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I think it's time now to sweeten the air

with a little entertainment.

But not on the principle of escapism,
but on the principle of affirmation.

And there's scarcely
a more affirmative artist in

the musical world than my old friend
whom I'm going to bring out now,

on the theory that music hath charms
to soothe the savage breast.

And because he is,

past all question,
one of the greatest influences

in American music

and the greatest influence
in jazz of all time.

It's my great pleasure
to bring you my great friend,

Louis Armstrong.

The whole world embraced Louis Armstrong.

He was bringing a gift,
the gift of a presentness

and a naturalness and a depth of insight.

And the ability to act
on those insights in the moment.

And it was in a difficult form like music.

And that type of electric virtuosity
has not been seen before or since.

Without him,

many things that happen today in jazz
would not be possible.

And I think that Mr. Armstrong
has not gotten a good deal

of the credit that's due to him.

He has been
the number one man in his department.

He is really the ambassador
of the whole thing,

so there will never
be another one like this.

Well, he was a very, very deep person.

He was very much aware
of world activities,

what was happening everywhere.

We would have our discussions at home.

He had been asked
by many reporters in interviews

what did he think
about a certain particular thing.

And Louis would say, "Well, man,
you know, I'm just a musician."

He never would come out publicly

because his theory was that
"what I say carries a lot of weight."

And he says, "And I just won't do it."
But at home, he had his opinions.

American people,
they the most grandest people on Earth.

And I'm from America,
well, quite naturally,

I don't have no fucking flag

other than a Black flag.

Thank you, folks.

Thank you.

Now I'll be glad when you're dead
You rascal you

I'll be glad when you're dead
You rascal you

Boy, when you're laying six feet deep

No more fried chicken will you eat

Oh, you dog

I know that'll break your heart

My father would say,
"You have to check Pops out."

I was going, "Man, I don't want Pops."

In New Orleans, too,
where so much what we call

"Uncle Tomming" goes on.

Playing Dixie, shuffling.

In my time, I hated that
with an unbelievable passion.

When I was growing up,
there was no way for me to even express

the type of anger and hatred I had
toward that type of behavior.

So, I could not appreciate Armstrong.

But when I left New Orleans,
and I was in New York at that time,

my father sent me a tape.

He said, "Man, why don't you learn
one of these Pops solos?"

So I put it on
and I started to work on it.

Man, I could not play this solo at all.

Just the endurance of Louis Armstrong.

He never stopped playing.
He was always up around high B's.

And when we got to the final chorus,
I called my father.

I said,
"Man, I didn't understand about Pops."

He just started laughing.
He said, "That's right."

Louis loved his home in Queens.

Some people said
that it wasn't palatial enough.

And he didn't wanna move anywhere else.

When tape came on the scene,
Louis became enamored of that.

And he used it most of all
for conversations.

He had friends come to the house,
and he would tape it.

Louis had a lot of, sort of, what
I would describe as archival materials.

I mean, tapes and things like that.

He had his own study.
It was taboo to everyone.

That was his. He'd close that door
and nobody bothered him.

He had his tapes
and everything of his was in there.

I've heard a lot of
reel-to-reels of Pops just talking.

Everyday life recordings.

His humanity comes through.

I got tapes on my wall in my den.

For 40 years, Lucille had
one of them Tandbergs

put up there with two tapes together.

That really knocked me out
because we couldn't afford no den

in them early days.

No, we've gotta sleep in that room.

-Now you got a den.
-Now I got a den.

I got all of my tapes around the walls
and just pick out what I wanna hear.

He was the busiest person,
taking care of things when he was home.

It was his relaxation.

He would sit up in his study
for hours and hours,

indexing his tapes.

And he has a hobby
of cutting out pictures,

you know, and paste them up on the ceiling
in his den, all over the walls.

I've got scrapbooks that Louis had

that were made up when he first played
the Palladium back in '32.

Most of the pictures and the newspaper
write-ups have gone yellow.

People asked all the time,

"Why is he recording these tapes?

Why is he writing down
all of his thoughts?"

And all this kind of stuff.

He knew that one day they were gonna
write about him in the history books.

And so he wanted to make sure
all sides of him-- good, bad, ugly--

were gonna be captured
and preserved by himself.

Not by anybody else.

Hello, folks.
This is old Louis "Satchmo" Armstrong.

I just finished this concert here and

I feel good 'cause I had a nice supper
of Wiener schnitzels.

Glad to see you around
and dig the concerts.

We've been playing every night
around the neighborhood cities.

So, later. Goodbye.

Louis Armstrong is
the prime minister of the world of jazz.

He and his trumpet are at the summit.

His European concerts
have broken all records.

Satchmo is one of our more valuable items
for export.

His recordings are hot
on both sides of the iron curtain.

Satchmo,
you always draw an audience, don't you?

Yeah, man. That shows you
there's cats in all walks of life.

He broke so many barriers.

He would be the first Black performer
to open up a club,

a ballroom, a radio station.

He was the first Black movie performer
to have his name above the title.

Don't you ever get tired?

Well, daddy,
I'm just a little beat from my youth.

You had quite a session here tonight.

Yeah, we just start playing it the same
as we did in the tailgates in New Orleans.

It's the same music.

And it's universal, daddy.

Yes, way down yonder in New Orleans

Man, you should have made
All those scenes

"Just saying 'Hello, folks'

over a microphone sounds simple
and innocent, doesn't it?

But I remember when it wasn't so simple.

Back in 1931,
I was invited to play in my hometown,

New Orleans, at a fancy nightclub,
the Suburban Gardens."

You spent a lot of time in New Orleans,
in the South, looking for signs.

You see a restroom that said,
"White Gentlemen."

This always was a put-down.

So, you saw that flashing
in your face all the time.

The only way
Louis would agree to go to New Orleans

was on his own private train.

Which meant that we could have
our private car, our cooks,

chefs, porters and things like that.

In New Orleans, we're, quite naturally,

the first band on the radio down there…

Fleischmann's Yeast presents

another great half hour of entertainment,

featuring music by Louis Armstrong
and his orchestra.

And you never heard
of no spade playing on no radio

in those days. Just starting.

The night we opened,
there's all the white boys

that I was raised with, you know.

Sitting up there, sharp.

They done got rich.
Maybe their fathers done left 'em the--

the produce places and different things

that when we was kids
we used to hang around.

And after school, we'd go out in the lots
and play cowboys and Indians

with old broken slates
and things like that.

You know what I mean? We--

We was the Indians, of course.

And at that time,
there was no mixing of the races at all.

The only way
our people could hear the band

was to come out
and sit along the levee and hear--

and hear the music from the--
from a distance.

They had 50,000 Negroes
on the levee to hear my music.

See, and I had been away
about nine or ten years

and I done got northern-fied.

I done forgot about a whole lot of
that foolishness down there, you know?

The night we're opening, and I'm charming,

and there's-- place pack and jam.

But this night, they done brought
this man up to-- "It's a big deal, now.

You bring on Louis Armstrong.

He's a New Orleans boy
and blah, blah, blah."

But a second before
this cat had to go to that mic

and bring me on, he walked away.

Say, "I just can't introduce that nigger.
Can't do it."

They got me and told me what he says.
I said, "Well, don't worry about it."

You know?
I said, "Give me that card, boys."

And I walked to that mic.
And when I went into…

Pale moon shining

Man, you thought the walls was coming in.

Now the pale moon's shining

On the fields below

The folks are crooning soft and low

You needn't tell me, boy

Because I know, yes

When it's sleepy time down South, yes

And this announcer's standing there.

He said, "I didn't know this would happen
in the South in New Orleans.

Never happened before."

So, they fired him and everything,
and I took over myself.

Good evening, everybody

It was particularly galling
for him to go home

after being lionized the way he was
around the world

and see the same type of prejudice.

His feelings were perpetually hurt
by the nation

and the injustice that he knew
when he was a boy.

Pops grew up very hard.

It's been said, Pops,

that you were brought up
in abject poverty.

You didn't have money
when you were a kid, though.

We always had money.
I could shoot craps, sold newspapers,

and I always hustled on the--

with the quartet and a little guitar,
just sit and go busking.

And I always had a pocket full of money.

You know, in 1915, you had five dollars,
you had a whole lot of money.

And I didn't ever have
to beg nobody for nothing all my life.

Always a kid that had
some get-up about him.

I was born in James Alley, they called it.

It's back of town.
That's the real New Orleans.

We have a photo of your mama
I wanna show everybody.

-Yeah. That's my mother there, Mayann.
-How did she discipline you?

What did she do
when you did something wrong?

She had to whip the hell out of us both.

And, man, she hit me like a man.

And then she married Willie Armstrong.

I mean, I'm only going by
what they tell me along that line.

'Cause as long as I can remember,
they wasn't together.

We didn't have much money
and things like that.

But we lived and enjoyed good food. And--

-You had a lot of fun?
-Yeah.

My mother could take 15 cents
and go to the Poydras Market

and come back and cook a meal.

And you had to lick your fingers,
it was just so good.

-You know what I mean? Yes, sir.
-For 15 cents?

In those days, you could take a newspaper,

and I'd go to the fish market

and buy a whole newspaper
full of fish heads.

Just plain, chopped-off fish heads

that they wouldn't use, they put aside.

Yeah.
That'd be garbage for them, wouldn't it?

Well, they just ain't got time
to do what we did with--

-Yeah.
-My mother would get them fish heads

and cook 'em
and put a lot of canned tomatoes in 'em

and call it court bouillon
and serve it on top of some rice.

Boy, you talking about beautiful food.
And delicious.

And the next morning,
I'd go to school with a cabbage sandwich.

Kids would be begging for a bite.

-No kidding?
-Absolutely. Yeah.

New Orleans was a stomping ground.

Well, they played every type of music.

Everyone, no doubt, had a different style.
They had every class.

We had Spanish.
We had coloreds. We had whites.

I was working
for some Jewish people at seven years old.

They had a rags-and-bones yard.

And then we used to go down
to the red-light district

and deliver stone coal,
five cents a water bucket.

I've got those coal cart blues

I'm really all confused

I'm 'bout to lose my very mind

It always worry, worry me all the time

The center of entertainment in New Orleans
was Storyville,

the notorious red-light district.

"The Negroes were only allowed
to work in the red-light district.

Most of the help was Negroes.

They were paid good salaries
and had a longtime job.

The pay was swell
no matter what your vocation was.

No mixing at the guest tables at no time.

As far as to buy a little trim,
that was absolutely out of the question."

Down in the district,
the red-light district.

As you call them, "prostitutes,"

where they get five dollars for a job,

the whores where I'm talking about,
up in my neighborhood,

they get 50 cents to a dollar.

Well, quite naturally,

they're standing there with nothing on
but a chemise.

We'd call 'em teddies at the time,
you know.

So, there I'd be, a little boy,
and put some coal on the grates, you know.

Quite naturally,
you gotta take a mug there right quick.

If they'd seen me,
they'd have slapped me down.

Yeah, I actually did all that.

But I used to hear
all that good music too.

That's how I got a chance
to hear Bunk Johnson,

Manuel Perez, and all the best bands
and everything, you see?

-They were all in the red-light district?
-Yeah, they-- Each corner had a band.

Cabarets, they called them, see?

And we'd dance.

And I'd be waving at 'em all.

And when they'd go inside,
we had to go to bed and sleep.

New Year's Eve, 1912.
Louis and his pals were out on the street.

And they were celebrating
and making noise like everybody else.

And somehow,
Louis got hold of a .38 revolver.

I found this pistol. Got blanks in it.

But the noise is what everybody give you.

So when I look around,
a little guy was shooting

a little old six-shooter
across the street. You know.

So, I was singing in a little quartet,
you know,

we used to go around
and pass the hat, you know.

And they called me Dipper at that time.
Dippermouth, you know.

They say, "Get him, Dipper."

And I reached up there
to grab the .38 and…

and brighten it up

until that detective was hugging me
and I said, "Oh…"

In those days,
the cops would whip your head

and then ask you your name afterwards,
you know?

And you think
that's something that's changed?

Well, I haven't been down there
in so long. I'm gonna go down and see.

And I couldn't get away from him.

He took me down to the juvenile court

and then, the next day,
they took me out to the orphanage.

It was called
Colored Waif's Home for Boys.

When was the first time in your life

that you actually picked up a horn?

That was, you know,
when I went to the orphanage.

I was about 13.

This is the first horn
that Louis Armstrong ever owned.

We did not have much money,
but we are proud of encouraging him.

The little brass band was very good,

and Mr. Davis made the boys play
a little of every kind of music.

When he first arrived at your home,

could you tell right away
he wanted to be a musician?

-We could, yes.
-How could you tell that?

Because he organized quartets, singing,

then he introduced dancing out there,
tap dancing.

The boys would clap and sing,
and he'd sing and dance.

Then when I did get him to play

"When the Saints Go Marching In,"

"Put On Your Old Grey Bonnet,"

there was a high note to be out on

-because it was at the end of the strain.
-Yeah.

None of the other boys couldn't make it.

And I couldn't make it myself.

But he would blow the high C
above the staff

to let us know
that's the end of the strain.

Every day I practiced faithfully

on the lessons Mr. Davis gave me.

I became so good on the cornet
that one day Mr. Davis said to me,

"Louis, I'm going to make you
leader of the band."

I jumped straight up into the air.

You see, what people don't understand,
in New Orleans,

the majority of the musicians
haven't had the opportunity

of having a teacher.

And they only pick up an instrument
and just fool around with it

until they begin to try to get
some kind of tone or notes out of it.

And that's how they started.

We had military training in the orphanage.

And "Star-Spangled Banner,"

we was taught
that was our national anthem.

And you're supposed to stand up
and salute.

And I was taught to play that tune

with every spark I had in my soul.

On our lands we was taught.

And when we play it,
that's the feeling I have.

And then they hoist that flag.

Note for note, I still remember.

Do you have a happy feeling
when you play that song?

I feel that I'm somebody.

Yeah.

When I finish playing
"Star-Spangled Banner,"

I feel just as proud as anybody
that ever picked up a gun,

shouldered a rifle,
and said, "Forward march."

I was with James Baldwin,
listening to Louis,

and he played a great set.

And then he ended with
"The Star-Spangled Banner."

And James turned to me, and he said,

"You know, that's the first time
I've liked that song."

What he heard from Louis

did away with all the stuff
that was accumulated around it.

And just in the purity
that Louis brought to it

made him appreciate it.

Everybody talks about Hendrix
and "The Star-Spangled Banner."

But Armstrong was performing it
as early as World War II.

You know, right after Pearl Harbor,
he started putting it in his repertoire.

And he is going on stage
and pouring his soul into that song.

And there's pride,

but there's also a tremendous amount
of hurt every time you hear him play it.

Louis Armstrong was coming
from a 40-year memory of what slavery was.

He understood that there was
a battle in this country,

so he was trying to use his music
to transform and reform

and lead the country
closer to its higher ideals.

Who, if anybody, was
the biggest influence on your early life?

-What, in music?
-In music.

King Oliver.

'Cause I--
Outside of the Waif's Home, the orphanage.

When I got out, he took me over.

And he always told me, "Never play a lot
of that jiujitsu music.

Play the lead. You got a good tone,

and you know how to phrase,
and it says something."

And I carried his cornet
when he wasn't blowing and marching.

And the police would have been
running me out the parade.

You know, I stayed with him on it.

But that's my man.

You play in that hot sun,
you know, with that uniform on,

and he put a hanky on his neck
to keep the sun off his neck.

And he was really blowing that horn.

When the authorities closed down
sinful old Storyville,

more than 200 musicians suddenly
found themselves out of work.

King Oliver had left town
anyhow for Chicago,

where they had heard
that their kind of music,

called jazz up north,

was getting very popular.

"I have always been crazy
over Joe Oliver and his playing.

So when Joe sent for me
to join him in Chicago,

I was happy
because I knew I'd feel at home

and he'd see after me."

Chicago was about

the second most popular section
for Black people in the country.

It was a great migration point
where people went off

from Alabama, Mississippi, Arkansas.

You could walk to Chicago,

just keep walking
if you had enough muscles in your legs.

I'd have gone back home

if I knew I'd be pushed out
into all them tall buildings.

Finally, I went to the Lincoln Garden…

and played that music.

I was so happy I did not know what to do.
I had hit the big time.

I was up north with the greats.

I was playing with my idol, the king.

All of my boyhood dreams
had come true at last.

All along, I'd been hearing
from all the musicians about Little Louis,

and what a good trumpet player
he was gonna be.

So, when he brought Little Louis over
to Dreamland to meet me,

Little Louis was 226 pounds.

So I said, "Little Louis?

How come you call him Little Louis
as big as he is?"

I wasn't impressed at all.
I was very disappointed.

I probably would have never
paid any attention to Louis's playing

if King Oliver hadn't said to me one night

that Louis could play better
than he could.

He says,
"But as long as I keep him with me,

he won't be able to get ahead of me.
I'll still be the king."

After he told me that,
I started listening.

But when we got this recording date
in Richmond, Indiana, for Gennett,

in trying to get the balance,

Joe and Louis stood
right next to each other,

as they always had,

and you couldn't hear a note
that Joe was playing

and only could hear Louis.

So he said, "Well, I gotta do something."

So they put Louis about 15 feet away,
over in the corner, from the band.

And Louis was sitting in the co--
standing in the corner, looking so sad.

You know, he thought it was bad for him
to have to be separated from the band.

And so, I looked at him and smiled

to reassure him
that he was all right, you know.

And then I said to myself,

"Now, if they have to put him
that far away in order to hear Joe,

he's gotta be better."

Then I was convinced.

Then Louis and I started getting
to be sweethearts.

Then we decided to get married.

I told him, I said, "Now, I don't want
to be married to a second trumpet player."

He says, "What are you talking about?"

I said, "Well, I don't want
to be married to second trumpet.

I want you to play first."

He said, "Well, I can't play first.
Joe's playing first."

I said, "Well, that's why you gotta quit."

He said, "I can't quit Mr. Joe.

Mr. Joe sent for me,
and I can't quit him."

I said, "Well, it's Mr. Joe or me."

I listened very carefully when Lil told me

to always play the lead.

He played 30
or 50 high notes, high C's,

on this one tune they were playing.

And the next day, everybody on the street
was talking about it.

People would come to two or three shows

waiting for him to miss it one day.

So, he said to me,

"Do you know people are coming
to the show four or five times

to hear me miss that F?"

I said, "Yeah?
Well, make some G's at home."

So, he started blowing around the house.

I said, "Oh, my God. Why did I say that?"

He never misses hitting
that high note, does he, folks?

Armstrong extends the range of the horn,

ending every show
with hundreds of high C's.

Just from that, more and more musicians
start playing higher notes.

He really perfects the art
of improvisation.

He shows the world what it could be.

Tommy Rockwell had heard him,

so it was he who suggested
that he form an recording outfit.

And as a result, it was called
Louis Armstrong's Hot Five.

Do that thing, Papa Dip.

You didn't work in clubs with the--

No, we never did think about
nothing like that.

We just make up them things
and scat. Yeah.

Wait. "Make up them things."

-What do you mean?
-Make up those tunes.

-Just in the studio?
-Yeah, sure.

Say, don't you know it

There's a rumor that you invented scat.
Is that true?

Well, they claim
when we was recording "Heebie Jeebies,"

we get down
to this part for the second chorus,

and I drop the paper.

President in the control booth, he says,
"Keep on singing."

-See?
-Yeah.

Well, that brought back memories
of when I was a kid,

going around in the quartet.

You know, Rampart Street in New Orleans.

Whenever we'd get to a part
we didn't know the words,

we'd go to scatting
and blowing like a trumpet,

or something like that.

And it came to me just like that.

When he's scatting,
the notes he's picking,

and how sophisticated
the melodies he's creating--

Louis Armstrong is never out of tune.

He could do with his voice
what he could do with his horn.

When people sang in those days,

they often sang
in a very corny manner like…

And I love you

And you and me

And the baby makes three

Dinah

Is there anyone finer

In the state of Carolina?

If there is and you know her
Know her

But Armstrong came in
with another kind of thing

where he had that kind of…

you know.

Oh, Dinah

Is there anyone finer
In the state of Carolina?

If there is and you know
Show me

Dinah
With her Dixie eyes blazin'

How I love to sit and gaze

Into the eyes of Dinah Lee

Babe, every night

When I shake with fright, oh

'Cause my Dinah might
Change her mind

Armstrong completely
changes the way people sing.

I'm talking soul singing.
I'm talking Ray Charles.

I'm talking Sam Cooke.
I'm talking James Brown.

I'm talking hip-hop. I'm talking funk.
I'm talking pop music.

I'm talking rock and roll.
I'm talking the Beatles.

Anybody who has basically uttered a sound

on American pop radio
in the last 90 years,

it's because
of Louis Armstrong's innovations.

I met Louis on records.

That "West End Blues"
was a very, very moving experience,

and it actually made a jazz fan out of me

and ultimately found the direction
for my whole career,

as it did for so many people.

"West End Blues"
was a miniature masterpiece.

I would say that
jazz almost stems from Louis Armstrong.

People are accustomed to saying,

and I've heard it said a lot,
that he was a genius.

But very few people talk about
why he was a genius

and what it was
that his particular form of genius did.

I could say now
that what he was really doing

was playing music
for which there was no accounting

in his immediate environment.

Louis Armstrong is
the first important soloist

because he is the first to break away
from Western harmony

and to reintroduce the melodic

and rhythmic developments
of African music.

Stop it! Stop it!

You are playing notes
between flat and natural.

It's like discovering a secret scale
just made for this type of music.

The so-called jazz scale is used
only melodically.

That is, in the tune.

In the harmony underneath,
we still use our old unflatted notes

against the flatted note in the tune.

So that causes a dissonance to happen.

Jazz pianists are always using
this dissonance.

I'm sure it sounds familiar to you.

And there's a reason for it.

It's because they are looking for a note
that isn't actually there,

but which lies somewhere between the two.

This is called a quarter tone.

The quarter tone comes to us from Africa,
which is, after all, the cradle of jazz

and where quarter tones
are everyday stuff.

Now, ladies and gentlemen,

we gonna take a little trip
through the jungles this time,

and we want y'all to travel with us.

That tiger's running so fast.

Gonna take a few choruses to catch him,
so I want y'all to count with me.

Yes, sir.

Because this son-of-a-trumpet
is gonna get away from you this time.

Lay it out there, boys. I'm ready.

At this time in his career,
Louis was having problems with managers,

and, inevitably,
the gangsters took a hand in his affairs.

There were certain interests in New York

who thought the trumpet king
belonged there.

The gangster which was the toughest man
in Chicago at that time, Frankie Foster,

he said, "You know
you're going to New York tomorrow?"

I told him,
"I didn't know nothing about that.

Nobody told me nothing about it."

I said, "Excuse me a minute.
I'm going back on the stand."

He said,
"You're going to New York tomorrow."

That's when he pulled that .45.

I said,
"Well, maybe I am going to New York."

The whole business end
of music at that time

was controlled by white people.

They were not all crooks.

They were not all
manipulating Black people,

but quite a few of them were.

It was very difficult for a Black musician

not to be very bitter
about the entire system at that time.

But Louis was one of those few,
rare people

that never gave the impression
of being bitter,

whether it was under the surface or not.

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.
I'm Mr. Armstrong.

And we're gonna swing
one of the good old good ones for you.

Beautiful number,
"I Cover the Waterfront."

"I Cover the Waterfront," I like it.

One, two.

In 1932, first time I went to Europe.

We used to travel by boats.

Johnny Collins was my manager then.

Didn't they give you
the name of Satchmo over here?

Yeah. Given by Fuzzy Brooks.

He was the editor
of the Melody Maker at that time.

When I arrived in Plymouth,
England, on the ship,

and then somebody's going up there,
"Hello, Satchmo."

When I went all through Europe
and everything with different cats,

you know, trying to be managing things,

I said, "These are the people
I don't want to be bothered with.

They're doing everything
but protecting their trumpet."

See, I had a manager who would--

who would grab all the money
out the box office.

You know, that frantic stuff, you know.

I say, "Well, that ain't what I wanna do."

Around about that time
that Louis Armstrong found out

that his managing director, Mr. Collins,
was making £20,000 a week for him,

and Louis was getting,
say, about £100 a week.

And he asked for more money,

and Mr. Collins,
he used some beautiful adjectives.

I said, "Listen, cocksucker,
you might be my manager

and you might be the biggest shit,

and book me
in the biggest places in the world,

but when I get out on that fucking stage
with that horn and get in trouble,

you can't save me."

He said, "Take that nigger off the boat."

Got to brawling, goddamn it.

Shit.

They gonna have this shit under control.

And there's a big bottle of wine.

All I had to do was take it like that.

And the bald-headed motherfucker
had his head down.

And said, "I gotta just tap it
like a pansy and kill the motherfucker."

See, but the first thing I thought,

all of them Black cocksuckers in Harlem
who'd say,

"I knew he would blow his top someday."

I don't know why…
"Fuck it. I got this shit."

"Go on and eat your meal, man."

Not that I hadn't been called
a nigger before.

He fired Collins. He got rid of him.

But Collins had a contract on him.

So, Louis remembered
that he had worked for Joe Glaser,

and that Joe Glaser was tied in with some
pretty rough boys around Chicago.

So Louis got in touch with Joe,
and he told Joe, he said,

"I'm having a lot of trouble
with this guy managing me."

He said, "I'm kind of scared."

He said, "I don't know
what he's gonna try to do to me."

He says, "But I want you for my manager."

The toughest guy
in the honky-tonk that runs the gambling,

he knew I was getting ready
to come up north,

and this is the pep talk he gave me.

He said, "Look here, son.
I like the way you blow that quail."

Talking about my cornet.

I knew what he was talking about.
I said, "Yeah."

He said, "Now, you go up north

and always have a white man behind you
to say, 'That's my nigger.'"

And that's the way he put it to me.

Now, you can figure that out yourself.

That was the talk.

And Joe Glaser came right in the scene.

-What did the--
-We were just like that.

Because he knew I wanted to blow my horn,
and he saw to that.

I said, "This is my man."

I said,
"You tend to business, Daddy Glaser.

And I'll blow the horn.
And that's where it is."

And it's been over twenty-some years

and we ain't even signed a contract.

Joe Glaser's a nigga.

Joe Glaser loves Negroes.

He was raised with niggas.

-He went to school with them.
-That's right. That's right.

You know, I always felt
there was a weird relationship

between Joe Glaser and Louis.

And I felt Louis was exploited.

Louis believes that he never would've
made it without Joe Glaser.

I think he wouldn't have.

-That's possible?
-Quite possible.

You got to have good management.
I don't care how great you are.

Good management goes
hand in hand with success and talent.

He never wanted anything
to do with business, right?

He never even hired the guys in his band.

He just wanted to concentrate
on that horn.

Glaser--
On the strength of being with Louis--

Louis used to tell us stories

about they used to ride the bus
down South with Glaser,

and Glaser didn't-- None of them
hardly had enough to eat with.

But on the strength of that,
Louis started getting real popular.

Glaser started getting good PR for Louis.

By 1935, there were probably
some who hadn't heard of Louis Armstrong,

and perhaps even those few
were erased that year

when he recorded "La Cucaracha,"

"Red Sails in the Sunset,"
"On Treasure Island."

In the summer of 1936,

he said to me, "We're going on a tour
of one-night stands.

Why don't you ride along in the bus
so you can see what it's like?"

It was a very exhausting trip
for musicians in those days.

There were no air-conditioned buses
at that time.

Now, we've traveled 800 miles.

You know, you get up,
you can't hardly stand up.

You'd think he would take it easy
the first few sets or something like that.

No, you'd get in there
and that first number, boy.

Pow, pow, pow.

There was no letup.
He was there to entertain the people.

And believe me,
that's what he believed in.

No other leader I know would've
put up with what he had to go through.

Louis became attached to laxatives.

When you traveled
on the band bus with him,

and you didn't know too much
about laxatives,

he would find a way for you
to imbibe some of it.

When I first got to know him,
it was Pluto Water.

But then come Swiss Kriss,
which he really got to like.

Enjoy the fun of eager living.

That radiant, refreshed feeling
that comes from everyday regularity.

Don't think for once that Swiss Kriss
wasn't in the rudimentals of my life.

But I always did believe in herbs.

-My mother always--
-Believed in?

-Herbs.
-Herbs.

How do you say it? "Herbs"? "Erbs"?

No, I say, "Hoibs."

Well. Okay.

-Well, I'll say "herbs."
-Herbs.

-You know what I'm talking about.
-Herbs. Right.

-They make you trot.
-Pardon?

Anyway.

Have some
and just leave it all behind you, daddy.

He believed that the laxatives

were of primary, significance
to your health.

His doctor traveled with him.

Dr. Schiff told us,
"Don't try to emulate this guy at home

because you'd die, probably tomorrow."

Louis was perhaps the strongest guy
I ever worked around

because he didn't try
to live carefully or anything like this.

He lived the way he wanted to live,
and to heck with it.

That's how he lived, you know.

At five o'clock in the morning,

Louis Armstrong had to be rushed
to the hospital.

Louis had a case history
of a bad heart for a long time.

We did a thing over in Spoleto, Italy,

and he had a pretty bad heart attack
over there.

In Spoleto, Italy,

they sent to Rome
to get this special nurse in.

She was here fast.

Oh, yeah. She was good-looking too.

Well, I ain't went with that.
I'm trying to get well now.

When she said, "Uh-huh, Satchmo, eh?"

-She come with this thermometer, you know?
-Uh-huh.

I said, "What you gonna do with that?"

She said…

And this thermometer…

I said, "Okay. Ah."

"Ah, what?"

Like, "Y'all trying to kill me."

Now here is one of the miracles
of show business,

because when Louis Armstrong
was with us in Spoleto, Italy,

certainly Bob Precht and I
never thought to see him alive again

because, as you know,
he was desperately sick over there.

On the verge of dying, recovered
and is now back playing his horn.

Nah, I ain't gonna give nobody
None of my jelly roll

Give you none of it
To save your soul

Ain't gonna give nobody
None of my jelly roll, jelly roll

You see, the other day
I met a man from Zanzibar

who was telling me quite a lot
about racial prejudice.

-Where?
-In East Africa.

What, Africa?
You get it all over the world.

Right here, you get prejudice.
Are you kidding?

-They were--
-All over the world.

-Not only in Africa.
-Many places.

-Right here, you get prejudice.
-Here?

Yeah, everywhere.

-How is it here?
-Well, essence of it all over.

Have you any examples of it here?

Well, you can see a whole lot of example--

I can go out there right now,
within an hour's time

and see five situations
where there's race prejudice.

The discrimination was unbelievable.

I think you had to be part of it,

or to be very close to it,

to get any idea of what it was like
to be Black in those days.

It seemed, on the surface,

that a lot of Black musicians
and Black people were accepting it

or were trying to live with it
as best they could.

But the resentment, you know,
understandably, was tremendous.

And the conditions for living--

I mean, just for finding a place
to stay overnight, you know,

finding a place
to go get something to eat--

Everything presented its difficulties
because everything was segregated.

And I'm talking about even in New York.

But it was tragic, what you had to go
with this discrimination.

And you had to be tough.

'Cause discrimination,
in a sneaky sort of way,

killed a whole lot of musicians
because they couldn't understand the code.

"Do you know I played 99 million hotels
I couldn't stay at?

When I was coming along,
a Black man had hell.

On the road, he couldn't find
no place to eat, sleep, or use the toilet.

Service station cats see a bus
of colored bandsmen drive up,

and they would sprint to lock
their restroom doors.

One time in Dallas, Texas,

some ofay stops me as I enter
this hotel where I'm blowing the show--

me in a goddamn tuxedo, now--

and tells me I gotta come around
to the back door."

In Memphis, at the bus station,

they claimed that the bus
needed some work done on it

and they were gonna take it back
to have it overhauled.

At that particular time,
all the guys in Louis's band were young

and just about as obstinate
a bunch of people

as you ever met in your life
if they thought they were right.

When nobody would give up the bus,

then they sent for the police
and arrested us for inciting a riot.

With the intention of burning up
all of our baggage and everything,

luggage and everything,

and putting us in the hoosegow,
which they did.

They arrested us all.

He was playing in Los Angeles
one time. I don't remember where.

And I, along with some other friends,
drove out to hear him play.

And we got to this place,
we were put-- given a table,

and Louis saw me.

He was in the middle of a radio broadcast.

And then the broadcast was over,

and he disappeared in back.

And I waited.

I thought he'd come over and have a drink,

or a Coca-Cola or a cup of coffee
or something.

And he never showed up.
I waited about ten minutes.

And finally, I thought,
"Well, what's wrong?" I went backstage.

He was back there
with his little typewriter.

He was always writing
these marvelous letters he wrote.

And I said, "Hi, Pops."
He said, "Hey, Artie. How you been?"

I said, "I thought
I understood you to indicate

that you'd come over to the table."

He looked at me. He said,
"Man, I can't come to your table."

And I said, "Why?"
He said, "Oh, they don't allow me to sit--

Well, I can't sit
at the tables out there."

Well, I looked at him
in total astonishment.

My first reaction was, "Well, why the hell
are you playing these places?"

My next reaction was the practical one of,
you play where you gotta play.

And Louis was not in
a what we now call civil rights fight.

Louis was in a--
in an individual fight to survive.

I guess his own inner dignity
was able to make him prevail

over all these awful conditions
he must have worked with.

"As time went on and I made a reputation,

I had to put it in my contracts

that I would not play no place
I couldn't stay at.

I was the first Negro in the business
to crack them big, white hotels.

Oh, yeah. I pioneered, Pops."

People got tired of that situation,

you know, that--
the separate this and the separate that.

If a man is able and capable enough

and could put the things together,
what a leader wants, he's--

and he wants to hire 'em, he'd hire 'em.

Old rockin' chair's got me

Old rockin' chair got you, father

What a marvelous,
democratic thing music is.

That's right. We went everywhere together.

And we never had a hard word or nothing.

We didn't worry about, you know, color.

…gin, son

You know you don't drink gin, father

I mean, in the early days, we did this.

When those things wasn't happening,

Jack and I was
busting those down barriers.

Hitting the South there,
and just going all over.

Some guy asked me,

he said,
"Man, you're gonna take Jack Teagarden?"

I said "Now, who am I to tell a white man
he can't go down South?"

And it's all through New Orleans, Texas…

I guess, more than all of the laws,

music has had more to do with better
race relations through the years.

-Hasn't it, Pops?
-It's done a lot.

You remember that white boy,
he's a sailor or something,

On one of these battleships
at Pearl Harbor?

And he caught my show.

And come to find out,
he has damn near every record I made

from childhood, even his parents.

But still and all, he expressed himself.

He come up, and he shook my hand
after the whole show was over, didn't he?

And he said,
"You know, I don't like Negroes."

Right to my fucking face,
that motherfucker told me.

And so I said,
"Well, I admire your goddamn sincerity."

He said, "I don't like Negroes,

but you one son of a bitch
I'm crazy about, baby."

Didn't he?

There, now,
you take the majority of white people.

There's two-thirds of them
don't like niggers.

But they always got one nigger
that they just crazy about, goddamn it.

Ain't that a bitch?

Pops, he faced a lot of challenges,

and he always faced them with style

and maintained his sanity and his joy
and his embrace of life.

And it was not a simpleminded happiness.
It was a transcendent joy.

He had a blessing inside of him
that he was acutely aware of.

I remember when I was
a neighbor of Louis Armstrong.

We lived within one block of one another

in Corona, Queens, New York, for 15 years.

I went over to his house
to wish him a happy birthday…

and to bring him a little present.

And I wound up getting a present myself
and also a present for my wife, Lorraine.

If you had a hard-luck story

and you needed something,
and you came to Louis, you got it.

This is a throwback.

It's been instilled in him
in the old days of-- in New Orleans,

when Louis was a youth coming up.

It was a way of life down there.

They were all poor,

and the one that had a little more
than the other

saw to it that the one that has less
had a little bit.

So he never outgrew it.

He liked to get to know the people.

That's where it was at with Louis,
and I think everyone knows that.

You can see Louis--
see that in all the years

and with all of the success
that Louis has had,

Louis still remained the man
in the street himself.

Royal Theatre
was in a poor Negro neighborhood.

Real poor people, I'm telling you.

Until we arrived in town,

it was actually colder--

I'm telling you, it was colder than
a well digger's-- Well, you know the rest.

And when I heard about those poor people
who couldn't afford to buy hard coal,

I bought it for them.

I went to the coal yard,
ordered a ton of coal,

and had the company to deliver it
to the lobby of the Royal Theatre.

And had all the folks who needed coal
to help themselves,

which made them very happy.

Of course, it all made me
stick out my chest with pride.

To be in his presence,
to see the power that he had--

See, you'd go in his dressing room,

he'd be sitting up, in his underwear,
with a towel around his lap

and one around his shoulders
and had a white handkerchief on his head.

And he put that grease around his lips.

Looked like a minstrel man,
you know, with the white.

And laughing. Natural, see, the way he is.

And in the room,
you'll see maybe two nuns, a streetwalker.

You see maybe a guy
that's come out of penitentiary.

You see a rabbi. You see a priest.

All of the different levels
of society in a dressing room.

And he's talking to all of 'em.

I'd like you to meet my son.

First time we see important-looking whites

be so,
like putty in the presence of a figure

who had opened up the world of music
to new heights, you know?

Now you know I don't lie much

Fellas she can't get
The fellas she ain't met

Louis,
you had, obviously, a very eventful life.

Ever since I've known you,
they've been making a film on you.

They make
a whole lot of films now. You know?

Well, now I hear
they're finally gonna do a film on you.

Yeah.
Glad they can't come up to me and say,

"You must be a movie star.
I can tell by the film on your teeth."

"Hollywood fascinates me.

Everywhere I go,
there's a warm greeting for me.

But you still have some small-minded
prop men, carpenters, callboys.

One of the moments that dragged me
the most happened in 1952

during the making of Glory Alley."

Glory Alley, Glory Alley

Hear that trumpet moan in Glory Alley

And this ofay,
he wasn't nothing but a callboy.

He called,
the extras and different things.

Then he'll come
to the stars' dressing room,

let them know when they want
them for the camera.

And he was hanging around
on the set all the time.

-You know what I mean?
-Yeah.

So now, he'll come up,

"Mr. Gilbert Roland, Ms. Caron,"
and everything.

And then he'll come to my dressing room
with a whole lot of bullshit.

"Satchmo, you better come on out there,

or they'll send in Harry James."

I said, "Listen, you cocksucker.

If they wanted Harry James,
they'd have had him in front."

I said, "The first place, he ain't
gonna play what I played out there."

He said, "Why?" I said, "'Cause he can't."

Just had to be a nasty
son of a bitch with him.

And I said, "You take it-- You tell MGM
to shove that picture up their ass."

Then he left me alone.

I said, "I don't--
I ain't a movie star nohow."

I said, "Why you hand me that shit?
'Cause I'm colored?"

I didn't appreciate it. I'm just showing
you what I go through for no reason.

You take the smallest fucking peckerwood,

hand you that shit,
and the big bosses appreciate you.

He made as many as 30 films.

The Glenn Miller Story, the way he's cast
in that is very positive.

Yes, Basin Street is the street

Where the folks really meet

Who is he?

Who? Louis Armstrong.

A Song Was Born,
what Louis does there is just performing.

They took a reet jungle beat
Brought it to Basin Street

And that's how jazz was born

In High Society, he is Louis Armstrong.

Hello, Dolly!
Of course, it's the last one.

-Well, hello, Dolly
-Look who's here.

-This is Louis, Dolly
-Hello, Louis.

It's so nice to have you back

Where you belong

They didn't write a whole lot of parts,

you know, character parts--

They just let me be myself in pictures.
That's what made it awful nice.

We all can't be Reinhardts
and things like that.

So they just tell me, "Be yourself."

All my days were happiness
'cause I'm born with nothing,

come here with nothing.

And I come through the world,

whatever nothing I had,
I enjoyed playing the music.

And what little advancement
or whatever it was,

it was more than I had at all times.

And right now, it's still more than I had.

And the fans are still happy with Satchmo.

And I wouldn't give a damn
if they had ten trillion dollars.

They can't be no happier than
Louis "Satchmo" Armstrong and Lucille.

We never want an estate where servants
be falling all over each other.

They're working for colored people.
And then-- We don't wanna go through that.

And I want to live the life
that I come through

with what Mayann, my mother, taught me…
enjoy the rudimentals.

To hell with the rest of it.

I'm confessin' that I love you

Tell me, do you love me too?

I'm confessin' that I need you

Honest, I do

Oh, baby, need you every moment

Oh, yeah?

Lucille, how did he propose? I mean--

-What did he say to you?
-Well, actually--

-How long did you know him?
-About two years.

-Two years?
-Oh, yes.

Well, it wasn't love at first sight then,
was it, Louis?

Plenty love going on then.

But not at first sight. I see.

Well, you know, I'm Louis's fourth wife.

-I see.
-Uh-huh.

And he was separated from his third wife.

And so the-- We couldn't marry.

And he kept saying,
"Well, you just stick around,

you know, wait for Pops.

And I'll get a divorce." You know.

And he's taking care of--
This woman's getting alimony.

-She's not about to give him up.
-Yeah.

And I just laughed.

He just tells me,
"Now, you just stay put, you know.

And one of these days, I'll…

She'll give me a divorce,
and we'll marry."

-Yeah.
-And I'm young. But how long do you wait?

So I was seen on the scene
with the young boys,

and Louis got tired of that.

And he says, "Look, I can't hold you down.

I guess I better marry you."

-You right.
-"I'll get the divorce."

Am I guessin' that you love me, babe

Oh, yeah

Dreaming dreams of you in vain, vain

I'm confessin' that I love you

Chops.

Over again

Well, what has been to you,
the most encouraging things?

My fourth wife, she fixed a nice home,

not elaborate, just someplace
where you settle down.

Your castle.

It's such a pleasure to go home.
That's why I canceled the road tour.

3456 107th Street.

-107th?
-Yeah. Street.

Corona, New York. The Queens.

It should be Long Island,
but, New York for many.

We would stay at my apartment,

but my mother had to get out
of her bedroom and sleep in my small room

so Louis
and I could have the large bedroom

for the few days of-- that we went home.

So I decided to buy a house.

And I told Louis, "Let's get a house."

And he said,
"What do you want a house for?

We'll be traveling.
I'll get a hotel room."

And I wasn't about to be cooped up
in a hotel room.

And after being married to Louis
for a few months,

I found that it wasn't very easy
to argue with Louis.

If he made his mind up about something,

he was very, very positive
that you couldn't change his mind.

And so he kept not wanting this house.

And I'm a very stubborn person myself.

And so I said, "This guy doesn't know
what the house is all about."

I bought the house myself
and didn't tell him.

I had had the house eight months
before I told Louis.

Eight whole months.

Meanwhile, my mother's writing me
about what's happening,

and they're planting flowers
and this, that and the other.

So finally, I tell him, two weeks before
we were to go back to New York.

And I told him, I said,
"Pops, I got something to tell you."

So he said,
"Well, what have you done now?"

I said, "I haven't done anything--

I don't think you're going to be unhappy
about what I've done.

But I wanna--
I have to tell you that we've moved."

And he said, "We've what?"
He said, "We've moved?"

He said, "That's all right.
You got a larger apartment?"

I said, "No, I bought a house."

So he looked at me like I was, you know,
like I was a cow with seven horns.

Now he said, "How did you pay for it?
You didn't ask me for any money."

I said, "You have to remember,
I have been working for 13 years.

I have a little money saved up.

And so, when I approached you
about a house and you were so down on it,

I didn't ask you. I just took my money,
and I put the down payment on the house,

and I've been keeping the payments up."

I said,
"Now that you know about the house,

you can take the payments over."

But I've never been able to move Louis
from that place.

Once he got in that place, he loved it.

Mrs. Armstrong, do you
always go with Louis wherever he goes?

Yes, I do…

It's your job to look after him?

That's part of my marital vow
to take care of the husband.

-Yes.
-And while I-- We travel a lot.

We try to maintain a home life
wherever we go.

So we were constantly together.

There was-- There wasn't that separation,

as most musicians and wives have.

But then, I was fortunate

for the simple reason
that Louis wanted me with him.

And secondly,
he could afford to keep me with him.

And the other chaps
couldn't afford to take their families.

Did it get boring at any time,

-listening to Louis night after night?
-You gotta be kidding.

-Really?
-How could anyone be bored

with those beautiful notes?

Yeah, I had a audience with the pope.

You had an audience with the pope?

And I remember that morning,

there was 10,000 people there waiting
just to see him.

And my wife,
she's dressed for the occasion,

had on a outfit with a black veil.

And I'm sharp.

So he asked me, "Have you any children?"

I said,
"Well, no, daddy. But we still wailing."

And--

Now, let's talk about pot.

Yeah.

I'm only sorry
you couldn't be here with us longer.

I wish you could have gotten higher.

But why don't you go and say hello
to the folks on the panel?

Well, I'm getting higher next time round.

Mary… wouna.

Honey, you sure was good
and I enjoyed you very much.

Marijuana is more of a medicine than dope.

Why did he do it?
Well, because it relaxes you.

It does something to your hearing.

And if you're a musician,
it does something to your playing.

"I have to go through
the whole world with this horn,

making millions happy,

and at the same time
ducking and dodging cops, dicks, so forth.

Why? 'Cause they say it's against the law.

I'm not so particular about
having a permit to carry a gun.

All I want is a permit
to carry that good shit."

On the West Coast, California, in 1931,

when I got busted,
it was during our intermission.

Two big, healthy dicks--
detectives, that is--

come from behind a car, man,
and say to us,

"We'll take the roach, boys."

I spent nine days in
the downtown Los Angeles city jail.

And when all of those prisoners looked up

and saw me walk in
with this great big deputy sheriff,

they all en masse started,
"Hey, Louis Armstrong!"

The judge gave me a suspended sentence,

and I went to work that night,
wailed just like nothing happened.

Ladies and gentlemen,

Louis Armstrong has told me

that his most honored ambition
is being fulfilled tonight

in playing with the New York Philharmonic.

I should say that it is rather we,

on the longer-haired side of the fence,

who are honored in that
when we play "The Saint Louis Blues,"

we are only doing a blown-up imitation
of what he does.

And what he does is real and true

and honest and simple, and even noble.

I never shall forget
the first time we went to Africa in 1956.

"My God, darling.

I had no idea
I would be so thrillingly received

by my brothers and sisters
in my homeland, Africa."

This is, though, a tour
to make friends and influence people.

Well, I guess that's the idea
when they did it.

But all-- We want to get out there
and blow for them cats. They're all fans.

Yeah, we got off the plane and…

All for you
Lord, for you, Louis

La la la

The attendance was so fantastic
that there wasn't a place to hold it

except the polo grounds,
which was just a big stadium.

And then one of the chiefs
said to Louis, "Hello, Satchmo."

And Louis told me, he said,

"See that, Moms?
They even got my records in the bush."

You know, everybody knows Pops.

-I had a wonderful time.
-I take it you did.

Yeah,
they had about nine tribes down there.

That's-- That come from miles away
just to dance with us.

And in one of those tribes,
they had a chick swinging there,

looked just like my mother.

Man, I made the cameraman
call her over here

and let her put a couple of
Wiggle Waggle Woos on there for me.

Here's a song we did

that was all about
one of the big events of the year

in my hometown,

the Zulu Parade in Mardi Gras week.

But it wasn't until 1949,
23 years after I made this record,

that they elected Satchmo
to be the king of the Zulus.

I got to New Orleans,

and it was like everybody was crazy
in that city.

Everybody was packing the streets,

and there were all kinds
of racial paradoxes,

like the Zulus were
prepared to present Louis that night

in a concert
at Booker T. Washington Auditorium.

Armstrong's All Star Band
has played 45 minutes

of New Orleans's own Dixieland music
to an enthusiastic capacity crowd.

I went to the concert, and I saw

Black spectators seated on the left
and the center aisles,

while the whites were
over on the right aisle.

But on the stage,
I saw Louis and Jack Teagarden

with their arms around each other,

radiating interracial brotherhood,
singing a duet.

And I saw white officials
shaking hands with Louis on stage,

and congratulating him,
and paying tribute to his talent.

I saw Louis bursting with pride

when the mayor of New Orleans
gave him the keys to the city.

That was the week
he made the cover of Time.

It was on every white newsstand in town.

On behalf of the people of New Orleans,

the city with a colorful past
and a promising future,

we want to present you
the key to the city.

To Louis Armstrong.

Thank you very much, Mayor.

This is really a treat.
This is the thrill of my life.

But I also knew
that there were hundreds of places

to which those keys would never admit him.

When he was king,
everybody was getting out.

People that didn't get out on Carnival,
they going out to see Louis Armstrong,

king of the Zulu.

And there was so many people.

Everything got held up,
you know what I mean?

It was stopping everything,

and he just had to get off the float,
you know.

'Cause sooner or later, man,
he might have got hurt up there.

You understand me?

Rex was the biggest parade
of all the white parades.

And by white, I mean it was what it was.
It was segregated.

But Zulu was like
the height of everything.

So, for Pops, he wanted
to be the king of Zulu his entire life.

The king of Zulu
would dress up in blackface.

That's what he did.

So Louis Armstrong did it,
and it became, you know, a crime.

-That was a great thing then…
-Yeah.

…'cause what's going on now
with all these marches and organizations,

they won't let it happen no more now,
you know, all that makeup.

First thing about blackface is

we have to understand
that it comes out of minstrelsy.

Minstrelsy was not invented
to elevate Negroes.

Minstrelsy was invented to get jobs
for white guys who were imitating Negroes.

Now, what it became, ironically,

was the first mass popular phenomenon
in American culture.

You have to know what the tradition is.

So it's people everywhere
who don't know what that tradition is.

All they're seeing is
a blackface minstrel,

but he wasn't looking at it like that.

You had a lot of traditions and things
that you had

that were viable and good and meaningful.

And then, during the movement,
we threw all of that stuff out.

Dancing a certain way, cheesing, Tomming.

And we didn't want
to be a part of any of that.

"And after the funeral,

with just Sonny and me
alone in the empty kitchen,

I tried to find out something about him.

'What do you want to do?'

'I want to play jazz,' he said.

'You mean-- like Louis Armstrong?'

His face closed as though I'd struck him.

'No, I'm not talking about
none of that old-time, down-home crap.'"

Pops, how much do you think
you've lost out of--

not your own life
and certainly not your own pride,

but out of commercial life
by being born Black in a white country?

No, I don't look at it that way.

Your color don't mean shit to me
if you're a dumb son of a bitch.

You understand?

Right, so, are you a man or mouse?
It's up to you.

A lot of young people resented the way

they thought Armstrong was
too submissive to the United States.

If you coming up in the '50s and '60s,

there's a different aesthetic,

a different kind of attitude,
political attitude, in the street.

And they didn't understand Louis
because Louis was always affable,

always smiling.

Yay!

Keeps that Georgia on my mind

Yeah

Mmm

They don't realize
that Louis was doing that

when he was around his friends.

-He was acting the same way.
-That's right.

But when you do it in front of white folks

and try to make them enjoy what you feel--

-That's what he was doing.
-Right!

-They call him Uncle Tom.
-Yes.

Oh, you can bend her legs
Bend her arms and bathe her too

Let's fly down or drive down
To New Orleans

First time you misplace words
and do that shit,

they gonna say you Uncle Tomming.
And goddamn it--

And every fucking nationality comedian
stays right in this category.

Look at the Jew,
doesn't he use his dialect?

I ain't supposed to be no comedian.

That's just everyday life, you know.

"Suppose" my ass.
You are a natural comedian.

Yeah, well, that's all right.

A lot of his film roles,
the early ones, I never liked those.

For my generation to see him
singing to horses and stuff,

or the kind of way Black people
acted in films,

it's not just Louis Armstrong.

Gosh all, git up

How'd they get so lit up?

Gosh all, git up

How'd they get that size?

Archie got his nose broke
for fighting a nigga

'cause he didn't like
the way he talked about me.

This smug motherfucker said,
"Louis Armstrong,

Uncle Tom nigga."

When the fuck have I "Uncle Tommed"
in my life?

I tell ya. All you have to do is

break up your face and mug,
and a nigga say you're Uncle Tom.

-I'm there blowing this fucking horn…
-A man got expressions, you know?

Most of the fellas
I grew up with, myself included,

we used to laugh at Louis Armstrong.

We knew he could play the horn,

but that didn't save him
from our malice and our ridicule.

Everywhere we'd look,
there would be old Louis.

Sweat popping, eyes bugging,
mouth wide open, grinning,

oh, my Lord, from ear to ear.

"Ooftah," we called it.

Mopping his brow, ducking his head,
doing his thing for the white man.

Oh, yeah.

It wasn't until 1966,
when we were working together

on a picture in New York
with Sammy Davis Jr., Cicely Tyson,

that I got to know Louis better.

One day, we'd broken for lunch,

and I decided to stay inside.

It was quiet,
so I thought everybody had gone.

I went back on the set
to lie down on the bed,

and there was Louis by the door,
sitting in a chair,

staring up and out into space

with the saddest,

most heartbreaking expression
I've ever seen on a man's face.

I just stared at him for a moment.

And then when I tried to turn
and sneak away,

the noise snapped Louis out of it.

And all of a sudden,
there was that professional grin again,

mouth wide open.

He whipped out his handkerchief,
mopped his brow.

"Hey, Pops,

look like you cats trying
to starve old Louis to death, yeah."

I put on my face and grinned right back.

But it wasn't funny.

Not anymore.

What I saw in that look shook me.

It was my father.

My uncle.

Myself, down through the generations,

doing exactly what Louis had had to do,

for the same reason,

to survive.

I never laughed at Louis after that,

for beneath that gravel voice
and that shuffle,

under all that mouth with more teeth
than a piano had keys,

was a horn that could kill a man.

That horn is where Louis had
kept his manhood hid all those years.

Enough for him, enough for all of us.

I understand
you're somewhat of a politician.

Do you know anything about politics?

No. No.

Politics…
I don't think you could print that--

that are African golfers,
and stuff like that.

We confuse what we perceived
as the social demeanor

in that context of lynching--

You understand? Overt segregation.

And we thought
that Louis was submitting to that.

Sometimes I feel

Like a motherless child

You know, Louis's expression
was musical and artistic

and transcended that.

When it was possible for Louis to speak,
he spoke.

Louis was very sensitive

when people did something that he felt--
I guess the word would be "unethical."

What about you? Do you think
the colored students will show up?

If I got anything to do with it,
they won't show up.

Well, I think it's a breaking point
of the school integration.

I don't feel that they should
have a right to go to school.

Oh, when the saints

When the saints

Go marching in

Go marching in

-When the saints go marching in
-Yeah

Oh, yeah

I want to be in that number

Oh, yeah

When the saints come marching in

-When the saints
-Oh, when the saints

-Go marching in
-Are marching in

Who's gonna play on the day
That the saints go marching in?

Well, man
The mostest and the greatest

From the oldest to the latest

Gonna play in the band
In the big bandstand

When the saints go marching in

-Now, Louis, how about Brahms?
-He ain't no bum.

Little Rock, Arkansas.

The white population are determined

to prevent colored students from going
to the school their own children attend.

And Mozart composed
With all he had

With symphonies
And operas and all that jazz

Later, the Central High School
of Little Rock storm center was sealed off

by orders of the governor,

who called out the state National Guard.

Oh, when the saints
Go marching in

Oh, when the saints

Colored youngsters arrived
under safe conduct by the guards,

but no sooner had they arrived
than they were off again.

Arkansas had evidently decided
to make its own laws

on the subject of integration.

Go marching in

What are you gonna tell the Russians

when they ask you
about the Little Rock incident?

It all depends what time
they send me over there.

I don't think they should send me unless
they straighten that mess down South.

Two, four, six, eight!
We don't want to integrate!

They've been ignoring the Constitution.
Although they're taught it in school.

But when they go home,
their parents tell them different.

Say, "You don't have to abide by it

because we've been getting away with it
a hundred years.

So, nobody tells on each other,
so don't bother with it."

So, if they ask me what's happening
if I go now, I can't tell a lie.

That's one thing. There's no worth
lying the way I feel about it.

-Thank you, Louis.
-Okay.

Now I'll say this to you.

I'll never open the public schools
in Little Rock

on an integrated basis
until the people say so.

You know,
there's a certain type of naivete

that a country like this has,

in those who are super patriotic
and they don't see anything.

It's just, "Everything we do is great."

And then those who are not patriotic
at all and see that we don't do anything.

Louis Armstrong was not in either camp.

And I dare say that he was actually more
in the forefront of civil rights

in terms of making statements

than a lot of the so-called
modern musicians of that time were.

And even when he said what he said
about Eisenhower in the '50s.

Yeah, he was upset about segregation.

Well, he said that
as far as he was concerned,

Ike and the government could go to hell,

and he sang his version of
"The Star-Spangled Banner" to me

with very dirty lyrics.

"Oh, say, can you mothers-- MFs see
by the MF early light."

He was very mad.

Then he said a number of things,

one of which was, "As for Orval Faubus,
he's just an ignorant plowboy."

Well, I think it's a damn shame

for people
to be so deceitful and two-faced.

I mean, that governor.

I mean, I bet you right now,

he's got an old colored mammy there
nursing his baby.

The nation alone, I mean,
is misguided, cold-blooded.

Shame just to keep it up.

They can't stand it.

I mean, how can they rest well at night

thinking they have to
go through that tomorrow?

The kids, they're only doing
what their parents told 'em.

They wouldn't do it if--

I mean, the colored people
who, at the end of the day,

they-- I don't know why, but, uh,
when they throw their…

We throw our heart in it and everything,

because we're just doing it
for our country.

Everybody was astonished
when Louis did it publicly,

but privately he had expressed stuff
like that all his life.

You know, he was very conscious of
what we now call civil rights.

He blew up. He put it on the line.

You know, and, of course,
he had very, very bad comments

from our political leaders
about making this particular statement.

That-- You know,
they interviewed Adam Clayton Powell.

They interviewed Sammy Davis.

They put Pops down

because they said he was a musician,
he didn't know what he was talking about.

Louis was that kind of person.

He-- Either he said nothing,

and when he got angry,

he said what was in his heart
and his mind.

It seems that
the White House was waiting for

some big name to speak out,

and Louis made his statement today,

and the troops were in Little Rock
the next morning.

After he'd made the statement,
he sent Eisenhower a wire saying that

"If you will go in with the troops,
I'll go with you."

That's little known, you know…

You know, it's a funny thing.

Nobody really stopped to really dig Pops,
and it's an unfortunate thing.

He felt it deeply. He really did.

A prophet is without honor
in his own country.

That's it.

Yes

Great.

We're gonna do this once more.
Louis, and say…

Set man free

-Me too?
-We-- No.

When they get through…

Set man free

They say I look like God

In the image of God
Created he them

Could God be Black?

My God

The Real Ambassadors.
It was meant to be a stage show.

And unfortunately,
it never made it to Broadway.

The tale of it was

that jazz represented America
in a very special way

and that jazz musicians
were the real ambassadors,

not politicians or speech makers.

Can it be?

Hallelujah

He brought the same thing
to every song he sang,

understanding the human condition.

Any kind of lyrics,
he could just imbue with that.

That understanding, it's like a--
It's a spiritual thing.

It's a depth and an insight.

He's watching all the Earth

The simple emotional impact of jazz
has cut through all kinds of barriers.

Louis Armstrong has become
an extraordinary kind of…

roaming ambassador of goodwill.

Well, you might say
he's America's ambassador with a horn.

I'm the real ambassador

It is evident I was sent
By government to take your place

All I do is play the blues

See, Jack, I think you're wrong
about me being the ambassador.

I think jazz is the ambassador.

Well, I might be the courier
that takes the message over there.

But it's jazz that does the talking.

My horn and me have traveled
from Sweden to Spain,

and when I played Berlin,

a lot of them cats jumped the iron fence
to hear old Satchmo.

Which proves
that music is stronger than nations.

I don't know much about politics,

but I know these people
in foreign countries

hear all kinds of things about America,

some good, some bad.

I'm pretty sure
what comes out of this horn

makes them feel better about us.

One thing is sure, they know
a trumpet ain't no cannon.

It ought to be possible
for American consumers of any color

to receive equal service
in places of public accommodation,

such as hotels and restaurants
and theaters and retail stores,

without being forced to resort
to demonstrations in the street.

When you return to the United States,

do you intend to take a more active part
in civil rights?

They have other people, politicians,
who take care of things like that.

And so the best I can do is,
put a little something in their till.

And that's my part.

That's the best I can do.
Because I love everybody.

I mean, the white people,

they're my greatest fans
all through the South.

We stay in the best hotels,
and they give us the best courtesies,

and my biggest audience is
people all over the United States.

So I can't abuse either one.

So I don't ignore
the march and the-- whatever it is.

I just do my little part
by putting a little money in my part.

Which some of them don't do, but I do.

You understand Pops? That's right.

"For me, if I'd be out somewhere
marching with a sign

and some cat hits me in my chops,

I'm finished.

A trumpet man gets hit in the chops,
and he's through.

If my people don't dig me the way
that I am, I'm sorry.

If they don't go along with me
giving my dough instead of marching…

Well, every cat's entitled to his opinion.

But that's the way I figure
I can help out and still keep working.

If they let me alone on this score,
I'll do my part in my way.

Pops, I come out of a part of the South
where it ain't no way in the world

you can forget you're colored.

My own mother went through hell
down there.

My grandma used to have tears in her eyes

when she'd talk about the lynchings
and all that crap.

Even myself, I've seen things
that would make my flesh crawl.

But it wasn't a damn thing I could do
about it and keep on breathing."

Louis, how much weight
have you lost? You're skinny as a rail.

Well, I don't know,

around 40, 45 pounds, like that,
in a couple of months.

Just took it easy, you know, and--

What'd you do about the wardrobe?

Well, I just got rid of it.
I mean, it was a pleasure.

You can't take them up but once.

So, I took it up once,
and it was still too big.

So that was it.

Mr. Armstrong, everybody calls you Louis,

-and I hope I can.
-Yes.

You've been very sick
the last couple of years. How you feeling?

Well, I feel fine now,
you know, and like the old saying,

"I've left it all behind me."

You went into
the intensive care unit twice.

Twice, yeah, yeah.

Did you think your life
was coming to an end?

A man going into intensive care twice,

you know, he's looking right at Gabriel,

and he's calling me.

He wants to blow a duet with me.

But I said, "No, daddy,
your union card ain't straight.

I better wait."

When I was in the Beth Israel Hospital,

boy, I got boxes and boxes of mail

from everywhere over the waters.

"Come on, Satch, get out of that bed
and come blow. We're waiting for you."

Hello, Louis. This is Enrico.

I hope you are getting better,
and we are all praying for you.

How many more years
do you think you'll be blowing that horn?

Well, I'll be blowing all my life.

I mean, that's the way it'll be, you know.

And I-- Even if I'll be teaching some kids
or something, I'll always be around music.

Satchmo, you've been everywhere
and done just about everything.

Is there anything you haven't done
that you'd like to do?

Yeah, keep living. I ain't finished yet.

I see trees of green

Red roses too

I see them bloom for me and you

And I think to myself

What a wonderful world

I see skies of blue

There's a zillion people who dug that tune
the way I did it when I felt it

because
there's so much in "Wonderful World"

that brings me back to my neighborhood
where I live in Corona, New York.

Lucille and I, ever since we married,

we've been right there in that block.

And everybody keeps their little homes up
like we do.

And it's just like one big family.

I saw three generations come up
in them blocks.

So that's why I can say,

I hear babies cry and

I've watched them grow

They'll learn much more
Than I'll ever know

And I think to myself

What a wonderful world

Yes, I think to myself

What a wonderful world

My doctor came to hear me blow,
and he was perfectly satisfied.

He examined me thoroughly

to see if my blowing affected
the old ticker, you know.

And the beats were perfectly normal.

Yeah.

Happy birthday to you

Happy birthday, dear Louis

Happy birthday to you

This is seven-- seventy steps.

And ten more steps, I'll be in heaven.

It had been my opinion

that Louis was gonna drop dead
on stage one day.

I didn't feel bad about that
because if he had to go, I think,

"What better way to go
than doing the thing you love to do?"

A lot of us would be very happy
to have accomplished

to the extent that he did
what we originally set out to do.

He had all the material things
that he needed, but more importantly,

he had the respect
and the love of millions of people.

I mean, literally millions,
all over the world.

What more could any man ask for?

The night Louis passed,
I had no idea, this man--

He disappointed-- He was doing so well.

It was a shock to me.

And he was telling me, he says,
"You know, I feel good."

He says,
"You know, I've got to get back to work."

So that's the mood Louis was in
on the 5th of July of 1971.

Music kept
Louis "Satchmo" Armstrong rolling

for 71 years,

until this morning when he died
in his sleep in his home in New York.

He had been battling heart
and kidney ailments for years.

We aren't saying goodbye to Louis tonight,

for a man's music does not die with him.

Certainly not this man's.

While we can only guess
how Beethoven played the piano

or Mozart conducted an orchestra,

the sounds of Louis singing, playing,
or just plain talking

will live as long as there is anyone
to listen.

Well, he was
a great artist and a very sweet man.

Down-to-earth, a lovely neighbor,

he was a regular,
and he just loved to be around people.

He was more of a friend
instead of celebrity in the neighborhood.

Bobby Hackett, learn anything from him?

To me, Pops was truly an immortal man.

And the truth of the matter is
that he will never die.

I think what he left will always be heard
all over the world and enjoyed,

and a very gentle reminder to everybody
to love thy neighbor

and cut out the nonsense.

He was a man that was beloved

with a certain depth and intensity
that you cannot fathom.

It was 'cause of how he touched people.

Well, folks, that was my life,
and I enjoyed all of it.

Yes, I did.

I don't feel ashamed at all.

My life has always been an open book,
so I have nothing to hide.

Bye-bye. Love aplenty.

Soul foodly, "Satchmo" Louis Armstrong.

This is one number I like to do, folks,

and it tells you a whole lot
about my life.

I can't tell it all, you know.

But let's give you a good synopsis.

When I was born long ago

July the 4th, 19-0-0

It was back of town in James Alley

A boy from New Orleans

When I was only five or so

Down Rampart Street I used to go

That's when I heard
The great King Oliver

Blowing jazz from New Orleans

Now folks, all these years…

I've had a ball.

Thank you, Lord.

And I thank you all.

You are very kind

To old Satchmo, yes

Nice looking boy, ain't he?

A boy from New Orleans