I read in today's paper about the amazing send-off for Alvin Batiste, the jazzman who had passed away about 12 hours before he was scheduled to appear at Sunday's Fest. Instead, Harry Connick, Jr. and Branford Marsalis, slated to take part in the tribute to Mr. Batiste, led his jazz funeral. I hear the energy in there was so powerful that Harry stuck around long past the time he should have been making his way to his own stage to perform.

Sure wish I could have been there. The event had a two-hour time slot, so I figured I could get something to eat and then mosey that way. But I got distracted, as I so often do, and found myself in the gospel tent instead. The band was slammin -- electric -- and I am not one to pass up some good gospel.

Dottie Peoples (pictured above) was the hour's diva, resplendent in a glittery indigo dress and a fancy chignon that held up through hollerin and stompin and the kind of singin that makes your insides go watery. Each time she dabbed her sweat with her lacy black kerchief, the folks around me lined up with their cameras.

A true gospel queen, Dottie commanded that tent, every last soul in there. The fast ones were super-hot, but even the slow ones worked on me. She sang "He Has the Last Word," reminding us to be strong despite life's trials. And when a lady like Dottie Peoples tells you to be strong, you're gonna be strong. I mean, what else are you gonna do? Say no?

My favorite part was when Dottie told us to get up and start dancing in the aisles. As I mentioned previously, this year's Gospel Tent has been pretty reserved, with staff reprimanding anyone who's not at a seat. But at Dottie's word, those aisles were full of black folks, white folks, churchgoers and freaks, everyone shaking and sweating together. Afterwards, she told us all to give a neighbor a hug. Let me tell you, that Gospel Tent's got the warmest hugs around.

So I didn't get to see the historic jazz funeral for Mr. Batiste. But we helped send him off the best we could.