In 2005, I was asked to do a photo shoot with Sonny Rollins, and as a fan of his music, I wanted to take the kind of photographs I myself would have loved to see – images connected to the famous, legendary story of Rollins practicing on the Williamsburg Bridge during his celebrated hiatus from public performances, which lasted from the summer of 1959 until the end of 1961. The story of Sonny practicing on the Williamsburg Bridge at night is one of the most romantic tales in jazz history. Although I thought it would be wonderful to photograph Sonny with the Williamsburg Bridge in the background, I wasn’t sure he would like the idea. Much to my surprise, when I spoke to him on the phone, he told me he thought it was a “wonderful idea” and seemed genuinely enthusiastic about being photographed with the bridge.
One day, while crossing the bridge, Sonny realized it would be the perfect place to practice without disturbing a neighbor’s pregnant wife. Once he got up there, he discovered that he could play with complete freedom. He said it was exactly what he had been looking for – a secluded place where he could play as loudly as he wanted. He loved playing along with the sounds of the city – the foghorns and the trains – and often spent 15 or 16 hours a day up there, feeling as though he could stay forever. Being so close to the sky gave him a profound, almost spiritual sense of freedom. Sonny loved the way his saxophone blended with the ambient sounds of the city: the boats passing beneath him, the cars speeding by, and the subway trains crossing the bridge created a perfect, serendipitous backdrop that allowed him to immerse himself deeply in the flow of his subconscious.
I explained to Sonny that the bridge had been renovated since the days when he practiced there, and that the configuration of the walkway where he used to play had changed considerably. So, rather than positioning ourselves on the bridge itself, I suggested finding a location where we could photograph him with the bridge behind him. He agreed, and we set a date. As the day approached, however, the weather forecast grew increasingly ominous, with a 100 percent chance of rain predicted for the day of the shoot. I called Sonny twice, trying unsuccessfully to persuade him to reschedule. Each time I called, Sonny laughed and said, “You know, I think I have a special relationship with the weather gods. Don’t worry, everything will be fine.”
On the day of the shoot, the forecast called for severe thunderstorms, with powerful winds and thunder expected at precisely the time we were scheduled to take the photographs. I was afraid the weather would make the shoot impossible. For an hour and a half before Sonny’s arrival, the rain came down so hard that little rivers formed on the ground around me and my crew. The Williamsburg Bridge had completely disappeared from view, leaving us extremely worried. We took shelter from the rain inside our car, but then the police showed up and asked us to roll down the window. We were afraid they would tell us to leave, since we had parked illegally on the grass, where cars were not permitted. Instead, the officers were extremely friendly. They explained that the last time they had seen a car parked in that very spot, there had been a dead body inside. They were simply checking to make sure we were all right.
When Sonny arrived in his stretch limousine, the rain stopped as if by magic. It was an extraordinary, almost eerie turn of events – exactly as he had predicted. Sonny looked remarkably dignified, almost mystically solemn, impeccably dressed in a black overcoat and a burgundy Italian silk scarf. It was amusing to think that even the God of the Saxophone had a taste for fine clothes, scarves, and Italian shoes!
For the photograph, Sonny stood towering over the bridge like Zeus atop a mountain. As soon as he reached the location, he began improvising on his saxophone. He turned in different directions, testing the sounds that came back to him, weaving powerful, glorious, spontaneous phrases – imitating the foghorns and tugboats of a distant past, or exploring how his deep, resonant low notes carried on the wind along the waterfront. Sonny seemed endlessly creative and imaginative, quoting familiar melodies and completely oblivious to everyone and everything around him.
I think that, at that moment, Sonny had completely forgotten he was there for a photo shoot. A small group of people emerged from the nearby buildings and stood listening to him play in silence, as though attending a private concert. No one bothered to ask who he was, but Sonny’s stature and complete command of the moment were evident to everyone present. We felt that the little crowd understood they were witnessing a man who embodied true creative greatness.
Needless to say, I was thrilled to be photographing Sonny, and I was fully aware of the significance of the occasion. After forty-five minutes of taking pictures, Sonny climbed back into his limousine to leave, and at that very instant the rain began pouring down again. We had to scramble to pack away our photographic equipment before it was damaged.
My wife Dena and I knew we had experienced a magical day.
Jimmy & Dena Katz
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