Big Man Read online

  Clarence looked at the boat they were approaching. It was a sloop that went maybe ninety feet. A beautiful craft made from mahogany and canvas. It appeared to be filled with naked lesbians.

  “There are naked women going at it with each other on that vessel,” said Hunter.

  “Appears so,” said Clarence.

  “That must be some sort of violation of maritime laws,” said Hunter with his cigarette holder clenched between his teeth.

  “Laissez les bon temps roulez,” said Clarence, smiling.

  To be fair not all the women on the deck (there were about twenty of them) were naked or involved in lesbian activities, but enough were to give that impression.

  “Pull alongside, Martin,” said Hunter. “We need to talk to these people.”

  NOTE FROM DON:

  I’m going to end this story here at the point where I stopped believing it when I first heard it. It goes on and on and includes a chapter about Fernando Dinardo, who never really recovered from the drug-induced psychotic episode he suffered while in Hunter’s company. He later found religion, took a vow of silence, and spent the last thirty years of his life as a monk in a monastery above Big Sur, California.

  Then there is a huge, wildly speculative section that hypothesizes that Oscar Acosta, Hunter’s old friend from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and presumed dead, was in fact alive in one of Castro’s prisons and was released during the Mariel boat lift a few weeks after Clarence’s game of pool with Castro. The story hints that Oscar’s release was somehow tied to the game. It goes on to posit that Oscar became the man the character of Tony Montana (from Scarface) was based upon, and he spent the next decade dealing drugs and indulging in a bit of the old ultraviolence. Rubbish. It’s all rubbish.

  There are, however, a few details that give my doubting nature pause. For instance, one of the women on board the sloop was named Cammi Ann Carter. Cammi’s father, a legendary South Florida real estate developer named Lawrence “The Swamp Swami” Carter, owned the boat. She’d been raised on the water and was herself a first-class captain. She chartered the boat out to groups, and this one was in fact a bunch of part-time lesbian strippers down for the weekend from Boca, where they all worked in a club called Diamond.

  There were several other notable things about Cammi. She had a deep and passionate interest in Eastern religions, and on that particular day she had the greatest set of tits in the world. The Big Man’s involvement with her would lead him on a spiritual quest, which resulted in him finding a guru named Sri Chinmoy to guide his life and to changing his name from Clarence Clemons to Mokshagun.

  Guru

  Clarence

  A girl I knew introduced me to Narada Michael Walden, the brilliant musician and record producer who changed my life in a major way. Narada is the most spiritual person I know, and at the time I met him I was disconnected from spirituality totally.

  We hit it off and became friends, and he introduced me to meditation. I had always thought that meditation was a bunch of bullshit until he insisted that I give it an honest shot. The first time I tried it I fell into a trancelike state that seemed to last forever. When I opened my eyes Narada was there.

  “Come over here,” he said. “I want to show you something.”

  He led me over to a mirror and when I looked in it I did not recognize myself. I swear to God I didn’t know who I was. My mind had drifted so far from my body that for a few minutes afterward they didn’t connect. It was a weird feeling. But I felt a peace, which was a feeling I hardly recognized. I have practiced meditation every day since then.

  Shortly after that Narada called me and asked me to play on a track with Aretha Franklin. This was a dream come true for several reasons. First, I would get to work with the undisputed Queen of Soul. I would have been thrilled to stand in the same room with Aretha, and now I would actually get to play with her. Second, I would get to stand where King Curtis stood. King was one of my sax heroes growing up. I loved him. He used to play for Aretha, and now I was going to get a chance to do the same thing. It was unbelievable.

  The track, called “Freeway of Love,” ended up on one of her best-selling albums.

  We even made a video of it, although it didn’t turn out the way it was planned. It was all shot in a nightclub, but it was supposed to be done at an auto plant. On the day of the shoot Aretha didn’t feel like traveling out to the plant, so we had to improvise. There are certain privileges that come with being the Queen.

  I moved out to Marin around that time to continue to study meditation with Narada. But the next big change in my life happened when he encouraged me to travel with him to New York to meet his guru, Sri Chinmoy. Narada said that Sri was a true holy man, and that he could help me to define myself and my life. At the time I was drifting and had no clear purpose.

  When he saw me walk into the room in Queens, New York, that night, Sri Chinmoy smiled, crossed to me, and embraced me. That night he gave me my spiritual name, which was Mokshagun. Sometimes getting a name can take years, but he said that was who I was. The name is Sanskrit for “Lord’s All-illuminating Liberation Fire.”

  I went by the name for many years, but I finally decided to use it only privately because it confused too many folks. But more important than a spiritual name was the purpose he gave to my life. He told me that I was on Earth to bring joy and light to the world and to destroy ignorance. I’m still on that quest.

  On the night that I met him I called my mother.

  “I’ve got a guru,” I told her.

  “Get a good night’s sleep,” she said. “And maybe it will be gone in the morning.”

  Shea Stadium

  Don

  Many memorable things occurred during the three-night stand that closed the “Rising” tour. On the second night the fast out was sabotaged when the police directed the motorcade into the public parking lot because they were angry with Bruce for playing the song “American Skin (41 Shots)” the night before. It wasn’t all that bad. We spent about an hour in the parking lot and met a lot of nice people. Clarence rolled down the limo window and signed autographs, the smell of his cigar smoke wafting through the cool October night.

  I watched those shows from the stage, sitting on Clarence’s trap cases or standing by the soundboard. On the last night it took awhile to realize that the twitchy guy next to me in the leather jacket and watch cap was Bob Dylan, who later joined the band onstage and did “Highway 61 Revisited.” I’ve spent my life around famous people but some, like Dylan, have that special light around them that sets them apart. When I asked Clarence who impressed him that way he said King Curtis, the sax player who inspired him to pick up a horn in the first place when he was just a kid in Virginia. He said the only other person who left him speechless was the late Marcel Marceau, but I’m pretty sure he was kidding. I’d call him to clarify but, as Marcel demonstrated in his lifetime, some things are better left unsaid.

  Al Franken was there that night, too. This was after his time on Saturday Night Live but before his entry into politics. I had first met him in the ’70s when he and his then partner, Tom Davis, were a young comedy team. In fact, I gave them their first shot on television as part of an ABC late-night show called Comedy Concert. Bruce had invited Al to the show because he was a fan of Al’s books. We started chatting, and I reminded him that I was the one who first gave him a shot. I even remembered the routine they had done. It was a local newscast on the day the world ends.

  “The stock market closed today….”

  “It’s two thousand degrees in Los Angeles, three thousand in the Valley, and up to thirty-five hundred in firestorms.”

  And a bunch of other very funny stuff. I even quoted some of the lines to Al as we stood there on the side of the stage.

  “You cut us out,” he said.

  “I did?”

  “Yeah, we had a big party with our friends and families to watch the show, but we weren’t on it. You cut us out.”

  “I totally forgot that.
I can’t imagine why I did unless the show was really long or something,” I said.

  “Well, you did,” said Al.

  “Well, shit, I’m sorry about that,” I said. “I sure hope it didn’t hurt your career.”

  “It only hurt for a little while,” he said. “I’ve totally forgiven you.”

  “Well, I’m glad,” I said.

  “But if you see Tom coming? Run.”

  “I will,” I said.

  “Is it just me or is Bruce starting to look like Tony Bennett?” he said.

  A brief digression: all this time hanging around with the Big Man and Bruce and the band and famous people can get a little heady. After being on the road in Europe, I stopped in New York on my way home and was standing at the bar at the Post House talking to my friend Joe Funghini, the bartender. There were a few people at the bar, and I guess I might have raised my voice a little when telling stories of how “we” played a show here or “we” took the private jet there. What the hell, they were great stories. One guy at the bar got into it, asking me all kinds of questions about where “we” played, which venues, which hotels, etc. And I was happy to answer. I even talked about the unique perspective one gets from the stage, the almost voyeuristic view of the crowd. Finally after a lot of this even I got tired of the sound of my own voice and I asked him what business he was in.

  “Oh, I’m in a band, too,” he said.

  “Really? What’s it called?” I said.

  “R.E.M.,” he replied.

  He was Mike Mills, the bass player. They would be working Madison Square Garden the next night.

  “Okay,” I said. “On a scale of one to ten, how big an asshole am I?”

  Fortunately Mike was gracious and said he really was interested, as they were heading out on a European tour themselves. End of digression.

  Back at Shea Stadium, the final night proved to be an emotional one for Clarence. It all hit him during the last song, which was a special version of “Blood Brothers,” Bruce’s tribute to his bandmates. At this point in their career it was in Clarence’s mind that this could be it, the last time the E Street Band would ever perform together. He found it impossible to avoid tears. He remained in that fragile state in the car. As we were about to leave Bruce came over and tapped on the window.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” said Clarence. “It’s just a lot of emotion, you know.”

  “Yeah,” said Bruce. “But look, you’re coming to the party, aren’t you?”

  “Absolutely,” said Clarence.

  “Good, good. I’ll see you over there,” said Bruce, as he turned to go.

  “Hey, man,” said Clarence. Bruce stopped. “Thanks,” said the Big Man.

  “For what?” Bruce asked.

  Clarence grabbed his hand and held it.

  “For everything,” he said.

  Sanctuary

  Clarence

  Over the years the Temple of Soul has existed in many forms. It has been located in tiny dressing rooms and in lavish suites; in small tents and in huge RV’s. But every place it is set up some things remain constant. There are always pictures of my family and my guru. There is always a picture of me, too, but that’s just ’cause I’m so good looking I never get tired of seeing myself. You’d do the same thing if you were the sexiest man on the planet.

  There is always a massage table and a massage chair. All of the Big Man’s stage clothes are there including a collection of black fedoras made for me by Borsilino. There is always caviar and crackers and roast chicken and lots of sodas and beer and sports drinks. There is usually a bottle of something harder around, too; most often it’s tequila.

  The Temple of Soul is off limits to everybody except for members of my inner circle. In fact I often put a sign on the door that reads “Don’t come in unless you are Jesus and you’d better have your Daddy with you!” That dissuades most people.

  It is essential for me to have a refuge when I’m on the road and that’s what the Temple of Soul is. It is my sanctuary.

  One of my favorite incarnations was when the Temple lived inside a customized tour bus. That thing was like a beautiful house on wheels and I traveled in it for a while. But when the tour went international the bus couldn’t make the trip and I missed it. To have a full kitchen and living room and, best of all, a private bedroom and bath was near the height of luxury. Near but not at the top.

  The top for me was a private train car Don and I chartered in California. We took our families on a trip down the coast to San Diego in a gorgeous car that had a full galley, two bedrooms, and two sitting rooms. It was fabulous. I would love to have a car like that for my own.

  I would keep it at a siding in a train yard and not tell anybody except for my family and close friends where it was. I’d trick it out with flat-screens and a killer sound system. I’d have a rear platform on it and I’d stand out there and wave at people as I went by. I actually got to do that on the trip we took and it made me feel like the president. Something about seeing a train go by makes people smile.

  Now I’ve traveled a lot and much of it has been in luxury. In the band we fly on chartered jets and some of them are very beautiful. But nothing compares to the feeling of traveling in your own train car. It made me feel like a king. I didn’t want the journey to end. If it weren’t for the fact that we have to travel long distances in short periods of time I’d never fly. I would get myself that car and take it everywhere. And I would name the car Mrs. Silvers.

  Mrs. Silvers is the name of a teacher I had in the seventh grade. She had a major impact on my life. She was unusual in a lot of ways. She was an African American woman teaching white kids, which was pretty rare back in the day. She and I were the only two people of color in the entire school. Maybe the entire neighborhood. I think that it was because of that fact that she was so hard on me.

  “You’re dumb,” she’d say to me. “You’re never going to amount to anything in this life, mark my words.”

  And I did mark her words. Or maybe they marked me. I was determined to prove her wrong, and that became one of my key motivators in life. Unfortunately she didn’t live to see how things turned out for me, and that’s a shame. I would’ve enjoyed taking her for a little train ride.

  Dublin

  Don

  Dublin is as good a place as any to talk about Clarence’s relationships with women. We were in a restaurant one night, and “Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out” came on the sound system. Bruce sang, “ ‘When the change was made uptown and the Big Man joined the band / From the coastline to the city all the little pretties raise their hands.’ ” Clarence smiled and said, “They did, too.” The point being women love Clarence and he returns the favor. Depending on who’s counting, he’s been married five or six times (five, officially) and has had the numerous relationships you’d think a man in his position might have. He also seems to remain on friendly terms with all of them. One night I was in the Temple of Soul after a show at Madison Square Garden. The room was crowded. There were at least three women in the room I knew for a fact had dated Clarence. They all seemed happy to see him and didn’t seem at all bothered by the presence of the others. And those are the three I’m sure about. Katie Couric was in the room, too. I have no idea if Katie has ever known Clarence in the biblical sense, but it wouldn’t surprise me.

  So we get to Dublin as part of the “Rising” tour. At the time Clarence was dating a female basketball player from Yugoslavia who was tall, beautiful, and funny. My wife and I spent three days with them in Dublin and, except for the few hours we slept, we were together almost nonstop. The only time we were not together was one afternoon when Clarence was having acupuncture to hopefully help his back, which had bothered him for years.

  Two months later I was home in Los Angeles when the phone rang. It was Clarence.

  “I’m at the airport in Atlanta,” he said. “I’ve got the ring in my pocket and I’m flying to Dublin to ask her to marry me.”

  “Who?”
I asked, thinking he must be talking about the basketball player.

  “The acupuncturist,” he said.

  “You’re marrying an Irish acupuncturist?” I said.

  “No, she’s Chinese,” he replied.

  That turned out to be Gina, from whom he is now divorced. But the story is illustrative of the romantic nature of the man. Now he’s with Victoria, whom he met in Marin, near San Francisco. I wish them well.

  The Legend of Fishing with Norman Mailer, Florida (Date Unknown)

  The Naked and the Dead changed my life. The power of Norman Mailer’s writing overwhelmed me. It still does. The stories about him in this book are a wish fulfillment. He was my companion on so many plane rides and in so many dressing rooms over the years that I began to believe I knew him. He is a hero of mine. —C.C.

  Clarence and Norman Mailer were flatboat fishing in the Florida Keys. They were sitting on opposite ends of an almost new sixteen-footer. It was hot. Both wore sunglasses. Norman’s glasses had a blue tint; Clarence’s were black. Norman was shirtless. Clarence wore a white T-shirt with a picture of Willy DeVille on it. Clarence lit a cigar. Norman swatted and killed a mosquito on his forearm. It left a little spot of blood on his arm and another on his palm. He wiped his hand on his cargo shorts.

  “Think I could take you in a fair fight?” asked Norman.

  “No.”

  “I’m talking a street fight. Down and dirty.”

  “You said a fair fight.”

  “It’ll be fair, but no holds barred.”

  “No.”

  “No what? No, you don’t think I could take you?”

  “That’s right,” said Clarence. “You couldn’t take me.”

  “Why not?”