Big Man

by Clarence Clemons

  He had followed Brian Schmidt’s High-Z Supernova Search Team the way other people followed the pennant race.

  The evening at Frank’s place was filled with dense conversation and good wine. But to Hideki the conversation was intoxicating enough.

  He lost track of time and crashed on the couch. He woke too late to make the plane back to the city. He would make other arrangements to get home.

  He took his time during the day and hung around the campus. He visited the library and sat on the steps outside listening to an a cappella group sing ’50s songs. Nobody recognized him.

  He made his way back into the city and checked out of the hotel near nightfall.

  When he saw Clarence in the lobby he thought it was David Ortiz. He started to say, “Big Papi,” but then he noticed the hair. No, it wasn’t David. It was another big black guy who was with a smaller white guy in a leather jacket with a scarf wrapped around his neck in a stylish manner. The white guy wore a bunch of earrings. They were leaving the hotel. Outside sat a very cool black car that all the valet guys had gathered around. Then the big guy spoke.

  “Hideki?” he said.

  Hideki smiled and nodded.

  “I’m Clarence Clemons,” he said. “This is Bruce Springsteen.”

  Hideki smiled and bowed and shook hands.

  The desk clerk then spoke to Hideki in Japanese. “They played a concert at Gillette Stadium last night,” he said.

  Hideki nodded.

  “Is he headed to New York?” said Bruce to the clerk.

  Hideki nodded that he was.

  “So are we,” said Bruce. “Ask him if he wants to ride along with us.”

  * * *

  They were about a half hour outside of New Haven. The car made a deep-throated feline sound. Its rumble was the sound of pure power. Bruce rested his hand on the big Hearst shifter.

  “You know how people are holding up signs with what song they want to hear?” said Clarence.

  “Yeah,” said Bruce. “It’s kind of fun.”

  “They try to out-obscure each other,” said Clarence.

  Bruce laughed his reflexive laugh. “Eventually we’ll do them all.”

  “I’ve got my own list,” said Clarence. “Shit I’d like to hear you sing.”

  “Now that’s interesting,” said Bruce. “The Big Man’s list. Don’t make me wait. Tell me quick, man, I’ve got to run.”

  “That’s not one of them,” said Clarence. “Besides, Dylan did that one with us at Shea. Not that anybody knew what he was singing, but nevertheless…”

  “Okay, so tell me your list,” said Bruce.

  “It’s not a long list.”

  “Fine.”

  “You may not have heard of all of them.”

  “Would you just tell me the fucking list already?” said Bruce.

  In the backseat Hideki laughed.

  “Okay, first is ‘I’ve Got Dreams to Remember’ by Otis Redding,” said Clarence.

  “Great, great song,” said Bruce. “I think Joe Rock cowrote that with Otis and Zelma.”

  Clarence turned and looked at him. “You know a lot of shit,” he said.

  “It’s difficult to stand under the weight of all I know,” said Bruce. “What else?”

  “ ‘Cadillac Walk,’ ” said Clarence.

  “Willy DeVille had a hit with that,” said Bruce. “Written by Moon Martin, not to be confused with Moon Mullican, who wrote ‘Seven Nights to Rock.’ ”

  “Sure,” said Clarence.

  “I love that song,” said Bruce. “So far your list is great.”

  “Thanks,” said Clarence.

  “You’re welcome,” said Bruce.

  “ ‘Haley’s Comet,’ ” said Clarence.

  “Brilliant,” said Bruce. “I wish I wrote that one. Dave Alvin.” Then he sang, “ ‘He closed his eyes and hit the stage in 1955 / As the screams of the children filled the hall.’ ”

  “That doesn’t count as singing it,” said Clarence. “You’ve got to do it onstage for it to count.”

  “Great fucking song,” said Bruce. “ ‘The waitress said, “I don’t know you from Diddley” ’… Jesus Christ, that’s good.”

  “Yeah,” said Clarence.

  “What else?”

  “I’d like to hear your song ‘Lift Me Up,’ just to see if you could do it.” Clarence laughed.

  “I can do it,” said Bruce.

  “Uh-huh,” said Clarence.

  “I can,” said Bruce. “You wanna hear it?”

  “Onstage,” said Clarence.

  “Might have to work on my falsetto a little,” said Bruce.

  “Does this car have a phone?” asked Clarence.

  “Is that a song?”

  “No, it’s a question. I thought of something else.”

  “Of course it’s got a phone,” said Bruce.

  “Wanna have some fun?”

  “Be stupid to say no to that,” said Bruce.

  “Let’s call Caesars Palace in Vegas and page Mike Hunt,” said Clarence.

  Bruce laughed. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he said. “We’re grown men. We can’t be doing shit like that.”

  Clarence smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

  Two minutes later an operator at Caesars Palace answered the phone. Bruce had it on speaker.

  “How may I direct your call?” she said.

  “Would you please page the casino for Mike Hunt?” said Bruce.

  “Could you spell that, please?”

  Bruce spelled it.

  “Just a moment,” she said, and music came on. It was Celine Dion.

  “The Queen of Hollywood High,” said Clarence.

  “Oh wow,” said Bruce. “I haven’t thought of that song for years. The guy who did it died this year. Stewart. John Stewart. Wrote ‘California Bloodlines.’ ”

  “Love to hear you do that one,” said Clarence.

  “ ‘Saturday night,’ ” Bruce sang. “ ‘Wheels along the boulevard…’ ”

  “That’s it,” said Clarence.

  “Hello?” said a guy’s voice.

  “Hello?” said Bruce.

  “Who’s this?”

  “Mike?” said Bruce. “Is this Mike Hunt?”

  Bruce looked at Clarence. Both of them looked amazed. Hideki didn’t say anything.

  “Yeah, this is Mike. Who’s this?”

  “Bruce Springsteen,” said Bruce.

  “Vinnie?” said Mike.

  “No, it’s Bruce Springsteen. I’m driving down the turnpike with Clarence Clemons and Hideki Matsui,” said Bruce. “We called the hotel and asked for Mike Hunt as a joke. I didn’t expect there to be a real Mike Hunt. You must get a lot of ribbing, Mike.”

  “I’ll bet he goes by ‘Michael Hunt,’ ” said Clarence.

  “Bruce Springsteen?” said Mike.

  “And Clarence Clemons,” said Clarence.

  “The Big Man,” said Bruce.

  “And the Boss,” said Clarence.

  “And Hideki Matsui from the Yankees,” said Bruce.

  “Cut the shit, Vinnie, I was winning,” said Mike.

  “No, Mike, this isn’t Vinnie,” said Bruce. “It’s really us.”

  “No it’s not,” said Mike.

  “Yes, it is,” said Bruce. It’s the three of us. Honest, Mike.”

  “And you’re all in a car on a turnpike?” said Mike.

  “The Connecticut Turnpike,” said Bruce. “We’re in a souped-up sixty-nine Chevy.”

  “Does it have a three ninety-six?” said Mike.

  “Hey, Mike’s a fan,” said Clarence to Bruce.

  “It’s actually a little bigger than that,” said Bruce. “More like a five fifty.”

  “But it does have a Hearst on the floor,” said Clarence.

  “Fuck you,” said Mike, and he hung up.

  Bruce and Clarence got into a laughing jag, and Bruce had to pull off the turnpike.

  Hideki smiled throughout.

  Finall
y they calmed down.

  “Let’s get something to eat,” said Bruce.

  They found an empty pizza place called DeLorio’s a couple of blocks from the exit. They went in and sat in a booth. A waitress came over. She was a teenager with bad skin but pretty blue eyes. Her name tag read TAMMI. An older guy stood behind the counter near the pizza oven. It was one of the coal-burning types you don’t see that much anymore. Clarence guessed the guy was the girl’s father.

  “Hi, guys,” she said. “You need menus?”

  “Nah,” said Bruce. “We need pizza.”

  Hideki nodded and smiled.

  “What do you want on it?” she said.

  Bruce looked at Clarence and Hideki.

  “Just cheese?” he said.

  “Yes,” said Clarence.

  Hideki nodded yes. It was difficult to tell if he knew what he was agreeing to. But he looked happy.

  “And to drink?” she said.

  “Diet Coke,” said Bruce.

  “Two,” said Clarence.

  Hideki held up three fingers.

  “Coming up,” she said.

  “Thanks, Tammi,” said Bruce.

  “Tammi’s my sister,” she said. “I’m filling in for her tonight. This is her uniform.”

  “What’s your name?” asked Bruce.

  “It’s Rosie,” she said.

  Clarence smiled.

  “Of course it is,” said Bruce. “My favorite name.”

  “I’ll get the drinks,” said Rosie. She crossed to the counter.

  “So, Hideki,” said Bruce. “How come you didn’t go back with the team?”

  Hideki smiled.

  “Okay,” Hideki said.

  “That’s what I guessed,” said Clarence.

  “So did you finish your list?” Bruce said to Clarence.

  “No, I’ve actually saved the one I’d like to hear the most for last,” said Clarence.

  “It’s not ‘Patches,’ is it?”

  “No.”

  “ ‘Ode to Billie Joe?’ ”

  “No.”

  “ ‘Winchester Cathedral?’ ”

  “No.”

  “Okay,” said Bruce. “I give up. What is it?”

  “ ‘Two Triple Cheese, Side Order of Fries,’ ” said Clarence. “Recorded by Commander Cody and His Lost Planet Airmen.”

  Bruce laughed. Hideki laughed just after Bruce did.

  “I don’t know that one,” said Bruce.

  “It’s great,” said Clarence. “Old-time rock and roll. One of the lines sounds like it was written for you.”

  “I’m listening,” said Bruce.

  “It goes, ‘Pickles, onions, special secret sauce / What goes in the patty’s only known to the boss.’ ”

  “Bullshit,” said Bruce, laughing.

  “I shit you not,” said Clarence.

  Bruce laughed. “What’s it called?”

  “ ‘Two Triple Cheese, Side Order of Fries,’ ” said Clarence. Then he sang, “ ‘If you like greasy eating and you wanna feel good / You got to cruise on down to my neighborhood / We got a funky little shack, just a hamburger stand / Right underneath the freeway down at Park and Grand.’ ”

  “I’ve gotta hear this,” said Bruce.

  “I’ve got it in my bag in the car,” said Clarence. “On my iPod.”

  “Good, good,” said Bruce. He then turned to Hideki. “We’re going to the Trump Hotel in the City. Where do you want us to drop you?”

  Hideki nodded at the word hotel, took a card out of his pocket, and gave it to Bruce.

  The card read “28 EAST SIXTY-THIRD STREET, N.Y., N.Y.”

  Later Rosie brought the pizza.

  “My dad says you guys are famous,” she said, as she put the pie down on the table. “Are you?”

  “To some people of a certain age,” said Bruce.

  “And Yankee fans,” said Clarence.

  “You play for the Yankees?” she said.

  “No,” Clarence laughed. “But we think he does.” He pointed at Hideki, who made a small bow and smiled.

  “Wow,” said Rosie.

  After eating the pizza that Bruce said was second only to Federici’s in Freehold, they posed for a bunch of pictures, and Bruce talked to Rosie’s mother on the phone. She claimed Rosie was named after ‘Rosalita,’ even though her name was actually Rose. Bruce was gracious. Hideki posed for some pictures with Rosie’s dad, Sal, and took pictures of the group. Clarence insisted on paying, but Sal wouldn’t hear it. So Clarence left a tip on the table for Rosie. As they were leaving she caught up with them.

  “You left too much money,” she said.

  “No I didn’t,” said Clarence.

  “Oh, my God,” said Rosie. “Thank you so much. This will go toward the car I need to get.”

  “That’s great,” said Clarence.

  They said good-bye and hit the road.

  Bruce and Clarence were singing “Mixed Up, Shook Up Girl” with Willy DeVille when they pulled up in front of 28 East Sixty-third Street in Manhattan.

  They had actually spent the last hour of the ride singing songs from Clarence’s iPod, including “Two Triple Cheese.” They had sung “Ain’t No Sunshine,” “Baby Let’s Stick Together,” “Babylon Sisters,” “Extremely Cool,” “Travelin’ Band,” “Dock of the Bay,” “I Wish I Never Saw the Sunshine,” “I Put a Spell on You,” “Keep Me in Your Heart,” “Lake Marie,” “River,” “Real Real Gone,” “Up on the Roof,” “Walk on the Wild Side,” and “Scotch and Soda,” among others.

  Clarence got out and stood on the sidewalk in front of a storefront French restaurant filled with beautiful people acting stupid. Hideki got out of the car and bowed to Clarence and to Bruce.

  “Nice talking to you,” said Clarence, shaking Hideki’s hand.

  “Good luck, man,” said Bruce. “Win the World Series, okay?”

  Hideki smiled and nodded. He then took out one of his cards, wrote something on the back, and handed it to Bruce. “Thank you,” he said.

  He bowed again to Clarence and crossed the street. He entered the building without turning back to wave.

  Clarence got back into the car. Bruce was looking at Hideki’s card and smiling.

  “Son of a gun,” Bruce said.

  “What’s it say?” asked Clarence.

  “It says”—Bruce held it up so that Clarence could see the card for himself—“ ‘Series of Dreams.’ ”

  Two weeks later.

  Rosie walked out of the restaurant to find the ’69 Chevy parked at the curb with a big pink bow on the roof. Inside, taped to the steering wheel, was a card that said, “Our advice is to sell it on eBay and buy a Prius. All the best, Bruce and Clarence.”

  The Motorcade, Part I

  Don

  We were somewhere on the edge of London, doing about ninety miles an hour through the city streets around midnight. Our van was surrounded by motorcycle cops forming an escort. Police cars were leapfrogging ahead to block intersections so our breakneck speed wouldn’t be impeded. We were in the second car of a ten-vehicle motorcade rushing through the night, all sirens, flashing lights, and tires in the rain. I was sitting in the backseat behind Clarence, who was riding shotgun. We had just done a “fast out” from the show at the Crystal Palace outside the city.

  It was the night of May 27, 2003. Wayne Lebeaux, then the road manager for the band, had hustled me into the car while the last song “Dancing in the Dark” was still being performed. Then the band members, led by Bruce, came running through the night like some bizarre rock-and-roll Braveheart warriors and jumped into their assigned cars, and we were off and speeding through the suburbs before the crowd in the sold-out arena even left their seats.

  The thing was there was no rush. The next show wasn’t until the twenty-ninth in Manchester. We were just headed back to the bar at Claridge’s. And yet here we were flying around corners, frightening the children and the horses.

  “Clarence,” I said, “Why are we going so fast?” />
  He half-turned with a bemused look on his face. A man totally in his element; a man about to tell a secret. “Because we can,” he said.

  We continued our crazy ride through the night back into London. Having spent most of my life in the gridlock of LA, this was thrilling. I’ve spent more time in traffic than Steve Winwood.

  “I wish that everybody I’ve ever met could see me,” I said. “This is unbelievable.”

  “I know,” said Clarence. “Believe it.”

  Earlier at the Crystal Palace fairgrounds, my wife, Judy, and I had sat backstage after the sound check and talked with tour manager George Travis about the complexities of mounting an undertaking like this. George was placid, and seemed genuinely puzzled and amused that anyone would think his job was difficult. We sat and discussed the intricacies of moving this many people and this much stuff around the world. We were and remain impressed.

  We went into the catering tent and had dinner. It was both thrilling and bizarre to look around the tent and see Steve and Nils Lofgren and Garry standing in line with everybody else. They were eating just like normal people. (I have never seen Bruce or Clarence in any catering tent or E Street lounge anywhere in the world. It may have happened, but it’s rare.) To say the feeling was surreal would be to understate the experience.

  Things became even more dreamlike later when the band, led by Bruce, headed for the stage.

  “It’s time to rock and roll!” said Bruce, as they passed us.

  “C’mon,” said Clarence, gesturing to us.

  We assumed he wanted us to follow him and then go to our seats. We were wrong.

  “I’ve got some good seats for you,” he said, as we walked up the ramp and onto the lower level of the darkened stage.

  I lost track of the rest of the band in the darkness as I followed Clarence, Nils, and Danny to the stage-right area. We stopped just below the small riser that led to the performers’ part of the stage. We stopped below Danny’s organ, which was placed just behind and slightly above Clarence’s horns, tambourines, and other percussive instruments. Clarence was in his Big Man mode, wearing his black fedora and smoking a cigar.

  “One more time,” he said.

  This was the band’s second show at this venue, but it was our first. We had arrived from Los Angeles the night before, and jet lag only added to the hazy quality of what was going on.