Still dreaming of being a Deaner

He never made the committee, but one fan still owes a debt to Buddy

Baltimore ... Or Less

"When you dance be sure to hold her, hold her tight.

When you dance you'll squeeze her, yes, with all your might.

Such a thrill, oh, when she's close to you.

Well, hold her tight when you dance."

-- "When You Dance," The Turbans

Could life be any dreamier?

There I was under the burning lights of the WJZ-TV studio, slow-dancing with a Buddy Deane Show committee member. She smelled like a garden of flowers and could crack her chewing gum discreetly.

It was 1961 and I was on television, successfully building my teen-aged reputation. Deane's show was one of the highest rated local television shows in the nation and girls didn't care as much for my corner jump shot as they did my ability to cha-cha or do the bop.

But the second the camera moved away from my partner and me, she too pulled away, as if I had whispered into her ear that I had hand grenades taped to my legs. "Oooo, you sweated on me!" she yelped. Crushed, I retreated from cheek-to-cheek to a distant and awkward completion of a slow tune by the Miracles.

From pinnacle to the pits in a few short seconds. It couldn't get much worse, or so I thought.

When the show was over, I caught the city bus near TV hill and it dumped me off as dusk gathered in my Belair Road neighborhood near Erdman Avenue. My father had forbidden me to try out for the Buddy Deane Committee -- fearing, perhaps, that it would interfere with my becoming a national scholar at City College high school or prevent me from one day discovering the Internet -- so I had to sneak on the show, courtesy of girlfriends who sent away for tickets and took me as their guest.

"Where you been, boy?" my father inquired as I walked into our rowhouse. "Uhhh, I had a long basketball practice ... and I had to take extra foul shots," I lied. To this day, I don't know why my late father, then in his 60s, was watching the Buddy Deane Show. But he was, and busted me courtesy of that close-up shot, seconds before my fragile teen-age ego was shattered by Pixie, or whatever her name was.

The punitive consequences weren't significant; I think he threw an ashtray at me. Besides, he never discovered that his youngest son had been on the show a dozen other times, further solidifying my stock among my peers.

Such was life in Baltimore. If you could claim that you were a Buddy Deaner -- a member of the regular committee that appeared on the daily show and attended weekend record hops of Deane, who died Wednesday at 78 after a stroke -- the social status attached to that was substantial. Even as a guest, your friends and relatives saw you basking in your temporary fame.

Some teens in the suburbs like John Waters might have watched the show on the sly, and danced with the refrigerator door, because for many in his Towson community, Deaners were not individuals to admire. But in a lot of corners of Baltimore and beyond, getting on the show was equivalent to stardom and instant popularity.

"None of my friends dressed in the Continental style, it was uncool to be a Buddy Deaner," said Waters, whose movie Hairspray is based on that era in Baltimore and was adapted into the successful Broadway musical.

Passing the acid test

A guy I attended City with, Carroll Weber, lived in Highlandtown and was on the committee. He went steady with committee member Bobbie Lanham, a heartthrob to legions, and got lots of telegrams inviting him and Bobbie to lead dances. The committee members could dance with each other only every third or fourth dance: the other songs were reserved for dancing with the guests, 30 or so of whom appeared on the show every day.

The day Weber was approached for autographs by girls at Eastern High School, I knew without a doubt that being on the committee carried as much cachet as running first string for Dunbar High School's basketball team or having your own car with four-on-the-floor.

Alas, my future held no such promise.

New committee members were selected by Deane and Arlene Kozak, his dependable first sergeant on the set -- a mother figure who even today keeps former committee members connected. Deane and Kozak were advised by a small group of committee members on final cuts.

To qualify, first you needed a solid command of the day's dances -- the pony, Madison, jitterbug, bop, cha-cha, the stroll, the twist -- and there was even a "cool" style for slow dancing. Committee members had to look sharp, have a style and be willing to appear on weekends for Deane's dances from Westmin-ster to Salisbury. If you made the short list, you were required to bring in a letter of reference from your parish priest, minister, rabbi or a teacher.