“No,” she said. “But I guess you scratched up the piano when you climbed up on it.”
Shit.
“Yeah,” he said.
“You had the place rocking, though,” she said. “Man, you can dance.”
He never danced. He was a lousy dancer.
“That’s me,” he said. “I’m a dancer.”
He got to the bar at seven thirty that night after spending the day sweating out the booze and filling in as many gaps as he could. He’d left the hotel the previous night right after checking in. His intention had been to have a few drinks, then head over to see Smooth Gary Walker and the Immortals, who were appearing at Johnny’s Dreambar. One drink had led to another, as one bar led to another, and everybody was so nice and wanted to buy the big black guy a drink, and then things got a little fragmented in his memory. He had pieces: some faces, snippets of music, the feeling of heat around his head, and smoky rooms and lights and teeth and people on the sidewalk looking at him and getting out of his way and then… then just the blackout.
“You going to behave yourself tonight?” said a voice from behind him.
Clarence turned and came face-to-face with a big Puerto Rican guy wearing a nice suit and tie.
“Yeah man. Look, I apologize for what happened, whatever happened,” he said.
“It’s all right. You sold a lot of drinks. Turned this bar into a real party. It’s usually dead out here late. Just stay off the piano, okay?” he said.
“I swear,” said Clarence.
“Tommy, give the big man a drink on me,” he said. “I’m Tony Desilva.”
“Clarence Clemons.”
“Yeah. You told me last night,” said Tony. “You told me your entire life story. The football, the social work, the sax, the whole thing.”
“Sorry,” said Clarence.
“Be careful with Ginger. That chick is outrageous. I’ve never seen her go for anybody before, much less the way she went for you,” he said.
“She’s hot, isn’t she?” Clarence asked.
“Molten hot,” said Tony. “She’s been in town a couple of weeks on the movie but nobody’s been able to break the code till you showed up.”
“I can’t help it if I’m irresistible,” said Clarence.
“Be good,” said Tony, as he walked into the club’s main room.
Later, when Ginger stepped through the front door, Clarence thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. A tall, green-eyed redhead with milky-white skin and a sunburst smile.
“Clarence!” she said, as she crossed and hugged him. He was too stunned to move. There was no way in the world he would ever approach this woman, much less actually speak to her.
“Hey” was all he could manage.
“Are you okay?” she said, stepping back and looking at him closely.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said.
“You sure?” she asked.
“Positive,” he said. “Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “You seem so different from last night.”
“I was drunk last night,” he said.
“Hmmmmmm,” she said.
They sat and talked for about ten minutes.
“You should stay drunk all the time,” she concluded. “It really improves your personality.”
He laughed. “You might be right.”
“This is really how you are most of the time, right?” she asked, sipping the martini he had bought her. He was drinking club soda.
“Yeah,” he said. “This is pretty much it.”
“It’s just as well,” she said. He sensed she had made a decision. “We would’ve had major problems anyway.”
“’Cause I’m black, right?” he offered.
“No,” she answered. “’Cause I’m a dyke.”
“Ahhh,” he said. It seemed like a neutral sound designed to encourage her to continue.
“I’m really not interested in guys,” she said. “But you were so much fun I thought, hey, what the hell… but…” She finished her drink. “It wouldn’t have gone well.”
“Probably not,” he said. “I would’ve sobered up eventually.”
“Yeah,” she agreed. “Would you excuse me? I’ve gotta hit the head.”
“Sure,” he said, standing as she left the bar.
He didn’t know whether to be relieved or offended. He felt a little of both. He sat back down and sipped his club soda. He laughed out loud at the absurdity of the whole thing. It was funny. You could cry or you could laugh, so he laughed.
Moments later a guy who had been sitting across the bar stood and approached. Clarence had noticed him when he came in because the guy was black and was wearing a very cool Panama hat.
“My brother.” The guy extended his hand, poised for that month’s soul shake.
“Wassup?” said Clarence. They faked their way through the handshake. They were the only black people in sight.
“I’m Smooth Gary Walker,” the guy said.
“God damn! No shit?” said Clarence, shaking his hand again. This time he used the old-fashioned method.
Gary smiled.
“No shit?” said Clarence again. “I was going to see you tonight.”
“We’re off tonight,” said Gary. “Sorry.”
“You working tomorrow?”
“Oh, yeah,” said Gary. “Two shows. Eight and ten, which are actually nine and eleven or eleven thirty.”
“I play sax, too,” said Clarence.
“Cool,” said Smooth Gary, who was clearly not paying attention. He was looking past Clarence.
“I loved that song you did, ‘Dreamboy,’ ” said Clarence.
“Good,” said Gary. “Listen, the lady you were talking to… is she… I mean, are you and her…?” He let it hang.
Clarence had noticed that Gary had no interest in him, and it stung a little. It was better to never actually meet your heroes. “Well,” he said, “could be.”
“That’s one fine-looking woman,” said Gary. “I noticed her right away. I think I’ve seen her at the club.”
“Yeah, she’s hot, all right,” said Clarence.
“But, it looks like you got there first, and that’s just my bad luck, right?” said Gary.
“Well…”
“Well? Well what?”
“Well, maybe we could reach an accommodation,” said Clarence, doubting that this clown had ever heard the word accommodation used like that before. Clarence wasn’t really sure the usage was proper, but fuck it. “I could be gone when she gets back.”
“Would you do that, man?” said Gary.
“I might,” said Clarence. Now it was his turn to let it hang.
Gary reached into his pocket. He knew a proposition when he heard one. “What would it take?” he said.
“Your hat,” said Clarence.
Gary touched the brim of the hat. “This is a Monte Cristi fini,” he said. “Some dude in Panama spent a month weaving this motherfucker.”
“She seems to like brothers,” said Clarence.
Gary thought for a moment then took the hat off and looked at it. Clarence prayed that Ginger would stay in the bathroom for just another minute.
“Wanna try it on?” asked Gary.
Clarence did, and it fit perfectly.
“Deal?” Clarence asked.
“Deal,” said Gary.
Clarence stood. “Good luck,” he said. “And have a martini on me.”
“I don’t touch alcohol,” said Gary. “But thanks anyway.”
Clarence smiled, tipped his new hat, and walked out into the sultry night.
Neptune, New Jersey, 1970
Clarence
I was driving home with the Entertainers, the band I was playing with at the time. We had just played a successful gig at the N.C.O. club at Fort Monmouth. We were a tight group who did soul covers, and I had been with them on and off for six months.
The “off” part happened after they fired me for being late for a re
hearsal, but they hired me back when I explained how one of my kids at Jamesburg had gotten cut in a fight and I had to get him to the hospital. I loved playing so much that when the Entertainers didn’t have a booking I gigged with Bluesman Phillips, but now the job with the group was solid.
I had spent a few months with Lloyd Sims and the Untouchables before joining these guys here in Neptune. I knew the bartender at the club where Lloyd was playing, a woman named Candy Brown. Candy introduced me to Lloyd, and I got to sit in. Lloyd was looking to see if I had anything. I came back the following night and sat in again. I did that for the next two months, playing for free, making it hard for Lloyd to play without me. I knew that eventually the money would come. I knew for certain that this was what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to play music.
I still had the job at the reform school, and to play with Lloyd I drove for hours in a Volkswagen bus with no clutch. I’d sold the last Buick to get a new horn because the old horn had been crushed in the accident and had never fully recovered. I thought a lot about the accident while I was on the road from work to the club and back. I felt I’d been touched by God’s hand and that nothing would ever be the same.
I remembered waking up in the hospital as the male nurse, a guy from India, sewed my left ear together. It had been nearly ripped off my head in the crash. I thought about how a nurse had stitched it together, not a doctor. A man of color had fixed me. The doctors were busy elsewhere.
It was while I was playing with Lloyd, eventually for money, that I got the offer from the Entertainers.
So, like I said, I was driving home with the Entertainers, and the car died.
It was out of gas or out of time. In either event, we cruised to a stop in the parking lot of a club called the White Elephant.
One of the guys was going to find a pay phone to call his uncle to come and pick us up. I got out of the car, stood in the parking lot and, once again, heard the music. It was coming from inside the club. It wasn’t R & B. It was rock and roll. There was something powerful in it and I loved it. Rock and roll spoke to me of something beyond.
I grabbed my case from the trunk and walked into the club. There was a girl singing Joplin tunes and she was good. The tall white guy with the red Afro was the leader. A lobby card said they were called Norman Seldin and the Joyful Noyze. The band featured a stand-up drummer named Barry Thompson and a terrific guitar player named Hal Hollender.
Between sets I approached Norman, who sat at the bar drinking a beer. We talked a while about people and places we had in common. Norman saw that I had my horn and asked me if I’d like to sit in. Just like that. It was a story that seemed to keep repeating. One amazing opportunity after another kept occurring. Sometimes I felt I was living a life in a book that had already been written.
Norman offered me a job that night. He loved what the horn added to the songs. He loved the soul of it.
But this was a white band. You had your black bands and you had your white bands and if you mixed the two, you found less places to play.
“You sure about this?” I asked him.
“Positive,” said Norman.
I felt badly about leaving the Entertainers, but that was the way the game went in those days; the good players flitted around like bees looking for the sweetest flower. But first there was another issue to be talked about with Norman.
“You have noticed that I’m not exactly white, haven’t you?” I said.
“No, I hadn’t,” said Norman.
When he hired me, Norman did in fact lose some bookings. A few club owners were fearful that my presence would attract a Negro crowd and scare the white kids away. Norman didn’t care. He felt the music was so much better with me in the band that he didn’t give a shit. He didn’t even care when they called us Seldom Normal and the Jerk Off Noise.
Norman Seldin was a soulful Jewish kid who still worked part time in his father’s jewelry store. But the music was in him. He played organ and was the first guy on the Shore to get a Moog synthesizer. And now with me on board, he finally had the band he wanted.
We worked all the places we could, like the Crossing Inn up in Princeton, and the White Elephant and the Wonder Bar and other clubs in and around Seaside Heights.
I was with Norman for almost three years. The girl singer in the band was named Karen Cassidy, and during that time her best friend started dating a guy named Bruce.
Everglades National Park
Don
The following is a conversation Clarence and I had out on the water about the legendary night he walked from the club where he was working to the one where Bruce was playing. —D.R.
Before you went to the Student Prince that night and sat in with Bruce for the first time, what did you know about him?”
“I kept hearing how great he was from this girl in our band,” said Clarence.
“Who was that?”
“Her name was Karen Cassidy,” he said. “Her roommate was going out with Bruce and Karen kept telling me, ‘You’ve got to see this guy! He’s fantastic.’ I think I went over there just to shut her up.”
“But you brought your horn.”
“In those days I always had my horn with me. If I left it somewhere and it got stolen, I couldn’t afford another one.”
“Were you working at the time?”
“Yeah, I was still playing with Norman. We were at the Wonder Bar in Asbury Park. But I had the night off. I think it was a Wednesday,” he said.
“And it was a dark and stormy night?” I asked.
“I know it sounds like bullshit but it really was. There was a nor’easter blowing. It was raining and thundering like a motherfucker. When I opened the door it blew off the hinges and flew down the street.”
“Really?”
“I shit you not, my brother. Everybody in the room looks at the door and I’m silhouetted in it, this giant black guy. David said he turned to Bruce and said, “Boss, a change is afoot.”
“David Sancious?”
“Yeah. David read a lot.”
“Who else was in the band that night?”
“Danny, Vinnie Lopez, I don’t remember who was playing bass but it wasn’t Garry. There were a couple of black girls singing backup. One was Delores Holmes, but I can’t think of the other girl’s name.”
“Was there much of an audience?” I asked.
“Yeah. But it wasn’t crowded ’cause it was raining so fucking hard,” he said.
“So what happened?”
“Somebody introduced me to Bruce, everybody knew everybody, and he asked me if I wanted to sit in. So I said, ‘Sure.’ ”
“Do you remember what song you played first?”
“It was an early version of ‘Spirits in the Night.’ See, the thing with Bruce was he didn’t do covers. I mean, he’d play some classic shit he liked, but for the most part he only played his own songs. A lot of places wouldn’t hire him.”
“What did you see in him?”
“His passion. He was so passionate about the music. And I loved the music. I’ll tell you something, when we started to play that night we looked into each other’s eyes and it was like… total magic,” he said. “My girlfriend said we were queer for each other. But it was so solid. We used to go out and get drunk and talk about music and all kinds of shit. We both knew we were friends for life.”
“But you didn’t join the band right away, did you?”
“No. We needed that ‘get to know you’ time. I had a gig, and Bruce didn’t hear horns in his music yet, I guess.”
The Legend from Under the Boardwalk, Early ’70s
In the early days, Bruce and I used to talk for hours and hours at a time. The next story is a compilation of some of those conversations. The words may not be exactly what we said; it’s impossible to remember, but the feelings are true. There were many, many nights when this is exactly what it was like.—C.C.
Bruce and Clarence were sitting in the sand under the boardwalk in Asbury Park.
It was one of those warm summer nights along the Shore. Anything seemed possible.
It was now early evening, and the light over the ocean was turning to a blue/gray before slipping into darkness. Only a few stars were visible.
They had a six-pack of beer in a paper bag, and had just popped open their first. The beer was cold and tasted like July.
Above them they could hear all the sounds of the Boardwalk. The gorgeous smell of cheap fried food hung in the air all around them.
They were both wearing shorts and T-shirts and flip-flops, which they had kicked off to stick their feet into the sand. The sand was cooler just below the surface and felt good.
They were meeting two girls later at the Wonder Bar and thought they’d get a little buzz going to make conversation easier.
They hadn’t yet formalized their professional relationship, but music had already given them a connection that felt good. They both knew that they would be best friends for a long, long time. Not that they talked about it; it was just there. It was obvious because they had that rare feeling of comfort with each other that some people never get to experience.
“You remember their names?” asked Bruce.
“Ann, and I think the blonde is Janie, but I’m not sure about that,” said Clarence. He took a pull on the beer and felt it slide down his throat. It had been in the 90s all day, and the weatherman was saying it wasn’t going to cool off anytime soon.
“I love this weather,” said Bruce.
“Yeah, me, too,” said Clarence.
They sat for a while listening to the footsteps above them moving in both directions. It was the sound of human percussion played in random patterns. Tinny carnival music floated behind the shouts and screams of children who had been suddenly frightened or delighted by something. The combined sounds were so rich, so intense, that they seemed to take on color. The whole night glowed as if the northern lights had descended on this stretch of New Jersey and wrapped themselves around everybody and everything.
“If you could have any car in the world, what would you pick?” asked Bruce.
Big Man Page 3
