El Alamo. A dime a dance. Worked there two years with him. 1927. No, not that long. A year and a half, 'til 1928. Then I fooled around with Lee Collins for a year, for around about, that went a year, '29, and then things is real rough. No work and et cetera. I played in little joints all around. I learned to be a musician, trying to be a musician, which was hard. Everybody had day jobs or they work in the building trades. Whole families was plasterers and bricklayers. Whole families was cigarmakers. Other family was this. Music was a secondary thing. When you tried to play music full time by yourself, there wasn't none of them kind of gigs. So my uncle Paul Barbarin came down and said, "What you doing? " I said, "I'm trying to keep this roof over my head and every. . . " He said, "I'm going to see what happens. Maybe you'll come to New York. " He went back to New  York, and he told me, "Come on up to New York. " I said, "What am I going to do up there. " He said, "You'll find something to do. " I had a little band that played for him, a pick-up band, when he came to the house, and he said, "You play as much as that cat in the band we got. " Luis Russell's band. Was a banjo there. In three years the banjos was buried and they put out the guitar. Everybody got mad with the banjo. Before they didn't, because the banjo used to lift the band. Guitar couldn't do that, put them different sounds. It's a subtle thing, a thumb thing. They came from a crash, pulling thing, hitting thing, to a subtle, bouncing thing which is the guitar. The best example of that you got was Johnny St. Cyr and the Hot Five records and later on with Count Basie's band, Freddie Guy, or Freddie Green.