For every recent generation, music has been the soundtrack of our youth. I was lucky to be a teenager during arguably the most important music upheaval of our lifetime: the advent of rock ‘n’ roll. Elvis Presley’s “Heartbreak Hotel” and Bill Haley’s “Rock Around the Clock” were two of the big hits that ushered in the rock era in 1954.

Just before the rock revolution, the early-’50s produced a number of major hits and performers, including the likes of Frankie Laine (“Mule Train”), Tony Bennett (“Rags to Riches”), Patti Page (“Tennessee Waltz”) and Percy Faith’s “The Song from Moulin Rouge - Where Is Your Heart?”

A Philadelphia disc jockey, Bob Horn, came up with the idea in 1952 of having a TV show where local high school students would show up after classes and dance to the day’s biggest hits. Every once in awhile, the artist who made the hit popular would lip-synch the song while the starry-eyed teenagers looked on in awe.

You might say: Hey, this sounds like “American Bandstand.” You’re right. But, you say, “American Bandstand” is linked to the late Dick Clark. The truth is that Horn initiated “Bandstand” (which became “American Bandstand” when it went on national TV in the fall of 1957).

The old WFIL-TV studio at 46th and Market streets in Philadelphia has become a national historic site because it was the original home of “Bandstand.” How appropriate, because for those of us who grew up in the ’50s, “Bandstand” was a shrine, a teen-age religion of sorts.

I was a 14-year-old student at the Phillip Ginter Junior High School in Summit Hill when, 70 years ago this week, about 25 of my schoolmates and I paid $7.50 each to charter a bus from our hometown to Philadelphia to make our television debut on “Bandstand.”

“Bandstand” was the place to be. Every day after school, in ritual-like fashion, we hurried home to change clothes then met at a home with a TV set to watch the show (3:15-5 p.m. Monday through Friday).

Now, here we were, a bunch of small-town “coal-crackers,” in line waiting to become a part of the action.

We were amazed at how small the “Bandstand” set was, especially the dancing area. It looked a lot bigger on TV. We were taken to a bleachers-like area and waited 45 minutes until close to airtime. We made small talk and laughed a lot to cover our nervousness.

A young man came toward the bleachers, called for attention and spelled out the ground rules: “Ya gotta keep your ties on because if ya don’t out ya go,” he warned. “No goofin’ off either. And no wavin’ at the camera,” he admonished. “Any of youse who make a gesture with your finger are in big trouble,” he said. We snickered because we knew what he meant.

About five minutes before airtime, the “Bandstand” regulars came in amid whistles, catcalls and scattered applause. They swaggered by us with contemptuous and haughty looks. We saw Justine - my secret love - and her boyfriend, Bob. There were Arlene and Kenny and Bobby and Peggy, too.

A few minutes later, host Bob Horn appeared. “Ten seconds to air,” came a voice from behind a camera. We bolted to attention. Then, there it was: the “Bandstand” theme, and the regulars got up and started dancing as the show went on the air.

None of the guys in my group fast-danced (jitterbugged). We did the slow dances (“waltzes”). Our first chance to dance came with Les Paul and Mary Ford’s big hit “Vaya con Dios.”

I asked my classmate, Margaret Ellen “Peggy” Henry, to dance because she could follow my inept lead. I led her toward camera one because I wanted to make sure everyone back home saw us. Suddenly, the red light came on; we were on TV. I pretended to make small talk to Peggy but broke out in a cold nervous sweat.

The camera hovered over us like some monstrous eye for what seemed to be forever. I felt my hands turn clammy and sweaty. My throat got thick, and I gulped several times. Finally, the red light clicked off, and the camera backed away. I could breathe again.

Thirty or so records and 50 or so commercials later, the “Bandstand” experience was over. When we returned home, practically everyone we met told us they saw us on TV. We were big deals for about a week, but then life slowly returned to normal.

Bob Horn was charged with drunken driving and a morals offense involving a 13-year-old girl and was suspended from the show. This opened the door for a young DJ from WFIL radio (now WPVI), Dick Clark, whose first “Bandstand” broadcast was in July of 1956. Clark convinced ABC to take the program nationally the next year, and the rest, as they say, became music history.

By Bruce Frassinelli | tneditor@tnonline.com

The foregoing opinions do not necessarily reflect the views of the Editorial Board or Times News LLC.