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Fats Domino performs at the 30th Annual New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival in April, 1999.LEE CELANO/Reuters

Antoine (Fats) Domino died on Tuesday, at 89. On Nov. 27, 1984, the legendary hit-maker of Blueberry Hill and Ain't That a Shame fame played two shows at Toronto's O'Keefe Centre (now known as the Sony Centre for the Performing Arts). "Such a strange evening it was," Globe and Mail music critic Liam Lacey wrote. But it was even stranger off the stage. The show's promoter, Rob Bennett, and publicist, Richard Flohil, recall the weirdness.

From the archives: Fats Domino theory of showmanship less than a thrill

Rob Bennett: "I got a call from the hotel manager at the old Westbury Hotel on Yonge Street. As the promoter, I had to provide the rooms for Fats Domino and his band. Fats was upset that his suite was on the same floor the band was staying. He didn't like that. The hotel manager was very apologetic. 'We have a Mr. Domino,' he told me, trying to be polite and proper, 'and he's complaining that he's supposed to have the best suite in the house.' I said that Fats did have a nice suite, but the manager told me that 'Mr. Domino was pretty adamant that he should not be in the same floor as the band.' There was a better suite on another floor, and I was calculating how much more it was going to cost me. The manager told me he understood my predicament and let me have the better suite for the same rate. Fats was an odd duck, I tell you."

Richard Flohil: "I was doing publicity for Rob Bennett, the promoter. He had brought in Fats Domino for two shows at what was then the O'Keefe Centre. The band arrived there in ones and twos, before the show. Suddenly, Fats appears at the artists' entrance, dropped off by a limousine. He wasn't fat. I remember that. But he was wearing a raccoon coat which made him look [like] a round, furry ball. He wasn't tall – maybe five feet, six inches or five feet, seven inches. I welcomed him and took him to the star's dressing room, which was called the vice-regal suite. He took one look at the sign on the door and said, 'Where's the regal suite?' I said, 'This is your room,' and pushed him in."

Bennett: "It was all very strange. Fats had a valet. I walked into his dressing room and Fats was sitting in a chair while his valet, kneeling, was taking off his silk socks. He was not at all alarmed that I had seen this. It was just the way he lived. Another thing: Fats didn't do sound checks. So after the band did the sound check, I provided them with a meal. Fats didn't like that, because he thought the band would expect it for every show on the tour. Anyway, they went on for the first show around seven o'clock. The band riffed a bit, and then about three minutes into this funky thing, Fats walks out onto the stage. It wasn't long before he motioned for me to come over to the piano. He said, 'There's a draft out here. You get rid of it, and I'll come back.' And then he walked off the stage. What do you do?"

Flohil: "Rob and I were running around like crazy trying to find the maintenance guy, who was in the position to turn the air conditioning off. We finally found him. 'You want all of the air-conditioning off?' he asked. I said, 'Yes, all of it. Otherwise there will be no show.' So he turned it off, and Fats Domino went back on stage and played. It was a great show. He ended it by bumping his white grand [piano] across the stage with his belly."

Bennett: "Fats didn't want to pay a percentage on the merchandise sales to the venue. So, after the show, he sent someone out to tell people he'd sign pictures of himself if they came to his dressing room. So a lineup of people came down and paid $7 for his signature on these fourth-generation photocopies. They were so bad."

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