Lawrence Welk: Behind the Music

Born to humble circumstances in a small town in South Dakota, Lawrence Welk was hell-bent on stardom. At the age of four he picked up his grandfather's pearl-keyed accordion, played his first wunnerful notes, then dropped it on the family dog, killing it instantly. It would be several years before the young Welk would be allowed to pick up the accordion again.

But the son of Polish immigrants had the heart of a gypsy rebel, and by his early teens the troubled troubadour was running with a hard crowd and playing in a Punk Polka outfit called Sausage. Welk was pioneering a new musical frontier, but it was a dark and dangerous lifestyle and it wasn't long before he'd acquired a taste for the wild side.

Sausage drummer Morton Schmelke: "From the very beginning we knew Welk was a loose-cannon--people would make fun of his speech impediment and Larry would just take it out on his accordion. He used to play that thing like he was wrestling a hell cat--he'd turn the Pennsylvania Polka into a threat to public safety."

Welk was a punk with a passion for polka and once he'd had his first taste of Champagne, he had his sights set on the big-time . . . North Dakota. Leaving behind his childhood home and his Sausage mates, he hitch-hiked to Bismarck and began working an assortment of odd-jobs. It was pivotal period in Welk's life, and for a time he considered a career in professional boxing. However, a chance meeting with Polka-vocalist, Skinny Pete Donner, led to the formation of the band that would one day lead to his big break--Bad Kielbasa.

Bad Kielbasa, got their first airplay when they were invited to play live on Bismarck's underground radio station "KCOW." Quickly gaining a name for themselves, on the strength of their hit song "Polka This," they soon caught the attention of Skunkhaven Records vice president, Preston Waffle. Waffle: "When I first saw Welk and his rangle-gangle band of Bohemians, they were playing in a smelly little dive called ÔThe Sheep Dip.' I remember it because I got hit in the forehead with a tambourine. Twelve stitches. Those were heady times, and it was exciting to be a part of it. I remember there was a catch phrase going around town, Ôthere's something rotten in Bismarck--and it's Bad Kielbasa.'" After the release of their debut album "Polka Total Stranger," the boys were celebrities. Bad Kielbasa drummer, Korny Allornone: "It was crazyness--we started playing these bigger halls and there'd be all these people trying to square dance to this mutant "Power Polka" and frankly there were a number of injuries. They'd be all dressed-up trying to "dosey doe" and the next thing you know there were nosebleeds and twisted ankles everywhere . . . and Larry loved it. Slam dancing, Mosh Pits, childsplay compared to the square dancing demolition Welk was throwin' down in his day."

Bad Kielbasa was a household name in North Dakota, but Welk was restless. He craved fame and a national audience and his frustration at being the big weiner in the little pot, could be summed up with two words--moonshine and hookers. Bandmembers concerned by Welk's self-destructive habits, decided that a change of scenery would be the best thing for their wayward leader, and Bad Kielbasa relocated to Los Angeles. Although this move was to be a great boost for their careers, within weeks Welk was all over the Hollywood nightlife like Jim Grey on Pete Rose. Though his career was taking flight, his legendary binges with his newest love, Champaign, led to a violent confrontation with band leader Guy Lombardo--a savage brawl that would forever brand Welk, as "Crazy Larry."

Nevertheless Lawrence Welk was on the fast track to success. After a series of television appearances on KTLA, Welk was offered his own variety hour. But even as the popularity of the Lawrence Welk show skyrocketed, "Crazy Larry's" appetite for debauchery knew no bounds. In an atmosphere of all-night partying and non-stop good times, Welk's private obsessions ran amuck. Welk guitarist Alvido Ray: "Prostitution may be the world's oldest profession, but Larry may have single-handedly made it the most profitable. Because of his speech impediment, Larry never did all that well with the ladies, and all the sudden he had access to any woman he could afford."

As a matter of course, Welk fell in with the local Jazz musicians and it wasn't long before he was experimenting with a mind-boggling array of illicit substances. Larry would try anything twice, and it was during his first experience with peyote that he came up with the idea for the "bubbles." "He kept babbling about bubbles, bubbles, we need bubbles," remembers Lawrence Welk producer, Wyatt Guy, Ôgive me bubbles, they're wunnerful, wunnerful'--we weren't exactly sure what he was talking about, but just to settle him down we finally rigged up a bubble machine and, well . . . the rest is television history."

Before long Larry had amassed a musical family that was admired the world over. Myron Floren, acclaimed Welk accordionist remembers: "When the 60's came along, Larry jumped in with both feet. If we were to remain a part of his musical family we'd be expected to indulge Larry's new philosophy of ÔFree Love.' Let's just say that he made us all offers we couldn't refuse, and when he'd say, "thank you boys," it wasn't because we'd played a particularly good rendition of a Glen Miller classic--it was because we'd been generous with our wives and girlfriends. But I'm not here to judge him--we were all doing some crazy things in those days. Looking back on it, I'm all alot more ashamed about the things I was doing with my hair."

Eventually Rock n' Roll and revolution would take it's toll on the Welk Show's ratings, and Larry's bitterness at being left behind as youth culture took over the entertainment industry--led to his eventual hospitalization . . . yatta yatta, blabbity bla bla . . . I've got no ending for this one. "Adios, Au revior, Auf wierdersen--That's all folks . . ."