Music for Grownups: The Louis Armstrong House
By: Richard Gehr | Source: AARP.org | 2008-07-08
Richard Gehr is a veteran music critic based in New York City. His reviews for AARP.org appear every Tuesday; his columns on Thursdays.
What better way to celebrate the Fourth of July, I thought, than by visiting Louis Armstrong's house a couple of days before his birthday? Or what used to be his birthday, since a baptismal certificate discovered during the late 1980s indicates that Satchmo was actually born on August 4, 1901, rather than on July 4, 1900—the date he observed throughout his life.
A muggy drive through the confusingly numbered streets of Queens, N.Y., eventually brought me to 34–56 107th Street in Corona, a predominantly Dominican working-class neighborhood. A plaque affixed to a brick wall declared The Louis Armstrong House Museum to be a National Historic Landmark. We don't get many opportunities to scrutinize the private lives of our cultural deities. Armstrong's music survives on record, of course, and in the memories of those he entertained as many as 300 nights a year during the four decades he spent on the road. His modest yet marvelous home, though, provides a uniquely intimate portal into the off-the-road habitat of the 20th century's preeminent African-American entertainer.
Joining one of the museum's hourly tours, I was led up the front stairs and into Armstrong's living room, where our guide related how Satchmo's fourth wife, Lucille, purchased the extremely modest frame house for $3,500 in 1943 while her husband was on tour. My eyes wandered as he spoke of how Armstrong, a superstar even then, could have lived anywhere in the world, from Palm Springs to Park Avenue, but he chose to live here. A stained white sectional sofa—on casters, so it could be moved for jam sessions—and peeling wallpaper attested to the lapsed years. A favorite portrait of Satchmo hung over an early home-entertainment system featuring a 12-inch black-and- white TV set. I felt like I was visiting my late grandparents.
Moving down the hall, however, the living room's dowdiness only made the guest bathroom's gold-plated fixtures, imported onyx sink, and fully mirrored walls seem all the more impressive. Likewise for the kitchen, a futurist fantasy of curving cupboards covered in the same aqua auto paint as Lucille's Cadillac Fleetwood, a blender built into the countertop, an early microwave oven, and a double-sized stove affixed with a small plaque reading, "Custom made by Crown for Mr. and Mrs. Louis Armstrong."
After this razzle-dazzle, the master bedroom seemed solemn. One of Lucille's nightgowns lay upon the fittingly king-sized bed in which Louis Armstrong died on July 6, 1971. Colorful dresses from Saks Fifth Avenue hung in the couple's walk-in closet, and a framed Salvador Dali print of Christ on the cross adorns a corner of the room that Lucille, a devout Catholic, reserved for herself.
The tour ended down the hall in Satchmo's den. Along with a remarkably energetic portrait of him attributed to "Benedetto" (aka Tony Bennett), Armstrong's lair housed the reel-to-reel tape recorders with which he preserved hundreds of hours of homespun discourse, some of which we had enjoyed during our stroll through his abode. In the dining room, for example, we were treated to Louis's dinnertime ruminations on brussels sprouts with his dogs barking and Montovani's orchestra playing in the background. At home, Satch was an avid collagist who covered his walls and scores of tape boxes with his cut-up creations. Several of these are on display in the museum, with the remainder, and much more, archived at Queens College.
In the gift shop, I purchased "Louis Armstrong: The Offstage Story of Satchmo," a cool book containing photographs of his house and artwork. I also bought my first refrigerator magnet, a photograph of the musician grinning broadly as he perches astride the "throne" with lowered pants. "Leave It All Behind Ya," reads the trinket, a testament to Satchmo's life-long devotion to the cleansing power of Swiss Krissly herbal laxatives, boxes of which are also available for purchase on the premises.
The museum hosts jazz performances in the street and in the Armstrongs' beautiful garden in the summer. "We don't think we could be more relaxed and have better neighbors any place else," wrote Louis Armstrong of his Corona home. "So we stayed." And I can't wait to return.
A muggy drive through the confusingly numbered streets of Queens, N.Y., eventually brought me to 34–56 107th Street in Corona, a predominantly Dominican working-class neighborhood. A plaque affixed to a brick wall declared The Louis Armstrong House Museum to be a National Historic Landmark. We don't get many opportunities to scrutinize the private lives of our cultural deities. Armstrong's music survives on record, of course, and in the memories of those he entertained as many as 300 nights a year during the four decades he spent on the road. His modest yet marvelous home, though, provides a uniquely intimate portal into the off-the-road habitat of the 20th century's preeminent African-American entertainer.
Joining one of the museum's hourly tours, I was led up the front stairs and into Armstrong's living room, where our guide related how Satchmo's fourth wife, Lucille, purchased the extremely modest frame house for $3,500 in 1943 while her husband was on tour. My eyes wandered as he spoke of how Armstrong, a superstar even then, could have lived anywhere in the world, from Palm Springs to Park Avenue, but he chose to live here. A stained white sectional sofa—on casters, so it could be moved for jam sessions—and peeling wallpaper attested to the lapsed years. A favorite portrait of Satchmo hung over an early home-entertainment system featuring a 12-inch black-and- white TV set. I felt like I was visiting my late grandparents.
Moving down the hall, however, the living room's dowdiness only made the guest bathroom's gold-plated fixtures, imported onyx sink, and fully mirrored walls seem all the more impressive. Likewise for the kitchen, a futurist fantasy of curving cupboards covered in the same aqua auto paint as Lucille's Cadillac Fleetwood, a blender built into the countertop, an early microwave oven, and a double-sized stove affixed with a small plaque reading, "Custom made by Crown for Mr. and Mrs. Louis Armstrong."
After this razzle-dazzle, the master bedroom seemed solemn. One of Lucille's nightgowns lay upon the fittingly king-sized bed in which Louis Armstrong died on July 6, 1971. Colorful dresses from Saks Fifth Avenue hung in the couple's walk-in closet, and a framed Salvador Dali print of Christ on the cross adorns a corner of the room that Lucille, a devout Catholic, reserved for herself.
The tour ended down the hall in Satchmo's den. Along with a remarkably energetic portrait of him attributed to "Benedetto" (aka Tony Bennett), Armstrong's lair housed the reel-to-reel tape recorders with which he preserved hundreds of hours of homespun discourse, some of which we had enjoyed during our stroll through his abode. In the dining room, for example, we were treated to Louis's dinnertime ruminations on brussels sprouts with his dogs barking and Montovani's orchestra playing in the background. At home, Satch was an avid collagist who covered his walls and scores of tape boxes with his cut-up creations. Several of these are on display in the museum, with the remainder, and much more, archived at Queens College.
In the gift shop, I purchased "Louis Armstrong: The Offstage Story of Satchmo," a cool book containing photographs of his house and artwork. I also bought my first refrigerator magnet, a photograph of the musician grinning broadly as he perches astride the "throne" with lowered pants. "Leave It All Behind Ya," reads the trinket, a testament to Satchmo's life-long devotion to the cleansing power of Swiss Krissly herbal laxatives, boxes of which are also available for purchase on the premises.
The museum hosts jazz performances in the street and in the Armstrongs' beautiful garden in the summer. "We don't think we could be more relaxed and have better neighbors any place else," wrote Louis Armstrong of his Corona home. "So we stayed." And I can't wait to return.
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