A Jackie Stevens Memorial.
Jack is at rest now.
by Peter DeVeber
"So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."
--F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
My friend Jack Stevens was 62. He lived his last years in a nursing home in Newport, Rhode Island. He suffered acute emphysema - it wasn't going to get better. And he had a number of other afflictions that I won't go into here. The emphysema did him in. In his last couple of months he was gasping. In his last days he was drowning. In his last hours he was sleeping - in a deep sleep. There I was able to sit with him for awhile that last night and see him peaceful. That was good. To see him peaceful.
Jack died at 1:45 A.M. Saturday, January 18, 2003. Peacefully.
In his "good life" Jack was an extraordinary jazzman, premier saxophone player, alto and tenor. That is what he was. Jazz player and composer. Top man. Top. In the 1960s and 70s, he went out with the big bands Woody Herman, the revived Tommy Dorsey band, Si Zentner, and Herb Pomeroy to name some) and he led small groups; trios, quartets, quintets - playing the music. Jack's tenor saxophone rendition of On the Trail stays in my mind, as does his playing of Stella (by Starlight). Jesus, he could play jazz - uplifting, soaring - regal.
At noon, Tuesday, January 21, 2003, saxophonist Greg Abate opened Jack's service with the alto and a Charlie Parker tune, Confirmation. Greg turned and spoke to Jack, then blew that jazz solo we are all sure Jack heard and thumped to.
Leo Curran was next. Leo was the friend who would converse musically with Jack three nights a week on the phone. Leo was road manager for the Stan Kenton orchestra in the 1950s. Leo knew jazz music and he knew jazz virtuosos in the day. Leo patted his chest and gulped, "Jack was the best blues tenor player I ever heard." Leo was filled with heartache and this spoke his straight ahead love for Jack.
Then Leo Connerton offered prayers and testimony about Jack and about Jack's friends. Betty from the nursing home staff read a poem to Jack; Jean told a story that might have been Jack's last real laugh.
Greg concluded the service with a tenor rendition of Alone Together. That day that moment, Jack was alone together with the people who loved him - alone together with his sister Sally in Hawaii. At that very moment she was at a Mass for Jack in Honolulu.
Jack struggled but never complained. He would sometimes lament the abuse he had heaped on his body - but never once did he complain. He had every right to be bitter but was not. Instead, he would say, "I lived a good life." He had played music, he had danced with angels, he had known the happy times. He was a player. He never thought he could sound like "Bird." But, man, he could play and oh he could improvise - Jack Stevens was one of the great improvisers. Oh, there were glimpses everywhere of wondrous things. That's Jack's legacy - those glimpses of those wondrous things: his love, his genius; that savvy and talent - his kindness, his gentleness - and his thoughtfulness toward everyone. His good soul.
In his pain (and there was much), Jack lived very spiritually inwardly and outwardly, a philosophy of profound tenderness; only willing to die when it was no longer noble for him to live or noble for those taking care of him to keep him alive. Oh, the dignity!
The end of Jack's handwritten Last Wishes:
I believe in God.
I'm Catholic.
Goodbye, Jack. We will miss you.
In Loving Memory of
John "Jack" Stevens
September 25, 1940 ~ January 18, 2003