The Wake

Not but one weekend ago I found myself in a reeling conversation at a Polka dance with George and June Krekowski. George stated, “Yeah we can’t do the Polish hop so good anymore, but we can still do a few Waltzes, and that’s pretty good at our age ya know.” To them and many others Polka and other dances were a way of life and as George mentioned, the Polish hop diminishes in those who can participate in it year by year.

The assumptions of the dance relating to German and Polish folk along with large quantities of beer are not too far fetched. As far as I have observed and with those I have spoken, those who continue this tradition are indeed of this heritage, amongst others, and at least in their heydays did not shy away from liquor. If one were to observe a polka the atmosphere would feel similar to forty years ago. The music has changed little, maintaining its vibrant and upbeat feel, even in a minor key. But while the music has not aged its listeners have. More often then not you no longer see a happy couple sprightly tearing up the dance floor, but two old soul mates treading heavily and hunched in embrace. In looking around the dance floor 85-95 percent, depending on the event, will likely be dead in thirty years or no longer dancing. And whether the music or the dance appeal to you is irrelevant, homage to this generation should be noted before it can no longer be observed.

In wondering through the Steven’s Point area on a weekend you are likely to find several ballrooms with a Polka band that will strike a lively set mixing in Waltz, Fox Trot, Swing, and if it’s the right group the Shoddish. There is no smoking ban and there is a loose atmosphere of drinking, though it is just the right amount to produce a laugh from the gut that fills the whole hall. The average age is easily over 65 and there is a distinct clothing fashion that in this area is set by the farmers and Wranglers. And though many have aged and are unable to Polish Hop, there is the rare elderly couple that will whip past with fancy and creative foot work. Without knowing the steps, the mass presentation of footwork does not seem to match one another and in private analysis hitting the counts and maintaining variation seems an impossible task. If one is able to master that trial, the endurance of the dance may find even the burliest man sweating and his calves tiring.

This world exists as a culture going by the wayside, and if one waits to long to notice it they will miss the possibility of submergence in it, and be left only the scraps that remain in stories and on video tapes. For those who remain skeptical of such age old passions, perhaps grinding will look as silly when you turn 85.