 |
| Natty Nat Morris, King of 'The Scene.' (His Photo) |
Sugar is sugar.
Salt is salt.
This makes me sad.
It's not Ken's fault.
I'm sad because (a) the fact that I was in Detroit so long ago to remember the show in its '80s heyday means I'm getting pretty freakin' old, and (b) the end of an era shouldn't take place during a holiday, especially one that traditionally marks the end of one thing and the beginning of something new. Eras should end in April or October, so they can pass with as little attention as possible.
And make no mistake, The Scene was an era in itself. It was by no means Detroit's only TV teen dance series –– long may you wave, Robin Seymour –– but it was far and away the most improbable.
The poorest-man's version of Soul Train, it featured a slicker-than-Royal-Crown emcee, Nat Morris, a radio DJ who initially didn't want the job; a makeshift set; a less-than-zero budget, and dancers imported primarily from nearby Martin Luther King High School. Yet its live Monday-through-Friday telecasts were undeniably the most popular offerings on Channel 62's program lineup.
Techno, one of Detroit's many musical gifts to the world, was incubated on The Scene if not born there. And there was more pure, unedited, unadulterated booty shakin' on camera than any 8 Mile gentleman's club could hope to offer on a Saturday night.
(Guys and gals of the period, you know I'm not lyin'.)
Mr. Coleman's commemoration on his @HistoryLivesDet online feed immediately called to mind the vivid memory of my one and only appearance on The Scene and the truism I learned from it. Yes, my lumbering, middle-aged, rhythmically challenged self once danced in the center of Geektown.
And believe me, it wasn't my idea.
It happened back in the days when I worked as a television critic for The Detroit News, so I had covered WGPR and The Scene extensively. It was just about this time of year, when the North American International Auto Show was in the minds and hearts of all Motor Citizens.
My very best friend at the time –– we'll call him Dave –– had managed to make a romantic inroad with one of the models working the Auto Show circuit. He was desperate to impress her any way he could, and it so happens her young daughter had come to Detroit with her. While mom was on a turntable pointing at passenger space, daughter was stuck in a RenCen hotel room watching TV...and stumbling upon The Scene.
"Oh, my girl would love to be on that show," I'm sure she cooed to Dave. Knowing Dave, I'm just as sure he told her, "I can make that happen. I know a guy."
I was the guy.
After saying "Absolutely not!" at least a dozen times, I promised Dave I would at least try. (Bro' code, you know.) I knew The Scene had a standing troupe of dancers who appeared on almost every broadcast and the show did not accept walk-ons. I don't remember how many people at WGPR I spoke to –– I might even have called Natty Nat himself –– but finally I received a special dispensation to have little Taffy or Tiffany or whatever her name was shake her groove thing on the set.
The only condition was, since I made the request I had to accompany her to the station. Dave owed me. Big time.
A day or so later, the girl, her mother, Dave and I made the trek down Jefferson Avenue to the WGPR studios. I left work early to get there, so I was still dressed in a suit and tie.
 |
| Bare Bones, But bootylicious: the set of 'The Scene.' |
I remember there was a small set of bleachers positioned just out of camera range for parents and chaperones to sit and watch while the show was in progress. We sat. We watched. The girl was euphoric. The model was impressed. Dave was ecstatic. I was apathetic, despite the shaking of booty all around me.
As the show ended and the closing credits were beginning to roll, the cameramen began teasing me. "Hey, Jim! Why don't you dance?" "Hey, get on the floor for a second!" "C'mon, Jim, show us what you got!"
I was laughing, but suddenly I thought, "Oh, why not? When will I ever be this close to The Scene again? Besides, it's the last minute of the show, with the credits rolling. Who will possibly see me?" So I got up, walked onto the floor and did some impression of Herman Munster trying to boogie.
The next morning I arrived for work at the News building. The first person who saw me, the security guard at the front desk, greeted me with a grin and a question: "Hey! Didn't I see you on The Scene last night?"
He wasn't the last. Throughout that day, at least a dozen people asked me the exact same question. At lunch, people who didn't even know me approached to inquire about my 30 seconds of dancefloor fame. I was stunned. And impressed.
My takeaway from that encounter: The Scene was Detroit's definition of a guilty pleasure. Our shared experience. Almost no one admitted to watching it, yet everyone seemed to know what happened on it.
I'm willing to bet Channel 62 didn't subscribe to ratings services like Nielsen back then –– gracious, they could barely afford cameras –– but if they had WGPR might have challenged the network affiliates for numbers in the late afternoon. What was the name of this town? Scenetown.
If you want to know more about The Scene, or rekindle memories of your own, my friend and former colleague Tim Kiska did a wonderful Q&A with Morris on the occasion of the show's 30th anniversary reunion party. I encourage you to read it here.
