There are some trumpet players who died that you never hear about. Now Chris Kelly was a master and played more blues than Louis Armstrong, Bunk [Johnson], and anybody you ever knew.

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New Orleans, through the years, had some thirty-odd halls [... each] had a different class distinction based on color, family standing, money, and religion. The most exclusive was the Jean Ami, which very few Jazzmen ever entered--down to the Animal Hall, where every washboard band was welcome if they could play the blues.

So, Chris Kelly, who was dark of color, low on finance, Baptist from birth, and cultured in the canebrakes, never gave a thought to ever blowing his blues in the Jean Ami Hall and a dozen other amusement places.

Chris could play slow, lowdown gut-struts until all the dancers were exhausted and dripping wet. His masterpiece was Careless Love, preached slow and softly with a plunger. He always played it at twelve o'clock, just before intermission. He'd blow a few bars before knocking off, and his fans would rush about, seeking their loves because that dance meant close embracing, cheek-to-cheek whisperings of love, kissing, and belly-rubbing.