Klarinet Archive - Posting 000059.txt from 1996/08

From: "Dan Leeson: LEESON@-----.EDU>
Subj: Re: The Clarinet Polka (forever?)
Date: Fri, 2 Aug 1996 23:56:00 -0400

I made a great deal of money playing the clarinet polka and, as such,
I do not put it down. I think I played every White Eagle hall in
New England, every Polish wedding from Altoona to Bangor, and every
Polish church social from Bridgeport to goodness knows where.

When I played the clarinet polka, mothers would offer me their daughters.
Men would clasp my hand and squeeze it until the blood would not go
through for 30 minutes. Someone always handed me a whiskey bottle and
insisted that I drink in memory of the old country. (I was born in
Paterson so it was difficult for me to identify with that, but I always
had a slug.) There was often not a dry eye in the house. I ate
galupki at weddings and kielbasa at church socials. I think my recent
heart attack was caused by a kielbasa I ate in New Haven in 1951. It
stayed with me that long. Some heartburn that one.

I also remember that there was a polka named after EVERYTHING. There
was the "West End Service Station Polka" and the "Your sister has
a moustache" polka. Many of them had dazzling clarinet parts but
nothing ever moved the heart of the Polish Americans like the clarinet
polka. It was sort of the Polish equivalent of K. 622.

I also loved the obereks (spelling??) which were sort of a cockeyed
one-legged waltz but with the accent on the second beat. Only in
Poland could it have been invented. The entire dance floor looked
like it was staggering when we played them. I often got seasick
from obereks.

And the women!! God love them. It was not legal for the band to even
speak to the women. Once something fell off the bandstand and a lovely
girl picked it up and handed it back to me. I said, "Thank you" and
three brothers, an uncle, and her father came up to me with shotguns
to ask if I had dishonored the girl. They were all built like
cigarette machines. One brother, who I think was 6 bricks shy of
a load, insisted that "He has to marry her. Suppose he goes away and
she is carrying his child!!"

I only said, "Thank you," and it was in front of 800 people. I was
lucky to get out of that with my life. But I was saved when the
bandleader said, "Clarinet polka, please" and then they saw they
were not dealing with some dweeb. I got the hell out while they
were still in dazzled mode from my clarinet polka.

There was always a priest at the church social festivals and every
time we tried to take a break he would growl and back we went to the
stand. And when the evening was over at midnight, he wanted us to
play for an extra half hour for free. Scared the hell out of me.
It was always a "Father Czxk..." I never learned how to pronounce
any name that began with "Cz." I wasn't even Catholic and he scared
me to death. What must he have been to the Polish men at the
social?

Do I remember the clarinet polka. C'mon!! That's how I got
my nice dark sound.

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Dan Leeson, Los Altos, California
(leeson@-----.edu)
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