And life, Jo Ann Castle knows only too well,
rarely mirrors the syncopated sweetness of the Lawrence Welk Show.
Still, says the pianist, "They were wonderful years. Basically,
they were wunnerful, wunnerful years. You can put a little pun in
there."
Castle, 52, is phoning from her home in Los Angeles, where she explains
just exactly how sour things can turn.
But by 46, she had left her third husband - who had beaten her so badly
she was in a cast and on crutches - and was sleeping on her sister's
couch, wondering how she could get show dates to afford her own apartment.
If her life sounds like a One Life to Live script, you wouldn't know it
by her voice. She chatters happily on the phone. "You can ask me
anything," she says as we set up the interview.
As promised, she is candid about her Welk days - although, unlike
others, who have accused Welk of everything from penny-pinching to icy
coldness, she is mostly kind to her mentor.
No. He never insisted his cast smile. "He just picked nice
personalities with talent to be on the show. He wanted somebody the
average person would love to see on the screen and enjoy."
No. He wasn't unreasonably strict.
"The Lennon Sisters and I were not allowed to wear pants on the
road, and people in the '60s were wearing pants. There were a few things
like that. . . . He ran a tight ship."
"We were sitting in two chairs or something and he turned away and
sat with his head straight ahead. When he looked back, his eyes were all
watered. I couldn't believe it. I had never seen Lawrence Welk with tears
in his eyes. They weren't dropping down his face or anything. But that was
the first time I thought he really, really liked me."
She married again. Her daughter, born with cerebral palsy and mentally
impaired, died at age 15. Weeks later, she married again. Eventually, she
walked out on her third husband with only a suitcase.
In her shows, says Castle, she does everything from boogie-woogie to
classical, from Fats Waller to ragtime. And, oh yes, "(I) do a polka
- they like that."
Which brings us to the obvious question: Whatever happened to the polka
purveyors of yesteryear?
The Lennon Sisters perform occasionally, when all four agree to do a
show. They "have to work," says Castle. Peggy teaches school,
she says; Kathy is a receptionist in her husband's chiropractic office;
Janet sings jingles for commercials with her husband; and Dianne is
retired with her husband.
Some Welk stars sell real estate or insurance. Others - including
Castle, Bobby Burgess, Ralna Hovis and Myron Floren - play occasional
reunion shows. After the show, "I always say, `Come out in the lobby
and look at our wrinkles,' " quips Castle.
"The last time I saw him, we shot pool in his office," says
Castle. "He put his arm around me - I had a video camera there and he
said, `You know who loves you?' He looked at my face and he said, `I do.'
My boyfriend was taping this. And I said, `Say it again.' And he said, `I
really love you.' "
No patsy, Castle offered a response born of hard knocks: "I said,
`If you'd have told me way back then, I'd have gotten more money out of
you!' " Patti Thorn is a reporter for the Rocky Mountain News in Denver.
The
champagne bubbles have long since popped. The smiles - so wide you could
nearly project a movie across each set of gleaming white teeth - have long
since faded.
At
18, she was a shooting star, asked to appear in a guest spot on the
Lawrence Welk Show. On her 20th birthday, during another guest spot, she
was offered a cake with candles blazing - and the invitation, in front of
millions of viewers, to become a Welk regular. "It was the greatest
birthday present of my life," she says.
On
the other hand, yes, he was a reserved man who often seemed cold, if not
cruel. "He hid his feelings," says Castle, who recalls the time
she told Welk she was leaving the show, after 10 years, to devote more
time to her children.
If
the moment had its exhilaration, it soon passed. Almost immediately after
she left the show, Castle's first marriage disintegrated. She took to the
road, children in tow, playing fair dates, some nightclubs. "Things
got very, very rough," she says. "I started not caring too much
about my future career."
Castle
breaks down at the recollection, excusing herself on the phone for a
minute. But she refuses to remain maudlin. She is busy reconstructing her
life, with show dates booked into '93.
As
for the maestro himself: He turns 90 in March.