I’m embarrassed to admit it
but I’m absolutely crazy about the Lawrence Welk Show.
When the champagne starts bubbling
my heart starts beating in rhythm.
There’s the maestro himself
with his cool hairdo,
his quasi-European accent,
his sincerest of grins.
Jo Ann Castle hammering at the piano,
Myron Floren, accordion wizard,
the Lennon Sisters, their voices like angels
Lawrence and I both hail from
rural towns in the North Central U.S.
His ancestry is Polish, mine Swedish.
We could easily be cousins.
And all that wonderful big band music
from the Great American Songbook.
Plus Bobby and Cissy,
so smooth, so flawless,
the finest ballroom dancers
since Fred and Ginger.
When the camera shifts
to audience members dancing,
lots of oldies in suits and ties,
nineteen-fifties hairdos,
polka dot dresses,
hearing aids, bifocals.
My kind of crowd,
all grinning to the camera,
all thrilled to be there.
Some know-nothings complain
that
the Lawrence Welk show is corny.
That’s ridiculous.
And even if it were true
there’s nothing wrong with corny.
Corny is good old-fashioned
Midwestern fun.
My wife claims I watch the Welk show
just to irritate her.
There is a speck of truth to that
but I also watch when she’s not around.
I’m just crazy about the Lawrence Welk show.
