Peggy Lipton

What I remember are the freckles. And the big, soulful eyes. Then there was the sandy-blonde hair which, in the fashion of the day, was long and straight and parted in the middle.

I fell. Hard.

Sadly, I was just eleven when Mod Squad debuted. And while I was entertaining thoughts of hanging out and taking her to Baskin-Robbins, she was being courted by the likes of Paul McCartney.

I couldn't have known exactly how far out of her league I was.

Nevertheless, I continued to feed my crush, faithfully tuning in to the adventures of Linc, Pete and Julie each week.

But time passes, and things like crushes seemingly subside. I say seemingly because while employed at a used record store, I was dutifully unpacking a new batch of vinyl when I stumbled upon her 1968 LP Peggy Lipton.

I stopped. I stared. All those years later, she seduced me a second time.

Given the unstructured nature of such establishments, I was able to position the LP in such a way that I could occasionally glance over and silently say “Hey.” In the slightly forlorn manner in which these kind of crushes play out, if I couldn't ever hope to meet Ms. Lipton I could at least have a one-dimensional facsimile close by.

It was something my then-girlfriend (fortunately) found quite amusing.

Of course the real Peggy Lipton had many dimensions, and contrary to the way we imagine them, lived a life with many bumps and bruises. But as they do, these things toughen us and enable us to survive.

I hope that in the end, hers was a life rich in contentment.

Rest in peace Peggy Lipton.