Big Man

by Clarence Clemons

  I became aware of a guitar playing and turned to look out over the audience. A huge cheer went up from the crowd. I looked to my left and there was Bruce, standing at center stage alone in a single white spotlight, playing the intro to the acoustic version of “Born in the U.S.A.”

  I was actually stunned. I really couldn’t believe that I was standing there with Clarence watching Bruce from just a few feet away. Although we had been friends for years, I had never used that relationship to gain access to the shows at all. I actually took it as a point of pride that I never once asked Clarence for any special treatment, even though he would insist on it. Yes, I attended a lot of great shows over the years on all the tours, but I always bought a ticket. Most of our time together was spent away from touring. But in 2003 he invited me to come on the road with him and experience a tour through his eyes. He truly enjoyed sharing his world. For me, this show in London took things to another level.

  “You guys can sit on my cases,” said Clarence, pointing to the big, black rolling boxes a few feet to the right of his spot onstage.

  We took the few steps and sat on the boxes. Just in front of us to the right was the stage soundboard. We became aware of all the people, the techs who were in constant motion on the stage, tuning and switching instruments, running them up to the musicians onstage, then scurrying off. All of them, everyone on and around the stage, were dressed in black.

  Bruce finished BITUSA to thunderous applause. I was startled by it and by the energy coming from the crowd. There was a sea of people out there in the darkness. The rest of the band joined him on the stage and they played “The Rising.” When the lights came up for “Lonesome Day” I saw the crowd for the first time. It took my breath away. It was a frightening sight. Thousands upon thousands of people, all staring at the stage. All of them into the music and the moment. This big, living thing that Bruce could control with the smallest movements. I noticed how aware he was of the cameras. He worked his performance in such a way that the people in the back had the same experience as those in front via the big screens. I guess it was then that I realized what a masterful performer he is. Of course he should be, considering how long he’s been doing this. But the idea that a person could be comfortable doing this is unimaginable. Not only did he look comfortable, he looked more comfortable than he did offstage. He looked like he was home.

  The whole band looked at home up there. This was their natural habitat. This was where they got to speak in music and style and attitude. Clarence was a different person. He moved differently when he was the Big Man. His face changed, and he appeared to get taller and younger. He walked into the spotlight with a swagger that said Don’t fuck with me, and he leaned into the horn and spoke to every person in the audience about faith and love and passion. It was something to see.

  Red Bank, New Jersey

  Clarence

  Once I arrive at a venue I never leave before the show. Sometimes we do a sound check at one o’clock in the afternoon for a show that doesn’t start till after nine o’clock at night, but I won’t leave. I stay in the Temple of Soul until showtime. I eat there and sleep there. I get whatever physical therapy I need there. I listen to music there. I play music there. But I don’t leave there.

  The reason I don’t leave is because of what happened one night many years ago, when we were playing a gig at the Carlton Theatre in Red Bank. It later became the Count Basie Theatre, and we played there again in recent years.

  But the night I’m talking about was back in the ’70s. We did our sound check, and I decided to go home ’cause I lived across the bridge in the next town. “Across the bridge” is the most important part of the previous sentence. The bridge was between the towns of Sea Bright and Rumson.

  I can’t remember why it was so important for me to go to my house but I did, and on the way back I ran into trouble.

  The bridge was closed.

  Some clown had rammed into it with his boat, so I had to make this huge detour around through all these small towns filled with stoplights. It took me a long time to get back to the theater.

  When I arrived I went back to the stage door and found that it was locked. Even worse, I could hear the band playing! I had never missed a gig in my life. I started pounding on the door, and eventually somebody inside heard me.

  “Who is it?” said some guy from inside.

  “It’s Clarence,” I said. “Open the door.”

  “Clarence who?” he said.

  “Clarence Clemons,” I said.

  “Bullshit,” said the guy. “Clarence is onstage.”

  “Listen to me,” I said. “Go look onstage. If you don’t see Clarence there, come back and open this motherfucking door!”

  So the guy went all the way out front and looked at the band playing and saw I wasn’t in it, then he came back to finally let me in.

  It never happened again, and it never will.

  Florida

  Don

  On the night of November 19, 2005, Clarence drove from his home to the Hard Rock Hotel in Hollywood, Florida, where Bruce was playing solo as part of the “Devils and Dust” tour. Steve Van Zandt was also in town and went to the show about the same time. About halfway through his set, Bruce brought them both onstage and, as they say, the crowd went wild. They played a song called “Drive All Night,” a rarely heard ballad from The River. It was spectacular. Bruce sang the shit out of it and played piano. Steve was his usual fabulous self, and Clarence soared. His horn floats above everything with a soulful elegance, diving and dancing around the melody like a gull drifting on warm summer winds. The sound of his horn becomes a living thing made of beauty and breath and brass. It was a masterful performance; a perfect blend of music, friendship, and shared history. Go find it on YouTube. It’s worth the effort.

  People are surprised to hear that Clarence lives in Florida. He seems like such a city guy. But there are many things about the man that are surprising:

  He plays golf. In fact, he puts on a celebrity golf tournament every year. Lots of friends from the world of music show up. Last January, in the jam session at the postgolf festivities, there were seven drummers present. But there was only one sax player.

  He lives in a penthouse in West Palm Beach, with views out every window that will make you cry and curse the fact that you quit music lessons as a kid.

  He drives a Rolls Royce convertible.

  He’s one hell of a fisherman.

  He plays the bagpipes (well) before every show.

  His favorite cigar is the Hoyo de Monterrey double corona. The same as Michael Jordan.

  His nephew Jake, a fine sax player in his own right, was the star of an ABC Family television series.

  He is both deeply religious and religiously phobic.

  He can drink more Irish moonshine than most Irishmen and remain upright. The E Streeter he hangs out with most these days is Roy Bittan.

  He doesn’t hang out with Roy all that much.

  He’s always on a diet.

  He’s never on a diet.

  He’s always on time.

  He’s always in pain.

  He has made a film of his spiritual journey to China in which he plays his saxophone on the Great Wall.

  His likeness is on the wall at the Palm restaurant in LA.

  He knows more about grappa than he should.

  He has roast chicken and lobster after every show.

  Except the nights he eats caviar.

  He is a prolific writer of prose as well as music.

  He once played pool with Fidel Castro and won.

  Robert De Niro once told Clarence a secret that he swore to keep for twenty-five years.

  He has a brother who is a college professor.

  He’s got a great singing voice.

  He loves gospel music.

  He’s a great cook specializing in Italian dishes.

  Especially meatballs. If you ever get the chance, try his meatballs. They are really good.

  He is the first
one to arrive before a show and the last to leave.

  Bruce often calls him after shows with compliments. Those calls mean a lot to Clarence.

  He knows more dirty jokes than you do.

  If you’re over thirty, the odds are good that he’s slept with some woman you know.

  He in fact likes women who are older rather than younger. Relative terms, to be sure, but it’s a fact that women “of a certain age” still stand a chance of becoming his next ex-wife.

  That last statement is no longer true.

  He is now with a beautiful Russian girl named Victoria.

  He has been married five times and has four children; Clarence Jr., who is known as Nick, is the offspring of Clarence and Jackie (hereafter known as “Black Jackie”).

  Nick is called Nick because Clarence’s middle name is Anicholas.

  His second child is Charles Oliver, whose mother is also Black Jackie.

  His third son is Christopher, who lives in Sweden with his mother Christina.

  And his youngest is Jarod, who lives near Tampa with his mother (White) Jackie.

  Clarence loves all of them, and the feeling is mutual.

  He has been known to use hydroponically grown herbs for medicinal purposes.

  He wears size 17 shoes.

  Yes.

  His uncle is a preacher.

  His grandfather farmed using a mule named Big Red for power.

  He grew up in a house surrounded by white people.

  He’s still surrounded by white people.

  He had to travel miles from home to get to the black school.

  He used to run five miles a day.

  He worked three jobs at the same time as a teenager.

  He and Bruce used to dive off the stage into the crowds. One night Clarence badly sprained his ankle, got back onstage, and kept playing.

  Sometimes when you ask him to tell you interesting facts about himself he lies.

  The Legend of Key West, 1976

  We’ve used a bar as a fictional setting for the next story. But there’s a story within the story that’s true. It’s the story of a secret that Robert De Niro did in fact tell me many, many years ago that I’m now free to reveal. —C.C.

  Two more beers, please,” said Robert De Niro.

  “No worries,” said the waiter, as he scurried off to get them.

  “All this fuck says is ‘no worries,’ ” De Niro said to Clarence. “He’s starting to worry me.”

  Clarence laughed. “Me, too.”

  They were sitting on the upper deck of the Schooner Wharf Bar. It was five o’clock in the afternoon, and the town was fueling up for sunset.

  “I was surprised to see you here,” said Clarence.

  A half hour ago he had walked onto the upper deck and heard a familiar voice say, “You, you, you…” He’d looked over to find De Niro sitting at the bar alone. He was wearing blue and white running shoes, black shorts, and an orange Schooner Wharf T-shirt that said WRECK RACE on the back.

  On his head was a hat with a picture of a girl holding a surfboard and the words KEY WEST. The hat was black and matched his sunglasses. Clarence wouldn’t have recognized him had it not been for the voice and the smile. De Niro stood, opened his arms, and said, “Big Man!”

  Now, two beers later, they were talking like old friends. In truth, they had never met before.

  “I was pretty shocked, too,” said De Niro. “I can tell you that. I always expect to see Dennis Hopper, but I never expect to see you.”

  “Is Dennis Hopper here?” said Clarence.

  “Not that I know of,” said De Niro. “But I expect him anyway.”

  Clarence could see no point in pursuing this, so he moved on to something else. “What are you doing down here?” he asked.

  “I’m scouting,” said De Niro.

  “For a movie?”

  De Niro shrugged that famous shrug, turning down the corners of his mouth and nodding his head as his shoulders went up.

  “For a location,” he said. “Not just for movies but restaurants, too. I’m expanding my interests.”

  “I lost a bunch of money in the restaurant business,” said Clarence. “You’d be better off taking your money and buying a boat.”

  “I hate boats,” said De Niro. “They’re nothing but floating prisons. When I’m on the beach and I see a boat go by I think, I want to be on that boat, but every time I actually get on a boat all I can think is, I want to be on that beach. Life is funny.”

  Clarence nodded his agreement, as the waiter returned with the beers.

  “Thank you,” said Clarence.

  “No worries,” said the waiter.

  De Niro watched him go. “I find that guy annoying,” he said.

  “I hear you,” said Clarence.

  “You know how they have all this southernmost shit here? The southernmost hotel, the southernmost bar, the southernmost house?” said Bobby.

  “Yeah?” said Clarence.

  “I think our waiter is the southernmost dipwad.”

  Clarence laughed and Bobby joined in. The sky was beginning to turn a shade of pale orange.

  “I’m a huge fan of yours, Bobby,” said Clarence. At first he had called him “Mr. De Niro,” but Mr. De Niro had insisted on “Bobby.”

  “And I you,” said Bobby.

  “I’m down here fishing,” said Clarence.

  “For what?” asked Bobby.

  “Tarpon and pussy,” said Clarence.

  Now it was De Niro’s turn to laugh. “Not necessarily in that order,” he said to Clarence.

  “Well, I’m pretty sure I’m not going to catch any tarpon in this place,” said Clarence.

  The truth was that he was only interested in new tarpon on this trip. His new girlfriend was the love of his life. She was back at the hotel getting ready for dinner. They were going to some Italian place on the other side of the island. He’d only talked about pussy ’cause the joke was just sitting there to be taken, and it was a guy thing to say, and Robert De Niro was certainly a guy.

  “No,” said Bobby, “but you might catch some crabs.”

  “Rim shot!” said Clarence.

  After a while their laughter petered out and there was a momentary silence. They sipped their beers.

  “I had the conch fritters before you got here,” Bobby said.

  “How were they?” Clarence asked.

  “Pretty good, pretty good,” said Bobby, once again nodding. The second time he said “pretty good” he hit the T sound hard, stretching it out to sound like tee.

  Clarence couldn’t wait to tell the guys about this. Robert fucking De Niro. Steve and Max would shit. They all did De Niro impressions. Steve’s was the best.

  “We ever meet before?” asked Bobby.

  “No sir,” said Clarence.

  “You sure?”

  “I would remember.”

  “You’re positive?”

  “Positive.”

  “Yeah,” Bobby said. “That’s right.”

  “Right,” said Clarence.

  “Those conch fritters are similar to the clam cakes they make up in Rhode Island. I’m thinking of serving them in a restaurant. Clam cakes and chowder. Red chowder. Call it the Shore Dinner Hall, like the one that used to be at Rocky Point,” said Bobby.

  “In Rhode Island?”

  “Yeah,” said Bobby. “It was an amusement park. I used to go there when I was a kid. In the summer. August. We used to take a house at a place called Bonnet Shores. Not a big house. Nothing fancy. A shack, really. No heat. A summerhouse, you know?”

  “Yeah,” said Clarence.

  “Bonnet Shores is a good name for a restaurant, too,” said Bobby.

  “Names are important,” Clarence agreed. “I was in a band once called Closed for Repairs, but when they put that on the marquee nobody came.”

  De Niro laughed hard. Rocking back and forth a little.

  “That is funny,” he said. “Is that true? If it’s not true, lie to me, okay?�
�

  “It’s true,” said Clarence. It wasn’t.

  “Funny,” said Bobby. This time he made one word into two so it sounded like fun knee.

  “It’s true,” Clarence lied again.

  They drank and sighed. They both shifted in their chairs, getting comfortable.

  “Peter Gunn,” said Bobby. “Remember that show?”

  “Yeah,” said Clarence. “Great theme song.”

  “Mancini,” said Bobby. “I loved that show. Maybe I should do that as a movie.”

  “Good idea,” said Clarence.

  Downstairs a band was playing something that featured steel drums.

  “You get sick of that sound fast down here,” said Clarence.

  “Yeah,” said Bobby. “You know what else I noticed? People don’t swim in the ocean here. Too shallow, or too much coral or jellyfish or something. They like to look at it and float on it, but they don’t go in it much.”

  “I never noticed that,” said Clarence. “But you’re right.”

  “You ever done any acting?” said Bobby.

  “No.”

  “You interested?”

  “Sure, why not?” said Clarence. If Robert De Niro asks you if you’re interested in acting, the answer has got to be yes.

  “I’m doing this thing with Marty,” he said. “I’m playing a saxophone player.”

  “No shit?” said Clarence.

  “There’s a part in it you’d be good for.”

  “Where do I sign?” said Clarence.

  “You think I’m shitting you but I shit you not. It’s called New York, New York.”

  “I’m interested,” said Clarence. “Very interested.”

  “I’ll get into it,” said Bobby. “Maybe you could give me some lessons.”

  “I’d be happy to,” said Clarence.

  (Note: This did in fact come to pass. When Clarence went to LA to start the movie, Mr. De Niro came to his room overlooking the pool at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel. It was late when he got there, and his first efforts at playing a saxophone were bad. They were also loud and discordant. After a half hour of this an old woman came out of a room on the other side of the pool and screamed, “Shuuuuuuuttttt uuuuuuuppppp!” To this day, whenever Clarence sees Bobby he yells, “Shuuuuuuuttttt uuuuuuuuupppppp!”)