Every time I visited my grandfather in North Loup, Nebraska — there was one unspoken, but wholly enforced rule — on Sunday nights at 7:00pm, you sat down with him and watched the Lawrence Welk Show on ABC television.
It was an hour of a painful persuasion for a young lad to bear — second only to the never-ending reruns of Hee Haw that aired every single weeknight that I was also forced to watch during each visit.
I never learned to like, or even tolerate, the Welk show. The show was a matter of saccharine moments topped with thick frosting of faux frivolity and façade. All show and no substance. Complete spectacle and no plot.