A Dr. Jazz Memory: We went to see Steve Martin at Amazing Grace, which was on Main St. just east of Chicago Ave. (I seem to recall the audience actually sat on the floor.) Martin himself was as Amazing as the venue, with a capital A. The wild 'n' crazy dynamo that was Steve Martin was overwhelming, awesome. For an audience member, it was like being
ravished by humor. So, after the show, we walk across to Dr. Jazz for a sundae or peanut butter shake or whatever. And there he was, alone, at a booth on the opposite wall from ours, a complete "black hole" of energy if ever there was one--instead of giving any out, now it was like he was sucking all the room's available energy into his vortex. A study in complete and utter exhaustion sipping a peanut butter shake. No one dared approach him. We didn't begrudge him his near-death blackness, because there was probably no way any human being could have put on the show he had just put on and end up any other way. We had nothing but gratitude for his sacrifice, and not a snarky thought between the four of us as to the contrast with the Steve Martin we had just seen.
You might think the vibe he was giving off was "Yes, I'm Steve Martin, and I just want to be left alone." But it was more than that--or rather, less than that. I've never seen anyone so
depleted in all my life. Such was the nature of the show he put on back then. Good thing that peanut butter shake gave him the strength to go on.