Delana Jerry, 15, stood enthralled, watching Michael Jackson's last video playing on a TV screen inside an East Liberty funeral home.

She turned to grin at a friend now and then, her braces flashing, as the star slid his fingertips along the side of his fedora and stepped forward, singing.

"He is so smooth," she breathed, fanning herself. "That's my boy."

Like Delana, the Michael Jackson fans inside the Coston Funeral Home -- many of them grandmothers -- will always have a little crush on the singer, remembering him last night as the young, beautiful and talented boy he was when they were young and they fell in love with him.

When the funeral home announced it was holding a memorial service, the 125 available free seats were quickly reserved, prompting the home to schedule another service -- which also filled quickly -- for July 10.

Roland J. Criswell, president of Coston Funeral Homes, organized the event, saying he knew people had a strong connection to Mr. Jackson, even though the singer, who died last week at age 50, never visited the neighborhood and hadn't performed in Pittsburgh in ages.

"I believe people honestly, psychologically, have a psychological connection to Michael Jackson," said Mr. Criswell said.

Last night's fans remembered "Mike" as an 8-year-old, shaking a tambourine and beating a conga drum and singing backup behind his brothers in the Jackson 5. They admired his lush 1970s Afro, and his emergence a few years later as the group's lead singer. They savored the silver-spangled bodysuit -- complete with sparkly silver knee boots -- he wore during the music video for "Rock with You" in 1980.

"Ah, get it," said one lady in the crowd, as Mr. Jackson danced on screen and a friend nearby waved her right hand, clad in a black gardening glove with a white leather palm, in the air. "Relax your mind," he crooned. "Lay back and move in time."

Swoons turned to yells when the video for "Billie Jean" from the 1982 "Thriller" album -- the best-selling album of all time -- came on.

Feet tapped, heads bobbed and a friend of Delana's stood up in the middle of the swaying crowd and gestured her over. The red-jacketed girl ran up to the front of the room, TV cameras following her, and snapped her shoulders, back and hips in a sharp imitation of the man dancing on a big screen behind her.

"She says I am the one," she sang along, shaking her finger overhead, then waving her hands in front of her to laughter and cheers. "But the kid is not my son."

In the back of the crowd, little girls stood up to see over the heads of the adults, too shy to dance but watching intently.

By the time the album "Bad" came out in 1987, Mr. Jackson seemed to be trying to break out of his shell and assert himself as an individual, said Deidre Lesesne, who was leading the retrospective.

"He was in the parking lot, trying to fight Wesley Snipes for no reason at all," she said to laughter.

The videos moved on, from Mr. Jackson in a red leather jacket, snapping dance moves in a parking garage with a gale-strength wind machine blowing his ringleted hair behind him in "Bad" to a newly doe-eyed Michael with a silky-straight bob singing "You Are Not Alone" to a scantily clad woman lounging among Roman columns in 1995.

In the crowd, woman and a few men closed their eyes and hummed along, swaying in their seats with the music.

By the time his last video came on, some fans had entered his world completely.

"Don't do it, Mike," yelled Ruthann Woods of East Liberty, who has been a fan since she and Mr. Jackson were both 10 years old, as his fedora-hatted character prepared to battle a gangster for his woman. "Just dance, Mike."

Even though he's gone, the love of his fans will never die, said Jim Weaver, who coaches the youth dance group in which Delana and about 30 other teenagers performed last night, dancing a choreographed routine to "Beat It."

"There are so many memories, Michael is going to live forever," he said, to shouts of agreement from the crowd.

Amy McConnell Schaarsmith can be reached at 412-263-1122 or aschaarsmith@post-gazette.com.