New York -- Puffs of smoke rose lazily through the dark room, the brass trio wailed their opening notes and the show was under way.
The smoke wasn't from cigarettes but from incense, the setting wasn't a crummy blues joint but the world's largest Gothic cathedral, and this was no ordinary gig but a star-studded send-off for Cab Calloway, the handsome, Baltimore-bred charmer who became an international star and one of the most beloved swing-era figures.
"Hi-di-hi-di-hi-di-ho!" Bill Cosby echoed Mr. Calloway's calling-card lyric from the pulpit of the Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine last night, where some 2,500 fans and friends gathered to celebrate the legendary entertainer in appropriately exuberant fashion.
In a memorial service both sacred (Psalms and hymns) and profane (snippets of Mr. Calloway's trademark songs, "Minnie the Moocher" and "Reefer Man"), the singer-conductor, who died Nov. 18 after suffering a stroke in June, was remembered with fondness, a few tears, but mainly a whole lot of joy.
"I want the rafters to rock," his daughter, Camay Calloway Murphy, who lives in Ashburton, said before the ceremony.
She got her wish.
While the service began with a solemn procession and haunting Psalms by the cathedral's choir, it soon progressed into a rollicking show of memories and tributes and music from Mr. Calloway's contemporaries as well as those who succeeded him and considered him, as the great bass player Milt Hinton told the crowd, their "musical father."
"I think it's all right if you just loosen up a piece now," Mr. Cosby told the quiet crowd.
They did, chuckling at the reminiscences from dancer Gregory Hines, tapping their feet to jazzy tunes from the likes of Mr. Hinton, Illinois Jacquet, Doc Cheatham and Panama Francis, and participating in volleys of "hi-di-hi-di-hi-di- hos" with another Calloway daughter, Chris Calloway Cross.
There were even messages, read by former New York mayor David Dinkins, from President Clinton ("Cab Calloway a true legend among musicians of this century," Rev. Jesse Jackson ("His smile was as electric and contagious as the flu.") and Baltimore Mayor Kurt L. Schmoke ("I know he will be greatly missed.")
Calloway's fellow performers marveled at the breadth of his career, which began shortly after he graduated from Frederick Douglass High School in Baltimore in 1927, continued into the Cotton Club era of Harlem and left its mark from Broadway to Europe.
Video clips testified to his enduring popularity, from black-and-white film, to appearances on the Ed Sullivan show, to a more recent role in a Janet Jackson video, in which a taxi-yellow-suited Mr. Calloway slinks as liquidly and loose-limbed as ever.
Everything was fair game as entertainers gently roasted their subject, from Mr. Calloway's slicked back hair -- which rarely stayed that way much past the first two bars of a performance -- and his life-long love of the ponies that began when he would ditch school to hang out at Pimlico.
Gregory Hines remembered being 11 years old and performing in 1957 in a Cotton Club review in Miami with Mr. Calloway.
"It was such an honor to be around Cab Calloway. His dressing room door was always open," he said. "I just wanted my hair to look like Cab Calloway's. I would put my underwear pants on top of my hair."
"I know there must be horse-racing where he went," Mr. Cosby said. "Whether it be heaven or hell, he's betting on something."
Others thought he might be jamming with the legends who preceded him, Duke Ellington, perhaps, or Billy Eckstine.
'The ultimate cool cat'
Most poignant was when his old band mates, "hep cats" like him, took to the stage, where bandstands had been set up emblazoned with art-deco-style "C C"s. Also on stage was one of Mr. Calloway's eight grandsons, Christopher Brooks, the son of Mrs. Murphy. Mr. Brooks is a jazz guitarist.
"Cab used to always say 'C C' is for cool cats, and he was the ultimate cool cat," said drummer Panama Francis.
Participating in the service was the Rev. Peter Larom, who had become close to Mr. Calloway and his wife, Nuffie, as rector at their church, Grace Episcopal, in White Plains until two years ago.
Before the service, Mr. Larom marveled at his friend's energetic performing style and his trademark "Cheshire cat grin."
"Even when he was ill or failing, once he got into his white suit and on stage, his energy was just extraordinary," he said. "I remember he was part of this tribute performance at Carnegie Hall, and the sound system failed, and he just said, to heck with it, and sang without a microphone. It didn't make a bit of difference. He was just a natural."
Mr. Calloway was born in Rochester, N.Y. -- on Christmas Day 1907 -- and his family moved to Baltimore when he was 10 years old. His father was a lawyer and his mother a schoolteacher, and the family lived a middle-class lifestyle in West Baltimore, despite the segregation of the times.
At Frederick Douglass High School, he was known for both his musical and basketball skills. He would play with a black professional team, the Baltimore Athenians, and, at the dance after the game, sing and drum with Ike Dixon's band.
He also enjoyed the night life and was an admitted "hell-raiser." His career began taking off in the 1930s, and he periodically returned to Baltimore to visit family and friends and, of course, perform.
Coppin State College has become the repository of his legacy, where the Cab Calloway Jazz Institute, started in 1988 by his daughter, Camay Murphy, stores much of the memorabilia from his sparkling career.
He is survived by his wife Nuffie, four daughters, eight grandsons and two great-grandchildren. And one more legacy.
"We miss Cab Calloway deeply," Mr. Dinkins said, "but the brillance of his soul lives on. Cab's music is extraordinary because it is forever fresh."