Times-Picayune music writer Keith Spera traveled to New York City with Fats Domino last week. This is the second of his reports from the road.

Continental Flight 617 touches down at Newark, New Jersey's Liberty International Airport on Wednesday afternoon with a most unlikely passenger in seat 2F of first class: Antoine "Fats" Domino, rock 'n roll founding father and famously reluctant traveler.

But here he is in the New York area for the first time since 1991, with a delegation from the Tipitina's Foundation. Domino's mood thus far is as sunny as the air is cold. As he makes his way through the gate area in Newark to a waiting cart, a guy from the flight calls out, "Nice meetin' ya, Fats."

"Same here," Domino replies.

With Domino and the Tipitina's entourage aboard, the cart skirts a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows in the airport terminal. Fats takes in the view of the Manhattan skyline in the distance. "New York City, here I come," he sings softly in a voice that sold more records than anyone but Elvis Presley in the 1950s.

On the escalator to baggage claim, Tipitina's Foundation executive assistant Lauren Cangelosi - whom Domino refers to as "Blondie" -- asks if he is excited to be in New York.

"I'm too old to be excited," he replies.

Navigating baggage claim, Domino says quietly to himself, "I'm walkin'...to New York." As he waits for his bags, a scruffy man in his mid-30s wearing a "Keith Richards for President" T-shirt approaches. "I'm a big fan," he says. "Could you sign these albums?"

The guy offers a stack of a dozen vintage Domino albums and a Sharpie pen. He says he knew Domino was coming to New York for Thursday's tribute concert, figured he'd be on one of the few direct flights Wednesday from New Orleans, and staked out the airport. Will Domino have any special guests at the next night's gig?

"Yeah, some Heineken beer."

Cangelosi examines the old album artwork featuring a grinning young Domino. "Fats, you still look the same," she says sweetly.

"You don't wear glasses, do you?" Domino quips.

As a second guy with a stack of albums joins the first, it becomes clear that these are not fans, but entrepreneurs. The record jackets still bear price tags from used-record shops; with signatures, their value increases exponentially.

Such autograph entrepreneurs routinely hassle actors, musicians and other celebrities on the streets of New York. Years ago when covering Allen Toussaint's induction into the Rock 'n Roll Hall of Fame, I saw them stalk the likes of Jeff Beck, Mick Fleetwood and the Eagles in the lobby of the Waldorf-Astoria.

Domino patiently signs every album. Then one of the pair starts taking pictures with a professional-grade camera. Domino, standing with his ever-present brown briefcase, sings a melody from "Go To the Mardi Gras": "Got my suitcase in my hand...."

Tipitina's Foundation executive director Bill Taylor kicks into protective mode and asks the photographer to stop. He obliges.

But moments later, as Fats heads outside to a waiting limousine, the photographer circles like a piranha, popping off flashes in rapid-fire succession. "Can you stop please?" Taylor says, more forcefully. The guy ignores him; Taylor is agitated. The guy keeps shooting until he is satisfied, then moves on.

Taylor apologizes to Domino, but Fats is nonplussed. "It's good that they still know," he says.

Our party of eight piles into the limo for the 30 minute ride into Manhattan. Alas, there is no Heineken on board. Fats asks.

Tipitina's owner and Domino confidant Roland Von Kurnatowski sits with Fats at the rear of the car. New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg is scheduled to present Fats with a Key to the City at Thursday night's tribute, an honor bestowed on the likes of Mother Teresa and Muhammad Ali. It would nice if Domino came up with something clever to say to Bloomberg. Von Kurnatowski launches his pitch. "So Fats, the Mayor of New York..."

"Tell him I said hello," Domino interrupts, dispensing with the request before it is made.

Earlier, Von Kurnatowski offered a telling observation about life as Fats Domino: "He's always on edge about what he's going to be asked to do."

Everyone wants something from Fats. That can certainly put a guy on edge.

Exiting the New Jersey Turnpike, Domino wants to know if the Apollo Theater is still open. It is, he is told. Taylor is on the phone, fielding yet another suggestion for Domino's already ambitious schedule. "We don't want to be too adventurous," he says.

Domino had chosen his buddy and favorite cab driver Walter Miles to accompany him on this trip. They met years ago, but grew closer after Katrina, when Domino became a regular fare in Miles' red New Breed cab.

Miles recounts a story about picking up Domino somewhere, then trying to find Domino's new house in a gated community in Harvey where, apparently, the houses look similar. They drove in circles until encountering an exterminator who had serviced Domino's Lower 9th Ward residence and knew where he now lived. "The Orkin man directed us," Miles recalls.

As the limo passes through Hell's Kitchen, Cangelosi reflects on the surprisingly headache-free trip so far. "I'm floored," she says. "I was paranoid." Earlier, Domino had told her he'd rather be at home, but "I've got work to do."

We glide east on 57th Street en route to the heart of the theater district. The car pulls up outside a tony high-rise hotel near Carnegie Hall. Before he disembarks, Domino dons the wraparound sunglasses he bought in the New Orleans airport.

Shiny, soaring marble arches decorate the austere, ultra-contemporary lobby. At the front desk, Domino pulls out his driver's license and hands it to the receptionist. The young woman, like her colleagues, is wearing a purple cotton smock. If she has any idea who the short New Orleanian in the white captain's cap and dark shades is, she doesn't let on. Fats and Miles head up to their adjoining rooms on the 18th floor.

Later Wednesday afternoon, it is clear that Domino will not partake of New York's attractions, culinary or otherwise, tonight. He plans to order spaghetti from room service. He's also eager to rehearse on a rented electric keyboard delivered to his room. "He told Roland he's looking forward to playing," Taylor said. "That's a positive sign."

During dinner Wednesday night at Carnegie Deli, Von Kurnatowski receives a call from Fats, who didn't much care for his room service spaghetti -- and unlike the old days, Domino is not traveling with a hot plate to cook up his own food in the room. Von Kurnatowski offers to bring him a pastrami sandwich.

Carnegie Deli is wall-papered with framed photos of celebrities, many of dubious stature: Gavin "Love Boat" Macleod, Florence "Mrs. Brady" Henderson, an obscure, long-forgotten trio called Oui 3. Inspiration strikes Bill Taylor: Why not bring Fats by in the morning with a signed picture? Certainly Fats' enduring fame outranks most everyone on the wall.

Taylor buttonholes a Carnegie Deli manager, says he's traveling with a famous musician from New Orleans, Fats Domino, and wouldn't it be great if...

Taylor realizes the name hasn't registered with the Egyptian-born manager. "Do you know who Fats Domino is?"

"Not really," says the manager. "Blueberry Hill" apparently did not resonate in Northern Africa as thoroughly as in the rest of the world. But Taylor perseveres, and the manager says he would be happy to accommodate a Domino photo.

Our group heads over to Domino's room, a stylish modern junior suite with a TV set into a swiveling wood panel. Domino is seated at the rented keyboard, nursing a mini-bar Amstel Light.

Von Kurnatowski asks if he'd like to eat breakfast at Carnegie Deli the next morning. "I don't want to, but I will," says Domino, who is more concerned with the $400 cost of renting an electric keyboard. "I could have brought my own piano," he says, flabbergasted.

"That's New York City," Taylor says.

"I don't care whose city it is," Domino cracks.

Talk turns to what Domino will perform Friday morning on "The Today Show." He is non-committal. Walter Miles suggests "As Time Goes By," the theme song from "Casablanca." "He sounded real good playing that for me the other day," Miles says.

The members of the Tipitina's delegation exchange nervous glances: The idea is for Fats to perform one of his own songs. No conclusions are reached.

Fats toys with the piano keys. Taylor offers to go find a six-pack of Heineken, a more economical option than the mini-bar. With that, Domino is left with his expensive keyboard in an expensive hotel in New York.

Tomorrow, ready or not, he plunges into the Big Apple.