I hope that the knee surgery gives Clarence a new lease on life physically the way that his relationship with Victoria has given him a new lease on life spiritually. I hope there are many tours to come. But logic tells me that even if all the stars align, the next tour will be the last one. Clarence and Victoria have just purchased a new home in Florida, and I know he’s looking forward to sitting back and spending most of his days fishing on the Gulf. On the other hand I could be wrong. This band could keep going and making relevant music until they’re all in their seventies. They could, but I don’t think so. Bruce will always be involved in making music until he is forced to stop, but the band, with Clarence at its heart, cannot. I will see as many shows as I can and cherish every one of them as if it is the last.
After the wedding while I was on my way back to the hotel I received a text from the groom. It read, Today is the day “I” becomes “we.”
When they got back to their room they found that Jennifer Jacobs had worked her magic. The floor and the bed were covered with rose petals. The tub was filled with water and covered with rose petals. There was a beautiful floral bouquet with a card that read, “To Clarenze and Viktortya, Much, Much love and happiness. We love you. Bruce, Patti and Family.” Bruce had spelled the Big Man’s name the way Victoria pronounced it, and he used the original Russian spelling of Victoria’s name. There was also a bottle of champagne on ice with two glasses. The room was filled with burning candles. Soft music was playing. Victoria fell back on the bed. It had been a truly magical evening.
“And then I smelled something burning,” she said the next day. “I said to Clarence, ‘Do you smell something burning?’ and he did.”
“It was her hair,” said Clarence. “She fell back and her hair landed near one of the candles. Fortunately we put it out and no harm was done.”
Which brings us to that notable exception.
Dr. Roberta Shapiro is Clarence’s personal physician. She is very, very good at what she does. In addition, she is a lovely, warm, and intelligent person. She is dedicated to her patients and takes wonderful care of Clarence, who requires a lot of attention. Roberta, who specializes in the treatment and management of chronic pain, travels wherever the Big Man needs her, and she wouldn’t have missed his wedding for the world. She flew in during the day on Friday and would fly back to New York on Saturday morning. That was the plan. And the plan was a good one.
Until she swallowed the cinnamon lozenge.
It happened back at the hotel lobby after the wedding. Roberta swallowed a mint that became lodged in her throat and she began to choke. She gave the choking signal to the people around her, and fortunately one of them was Jacob. He knew what to do and immediately gave her the Heimlich maneuver. The mint was dislodged and expelled but damage was done in the process, and as often happens, one of Roberta’s ribs got either broken or cracked.
The next morning, still somewhat dazed from the experience, she stumbled and fell in the hotel bathroom, breaking several bones in her face and causing other internal injuries. Saturday she wound up in the Marin County Hospital instead of flying home. She was treated and released and came to visit in Clarence’s suite that night.
“I’ve been treating pain my whole life,” she said. “Now I get to live with it for a while. This is another accident that could have been avoided by wearing my William Holden Drinking Helmet.”
She was in good spirits and on good drugs, which may be one and the same, but she scared herself and the rest of us.
“I’ve always wanted to outlive my doctors,” said Clarence. “But this is ridiculous.”
New York City
Clarence
I had a heart attack,” I said.
Don had just called after receiving a message from me that something was wrong.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“At the hotel,” I said. “I had a physical today in preparation for the knee operations. I had an EKG and a stress test, the whole thing. When I was done the doctor told me that I suffered a mild heart attack sometime in the last two to three weeks.”
“Do you remember feeling it?”
“Yeah. Remember the day I called you, I think you were sick with food poisoning or something, and I told you I’d been feeling weird? My chest was tight and I got chills and then real tired?”
“Yes, I do,” he said. “But you say shit like that every day.”
I laughed. Don has a way of always cheering me up.
“Well, on that day I think I was having a heart attack. They said the damage was minimal, but this is a real warning, man. I have had my last cigar and my last tequila.”
“Well, if you look at this as dodging a bullet,” he said, “which is how you have to look at it, you are very, very lucky.”
“I know,” I said. “God damn, this has me freaked out.”
“Is Victoria with you?”
“Yes, thank God she’s here to take care of me,” I said. “But when somebody tells you that you’ve had a heart attack, it scares you so much that it could give you a heart attack.”
“True,” he said. “But besides lifestyle changes, is there anything you have to do?”
“No,” I said. “Just lose weight, eat right, exercise, don’t drink, and don’t smoke.”
“Are you sure you want to go on living?”
“Yeah, but only ’cause they didn’t tell me to stop fucking.”
“So what’s next?” he asked.
“After this last gig I’ll go to Florida for a few weeks, go up to Georgia to record my stuff for the new album, then I’m going to have the surgery done here in Manhattan.”
“Are you going to rehab there, too?”
“Yeah, I’m going to stay in a hotel across the street from the hospital for a month. Nils is going to have his hips done at the same time. Half the fucking band is going to be in this joint.”
“Wow,” he said. “This has been quite a week.”
“I think it’ll be good from now on,” I said. “I’m also on a health kick. I quit drinking. I only started drinking so much to kill the pain in my knees. Once this operation is done I won’t need anything. Hopefully.”
I hung up and looked out the window in the dark New York night. And I thought about death. Don is always saying, “Life is a movie with a bad ending,” and I always chastise him and tell him he’s being too negative. But as that day gets closer for me, I can see where he’s right. I don’t want to talk about religion here too much, but I do believe in Heaven and life after death. I’m just not in a hurry to get there. I’ve been blessed so much in this life that it’s too sweet to leave. It’s too sweet to leave. Too sweet.
Boston
Don
Clarence loves jokes.
If there is a quick answer to the “What is he like?” question, it’s that he’s funny.
If even I know a joke that he’s telling I wouldn’t stop him, because even unfunny jokes become funny when Clarence tells them. Often it’s better if the joke he’s telling is old just to hear the spin he puts on it. As we say in the comedy business, he’s got a good joke axe.
One night Jimmy Vallely, perhaps the funniest man in the world, invited us both out to dinner. At one point during the evening I had to crawl out of the room in fear that I would injure myself laughing if I stayed. I was laughing so hard I couldn’t stand up. There have been more than a few nights like that.
Once we were sitting on the G5 taking the band to Foxborough for the Gillette Stadium show. We were moving around in the sky dodging thunderstorms, so the flight was longer than usual. There was time to kill. Clarence kills time by telling jokes.
“This paratrooper comes back from his first jump,” said Clarence. “His roommate is waiting for him. ‘How did it go?’ asks the roommate. ‘I was the last one in line,’ says the paratrooper. ‘I got to the door and I froze. The sergeant says to me, “Either you jump or I’m going to shove my cock up your ass!” ’ ‘So did you jump?’ asks the roommate. The guy say
s, ‘Well, a little at first.’ ”
This was one of the “in and out” shows. The band drops out of the sky, kicks ass in your town for three-plus hours, and then they’re gone. They’re in a hotel in another city while you’re still in the parking lot. (The first example I remember of this was watching Frank Sinatra lift off in a helicopter at the Newport Jazz Festival in the ’60s. He lifted off while we in the crowd were still cheering for him to come back onstage. Jilly Rizzo later told me they landed at the Sixty-third Street heliport and were in his club drinking in under an hour.)
This does not happen after every show. In fact, Bruce likes to hang out after the shows and talk and review and continue to entertain. If the venue provides, he’ll take a shower and begin the long process of unwinding after a show. On fast outs that’s not possible, and the postshow plane rides often start out with a lot of high energy.
It must be difficult to return to normal after one of these marathon shows. How can anything feel normal after hearing eighty thousand people singing your name? What is normal about being paid a king’s ransom to have people worship you? Bruce, Clarence, and the guys in the band all breathe rarified air. I don’t know how you can keep your head straight in this lifestyle. I don’t feel like I’m telling tales out of school when I say that Clarence is used to being treated like a star. Hell, I’m used to being treated like a star, and all I do is hang out with him. But, after being on the road, I will admit to having a reduced amount of patience when going to the airport to take a commercial flight. It is a humbling experience. I find myself expecting the best table and all the other preferential treatment you get out on the road. Clarence is used to having things his way and can show irritation when they aren’t. But it’s rare, and he does maintain a sense of humor that helps him get through these situations.
“These things only happen to live people,” he’s fond of saying when he finds himself in the pat-down line at the airport.
He’ll sulk for a moment or two and then often will tell a joke.
We went out to dinner in New York the night after the Boston show, and although he’d called ahead to check, the restaurant was out of his favorite dish. (Which in this case was liver.) He got quiet for a minute or two then ordered something else. He sipped his wine. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for ten or fifteen seconds. Then he opened them and turned to me.
“This bank robber’s mask slips. He pulls it back up and says to this guy, ‘Did you see my face?’ and the guy says, ‘Just for a second’—and the robber shoots him dead. He then walks over to this couple and says to the husband, ‘Did you see my face?’ and the guy says, ‘No, but my wife did.’ ”
On the jet back to New York from Foxborough, Clarence sat back in one of the big leather chairs and sipped his drink. I was sitting across the aisle from him, thrilled to be in this privileged environment. It really did feel dreamlike.
“I heard the worst joke,” he said.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Terrible joke,” he said.
“Is that right?”
“In fact, it’s the worst joke I’ve ever heard.”
“Worst as in not funny?” I asked.
“No, no,” he said. “It’s funny, all right. But it’s nasty. It’s offensive.”
“I don’t believe that I can be offended by a joke,” I said.
“This joke will test that opinion,” he said, smiling.
“Let’s hear it,” I said.
He took another sip and put his drink down. Bruce was sitting up front, as usual. He was talking to Jon Landau. Steven and Nils were listening to iPods. Garry was reading a magazine. Max had his eyes closed and appeared to be sleeping. Roy and his wife were huddled together in deep conversation about real estate. They were considering selling the Malibu house. Charles was looking out the window at the dark sky. Soozie was flying with Patti and a few others on a separate plane.
“This guy’s wife gets into a terrible automobile accident,” he began. “He goes to the hospital and the doctor says, ‘I’ve got bad news. Her back was broken in three places, and the blood supply was cut off to her brain. She’s a vegetable. She’ll never regain consciousness. Plus, your insurance has run out, so you’re going to have to care for her at home. I’m going to give you some salves and creams to use on her body, because she’s going to develop these weeping bedsores, and she’s completely incontinent. That means you’re going to have to change her diapers several times a day….’ And at that point the guy breaks down crying and says, ‘Oh, my God, why did this happen? Why? Why? Why?’ And the doctor smiles and laughs and says, ‘I’m just fucking with you. She’s dead!’ ”
Several days after the wedding it was back to New York, where the band would be based for the next two and a half weeks. For most of the remaining eight shows they would fly in and fly out. Clarence had spent a good part of the year in the Trump Hotel overlooking the park. He liked it here. New York is a good city for celebrities. It understands and rewards fame.
He called me when he got settled.
“Long day, my brother,” he said. “Getting to the airport and flying across the country with your whole family is stressful. But everybody got home safe and sound, and Victoria and I have a few days before we hit the road again.”
“Can you smell the barn?” I asked.
“I can smell the hay in the barn,” he replied.
“When do you go into the studio?”
“Sometime in September,” he said. “I’m waiting on firm dates so I can schedule my knee replacement surgery.”
“Are you dreading that?”
“No, I want to get it over with. Get this pain behind me. Plus I’m anxious to start rehab so I’m in shape for the tour next year,” he said.
“You’ll be fine,” I said, crossing my fingers.
“Heard a joke,” he said.
“Go ahead.”
“This guy goes up to a pharmacist and says, ‘I need contraceptives for my twelve-year-old daughter,’ and the pharmacist says, ‘Is she sexually active?’ and the guy says ‘No, she just lays there like her mother.’ ”
* * *
During the last weeks of August the show schedule became intense. There were a bunch of shows in a short time frame. There was a lot of flying and a lot of stage time, which for Clarence meant a lot of discomfort. He took Victoria and his new in-laws on the road for the first two shows. Victoria’s folks are simple blue-collar, salt of the earth type people from Siberia. They suddenly found themselves in the world of police escorts, private jets, and sold out stadiums filled with people screaming for their new son-in-law.
“They can’t stop smiling,” said Clarence.
“Wait till they have to fly back to Russia in coach,” I said. “They’ll stop.”
“I think their coach days are over,” he said.
“I have a joke,” said Victoria.
Clarence and I were both startled.
“Really?” he said.
“It’s a Russian joke,” she said, smiling.
“Let’s hear it,” I said.
“Putin and Medvedev go into a restaurant. The waitress comes over and Putin says, ‘I’ll have a steak and a baked potato,’ and the waitress says, ‘What about your vegetable?’ and Putin says, ‘He’ll have the same thing.’ ”
Clarence called from New York the day before back-to-back shows in Virginia and Pennsylvania.
“The end is near,” I said.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he laughed. “Actually, this week will be a little easier. Victoria is going back to San Francisco with her folks, and they’re going home in a few days. She’s going to meet me in Florida after the last show on the thirtieth. So all I have to worry about is me.”
“You’ll feel better when the surgery is behind you,” I said.
“Yeah, I will,” he said. “I’m just tired.”
There was a brief pause then he spoke again. “What’s the difference between a girls’ track team and a group of clever
pygmies?”
“I don’t know,” I said honestly.
“The pygmies are a group of cunning runts,” he said.
Matecumbe Key, Florida
Clarence
I sat outside tonight looking at the water as the sun went down, and I made some random notes I hoped might turn into stories for the book. They didn’t, but taken together they have a kind of lyrical quality. —C.C.
There’s a song that I love. It’s called “Christo Redentor,” or “Christ the Redeemer.” It’s by Donald Byrd from his New Perspective album. He’s leaning on the hood of an XKE on the cover. It’s everything I love about horns. Donald plays trumpet but it’s all the same. He wrote that song after flying into Rio and seeing the huge statue of Christ on top of Corcovado. It appeared out of the clouds. And the tune is like that. It floats like it’s weightless. But when I hear it I see a wet street somewhere in Manhattan with a guy standing under a streetlight playing a horn.
At the end of the movie Titanic, when they’re looking for survivors, you hear this guy yell, “Is there anybody alive out there!” and it’s with the same urgency, the same passion, that Bruce says it with. He’s been doing that since the beginning. I wonder if they got it from him.
Black folks know me more from Diff’rent Strokes than from being with Bruce. Or that movie I did with Keanu Reeves, Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure. For some reason black people loved that movie.
Touring is like seeing a big valley stretched out in front of you and you descend into it.
And then all you can do is keep going forward.
Big Man Page 26
