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From the time Kathleen "Bunny" Gibson walked through the doors of her old Bandstand home last week, the familiar smile never left her face.
And even now, at 61, she vividly recalls how the dance show brought meaning — and happiness — to her life.
"My home life was difficult," said Gibson, a teen bride who graduated from Northeast High School in 1963. "I always dreamed there was more."
From 1959 to 1962, Gibson found it at 46th and Market streets. Almost 50 years have passed since a 13-year-old Gibson sneaked 50 cents from her mother’s purse, padded her bra, overdid the makeup — Bandstand dancers had to be at least 14 — and boarded a bus to the WFIL studios.
"It was a defining, incredible moment," Gibson said.
These days Gibson, who lives in Marina Del Rey, Calif., and pursues the acting life, has come to appreciate the cultural impact of American Bandstand. The show’s inclusion in The Century, the book and TV documentary prepared a decade ago by late ABC newsman Peter Jennings and producer Todd Brewster, who looked back on watershed moments that shaped life in our nation, introduced Gibson and her colleagues to a new generation.
In fact, students undertaking research of the 1950s and ’60s often track down Gibson for their school reports. She likes to explain the Bandstand phenomenon in ways they can relate to.
"Imagine going to dance five days a week and seeing your favorite performers like Justin Timberlake and Christina Aguilera perform," she’ll tell them. "You get to meet them, become friends with them, and become just as popular."
While those after-school hours spent dancing were a blast for Gibson, her time in school brought a lot of unhappiness, especially because many classmates resented the good fortunes of the dancing queen.
"It was torturous," Gibson said. "Kids would make fun of me. I ate alone."
At the time, she was attending St. Hubert High School. Some of the kids taunted her for dancing to rock ’n’ roll. Death threats, she claims, led her to leave St. Hubert.
Eddie Kelly, who was Gibson’s dance partner on Bandstand, recalls being ostracized in similar ways. Kelly, who grew up at C & Allegheny, often ducked down back streets on his way home to avoid harassment and was transferred out of Northeast Catholic High School because of his desire to keep dancing on the show, he said. His father enrolled him in a business school, Kelly added.
But the perks of being a Bandstand regular made it easier to put up with the grief from neighborhood toughs. Regulars like Gibson and Kelly had fan clubs and appeared in teen magazines, sometimes on the same pages as Elvis.
For Bunny Gibson, those Bandstand days ended abruptly in 1962 — and not by her choice. When an ex-boyfriend started an argument with Gibson outside the WFIL building — to show his new flame that Bunny was past tense — a minor melee led to her dismissal from the show.
"My whole world collapsed," she said.
That’s when Don Travarelli tried to rebuild it. Travarelli, who was 20 and handsome, had watched her day after day on American Bandstand and was determined to meet her. Bunny Gibson was 16 when they married. The union didn’t last, but it blessed her with two daughters — Angel in 1964, then Maria the following year — to dote on.
Last week, Maria Weiss, along with her own daughter Nicole, 14, and a friend, accompanied her mother to the Philadelphia event.
"If dad was watching another channel," Weiss said with a laugh, "we wouldn’t be here."
She was happy to share the day with her mother.
"I never realized how happy it made her," Weiss said.
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Bunny Gibson grabbed the wrist of an old Bandstand buddy and whispered, "Connie Francis is here," as if Who’s Sorry Now? was topping the charts and she was seeing the legendary performer for the very first time.
It was Jan. 1, 1958 when Dick Clark played Francis’ Who’s Sorry Now? on American Bandstand. In 10 seconds flat, the young singer’s life changed. By mid-year, more than1 million copies of the ballad had been sold, catapulting Francis to stardom as one of the top vocalists of the era.
Connie Francis, who showed up for the anniversary celebration, hasn’t forgotten what the show did for her.
"That’s the kind of difference it made," Francis said.
Bandstand regular Justine Carelli snapped onstage photos of Francis, Jerry Blavat and Twist king Chubby Checker, who’s 65 but looked fabulous while twisting in his black-and-gray-checked boots.
Checker revolutionized dancing when he sang The Twist on Bandstand. For the first time, young jitterbuggers danced apart to the beat. The singer, who was promoting his Knock Down the Walls CD at last week’s event, considers the old WFIL studio and American Bandstand as the most important place for music in the 20th century.
"This is the mecca of the music business. To be singing on such a show or to be a teenager in the fifities and sixties — you were the kings and queens of the world," Checker said."
Danny and the Juniors, the Dovells and the legendary Charlie Gracie — who inspired rock artists like Van Morrison, George Harrison and Paul McCartney — still had the old gang dancing. Gracie’s hits, including Fabulous, Ninety-Nine Ways, Wanderin’ Eyes, and I Love You So Much it Hurts, helped to put Philadelphia’s Cameo Records on the map.
Gracie still remembers his first American Bandstand appearance with Dick Clark.
"I did the original Bandstand with Bob Horn. In 1957, with Dick Clark, I did the first colorcast of the show. My godfather in San Francisco saw me," Gracie said.
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Gracie, Checker and Francis, along with Dick Clark, Bob Horn and the Bandstand regulars, were immortalized on an 11-foot-by-30-foot mural dedicated in the same room where the show aired all those years ago.
The Enterprise Center, which rescued the old studio from the wrecking ball and for 10 years has offered minority-business initiatives at the site, restored the WFIL building and successfully lobbied to have it listed on the National Register of Historic Places.
The business agency commissioned the indoor Bandstand mural from the Philadelphia Mural Arts Program. It was designed and installed by artist Diane Keller.
Jane Golden, director of the arts program, said the Bandstand mural brings the city’s total to 2,765. For Keller, the project was a challenge that required speed — the mural went from concept to completion in about two months.
Charles William Amann III, who is writing a book about the Bandstand regulars, called The Princes and Princesses of Dance, forwarded photos to aid Keller’s work. While the pictures served as inspiration, they also created challenges.
"They were tiny little pictures, and when blown up, they were blurry. Nobody had feet," Keller said.
Carmen Jimenez came to the mural dedication with her niece. The Bandstand scene freezes her in time as a teenager, dancing by herself, with her head and streaked coif tilted back. Talk about attitude.
"I love it," said Jimenez, who still lives in Philadelphia.
Gibson was likewise impressed with the mural and the artist’s rendering of a young woman, smiling and seemingly so carefree, while dancing the Pony with Eddie Kelly.
"She got my hairstyle, the way I wore it, just right. Long after I’m gone, that’s how I want to be remembered," Gibson said.
It was a day of reunions with old friends, such as Dancin’ On Air producer Michael Nise and fellow Bandstand dancers from Northeast Philadelphia, Jimmy Peatross and Pearl Polto, who lives in Somerton.
"Every time there’s an event, I come out. Seeing all the icons — I’m a part of it now," said Polto, who’s a consumer advocate these days.
As the day came to an end, it was time to pack away the memories, and Bunny Gibson took in the scene one last time. In that true Bandstand tradition when the kids would be asked to rate new songs, how would she rate this day?
"Off the charts," Gibson said. ••
Gibson maintains a Web site at www.bunnygibson.com
Reporter Diane Prokop can be reached at 215-354-3036 or dprokop@phillynews.com