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Saturday, March 15, 2003 Page: 3A
Amp up the accordions, it is – alas time for the “Ode to Jan Lewan
Polka.”
Jolly Jan, now sad and wan,
Please please, tell us what you’ve done.
You took our cherished polka
and made it one big joke-a.
Oh, the flames of sorrow you stoke-a
with the ode to Jan Lewan Polka!
There are multiple tragedies in polkameister Jan Lewan’s Delaware
indictment in fraud, racketeering and theft. Not only does his storybook life
add an ignominious chapter, but the local leader of a movement that nudged the
dance toward respectability now provides new polka punch lines.
What’s Jan Lewan’s favorite polka? “In Jail, There is no Beer.” What did
he play for the people investigators now say he swindled? “The Poor Fool
Polka.” What will the prosecutor’s opening number be? “Jan Stole the Kiskha
(And Everything Else)”
Get the guffaws out of your system. This is a genuine pity.
Musician’s life became great story
Jan Lewan may have looked like an ersatz Elvis in his sequin suits, and he
may have peddled a sound that most considered Muzak on steroids. But in person
he exuded warmth, sincerity and a disarming charm that, sooner or later, made
you root for him.
He told the story about his defection from communist Poland, undertaken
while touring Canada with a song and dance troupe. Driving a car behind the
bus that toted the rest of the crew, Jan decided to stay in a traffic circle,
doing laps over and over, while the bus left him behind.
He recounted having beer with the future pope – “We didn’t drink to get
loaded,” he insisted. The friendship later allowed Jan to introduce excited
fans from our area to the Holy Father in Rome.
He won his wife’s heart with a serenade of “Oh, Solo Mio,” and they stood
by each other when she was stripped of the Mrs. Pennsylvania title – the
vote-rigging scandal never fully resolved.
One of the most surreal moments of my life came when I boarded a hospital
elevator on the way to visit my dying father, and found Jan with a small
accordion and a giant grin. He was going room to room, singing to the
bedridden.
It was only later I realized that, standing in the corner of the same
elevator, was none other than “What’s Your Name?” The bearded preacher – aka
Carl Joseph – made national news by walking barefoot and white-robed through
Hazleton for months.
To this day I think of the conjunction of me, Carl and Jan in a hospital
elevator and wonder: What were the odds?
What were the odds that the Polka King who drew thousands to Atlantic City
concerts would declare bankruptcy, as he did last April? What were the odds
he’d be accused of selling unregistered securities to people in 21 states?
Jan’s guilt or innocence will, of course, be settled by the courts. But his
fall is a genuine blow to an area long brightened, at least a little, by his
infinite exuberance and decision to live in Hazleton.
Asked, in better times, for his secret to success with so many fans, Jan
replied “I’m good to them, they’re good to me, and everything is beautiful.”
Yes, Jan. It was.
Until this last dance.
Call Guydish at 829-7161 or e-mail markg@leader.net.