Thread by @letzing

There was this story I worked on forever that never ran, and it still bothers me. It involved Bob Dylan and a San Francisco bus driver—who also happened to be a great singer.

In Dylan’s 2005 memoir he described rehearsing for a tour with the Grateful Dead in this building in San Rafael, north of San Francisco, in 1987. Dylan was at a low point. Burned out and just going through the motions. One night he wanders off to a bar.

At the bar, a jazz singer blows Dylan away; “it was like the guy had an open window to my soul.” Reinvigorated, Dylan rushes back to rehearsal with a new approach, and “had that old jazz singer to thank.” Two pages later he puts a decision to retire on hold.

So, who was this singer with talent so prodigious it helped Bob Dylan rediscover his own voice—and kickstart the second half of a storied career?

John “Buddy” Conner had died a year before Dylan’s memoir appeared. Buddy never made it big. But anyone who saw him perform had recollections that were rhapsodic and unusually vivid; they tended to sound a lot like Bob Dylan’s.

“He had a voice, oh my God” said one of Buddy’s contemporaries. Dylan had compared the singer in his book to Billy Eckstine. Musicians who knew Buddy made the same comparison. This is Buddy’s obit in the SF Chronicle—which compares him to Billy Eckstine:
m.sfgate.com/bayarea/articl…

Dylan was 46 in 1987, Conner was 57; Dylan described the singer as “older” and nattily dressed in a mohair suit, hat and tie. Buddy was a sharp dresser. His widow still had a closet full of his clothes in 2011. She put one of his Stetsons on my head. It looked like this:

Buddy occasionally performed in San Rafael at the time of Dylan’s anecdote, was a physical match, and had the singing style described in the book. But the only San Rafael bar that fit the book’s description was this place, which did not have live music:

Enter Toni Lee Scott, an ex-jazz singer who used to own the bar. In 1987 it had live music. People had already asked Toni about Dylan’s book. “I knew it was our place,” she said. “It was Buddy.” Toni had lost a leg in a motorcycle accident, and was a guest on “This is Your Life”:

Toni remembered Buddy, but mostly wanted to talk about James Dean—who had heard about her accident and got in touch. They became friends. Photos of them were all over her house:

For Toni, a connection to Bob Dylan was a logical element in the kind of life where James Dean might just call you up one day. Buddy’s life was less dramatic. By 1996 he had managed to produce an album, but his widow said it was never promoted.

I was pretty sure Buddy was the mysterious figure in Dylan’s book. So was everyone I talked to. But wouldn’t Buddy have noticed Bob Dylan standing there in that small bar, and you know, mention it? This is a very famous Dylan circa 1987:

The thing about Buddy, his widow said, is that by 1987 he could hardly see—much less spot a face in a crowd. Diabetes ravaged his eyesight, and he had to retire early from his job as a San Francisco bus driver.

Retirement enabled Buddy to focus on music. He’d cold call venues to get gigs. A good one paid $100, and he’d bring the type of trio Dylan described—because there wasn’t enough money to go around for more musicians.

Buddy’s reputation grew. He performed at the Monterey Jazz Festival. Pharoah Sanders would occasionally sit in with him at gigs in Oakland.

But it was all happening very late for Buddy. “Buddy just flat out ran out of time,” said drummer Paul Tillman Smith. “If he had sacrificed and not worked, he would have been huge.” Buddy was 74 when he died.

In the end, my editor said without proving 💯% it was Buddy in Dylan’s book, the story didn’t work. She was right. I still think it was Buddy, though. Bob Dylan never called me back to confirm. He was busy. That year, he performed at the Grammys:

In the “A Star is Born” version of this story, Bob Dylan, forever grateful, gives Buddy the boost he needs while he’s still in his 50s. Maybe even makes him famous. *That* is a story my editor probably would have been interested in running. RIP, Buddy.