FIRST PERSON : Welk Appreciated for Putting Best Foot Forward

It was in the late ‘60s, a summer evening in Long Beach, when Mother danced with Lawrence Welk.

The occasion was a dinner-dance that followed a tournament at Daddy’s golf club. Welk had played golf as a guest of one of the members and had stayed on for dinner afterward. When the dishes were cleared and the band struck up a tune, Welk approached Daddy and graciously asked if he might have a dance with my mother.

Mother, a longtime fan of Welk, was not about to relinquish her say in the matter. Unwilling to wait for Daddy’s response, she threw off her usual reserve and jumped to her feet.

“No need to ask him,” she said, taking Welk’s hand and following him onto the dance floor.

All eyes were on the pair, and I have to think that the thrill for Mother was tempered with some embarrassment at being the envied center of attention. The spotlight was never a place where Mother felt comfortable. She had spent her growing-up years, hard years, in a children’s home after her mother died. The spotlight there usually brought stiff reprimands or a dose of castor oil. Tonight, though, Welk pulled her smack into the middle of it and she didn’t miss a step.

After the dance, Welk bowed, kissed her hand and returned her to Daddy. He left soon after that. Mother was the only woman with whom he danced that night.

It was Daddy who, with great pride, told my sister and me about the dance the next day. Mother never was one to boast, but we could read the pleasure in her eyes as Daddy told the story.

The story of that dance, the bow and the kiss would be retold for many years and always with the same silent pleasure reflected in Mother’s eyes as Daddy told it.

Every Saturday night Mother and Daddy went out to dinner, but they always returned in time for a spin around the living room to the champagne music of Lawrence Welk on television.

Then, eight years ago, the doctors said Mother had Alzheimer’s disease. But even as it slowly robbed her memories and physical strength, she and Daddy were faithful to their Saturday night ritual.

Their last dance together was Jan. 26, the night of their 55th anniversary. Mother was too sick to go out, so my sister and I brought in dinner. Everything came to a halt, though, at 9, when Daddy turned on the Lawrence Welk reruns. Mother was unable to stand by herself, so Daddy held her up in his arms, still strong from years of hoisting valves and flanges, and gently waltzed her around the living room.

Shortly after that night, Mother suffered several seizures; she has been hospitalized since. She rarely opens her eyes anymore and can make but feeble attempts to move her lips to speak. We try to jog what memory is left, but are not sure how much she understands. Then last week, Daddy whispered the news to her--Lawrence Welk had died--and Mother wept. I did too. My tears were tears of gratitude, that this terrible disease had kept intact at least that special memory.

Mother was always a person content to stand in the wings. I will always be grateful to Lawrence Welk for bringing her onstage for one cherished dance.