Rest in peace, Big Man

The Big Man. Clarence Clemons. You either know who he is, or you don't. If you do, it's probably because his music and his contributions to the E Street Band have enriched your life in some way. If you don't, you've missed out.

In the fall of 1975, I was a seventeen year-old freshman at Oswego State University in upstate New York. I had joined the Program Policy Board, a group of students whose job it was to program entertainment at the college. I was on the film committee, but the main buzz that fall came from the concert committee, which had somehow managed to book Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band for a concert in December. Bruce had hit it big that fall, appearing on the covers of both Time and Newsweek in October, which coincided with the release of his seminal album, "Born to Run." By some combination of hard work and good luck, our little college programming board had outbid Syracuse and Rochester to land a show on Springsteen's triumphant tour that fall.

I knew very little about Springsteen back then. I had heard "Born to Run" and "Rosalita" and liked both songs very much, but knew very little about any of his other music. I was turned off by the hype and I just wasn't expecting much. I was asked to work security at the concert that night, and it was my job to stand in front of one of the exit doors at Laker Hall gymnasium.

When the band showed up to do their soundcheck, we were asked to leave the gym. We were ushered into a little hallway and the band walked right past us. I could have reached out and touched Bruce, Clarence and everyone else in the band, but I didn't. In retrospect, I wish I had at least tried to shake Bruce's hand.

The show started with Bruce alone, standing in a spotlight, singing a dynamite song to a piano accompaniement. All these years later, I now know that the song was "Thunder Road", and it was destined to become one of my favorites of all time. Then the lights came, and the entire band joined in on the rollicking and wonderful, "Tenth Avenue Freeze Out." And that was my first introduction to the big, black guy playing that amazing sax.

That night 38 years ago changed my life. The music of Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band has been a constant joy in my life. It has enriched the good times and has helped me get through the bad times. I have seen them 12 times over a span of 36 years, and I have grown into middle age with them.

To me, one of the defining sounds of the band is the Big Man's wailing sax solos. "Rosalita" is powered by the sax, as is "Spirit in the Night." Sometimes the solos are mournful, as in "Drive all Night," sometimes they are triumphant, as in "Badlands." Sometimes they give the songs a special rhythm, like "Born to Run." And sometimes the sax solos are so joyous, like the one that starts off "Sherry Darlin'", that they just bring a smile to your face.

The best, of course, is the "Jungleland" solo. There is so much power and emotion in that solo that some rock critics have called it the best three minutes in rock and roll. I don't need that hyperbole, I just know it as my favorite moment in one of my all-time favorite songs, and Clarence's personal triumph. Experiencing the song live, as I have done many times, is to experience a rock and roll celebration. Whether you're watching Bruce look on in awe as his friend powers through the solo, or pumping your fist in time to the music with several thousand other Bruce fanatics, you are experiencing a moment that you will never forget.

Clarence moved on to other things after Bruce broke up the band in the late 80's. He formed his own band, cut a few albums, and worked with other performers. And when Bruce reunited the band for good to do "The Rising" in 2002, Clarence was right there with him. The last two tours (the "Magic" and "Working on a Dream" tours) were undoubtedly difficult for Clarence, as he had endured some serious physical issues. But he was still there, wailing on that sax, and being the legendary Big Man. No matter how tough it seemed to be for him, you could still see the joy on his face as he performed with the band.

The Big Man was 69 years old when he suffered a serious stroke last Sunday. At first it appeared that he would pull through, but the word came out last night that he had passed away. The news has shocked and saddened those of us who loved him. How could someone like Clarence, so larger than life and so wonderfully talented, actually be dead? I still have a hard time believing it.

Rest in peace, Big Man. Your legacy will live on for many years to come. You have enriched my life and the world has been a better place thanks to you and your music. I will miss watching you perform with the Boss, but I will always have the CD's, the DVD's, the albums, the books, and of course, my memories. Thank you for all you have given me.