I finally found some time to listen to Mo Rocca's wonderful new podcast called "Mobituaries." He's got a book out, too with the same title. Rocca comments on things that no longer exist, hence the name. He does a skillful job of giving these people and institutions that have disappeared from our lives their just due.
This particular show was on the disappearance of an American icon Lawrence Welk. Once the most popular show in television in the 50s and 60s, Welk was summarily dismissed by the ABC network but was wise enough to re-launch his program independently and continue to bring to a segment of the population everything they loved about him and his show. Sure Welk was a "square" and his show appealed and pandered to senior citizens, but he knew who he was and what his audience loved and in the end, he was as authentic as they come. He was also one of the wealthiest musicians of his era.
My father was a big Lawrence Welk fan so like many my age, I grew up with him and his cast of characters bubbling out their champagne music every Saturday night. As the 1950s gave way from innocence and apathy toward the social issues and realities of the 1960s Welk's polkas and small-town humor, wholesome music floundered. Tough times for old and young alike.
Unlike most folks, there was a little bit of Lawrence Welk's orchestra right in my neighborhood. In fact, it was right across the street.
One of my childhood friends was Jennifer Goodspeed. Her mother was Betsy Mills. Betsy had movie-star good looks and often wore pastel-colored evening gowns because she was a member of the Lawrence Welk orchestra. Don't remember too many women when you picture that band? You're right, there weren't many. But there was Betsy Mills, the harpist. Betsy played a large harp and ran her skilled fingers over those strings on many an arrangement. That harp sat in the living room of our friend Jennifer's house, where we would sneak a peak and on occasion pluck the strings or try to imitate those big sweeping swirls that Betsy did so well. Come Saturday afternoon, Betsy's husband Rupert would load the harp into the family station wagon and off to ABC studios they'd go. We'd see her on TV live that night.
The entire Mills family was show business inclined. Betsy's husband, Rupert, worked for CBS and helped to pioneer color TV. He had the first color set in the neighborhood and one evening our entire neighborhood piled into their living room to watch one of those early "spectaculars" with singing and dancing. I vividly recall seeing the lacy dresses the women wore in yellow, violet, sky blue and red for the first time. People filed through their living room, watching a few minutes then letting other neighbors have a turn.
Jennifer probably went into show business as well. She had her mom's good looks and a flair for the dramatic. She once organized all the neighborhood kids into a production of Peter Pan. I got to play Captain Hook, as I recall. She put us through our paces making us learn all the words to the songs. I still have mixed feelings about that music today. Oh but that harp. That wonderful harp. Even a kid who could play no instrument could make the sound of magic on that harp.
This particular show was on the disappearance of an American icon Lawrence Welk. Once the most popular show in television in the 50s and 60s, Welk was summarily dismissed by the ABC network but was wise enough to re-launch his program independently and continue to bring to a segment of the population everything they loved about him and his show. Sure Welk was a "square" and his show appealed and pandered to senior citizens, but he knew who he was and what his audience loved and in the end, he was as authentic as they come. He was also one of the wealthiest musicians of his era.
My father was a big Lawrence Welk fan so like many my age, I grew up with him and his cast of characters bubbling out their champagne music every Saturday night. As the 1950s gave way from innocence and apathy toward the social issues and realities of the 1960s Welk's polkas and small-town humor, wholesome music floundered. Tough times for old and young alike.
Unlike most folks, there was a little bit of Lawrence Welk's orchestra right in my neighborhood. In fact, it was right across the street.
One of my childhood friends was Jennifer Goodspeed. Her mother was Betsy Mills. Betsy had movie-star good looks and often wore pastel-colored evening gowns because she was a member of the Lawrence Welk orchestra. Don't remember too many women when you picture that band? You're right, there weren't many. But there was Betsy Mills, the harpist. Betsy played a large harp and ran her skilled fingers over those strings on many an arrangement. That harp sat in the living room of our friend Jennifer's house, where we would sneak a peak and on occasion pluck the strings or try to imitate those big sweeping swirls that Betsy did so well. Come Saturday afternoon, Betsy's husband Rupert would load the harp into the family station wagon and off to ABC studios they'd go. We'd see her on TV live that night.
The entire Mills family was show business inclined. Betsy's husband, Rupert, worked for CBS and helped to pioneer color TV. He had the first color set in the neighborhood and one evening our entire neighborhood piled into their living room to watch one of those early "spectaculars" with singing and dancing. I vividly recall seeing the lacy dresses the women wore in yellow, violet, sky blue and red for the first time. People filed through their living room, watching a few minutes then letting other neighbors have a turn.
Jennifer probably went into show business as well. She had her mom's good looks and a flair for the dramatic. She once organized all the neighborhood kids into a production of Peter Pan. I got to play Captain Hook, as I recall. She put us through our paces making us learn all the words to the songs. I still have mixed feelings about that music today. Oh but that harp. That wonderful harp. Even a kid who could play no instrument could make the sound of magic on that harp.
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