It worked for Marcia Brady, but not for this bunch

When you grew up in the 1960s and '70s, you learned a lot by watching TV.

"M*A*S*H" taught us war can be funny. "I Dream of Jeannie" and "Bewitched" taught us good blondes always come with matching brunette cousins who are evil. "Gilligan's Island" taught us that if you get hit in the head and develop amnesia, the only way to cure it is with a second blow to the head -- preferably by a coconut.

And "The Brady Bunch" taught us that when you want to get Davy Jones of The Monkees to sing at your prom, persistence pays off.

Then we grew up and discovered war isn't all laughs, brunettes aren't all evil, coconuts can't cure every head injury, and what works for Marcia Brady on TV doesn't necessarily work for the rest of us in real life.

So when I heard that Sue Randall (formerly Dahlstrom) of Barrington was on a Marcia-esque quest to get aging rocker Peter Frampton to play at her 30th Elk Grove High School reunion, I asked for details.

"The 'If Marcia Brady can get Davy Jones, why can't Sue Randall get Peter Frampton?' line hasn't worked," Randall responded. "Darn! That was my best stuff!"

In "The Brady Bunch" episode Randall was channeling, Marcia brags that she can persuade the famous Monkee to perform at her Fillmore Junior High prom. Wearing her adorable poncho, she infiltrates the studio where Jones is recording a new hit.

"But I promised my whole school he'd sing at our prom," Marcia wails. "He's just gotta, or I'll never be able to speak to my friends again."

She's rebuffed.

"Kid, you know how many schools want Davy to sing at their proms?" the studio honcho tells her. "There's just not enough days in the year."

But in the end, Davy Jones (possibly after coconut-induced head trauma) shows up at the prom as Marcia's date and everything ends up just peachy keen.

In real life…

"In my first e-mail I said, 'I DO love your way and I DO feel like you do!' " Randall reports, conjuring up memories of the "Frampton Comes Alive" album that was purchased by virtually every person who graduated high school in 1977. Noting that Frampton had a Saturday concert at Genesee Theatre in Waukegan, and a Sunday concert in St. Louis, Randall figured Frampton could swing by her class reunion between gigs.

"If he could just stop in and say 'Thank You' in the microphone, we'd go wild!" Randall promised.

(And if he used his "talk box" and dragged it out forever, people would think he was singing one of his hits.)

"When I hear his songs they take me back to a happy time, when my biggest problem was a test or some homework!" Randall adds.

But modern e-mail is no match for Marcia Brady's poncho. Thinking this still could be a story if the local newspaper columnist saved the day, I jumped into the pursuit of Frampton.

"Thanks for reaching out," came the e-mail from Frampton spokesman Brian Shimkovitz. "Unfortunately, Peter won't be available for this. The schedule on this tour is just too hectic."

The news hit like a football to the nose.

"Peter truly appreciates his fans," Shimkovitz responded, "those who love the old tunes, and those who love the newer ones."

Newer ones?

"However, the tour schedule is booked so tight that Peter, the band and their crew only have time to arrive, do their soundcheck, play the concert and leave for the next show," the e-mail concluded.

I failed. The plucky Randall gave up on Frampton. She improvised with a Ted Nugent impersonator who went home sick, and yet still managed to co-chair a hugely successful party of 250 people that ended with a group singalong of not a Frampton song, but the Don McLean classic, "American Pie."

I'm sorry I missed that. But I did appreciate the chance to spend hours researching Maureen McCormick, the actress who played Marcia Brady and was the object of many a crush for guys my age. If anybody wants her for a reunion, I think I'd be willing to don a poncho and dark wig, and arm myself with a coconut.