His mind inevitably went back to when they first met, in 1925, at the headquarters of Local 208 of the Musicians' Union on State near 39th in Chicago. He was twenty, newly arrived from Pittsburgh, and Armstrong, five years older, had come up from New Orleans to join King Oliver in 1922. They soon became close friends. They played pool together. They lived just around the corner from one another. Armstrong carried his mouthpiece wherever they went, and Hines was always ready to sit down at the piano and accompany him. Satchelmouth and Gatemouth, as they were known in Chicago, were inseparable for a long time. Together they recorded some of the true classics of jazz, performances that were unique for the mutual stimulation and interplay between the two stars. Then, even as brothers will, they went their different ways, Armstrong on a course where his gifts as trumpet virtuoso and vocalist were showcased, and Hines to become leader of one of the great bands of the Swing Era. For a short time in the late '40s, when big bands were generally in trouble, they came together again in a small, all-star group, but then Hines resumed his career as a leader. He thought of all these things during a long, exhausting day of telephone calls and interviews. He thought of the lengthy and happy conversation he and Armstrong had had when he called the latter from Chicago after his return from the hospital. Now it was all over. That night, he finished the last set at the club where he was working, by playing all alone, "my dear buddy's theme song," WHEN IT'S SLEEPY TIME DOWN SOUTH. There were tears in his eyes, and in those of many who heard him then.

This recording session took place twelve days later. Two album projects had previously been arranged, but now it seemed logical and desirable, as Hines wished, to make a piano tribute to Louis Armstrong. He had his own ideas about the numbers he wanted to play. Some of Armstrong's biggest and most recent hits were not among them. "They need vocal treatment to be effective," Hines said, "and they don't really lend themselves to piano interpretation." The selection, in other words, was personal, not governed by commercial considerations, but essentially by what the pianist felt most deeply from his association with the "dear buddy" of yesterday.

The rich resonance and the action of the piano heartened him at once. A Steinway concert grand, it had been specially brought for him some seventy miles from Madison to the Milwaukee studio. It is an instrument the Steinway representatives regard as one of the best in the country. The program begins and ends appropriately with WHEN IT'S SLEEPY TIME DOWN SOUTH - two different versions, the first buoyantly introductory, the last in reluctant farewell. Inevitably, the number has assumed an entirely new and poignant dimension since that fatal July day. STRUTTIN' WITH SOME BARBECUE, always a joyous piece of headshaking, foot-tapping music since Armstrong first recorded it in 1927, gets a dazzling, many-splendored interpretation that is pure Hines. In and out of moods and tempos he takes the listener, through an exhilarating maze of unexpected twists and turns, even including a section in waltztime. It is the kind of performance that explains why Hines again won the piano category of DOWN BEAT'S INTERNATIONAL CRITICS' POLL in 1971.

A KISS TO BUILD A DREAM ON was originally recorded by Louis Armstrong with Hines on piano in 1951, and in this version he is at pains to bring out the tune's melodic character with comparable serenity. The infectious PENNIES FROM HEAVEN takes the listener further back, to 1936, when Armstrong appeared in the movie of the same name. CONFESSIN', which opens the second side, was one of Armstrong's big hits of 1930, and for many years it was a favorite record among his musician admirers. Hines shows his affection for it, too, in his warm but relaxed treatment. Furtherest back of all is MUSKRAT RAMBLE, which Armstrong first recorded in 1926 with the composer, Kid Ory, on trombone. The way Hines recaptures the period flavor of this essential part of the New Orleans repertoire will surprise even those most familiar with his work.

BLUEBERRY HILL dates from 1949, when Armstrong scored another hit with an all-vocal version. Hines explores the number's potential in typical melodic variations that never stray too far out. SOME DAY (YOU'LL BE SORRY) is a beautiful composition by Armstrong himself that has never enjoyed the popularity it deserves. The title now has a sad, prophetic quality, but while he played it, Hines' mind cast back to happy days together. "Sometimes," he recalled, "if we were running around, socializing, and staying up 'way late, Louis would just fall out and lie down wherever he was - and forget to put the special salve he used on his lips." "How're your chops?" I'd ask him next day. "Well, they're RARE!" he'd say with a grin. "He was always a trouper. He knew how to get by, but many times I knew he must have been playing in pain. He never showed it. He was all smiles."

The world has indeed lost a champion. - Stanley Dance