Bob rocking at the piano; Clarence rocking as an E Street Band star; and me with Clarence in between cover shots on the beach at Singer Island in 2000.
The Little Man and The Big Man
Rock ’n’ roll music lived in my brother Bob’s heart. Despite being born with a genetic condition called Williams syndrome, leaving him with intellectual and physical disabilities, he always found an escape from life’s many challenges in his passion for music – a defining Williams trait that has long mystified geneticists.
Motor-skill issues made it difficult for Bob to handle many routine tasks, but he could keep a steady, pounding rock beat for decades on his drum set in the basement of our house. And his simple but distinctive piano style – instantly recognizable as Bob – always featured a left hand that simulated a rock bass, while his right picked out the song’s melody.
I have no doubt he would have been quite an amazing musician if not for his limitations. Though he was short in stature — 4-feet, 11 inches – he was big in personality, always reaching out to make new friends with a broad smile, and impressing with his vast rock ’n’ roll mental library.
Bob knew far more about bands and music trivia than anyone else I knew. He constantly added to his rock album collection and was an avid concert-goer, even though that meant mostly buying a single ticket and attending shows by himself. He did so with money he saved from his job of 30 years with the U.S. Government Printing Office in downtown Washington, D.C., delivering mail and doing small tasks in his department.
But in spite of his obstacles, Bob still achieved something that probably 99 percent of rock ‘n’ roll fans never do – and that was to establish a genuine, if brief, connection with a real-life rock ‘n’ roll legend.
This is a story of The Little Man and The Big Man: about Bob and a towering, world-famous sax man –– the late Clarence “Big Man” Clemons –– of Bruce Springsteen’s fabled E Street Band. It is the tale an encounter that proved to be meaningful and memorable for both of them.
In the winter of 2009, Bob purchased a very expensive ticket to a Springsteen concert scheduled for that May at the Verizon Center -- and he was beyond excited. His birthday was only four days after the show, so the concert was an early present to himself. But Bob never made it to the concert. On a foggy and drizzly April morning, he was struck by a car as he stepped off the curb of a busy Rockville, Md. street, rushing to catch a bus to work.
The impact shattered his legs, knocked him airborne and put him in a coma for days. Honestly, it was a miracle he survived. But several weeks after regaining consciousness and beginning a grueling in-patient rehabilitation regimen, Bob received a phone call in his rehab center room. On the other end of the line was none other than Clarence Clemons.
Clarence had heard of Bob’s accident – his love of Bruce and the E Street Band, and his dashed plans to attend the show – from a local music promoter named Johnny Green, whomI knew from my music writing and entertainment editing days at the area’s paper, the St. Petersburg Times. I'd also had the opportunity to travel Clarence's Singer Island home near West Palm Beach in 2000 to profile him and write about his support of a charity mission for the homeless. The story ran on Christmas Day and Clarence playfully donned a Santa cap for the main photo – typical of his kind, outgoing nature.
So, it should come as no surprise that he made the call without hesitation to boost Bob’s spirits as he lay in a hospital bed in 2009. Bob’s mood was lifted, indeed. Here’s what he later said to me about that experience: “When the Big Man called me, I felt like I was part of the band. Clarence said, ‘You are my brother. And I said to him, ‘You are part of me.’ That was a big moment in my life.”
A year or so later, I had the opportunity to again interview Clarence – this time with co-author Bob Delaney. It was for a chapter in our book, Surviving the Shadows, about post-traumatic stress – something my brother had dealt with from the accident. This is what Clarence said about the conversation: “I was glad the call helped Robert and it was good for me, too. We felt a definite connection – I’ll always have him in my heart and mind.”
Bob had touched a rock icon with his genuineness and vulnerability – by just being himself. And Clarence, through his own generous spirit, had made a simple, selfless gesture that helped Bob on his road to recovery. But that’s not the end of the story.
In 2012, accompanied by a family friend who pushed him in a wheelchair, Bob finally made it to see Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band in concert. Sadly, Clarence wasn’t there at the show. He had passed away the previous year from a stroke. Still, the connection that they had shared that day in 2009 led to yet another magical rock ‘n’ roll experience for Bob.
Springsteen’s stage manager, whom I knew only as Carl, had been made aware of how Clarence had reached out in such a heartfelt way to Bob in a time of need. And he took it upon himself to do something special for Bob, just as Clemons would surely have wanted. Carl met Bob and our friend at the front of the Verizon Center, after they entered with their tickets, and escorted them inside the arena — right to the front of the large mixing board in middle of the arena floor.
Once there, Carl spoke with several stage hands. Moments later, they lifted Bob, still seated in his wheelchair, high up onto the platform – ensuring that he had a perfect vantage point to watch the whole show.
Bob passed away in 2018, when one of the respiratory issues that plagued him in life became too much for his system. But the memory of The Little Man and The Big Man still burns bright – the story of a special guy who persevered through long odds in life and wound up having a very real, big-time experience in the music he loved; and a rock star who took the time to reach out to someone in great need.
In a world marked by so much division, it serves as a message of hope, illustrating how a simple act of kindness and love can make a lasting difference.
Rock ’n’ roll music lived in my brother Bob’s heart. Despite being born with a genetic condition called Williams syndrome, leaving him with intellectual and physical disabilities, he always found an escape from life’s many challenges in his passion for music – a defining Williams trait that has long mystified geneticists.
Motor-skill issues made it difficult for Bob to handle many routine tasks, but he could keep a steady, pounding rock beat for decades on his drum set in the basement of our house. And his simple but distinctive piano style – instantly recognizable as Bob – always featured a left hand that simulated a rock bass, while his right picked out the song’s melody.
I have no doubt he would have been quite an amazing musician if not for his limitations. Though he was short in stature — 4-feet, 11 inches – he was big in personality, always reaching out to make new friends with a broad smile, and impressing with his vast rock ’n’ roll mental library.
Bob knew far more about bands and music trivia than anyone else I knew. He constantly added to his rock album collection and was an avid concert-goer, even though that meant mostly buying a single ticket and attending shows by himself. He did so with money he saved from his job of 30 years with the U.S. Government Printing Office in downtown Washington, D.C., delivering mail and doing small tasks in his department.
But in spite of his obstacles, Bob still achieved something that probably 99 percent of rock ‘n’ roll fans never do – and that was to establish a genuine, if brief, connection with a real-life rock ‘n’ roll legend.
This is a story of The Little Man and The Big Man: about Bob and a towering, world-famous sax man –– the late Clarence “Big Man” Clemons –– of Bruce Springsteen’s fabled E Street Band. It is the tale an encounter that proved to be meaningful and memorable for both of them.
In the winter of 2009, Bob purchased a very expensive ticket to a Springsteen concert scheduled for that May at the Verizon Center -- and he was beyond excited. His birthday was only four days after the show, so the concert was an early present to himself. But Bob never made it to the concert. On a foggy and drizzly April morning, he was struck by a car as he stepped off the curb of a busy Rockville, Md. street, rushing to catch a bus to work.
The impact shattered his legs, knocked him airborne and put him in a coma for days. Honestly, it was a miracle he survived. But several weeks after regaining consciousness and beginning a grueling in-patient rehabilitation regimen, Bob received a phone call in his rehab center room. On the other end of the line was none other than Clarence Clemons.
Clarence had heard of Bob’s accident – his love of Bruce and the E Street Band, and his dashed plans to attend the show – from a local music promoter named Johnny Green, whomI knew from my music writing and entertainment editing days at the area’s paper, the St. Petersburg Times. I'd also had the opportunity to travel Clarence's Singer Island home near West Palm Beach in 2000 to profile him and write about his support of a charity mission for the homeless. The story ran on Christmas Day and Clarence playfully donned a Santa cap for the main photo – typical of his kind, outgoing nature.
So, it should come as no surprise that he made the call without hesitation to boost Bob’s spirits as he lay in a hospital bed in 2009. Bob’s mood was lifted, indeed. Here’s what he later said to me about that experience: “When the Big Man called me, I felt like I was part of the band. Clarence said, ‘You are my brother. And I said to him, ‘You are part of me.’ That was a big moment in my life.”
A year or so later, I had the opportunity to again interview Clarence – this time with co-author Bob Delaney. It was for a chapter in our book, Surviving the Shadows, about post-traumatic stress – something my brother had dealt with from the accident. This is what Clarence said about the conversation: “I was glad the call helped Robert and it was good for me, too. We felt a definite connection – I’ll always have him in my heart and mind.”
Bob had touched a rock icon with his genuineness and vulnerability – by just being himself. And Clarence, through his own generous spirit, had made a simple, selfless gesture that helped Bob on his road to recovery. But that’s not the end of the story.
In 2012, accompanied by a family friend who pushed him in a wheelchair, Bob finally made it to see Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band in concert. Sadly, Clarence wasn’t there at the show. He had passed away the previous year from a stroke. Still, the connection that they had shared that day in 2009 led to yet another magical rock ‘n’ roll experience for Bob.
Springsteen’s stage manager, whom I knew only as Carl, had been made aware of how Clarence had reached out in such a heartfelt way to Bob in a time of need. And he took it upon himself to do something special for Bob, just as Clemons would surely have wanted. Carl met Bob and our friend at the front of the Verizon Center, after they entered with their tickets, and escorted them inside the arena — right to the front of the large mixing board in middle of the arena floor.
Once there, Carl spoke with several stage hands. Moments later, they lifted Bob, still seated in his wheelchair, high up onto the platform – ensuring that he had a perfect vantage point to watch the whole show.
Bob passed away in 2018, when one of the respiratory issues that plagued him in life became too much for his system. But the memory of The Little Man and The Big Man still burns bright – the story of a special guy who persevered through long odds in life and wound up having a very real, big-time experience in the music he loved; and a rock star who took the time to reach out to someone in great need.
In a world marked by so much division, it serves as a message of hope, illustrating how a simple act of kindness and love can make a lasting difference.
Musical Blogs
|
|
Covid Woes
When the pandemic hit in March 2020, our daily lives were turned upside down – toilet paper flew off the shelves, Zoom replaced face-to-face meetings as we sheltered n place, and washing down groceries was a regular routine. As a way of capturing the new normal that linked us all, I wrote and recorded this music parody to a familiar tune and turned it into a music video featuring my family to reflect America's shared experience. The video received coverage in Tampa Bay Times, and was featured on News Channel 8 and PBS's Florida This Week. |
|
|
We Will Survive
As COVID-19 took its toll across the country, I wrote this parody to the tune of the classic I Will Survive – recording and producing this music video as a tribute to front-line healthcare workers and their heroism. In this video, Avery Parks, an ER nurse, sings this number dedicated to nurses, doctors and medical heroes who are putting their safety and lives on the line every day during this global pandemic. The song was performed by my band, Ocean Road – and recorded remotely by me and various band members. |
|
|
Take Me Out to the Ballgame
This was the Scheiber Family's ode to the start the Major League Baseball season on Opening Day 2020. To mark the occasion, I recorded and produced this video of "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" with cameos by the grandkids, son Davey, daughter Laura and wife Janie – trying to illustrate the universal, generational appeal of the game. The fun really began when the Rays heard the song and used an abbreviated version of it as a 7th Inning Stretch song at various home games at Tropicana Field. And we couldn't have been more thrilled that it was eventually played in Game 7 of the American League Championship Series at Petco Park in San Diego, and then in Game 3 of the World Series at Globe Life Field in Texas. Click here to view. |