Four Sonny Rollins Short Stories
Christmas in July, The Greatest City, That Close to Death, and Now or Never
Christmas in July
A good friend of Sonny Rollins, Paul Jeffrey, told me this story.
On unusually hot Fourth of July, Paul went to visit Sonny at his apartment in Brooklyn, near the Williamsburg Bridge. This was during the bridge years, when Sonny would practice on the bridge. Occasionally, Paul would join him.
Sonny welcomed Paul and they went into the living room, where Sonny had a rather large Christmas tree, fully decorated, with lights flashing. Paul thought it a bit odd that Sonny’s Christmas tree would still be operational in July, so he asked him, “Sonny, it’s the Fourth of July, why do you still have your Christmas tree up?”
“Because, Paul,” Sonny replied, “every day is Christmas.”
Here’s excerpt is from British filmmaker Dick Fontaine’s 2012 film, Beyond the Notes and includes Sonny and Paul Jeffrey on “the Bridge.” The film, which focuses on Sonny’s 80th Birthday Concert, is available on Amazon Prime for purchase and rental. Dick has made several other films about Sonny over the past half century.
Sonny told me the next three stories. I worked with him between 2004 and 2015, producing his website and many videos.
The story about joining Clifford and Max probably appears in some form in Aiden Levy’s book, Saxophone Colossus: The Life and Music of Sonny Rollins, which I highly recommend. It’s one of the most comprehensive biographies for a jazz musician, ever written. Like many of our elders, Sonny sometimes tells different versions of the same story to different people.
The Greatest City
One day Sonny and Max Roach were walking down Seventh Avenue in New York and a man approached them. “Max, what’s the most important city in the world,” he asked.
“New York.”
“No, that’s not it.”
Max paused for a moment and then responded, “Paris, the City of Light.”
“No Max, what is the most important city in the world?”
Max turned to Sonny and asked, “Do you know?” Sonny shook his head no.
“Alright, I give up, what is the most important city in the world?”
“Generosity.”
Max laughed and pulled out a five dollar bill from his pocket. “You earned this.”
That Close to Death
In the early 50s, when Sonny was an addict, he had a girl friend who was a prostitute. She called him one night and said that she was at a hotel with one of her johns who was an easy mark and suggested Sonny come by, and they could easily rob him.
A short time later, Sonny showed up the hotel, and once he was in the room, he proceeded to start beating the john up. The guy was on the ground, and Sonny was on top of him. This went on for a few minutes and it became obvious that with a few more punches, the guy would be out for good.
Sonny stopped, realizing the possible consequences of his actions. He got up and left, determined to avoid the sort of situation, ever again.
When Sonny told me this story, he paused for a long time, as if he was still digesting it. And then he said, “I could have killed that guy.”
Now or Never
In the early 50s, Sonny’s substance abuse problems worsened. When people would see him walking down the street, he told me, they would cross over to the other side because they didn’t want to encounter him. Even the man who inspired him to use heroin, Charlie Parker, warned Sonny about the consequences during a recording session, the only one they did together. Sonny lied and told him he wasn’t using any more.
He finally got busted and ended up on Riker’s Island, where experienced Cold Turkey during withdrawal and was placed in what he called the rubber room, a padded cell where he wore a straight jacket. Luckily, he was transferred to Lexington, a federal prison hospital in Kentucky for drug addicts. He spent a number of months there, and it turned his life around. Bela Lugosi and Peter Lorre were also Lexington patients. After he healed and left Lexington, he never returned to using narcotics. He decided to go to Chicago instead of New York. Sonny was afraid that his old ways would resurface if he were to be amidst all of his New York friends.
He worked as a porter at Chicago’s Wabash Y, an African American YMCA on the South Side, where he lived in the basement, his woodshed space near the furnace. He spent most of his time practicing, where no one could hear him, getting his chops back together. After a couple of months, the Max Roach-Clifford Quintet had a weeklong gig at the Beehive Lounge, also on the South Side. Harold Land was the tenor player. A resident of Los Angeles, Mr. Land received an ultimatum from his very pregnant wife: return home immediately, or never come back.
The night Harold Land gave Max his notice, Sonny was in club. Max offered Sonny the gig and he accepted. Three days later, he joined the Max and Clifford in Detroit. That marked the beginning of an amazingly productive period, recording some of the most revered jazz recordings in the history of this music. From that night to his first sabbatical five years later, Sonny was on fire.
Aftermath
Nearly six decades later, in 2011, President Barack Obama honored Sonny with the National Medal of Arts Award. His transformation from struggling on New York's streets to being honored for his artistic contributions at the White House is a testament to an incredible life's journey.
During the trials of his youth, Sonny found unconditional encouragement and assistance from his mother and grandmother, who provided the steadfast love and necessary support to overcome the seamingly impossible hurdles he faced. Amidst the heroin epidemic that plagued the jazz community, the enduring strength of those who persevered was frequently credited to the unwavering backing of their families.
Change is possible for those who are determined. Sonny Rollins exemplifies this, earning our admiration. For nearly eighty years, his tenor saxophone was seldom absent from his lips. His music remains timeless, and his spirit serves as a beacon of inspiration.
This doesn't elevate Sonny Rollins to a divine status; he is not to be idolized. He is merely a man who experiences the same highs and lows we all do in life. However, it is his distinctive creativity that distinguishes him. In the realm of Jazz, only a very select few possess the ability to improvise like Sonny. I've witnessed concerts where he played non-stop for nearly three hours, his performances narrating stories through music akin to Shakespeare's tales. For Sonny, this is his meditation.
In 1960 (I think) I hitchhiked from L.A. to Berkley to hear a solo performance by Sonny. He started playing before he entered the stage, played an hour concert of song after song and walked off the stage playing the songs in reverse order. I heard him at Shelly's Manne Hole and within 3 mins. the music was so intense that people were standing up and screaming.
Rename the bridge already!