Don't Be a Playa Hata

So Thurston developed logos, letterhead and entire packets of material, then fired off her first set of press releases. Soon after, she found herself rising at 5 a.m., swallowing coffee and becoming the butt of one corny radio morning-show joke after another. One Florida station even had her playing the "Beer Barrel Polka" simultaneously with a classical accordionist and the host's aunt from Pittsburgh.

She took it in stride, doing what she could to demonstrate that not all accordionists wore plaid. And if they did, that was okay, too. During one television program, Thurston even performed her original tune, "Jesus Loves Me Polka," to show that "anything sounds better in polka time."

But not long after the performance, Thurston took a call from a man asking if he could join her Christian organization. When she replied, "What Christian organization?," he bristled: "Why did you play the ŒJesus Loves Me Polka'?" Later, Thurston got a letter telling her to "stop shoving religion down people's throats" if she wanted to promote accordion tolerance.

"Some people took me more seriously than I intended," Thurston says. "Even some accordion players. I use humor to get attention, but I also make serious points. I always thought that if we're good sports about it, we're a lot more likely to get people to listen to us and change their minds."

One outlet for that is the CAPA Times; for just $6, members can have the quarterly newsletter mailed to them. In it is everything from "A plus" accordion cookie cutters to warnings about the "condensation hazards" of storing instruments in car trunks. There's also an "Accordion Poetry Corner" featuring such odes as "Harvey's Love," CD reviews of such virtuosos as Marin Nasturica and his "dazzling" right-hand technique, and profiles of members, such as Billy Madison of Montana. But the highlight of the newsletter is often Thurston herself, who writes articles with titles like "What I leaned from accordion lessons besides how to play the accordion" and passes along such original tunes as "I'm Tired of the Beer Barrel Polka."

During the past decade, Thurston has struck a chord. Hundreds of people have written her to say they've dusted off their accordions. Businesses have reported increased sales. Pop musicians such as Bruce Springsteen, Sheryl Crow and Beck have hoisted squeezeboxes on stage. Thurston is even proud to note that the punk band the Scary Tweezers features an accordion.

"It's been out of fashion so long it's coming back," she says. "People are discovering it's cool. Finally, I can say it proudly: 'Yes. I play an accordion.'"

When she's not slipping on the Petosa and publishing textbooks, Thurston is deep into side projects, including the Moonlighting Teachers, a troupe of educators and counselors who perform skits and parodies. Beginning this weekend, they will stage Thurston's latest play, A Hair From the Head of a Prince, at the Rialto Theater in Loveland.

"It's a fairy tale for grownups," Thurston says. "A musical about a prince who is following his heart and passion against the wishes of his wicked stepmother. He wants to play accordion."

And that, she says, is her dream. No matter what she's doing, she'll find a way to work in the squeezebox. Hopefully, Thurston grins, she'll get the last laugh.