My Father played the drums as well
a Polka beat, he kept.
And all the Polish ladies
at the church just sat and wept.
The style he played, his masquerade,
was pure as far as I know,
Old Country sounds they heard around
the Polka Halls of Chicago.
Dad’s motto spelled his sad dissent,
his music would unseat them,
since he believed you drum, not dance,
“For if you can’t join them, beat them.”
Walt Photo: Wojtanik Family Archive