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his people, had always refused the most tempting offers from the United States, including that of Louis Armstrong.

When he felt inspired Ciori would beat the drum and: "Vamos, muchachos?" he shouted to the musicians who always responded with enthusiasm: "Vamos!!" Then he began to invent a story improvising music and words, gradually indicating who should collect and continue the chosen theme.

That evening Ciori began the trial of a politician who disliked him and although he cunningly tried to "apologize," after an agitated musical debate he was sentenced to pay reparations. In this specific case he had to offer a Cuba Libre to everyone, whereupon the musician who played the part began yelling that he was being ruined: he had a wife, lover and eight children and an Oldsmobile with a roof so ruined that it rained in it, singing sobbing. He was so persuasive that, amid the general enthusiasm, it was decided to commute his sentence; any musician would offer him a Cuba Libre, as long as he drank them all one after the other.

At this point I warned my knights that it was time to move to Tropicana: it was never advisable for pale faces, tolerated but not frowned upon by Ciori, to linger beyond a certain time, especially when too many Cuba Libre were circulating.

As soon as we were seated at a table in the Tropicana the central chandeliers went out. Under the spotlights the show began. To the rhythm of two large alternating orchestral ensembles, dressed up dancers whirled on the floor and, although both orchestra and dancers were excellent, Gary Cooper and Tony Sheveland decided they could not rival the Ciori.

After the show, the room sank into darkness. A single spotlight came on again, aimed at a man in a tuxedo in the center of the dance floor. After a prolonged roll of...