Oscar Peterson is dead. (He was the age of The New Yorker, which, fortunately, is invincible.) I wish I were listening to Jonathan Schwartz talking about it on the radio. I hope he’ll be talking about it next weekend and playing hours of songs. I bet he will. I heard once, from another lindy-hopper, that Peterson wasn’t very keen on modern swing dancers. Is this true? Either way, I plan to be dancing to his music till the end of my days.