served this country. We’ve lived a few years, enough decades to understand that we need to rise up against authoritarianism. Enough to understand what’s at stake. But there were some young people, too, like the dad behind me with his preschool daughter playing in the grass. He clearly cares, if not for himself, but then for his child.
The morning after the NO KINGS protest, I left for Madison, Wisconsin, to spend time with my 5-month-old grandson (and his parents). As I snuggled Everett, I thought, he (and my other two grandchildren) are part of the reason I chose to protest. Their lives stretch before them. I want them to live in a country where they are free. Free. I want them to live under a government based on a three-pronged system of checks and balances, not one ruled by a king or some version of a king or dictator. I want them to live in a kind, caring and compassionate country. Not a selfish, uncaring, divisive nation filled with hatred.
I returned to Minnesota yesterday and am catching up on laundry and writing. And, along with my fellow Minnesotans, I’m collectively grieving the assassination of an elected official and her husband. And I’m thinking, this is what it’s come to in Amercia…
© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling