Before the funeral began, a man playing a mournful baritone saxophone walked from the back, up the center aisle at Charbonnet-Labat-Glapion Funeral Home.
Facing the casket, Roger Lewis played an elegy to his longtime bandmate Elliott “Stackman” Callier, who lay in front of him, with a signature fedora from Meyer the Hatter on his chest and his well-worn tenor saxophone tucked next to his side. It wasn’t a known melody. “It was spontaneous. It was his soul coming into me,” said Lewis, 84, who had played in horn sections next to Callier for several decades.
The two were part of a tight-knit circle of New Orleans musicians who moved seamlessly from jazz, R&B, and funk band, creating powerhouse horn sections that are now the stuff of legend in New Orleans.
Callier’s time together with Lewis dates to days in the 1970s playing with singer Johnny Adams, known as “The Tan Canary;” then with rock’n’roll pioneer Fats Domino starting in the 1980s, the Dirty Dozen Brass Band, and the Tremé Brass Band along with stops through hundreds of other bands.
When Callier passed away last month at age of 83, Lewis became the last member of the Fats Domino band still standing. “Guys I used to run with, none of them are left,” he said.
Distinct sound, with a look like Super Fly
Young people today may not know that spark, that bonded musicianship formed over years spent together traveling around the world and playing until dawn in New Orleans clubs.
But Lewis remembers the beautiful result when his horn joined with former New Orleans sax players, like Fred Kemp, Frederick “Shep” Sheppard — and his friend Stackman.
“He had a distinct sound,” Lewis said. “It was like he was singing through the sax, like he was telling a story.”
Guitarist Les Getrex also found Callier remarkable, when Getrex joined the legendary AFB band in the 1970s, which became the best barroom band in the city. “He played that tenor sax like no one else,” Getrex said. “His tone was so soulful. So fat and mellow. It made the hair stand up on your arms.”
Yet Callier didn’t get the world-class recognition he deserved in his hometown. “He was probably the most underrated saxophone player in New Orleans,” Lewis said. But those who played on bandstands with him knew his worth.
The intimate crowd at Friday’s funeral reflected Callier’s popularity with musicians, who made up roughly half of the people attending his service. They came with their horns and drums and played for him in a funeral procession around the Tremé neighborhood before the black Charbonnet hearse carried him away for a military burial in Slidell.
At the funeral, Getrex ran through his friend’s list of names. When Callier was born on January 12, 1943, his parents Olivia and Edward Callier named him Elliott William Callier. Everybody called him Stackman. Some other people called him Billy. Others called him Cochise, referring to his American Indian heritage. But when anyone asked, he would often say simply that he was “Mrs. Callier’s son.”
For all his life, Callier split his time between Portland, Oregon, where his maternal relatives lived, and New Orleans.
As a teen, he began living full-time in New Orleans, playing music at Booker T. Washington High School, graduating in 1961, before joining the U.S. Air Force where he played music in the band until he was honorably discharged in 1963. He also played professional football in Canada.
But New Orleans drew him back. He became known around town for his musicianship and his distinct look: sharp suits with brimmed hats over pulled back long hair. “Like Super Fly,” Getrex said.
‘You could call him with any kind of gig’
Callier was a musician’s musician, who didn’t limit himself to one genre or one band. “He was a real New Orleans musician. He was everything. You could call him with any kind of gig,” Lewis said.
He was a regular at Allen Toussaint’s SeaSaint Studio and a part of the band at Cosimo Matassa’s studio for Lee Dorsey’s Toussaint-produced 1966 hit, “Working in a Coal Mine. He played modern jazz with the Seminoles, headed by saxophonist Earl Turbinton and his brother, keyboardist Willie Tee.
Blew R&B at hot spots like Dorothy’s Medallion Inn and Mason’s Las Vegas Strip with Big Dixon and the Cardinals. He toured with Dr. John, Wardell Quezergue, Dejean’s Olympia Brass Band, and the Chosen Few Brass Band. When he was home, he’d walk to Jackson Square and play with the pickup band there, then head to Preservation Hall and play three gigs a night with the band there.
He had a swagger about him. He soaked his reeds in cognac. Laughed big. When bandmates like Getrex stood up to sing vocals, he’d command, “Sing pretty.” He was a trained carpenter. A trusted mechanic. A great cook. He also had a signature way of leaving. “Smooches,” he’d say to the room, as he waved goodnight and left.
His reputation as a storyteller is also the stuff of legend. “He had many stories. Some people say he was lying. I call them stories,” Getrex said.
He even instructed his children — or his “little Stackies, as he called them — in the art of blending “imagination” with honesty. “You better believe the lie before you tell it, or no one else will!” he’d say.
Whenever caught in a lie, he shrugged it off, Lewis said. “I was just entertaining,” he’d say.
“But his music was no joke. That dude could really play. And we shared so much together,” said Lewis, his voice cracking a little. On Friday, after he walked back from Callier’s casket, he sat down and sobbed.
He’s been to many musician funerals. But this was the first time he’d cried.
“We’ll never hear that sound again,” he said. “Every time we lose a true New Orleans musician, they take that sound with them. Nobody can match that sound again. Some people might imitate him, but we’ll never hear the Stackman sound again. Never.”
Callier is survived by two sisters, Geraldine Elizabeth Hammond and Mary Etta Delisa Callier; his brother Ricky Lovell Callier; a host of grandchildren and great-grandchildren; and his children: Mozella “Peaches” Callier, Yvette Gremillion-Watkins (Mario), Monet Callier Davis (Michael), Dawn Coignet-Saulny (Glen), Bridget White, Krieg Perkins, Ron Alexis, and Gionni Turner; and Karla, Karen, and Kim, who held a special place in his heart.
