Last Updated on 3/20/2010

Published on 3/29/2009

A college-mate of mine has written a novel entitled, “Dance Band from Deacon Town.”  
It is the story of a college dance band during the “Big Band” days of the 50s.
I was a member of that band but the author has mercifully changed the names of the characters to protect the not-so-innocent.
I appear as Don Block.
We were students at Wake Forest College (now university) in search of good times and a little spending money.
We formed a dance band, called The Southerners, and subsequently played for dances all over the Southeast — everywhere that is except on the campus of Wake Forest.  
The Baptist college founders saw dancing as a carnal experience and outlawed it from the very beginning.  
What would they think of today's dance floor exhibitions?
Anyway, college groups were allowed to sponsor dances off-campus and our band started by playing for those events.
But, it was not long before we were furnishing the music for folks in both Carolinas, Georgia and Virginia.
The fact that we were not allowed to play on our own campus prompted me to write the following blurb for the back cover of the new book:  “The irony seemed to escape everyone that one of the best-known college dance bands in the Southeast was based on the campus of a college that did not allow dancing.”
The prohibition of dancing was not the only idiosyncrasy of the school, which was then located in the little town of Wake Forest, amid the tobacco fields of Eastern North Carolina.
Tobacco was the economic life-blood of that part of the state and students were allowed to smoke and/or chew in class!
But there was no alcohol allowed — anywhere.  We had never heard of “recreational” drugs, so, there were no rules conjured for such activity.
Almost every weekend, our band of musicians left campus in an old wooden-sheathed Pontiac station wagon, towing a covered trailer with our instruments stored securely inside.
We would return after our gig on Friday night to meet Saturday classes. (That's right!  I said, Saturday classes.) But we were off again Saturday afternoon for that night's engagement.
We didn't always make it back in time for the college-sponsored Sunday School class.  We did, however, occasionally show up just in time for class on Saturday — fresh off the road and decked in tuxedos or double-breasted, blue jackets and gray pants — the official band uniforms.
It was a magical, heady time for us as we played for groups as diverse as high school proms, fraternal organizations, officers and NCO clubs, conventions, other colleges, night clubs, etc.
The lights would go down and the strains of our theme song, “Tenderly,” would usher in a night of enchantment.  It was a great experience.
I had played in dance bands since I was eleven years old; therefore, I found an immediate spot in the saxophone section as soon as I arrived on the Wake Forest campus.
The book's author, N. W. “Red” Pope, originally from Raleigh, NC. was our drummer and retains an encyclopedic memory of names, dates and events.
 I will have to say, I don't remember some of his stories and I suspect that he has taken great literary license with the truth.  
Absolute truth inhibits the creative efforts of writers, so, I will forgive him.
 He admits that the book is a semi-fictional account of our adventures.  I make certain that my children and friends take note of the “semi-fictional” mention before I let them read my copy of the book.
My wife, Barbara, and I started dating the last year I was at Wake Forest where she was also a student.  
Because the female students had to be snuggly tucked away in their dorms by 11 p.m. on the weekend, she was unable to go on the trips with me.
Whenever there was an off-campus dance for WF students, she had to sit by the bandstand because our band was usually playing for it.
Barbara and I didn't get to do much dancing until later in life.  
We played for a number of winter dances in open-air tobacco sales warehouses.
I remember one particular dance when we about froze to death.
The members of the Veterans Club sponsoring the dance, however, were amply warmed by various versions of anti-freeze, but band members had to wear overcoats and we cut the fingers out of our gloves in order to finger the keys on our instruments.
Red relates another tale that once on the way back from a Saturday engagement, a member, who was a pre-ministerial student, suddenly remembered that he had to preach in a nearby country church the next morning.
The band volunteered to go along and serve as both choir and music accompanists.  It was a rousing service with Dixieland versions of “When the Saints….” and “Just a closer walk with Thee.”
The band was invited back — anytime.
By some miracle, we were invited to play for one of the college's chapel programs, which were held four times a week with attendance required.
Mind you now, this was a stage upon which more than half of the Baptist preachers in North Carolina had orated and where religious programs were offered almost daily.
I will never understand how that invitation came about but there we were — playing dance music in the chapel of a Baptist institution that frowned on dancing.
The students seemed to enjoy it but one crusty old professor was overheard as he left the building muttering, “The saxophone is an instrument of the devil.”
The other stories are not quite as tame, but, you will have to read the book to enjoy them.
The book brought back memories. Many of the members of the band have passed on but I still stay in touch with some of my fellow musicians from a day gone by.
By in large, everyone turned out well.  
The epilogue of the book lists physicians, preachers, college professors, bank presidents, corporate heads, entrepreneurs, etc. among former band members.

John Brock is retired and lives in the SC Lowcountry.  He can be reached by mail at this newspaper or by Email: brock@johnbrock.com.  His website is: www.SouthernObserver.com.