It’s hard to believe it’s been years since we lost Clarence Clemons, the legendary saxophonist of the E Street Band. Sitting here, reflecting on his incredible life and the void he left behind, my mind drifts back to a photograph – a snapshot of Scooter and the Big Man, as we were sometimes known. In that picture, Clarence is playfully flexing, admiring his strength, while I lean on him, feigning nonchalance. But the truth is, I leaned on Clarence a lot, both literally and figuratively, throughout my career and our enduring friendship.
Those of us fortunate enough to share in Clarence’s life experienced the full spectrum of his being – his immense love, his occasional bewilderment, and the sheer force of his personality. Even as “C” mellowed with time, he remained a vibrant, unpredictable force. Looking at his sons, Nicky, Chuck, Christopher, and Jarod, I see echoes of Clarence’s multifaceted nature – his light and his darkness, his tenderness and his roughness, his gentleness and his fervor, his brilliance and his occasional chaos, his striking handsomeness and his fundamental goodness. But as his sons know, life with their pop was never predictable. Clarence lived life on his own terms, consequences be damned. Like many of us, he was capable of extraordinary magic and, equally, of creating magnificent messes. This duality was simply the essence of my dear friend, Clarence. His love, while profoundly unconditional, came with its own set of “Clarence” conditions. He was, undeniably, a major undertaking, perpetually a work in progress. Linearity was not in his vocabulary; his life’s journey was never a straight line from A to B to C to D. It was more like A… J…. C…. Z… Q… I….! That was Clarence’s unique path, his way of navigating the world. I know this approach could sometimes lead to confusion and pain, but it was intertwined with a tremendous capacity for love, a love I know he held deeply for each of his sons.
It truly took a village to support and care for Clarence Clemons. Tina, your presence here is deeply appreciated. Thank you for your unwavering care and love for my friend. Victoria, you were a loving, kind, and supportive wife to Clarence, making a profound positive impact on his life during challenging times. To Clarence’s vast network of support, those whose names are too numerous to mention individually, you know who you are, and we extend our heartfelt gratitude. Your rewards await you. Clarence was indeed a handful, but he brought irreplaceable elements into your lives. When he unleashed that radiant love, it illuminated everything around him. I was privileged to bask in that light for nearly four decades, close to Clarence’s heart, within what we affectionately called the Temple of Soul.
Let’s delve into a bit of history. From our early days touring together, arriving at our evening’s lodging, Clarence would, within minutes, transform his room into his own unique sanctuary. Out would come the colored scarves to soften the lights, the scented candles, incense, patchouli oil, herbs, and music. The mundane day would be banished, and Clarence the Shaman would take over, reigning and weaving his magic night after night. Clarence possessed an extraordinary ability to revel in being Clarence. By the age of 69, he had lived a life that felt like ten lifetimes, or 690 years in the average person’s experience. Every night, in every town, magic would emanate from Clarence’s suitcase. As soon as success afforded him the luxury, his dressing room would mirror his hotel room, transforming into a sovereign nation, rich with sensory treasures. Clarence always knew how to truly live. Long before Prince emerged on the scene, a sense of earthy mysticism permeated the Big Man’s world. I’d often wander in from my own dressing room – functional, with couches and lockers – and wonder what I was missing! Somewhere along the line, this sensory haven became known as the Temple of Soul, with “C” presiding over its secrets and pleasures with a knowing smile. Being granted entry into the Temple’s wonders was a truly special experience.
My son Sam, from a young age, was utterly captivated by the Big Man – a natural reaction for any child. To a child’s eyes, Clarence was a towering, mythical figure straight out of an enchanting storybook. A gentle giant with dreadlocks, enormous hands, and a voice that was deep, rich, and infused with kindness and warmth. And to Sammy, a young white boy, Clarence was profoundly and mysteriously Black. In Sammy’s imagination, “C” must have embodied the entire African continent, infused with American cool, all rolled into one welcoming and loving presence. Consequently, Sammy decided my work shirts were no longer of interest, becoming instead fascinated by Clarence’s elaborate suits and regal robes. He traded a seat in dad’s van for Clarence’s stretch limousine, riding alongside him on the leisurely drive to the show. Dinner in the ordinary dressing room was insufficient; he would venture up the hall and disappear into the Temple of Soul.
Of course, I too, Sam’s dad, was equally enchanted from the moment I first saw my friend emerge from the shadows of a dimly lit bar in Asbury Park. It was as if a path opened before him: “Here comes my brother, here comes my sax man, my inspiration, my partner, my lifelong friend.” Standing beside Clarence was like standing next to the most formidable person on earth. You felt pride, strength, excitement, and anticipation for what might unfold, what we could achieve together. You felt invincible. Clarence, despite his own vulnerabilities, radiated power and security. In a way, we became each other’s protectors. Perhaps I shielded “C” from a world where being large and Black wasn’t always easy. Racism was a constant undercurrent, something we witnessed throughout the years. Clarence’s fame and imposing stature did not make him immune. And perhaps “C” protected me from a world where being an insecure, quirky, and skinny white boy wasn’t always simple either. But together, we were formidable, some of the “baddest asses” on any stage, any night, on our own turf. We were united, strong, righteous, unyielding, funny, and yes, corny as hell, but also as serious as life and death itself. We came to your town to shake you up and awaken your spirit. Together, we embodied a richer, more profound story about the possibilities of friendship, one that transcended anything I had written in songs or music. Clarence carried this story in his heart. It was a narrative where Scooter and the Big Man not only rocked the city but actively reshaped it, making it a place where our friendship wouldn’t be seen as an anomaly. And that’s what I will miss most – the chance to reaffirm that bond and double down on that story every night, because that was our shared creation, the essence of “us.” Clarence was larger than life, and he inspired me to feel, think, love, and dream on a grand scale. How big was the Big Man? Too damn big to die. That’s the undeniable truth. Inscribe it on his gravestone, tattoo it on your heart. Accept it – it’s the New World.
Clarence doesn’t leave the E Street Band in death; he leaves when we all do.
I will deeply miss my friend – his saxophone, the force of nature that was his sound, his magnificence, his quirks, his accomplishments, his face, his hands, his humor, his very being, his booming voice, his moments of confusion, his power, his peace. But his love and our story, the story he gave me, whispered in my ear, allowed me to tell, and shared with you all, will endure. I am not a mystic, but the profound undercurrent, the mystery and power of Clarence and our friendship, lead me to believe we must have stood together in other times, along different rivers, in other cities, in other fields, performing our humble version of divine work – work that remains unfinished. So, I won’t say goodbye to my brother. Instead, I’ll say, “See you in the next life, further on up the road,” where we will once again take up that work and complete it.
Big Man, thank you for your kindness, your strength, your dedication, your artistry, your story. Thank you for the miracle that you were and for allowing a “little white boy” to slip through the side door of the Temple of Soul.
SO LADIES AND GENTLEMEN… ALWAYS LAST, BUT NEVER LEAST. LET’S HEAR IT FOR THE MASTER OF DISASTER, the BIG KAHUNA, the MAN WITH A PHD IN SAXUAL HEALING, the DUKE OF PADUCAH, the KING OF THE WORLD, LOOK OUT OBAMA! THE NEXT BLACK PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES EVEN THOUGH HE’S GONE… YOU WISH YOU COULD BE LIKE HIM BUT YOU CAN’T! LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THE BIGGEST MAN YOU’VE EVER SEEN!… GIVE ME A C-L-A-R-E-N-C-E. WHAT’S THAT SPELL? CLARENCE! WHAT’S THAT SPELL? CLARENCE! WHAT’S THAT SPELL? CLARENCE! … amen.
I’ll leave you with a quote from the Big Man himself, shared on a plane ride home from Buffalo, after the final show of our last tour. As we celebrated in the front cabin, congratulating each other and reminiscing about epic shows, rocking nights, and good times, “C” sat quietly, absorbing it all. Then, he raised his glass, smiled, and said to us all, “This could be the start of something big.”
Love you, “C”.
