The pudding-faced man in the hash-slinger's hat and white starched jacket was blowing his heart into an old World War I bugle. Behind him in shirtsleeves the other musicians waited their turns, the rhythm section keeping a steady beat. Out front the 550 people who had crowded into the old New Orleans dance hall above the shoeshine parlor and magazine stand stamped and crowed; at the finish they were on their feet and yelling.
Since last October such tours de force at the Dixieland Jamborees have become a regular weekly occurrence at 116 Royal Street in New Orleans' wrought-iron and rosewood French...
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