Before Darius Rucker, before Bruce Springsteen, before the Rolling Stones, before the Talking Heads, before Willie Nelson, before Santana, there was my first heartthrob. I was eleven and madly in love with a pop singer from Manchester, England named Herman, of Herman’s Hermits. I quickly discovered his real name was Peter Noone, which made me love him even more. He sang in his English accent. “I’m ‘enery the Eighth, I am. ‘enery the Eighth, I am, I am.” The Beatles didn’t even do that. I bought all of Herman’s 45s—not a gun BTW. I bought his albums. I learned the words to almost every song, which was easy since the lyrics were on par with nursery rhymes.

           Before I go on, I have a question. Do you know what a washhouse is? Probably not, but you need to know before I continue my Herman’s Hermits story. Growing up on South Harrison in West, Texas, I thought everyone had a washhouse. At least until I ventured into the neighborhood, and realized my family was the only one who had one. A washhouse was where the washing machine and hot water heater were kept. Think of it as a detached utility room, mudroom, or storage shed. Ours had shelves where canned goods, tools, cleaning supplies, and paint cans were stored. (I made good use of that last item.) When we got our first dog, Nugget, the washhouse doubled as a doghouse, with blankets spread in front of the water heater on cold winter nights.

           My parents grew up with washhouses because their houses didn’t have running water. The washhouse was also used for bathing. Hot water was heated on the stove (they did have propane) and used to fill a large tin tub for once-a-week baths—at least that’s what Mom told us. I can imagine the task taking all day since there were eleven kids in her family.

           On South Harrison, we had running water and an indoor bathroom, but we still had a washhouse. We were the most privileged Czech-Catholics in the neighborhood. Our washhouse even had a window (no glass) in the back wall.

           So, what do washhouses have to do with Herman’s Hermits?

           Well, our washhouse eventually housed the Herman’s Hermit’s Fan Club, of which I was the founder. My sisters and a few neighborhood girls joined. I painted (remember the paint cans?) a purple sign on the door proclaiming the structure as the official clubhouse. When I found out you didn’t really have to be sixteen to do so, I subscribed to Sixteen Magazine. I cut out photos of the band from every issue and taped them up on the walls. All the members were enchanted by Herman with his blond hair, sleepy and sexy blue eyes, and a smile that melted our hearts. Sometimes, a club member would ride her bike up to the window, talk about Herman, and break out in song: “Mrs. Brown, you’ve got a lovely daughter.” Of course, we all wanted to be that lovely daughter of Mrs. Brown. The songs were all happy and upbeat. Bad day at school? Slap “I’m Into Something Good” on the turntable, and all was better. Another dull Saturday afternoon? Then make it “Can’t You Hear My Heartbeat” with the volume turned up. Sometimes a dance fest broke out in the backyard.

           I loved that clubhouse. It was my refuge. And I loved decorating it, sweeping the floor after Nugget tracked in dirt, rearranging the “furniture,” and adding more photos to the wall. Pure enjoyment. After I left home, dad tore the washhouse down and replaced it with one of those aluminum things you snap together in a few hours—never was the same. But I still have one Herman’s Hermits album tucked away in my stereo cabinet (along with some Springsteen and Engelbert Humperdink albums).

           The other day I Googled the band, and Peter Noone, and discovered some interesting facts. In the mid-60s, Herman’s Hermits sold more than 80 million records in the United States—more than the Beatles. The band was heavily promoted in this country at that time because their agent thought that Peter looked like JFK. (Sorry, I don’t see it.)

           Tonight, October 15, Herman’s Hermits are performing at the Calvin Northhampton Theatre in Northhampton, MS. From their website, it seems they’re on the road perpetually. They’re headed down the California coast during February and March of 2022. Maybe they’ll make it to Texas, and I can get a ticket.

           Herman looks pretty good for a seventy-three-year-old guy who’s spent most of his life working nights and living in one hotel after another. He seems to be an all-around, nice, happy chap: married for more than fifty years, with one daughter. A comment on his tour-review claims that his voice has gotten better over the years.

           I’m sure there were hundreds of Herman’s Hermits fan clubs around the world. But I bet mine was the only one with a bike-up window.