Miles, Red Garland. I mean, these pictures take me back into a time which will never be like that again. Everybody was working. Everybody was contributing. Everybody was being appreciated. Jazz was appreciated. Of course, many of these guys aren’t here anymore,

and that’s emotional for me, too. Here I am, the last guy standing. And I’m sure that the habits I established around that time – healthy habits – were responsible for my good fortune.

It’s hard for me to look through these pictures with anything but great feeling: Coleman Hawkins, Philly Joe Jones, Jimmy Heath, Pete La Roca. All these guys represent a family that’s special to me. I was lucky, because I always had a great family life with my wife at home. But these guys, you could say that they were a family, too.

The photos that Steve Schapiro took of me at the Apollo have special meaning for me. I spent my life going to the Apollo. As a youngster, I used to go there every week and catch the bands that came to town. I was born on 157th Street in Harlem, so I was right in the area. When I was getting older and going to the Apollo, we were living on Sugar Hill and we took the streetcar. We’d catch the streetcar at 155th Street and Amsterdam Avenue and that streetcar went all the way down Amsterdam Avenue, going through the neighbourhood, making stops. It would make a left turn at 125th Street and then we’d go across 125th Street to the Apollo. I saw everybody there: Count Basie, and I think I saw Duke Ellington there. All the stars of the day, all the great artists of the day, came through and they’d spend a week at the Apollo. I saw Coleman Hawkins with a small group; I went to see him twice,

because Coleman was my man. Dinah Washington. Lionel Hampton and his band. Arnett Cobb, the saxophonist. Tiny Bradshaw and his band — I think Sonny Stitt was in that band. The Apollo was like my high school, or I should say my college. I was there every week. I went with guys from school; there were quite a few jazz fans in my group.

Now, if you ask me if I remember my week at the Apollo, the week that’s in these pictures? Somewhat. I remember when I played there, people from my block where I’d lived – they were there, shouting, “Yeah! Go, Sonny! Go, Sonny!” And I remember my friend Bobby Hutcherson was there. Years later, I was talking to him about it, and he remembered that

I’d been lifting weights in the dressing room. He recalled the heavy sound of my weights when I put them down on the floor: Boom! I was lifting weights as a change in life, and I used to walk around the city with my dumbbells, and people would say, “Wow, look at that guy. He’s got a five-pound dumbbell in one hand and his saxophone case in his other hand.” They’d say, “Wow, he’s a weird guy.” But I think it did contribute to my longevity, to my being here today.