Music writer Keith Spera traveled to New York City with Fats Domino last week. This is his fourth report from the road.

Fats Domino is Santa Claus: Short, stout, generally jovial. And just by being in the room, he makes people happy.

At 8:15 p.m. Thursday, he arrives at a cavernous dance club adjacent to the tony Pink Elephant in a tough swath of lower Manhattan's Chelsea neighborhood. The distant Empire State Building is lit up in Mardi Gras purple, green and gold, and the club is hosting a Domino tribute concert and fundraiser for the Tipitina's Foundation.

A hundred or so early arrivals mill around beneath a giant disco ball as prerecorded music plays over the club's P.A. Domino makes his way to the balcony VIP section with his constant companions on this trip: His friend and favorite cab driver from New Orleans, Walter Miles, and Tipitina's owner Roland Von Kurnatowski, a trusted ally.

Fats looks like a million bucks: Black double-breast pinstripe suit, silver shirt, pink tie, matching spangled pocket square, assorted bling. As he settles onto a red velvet banquette, fans below the balcony look up, see him, and start to applaud. More heads turn, people realize he's actually in the house, and the ovation builds and ripples across the room.

Fats comes to the railing, smiles broadly and waves. He lingers, and waves some more. It is a perfect moment.

Unfortunately, no one thought to establish a security perimeter around Fats' booth. Soon he is swarmed by autograph seekers and photographers and director Barbara Kopple's documentary film crew and well-meaning musicians and friends-of-friends. Everybody wants some Fats.

An incessant guy in a blue jean jacket gets him to sign an acoustic guitar, then pulls out oversize posters and albums and a closet's worth of memorabilia, and it's all too much. That's when the normally even-keeled Von Kurnatowski gets pissed and starts clearing people out.

A couple of the club personnel wearing earpieces and suits arrive and order is restored. Fats relaxes. He notices the boom microphone over his head, looks into the documentary camera lens, and hoists a bottle of Heineken.

The all-star band onstage fires up with Meters guitarist Leo Nocentelli and keyboardist Ivan Neville out front. Behind them are fellow New Orleanians Nick Daniels on bass and Donald Harrison Jr. on alto saxophone, as well as Soulive guitarist Eric Krasno and hip-hop, funk and pop drummer Adam Deitch.

The Meters' "Look-a Py-Py" comes together much more cohesively than at the afternoon's rehearsal. As is his tendency, Nocentelli embarks on an extended guitar solo in "People Say," so lost in the moment that he doesn't see Bill Taylor, executive director of the Tipitina's Foundation and show organizer, signaling him to stop: New York Mayor and potential presidential candidate Michael Bloomberg has arrived to present Fats with the key to New York City, an honor typically reserved for the likes of Nelson Mandela, Muhammad Ali and Mother Teresa.

Finally Neville notices, Nocentelli powers down and Bloomberg bounds onstage. He works "ain't that a shame" into a joke that flops, then says some nice things about Domino, "a favorite son of New Orleans, an American legend and, as of five minutes ago, my good friend."

Bloomberg riffs about their respective ages. "When were we born, Fats? How many years ago?"

Domino shoots back, "I don't remember," and now Bloomberg is the Fat Man's straight man.

Domino seems genuinely excited to receive the Key to New York City. "You've supported me all my life," he says to the audience. "I can't thank you enough."

With that, he heads for the side of the stage, looking to escape. But Nocentelli and a sound guy intercept him and, after a brief consultation, steer him toward the piano.

Domino takes a seat at the piano and counts off "Blueberry Hill." His playing and singing are tentative, as they were during rehearsal. After maybe 90 seconds, he tapers off and stands up; the band is left to puzzle through the rest of the song, and Fats appears to be done for the night.

But coming up the stage stairs is Kenner native Lloyd Price, a fellow rhythm & blues survivor and successful businessman who now lives in New York. He invites Domino to play piano on "Lawdy Miss Clawdy," just as Domino did on Price's original recording more than 50 years ago.

So Domino returns to the piano. No longer the center of attention, he comes alive. He pumps the keys, mouths the words, hunches his shoulders, turns to his left and grins at the audience. Lloyd beams, and the band is into it. Harrison blows an alto sax solo and Fats tacks on a final flourish. It is THE MOMENT everyone hoped for.

Fats returns to his booth to discover that the Maytals' Toots Hibbert , who flew in from Jamaica to be part of the show, has taken up much of the booth with his entourage. But Toots quickly makes room, and seems as excited as anyone to shake Fats' hand.

Price stops by and shares a moment with Domino. As far he can remember, he and Domino last shared a stage at a New Orleans nightclub in the 1950s. "Tonight was a lot of fun," Price says.

The fun continues downstairs. Olu Dara and Harrison reprise their sexy spoken word take on "When I See You" from the Tipitina's Foundation's recent "Goin' Home: A Tribute to Fats Domino" CD. Allen Toussaint, in New York for a few days before traveling overseas, sounds remarkably like Domino on "I'm Walkin'" and "I'm in Love Again."

Fats hangs out a while longer, gamely greeting various bigwigs and Tipitina's Foundation donors. By 9:30, he's ready to go. Security escorts him into a back hallway, where Kopple is waiting with her camera. Outside, a handful of autograph seekers besiege Domino.

"You were bigger than Elvis in Florida," says one.

"Elvis was my man," says Fats.

He signs books and CD box sets and a half-dozen identical guitar pick guards for a guy who says he's auctioning them to raise money for kids with cancer. Then Fats is inside the car and bound for the sanctuary of his hotel.

Back inside, the show rolls on. Harrison and Neville take turns leading the requisite "Hey Pocky Way" and "Big Chief." People shake their rumps and drink and cheer, a bit of Uptown New Orleans in downtown Manhattan.

But the show's heart and soul, Fats Domino, has left the building.