Oom-pah-pah
Though I regret the embarrassment this may cause my loved ones, I must make a confession: I love polkas. In my youth, polkas were considered “square.” Today’s young folks might call them “dorky” or “pathetic” or another term of derision. After years of trying to hide my attraction to the happy tunes from Europe, however, I must come clean, square, dorky, pathetic or otherwise. My affinity for polkas apparently took root 75 years ago on a farm in northern Iowa’s Kossuth County. My earliest memories of my grandfather’s dairy barn include an old wood cabinet radio ...