A fantastic--in, you know, the classic sense--Sonny story from Rafi Zabor.

"Well, the way I heard it, Sonny, in one of his fairly strange years in the 60s, was playing a gig in Queens and walking around the club as he played, as was his wont in those days—I well remember him stepping on my foot once at the Five Spot (oh yes, I've been around). On a well-witnessed night, Sonny marched around the club and then up the stairs to the street, playing all the while. About ten people from the club followed him as he played to the traffic and kept walking, taking a turn into a residential neighborhood, keeping the tune going and himself on the march until he came to a regulation-looking house, came to a halt and played to the house until John and Alice Coltrane came out, waved, and called "Hello, Sonny." Mr. Rollins serenaded them for a few minutes, then about-faced and marched back into the club—he'd been away for maybe twenty minutes—where something extraordinary finally happened. Wait for it. Sonny Rollins lost his temper. Take a breath and stop reading while you wonder why. Okay: he lost his temper because the rhythm section had stopped playing the tune . . . I'm not making this up."