OK, one more......

There's a main road that passes by Smock called Route 51. And, counting this one, I have written 51 stories, mostly about my little town.

In talking to a friend tonight who hails from Smock, I began to think about the divorce rate of our town. I think I can accurately say that it was less than one percent. And then, came the bigger issue. Why?

Was it because we were brought up by parents who actually knew of the word "commitment" or maybe was it those pesky little vows that were said at the altar? Was it the handholding that we thought was odd for people in their 70's? Or was it some secret signed document that said that if one person leaves another, the one left behind can hunt the other down with a 12 gauge?

I think it was the polkas. Every Saturday and Sunday, people would search the AM radio stations that belted out the songs from people like Lil' Wally or the Versatones or Marion Lush or the local group from Grindstone, The Invictas. (I think they were named after a type of car.) Johnny Sims from Latrobe was heard on Sunday and always started his "Polka Party" show with the phrase "Happy music for happy people." And it was happy. And Slovak and Polish words to these songs usually spoke of the important things in life like love, the "old country" or food.

At weddings, the polka band factored heavily in the evening's entertainment since the whole celebration was for the newly married couple. Men actually danced with their wives. And toward the end of the evening came a ritual that EVERYONE from Smock has at least once in their life took part. The Bridal Dance. A circle was formed with an entrance at the 12 o'clock position and an exit at the 6 o'clock position. Upon entering, the maid of honor had what looked like an apron but truthfully, it was a huge sack to hold what you deposited in it to dance with the bride. A good bridal dance can pay the mortgage on a new home for a couple of months. Ushers from the bridal party only allowed you to dance with the bride for a few seconds, since the longer the bride lasts (and the band), the more she made. At the exit of the circle came the reward of a piece of wedding cake and a shot of the cheapest whiskey you could find at the Uniontown State Store. Oh, and if you put the cake under your pillow, it is said that you would dream of your own future bride or groom. All I got was an ear full of icing and cake all through my hair.

On one polka show from Fayette County, the Slovak announcer, who had a rather thick accent, advertised Beer City, a local "beverage" distributor. Their phone number was Geneva 8-1110. However this guy, in his thick Slovak accent would say "Geneva eight, one, nadda one, same ting, nya-ting. I loved that guy.

We were happy people who listened to happy music. Walking up the street on Sunday, all you'd hear is Johnny Sims playing the new one from Cleveland's Frank Yankovic while all you'd smell in the air was cabbage. And after the music faded away, mothers would smile at fathers sitting on those old metal porch gliders and they'd hold hands.

"Daddy, I still love you." "What, and you think I don't?" Then mother would sing "Kocham Cię kochanie moje." "Hey old man, are you crying?" "No, I got something in my eye."

Me too.