Columnist Scott Dickensheets: ‘Danke Schoen’ and other punishments

Scott Dickensheets

Tuesday, March 16, 1999 | 11:32 a.m.

You've been bad. Not desperado bad, not dramatically beyond the law, not even particularly criminal -- just annoyingly in violation of a minor statute: You've played your stereo too loud. Still, you must be punished. In Fort Lupton, Colo., in the courtroom of Judge Paul Sacco, that means you'll be given the musical chair. You'll have to listen to court-defined "punishing music," songs you're meant to hate.

The offenders -- mostly youths but recently including at least one older man cited for listening to Bob Seger (which should be a ticketable offense regardless of decibel level) -- gather once a month for some uneasy listening. The point, says the judge, is that "it's wrong to impose your music or style on someone else."

There's a Las Vegas connection here. The playlist for the most recent punishment session was heavy on numbers by singers associated with this city. There's Mr. Vegas, Wayne Newton: "Danke Schoen," "Bill Bailey, Won't You Please Come Home." And Dean Martin: "One Cup of Happiness," "It's Cryin' Time." And Tony Orlando: "Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Old Oak Tree."

There are nonVegas selections, to be sure, including some Beethoven, "Happy Trails," by Roy Rogers and Dale Evans, a bit of Indian flute music and John Denver's "Sunshine on My Shoulders." But the Vegas-related numbers stand out.

Yes, it's nice to see the city contributing to the cutting edge of law enforcement, but it raises an eyebrow, too. Because one community's brand of punishment is another's brand name -- the Entertainment Capital of the World was built on Wayne Newton's schmaltz, Dino's Rat Pack charm and Tony Orlando's Orlandishness. Those songs have put quite a few middle-aged, Midwestern butts in Vegas showroom seats over the years, no doubt including a few Fort Luptonites.

That this music is considered punishing to the kids these days suggests a deep generation gap separating Las Vegas from the rest of pop culture, despite the pundits who insist the two are drawing closer together. After all, Newton and Orlando still pack 'em in, Newton particularly. And it's funny that Gen X trendies embrace Dino's swingin' style but apparently feel disciplined by his music.

What do the performers themselves think? Who knows? "We don't think it's anything we need to address," says Trish McCrone, Newton's good-natured-in-the-face-of-stupid-questions spokeswoman. A call to Tony Orlando's rep wasn't returned.

Martin, being dead, also couldn't be reached for comment, but I'm sure that if I could put the question to the crooner, he'd say something stirring and classy and appropriate: "If my music can help just one kid turn his life around in Fort Lupton, an agricultural and industrial town of 5,200 people about 30 miles north of Denver, it will have been worth it, baby."

I like to imagine that years from now, when these kids -- older, wiser, their stereos set to reasonable, law-abiding volumes -- recall their brushes with the hard hand of Fort Lupton justice, and the way it saved them from a life of renegade noisiness, they'll glance in the direction of Las Vegas and offer up a warm danke schoen to Mr. Wayne Newton and the rest. If only because, for a second offense, the kids reportedly would have had to endure an hour of Barry Manilow. Thank you for all the joy and pain, indeed.