Hopefully, this decades-old recollection of my fleeting but never forgotten moment with Clarence Clemons offers a smidge of the breeziness and joie de vivre of a Bruce Springsteen concert fable. And I tell it with as much joy as Bruce always did in those early years.

Bruce, with the Big Man at his side, was always the master of telling tall tales in front of a captive audience. Whether it was about coming face to face with Peter Pan on a deserted rooftop or encountering a Little Melvin and the Invaders alien space ship, the man knew how to tell a story.

This story has the innocence of most Bruce yarns, but is actually true.

My brother and I were bopping around Manhattan in the winter of 1982. Just hanging out, walking up and down Fifth Avenue and debating whether to purchase Rangers and Knicks memorabilia at Gerry Cosby’s next to the Garden, all the while searching for the biggest pretzel at any number of umbrella stands around town.

It was about 5 p.m. and we were headed to an early dinner in midtown, and then maybe a movie. However, before any of that we decided we needed to head to 51 W. 52nd St.

That was the home of CBS Records, the place where much of Springsteen’s brain trust was housed. We were enormous Springsteen fans and felt that, outside his recording studio and a trip down the Jersey Shore to Asbury Park — a journey we were about to make soon after — this was another Bruce landmark that needed to be seen in person.

Just as we arrived, we found ourselves in one of those moments that can never be planned, but was a perfect convergence of good luck and impeccable timing. Literally, as we turned the corner to reach the building, Clarence Clemons walked from the street through the building’s revolving front door, disappearing into the concrete abyss.

We looked at each other as if we’d seen a ghost. But Clarence, with his hulking presence, was clearly no paranormal activity.

So what to do now? We couldn’t follow him inside. The security guard wasn’t going to buy a “We just want to say hi to the Big Man” explanation and let us follow him in an elevator. So despite our nighttime plans, we camped outside the building, waiting for him to come out.

And we waited. And then waited more. For all we knew, he could’ve camped out up there for days, but how many chances do you get to bump into one of your heroes on a busy Gotham street? We weren’t going anywhere.

Finally, a few hours later — and with dinner and movie plans now long passed by — he walked out of the building. Though I was always shy, unlike my brother who had no trepidation about chatting with complete strangers, we sprinted toward him, saying how much we were fans of his and the band’s. There was probably some blabbering about what Springsteen’s music meant to our lives and then finally we got around to asking if we could take a picture to record the moment. (Incredibly, we had a camera with us at the time.)

Wearing a Pittsburgh Steelers jacket, he put his giant paws around us. He couldn’t have been nicer, listening with intent and giving us one of those smiles that felt more genuine that obligatory, even though he had done it hundreds of times before with other fans. We were in the presence of greatness, but he made us feel special.

For 29 years I’ve carried that photo around with me. It reminds me of one of the happiest days of my life. As a lifelong Springsteen fan, his music has long brought me joy — whether it’s been from the 120-plus shows I’ve seen in concert, to singing in the shower, to listening to live shows in my car, or engaging with a group of like-minded fans — some of whom have become my closest friends.

I can’t say the news of his death Saturday was a surprise, considering the massive stroke he suffered only six days previously. But, somehow, you thought the Big Man would pull through. Sort of like the same way he came through on stage, night after night.

Clarence went through severe physical pain in the last few years of his life. He had bad hips, spinal surgeries and needed a chair on stage because standing for three hours was far too painful. But, actually, that chair felt more like a throne.

He was the soul of the E Street Band, the guy who never ceased having fun. Whether it was in those early days of “Rosalita,” when Bruce would chase him around the stage, or “Thunder Road,” when he and Bruce shared a soul kiss. Oh, and “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town” during those winter concerts. That was a always a blast too.

And then there were his saxophone solos in such staples as “The Promised Land,” “Badlands” and, of course, “Jungleland,” the latter being his signature moment. His sound just filled a room — whether it was the intimate Roxy Theater or massive Giants Stadium.

He’s gone now and following the death of Danny Federici a few years ago, another piece of E Street is gone. It’s a devastating loss and a sad realization that nothing lasts forever.

On Twitter Saturday night, when his death was being spread quickly through social media, somebody tweeted that he was shocked that Clarence’s death was the top of the news on CNN. Was it really that big a deal, he asked?

Only the biggest.

Paul McCartney, who has come to seem something of a default Mets fan due to his history of high-profile performances at the team’s stadiums, will be defecting to a different borough for his first ever show at Yankee Stadium on July 15, Live Nation announced today. Macca’s concert will take place a month after the re-release of his solo albums “McCartney” and “McCartney II.”

McCartney made an appearance at the last-ever concert held at Shea Stadium (headlined by Billy Joel) in 2008, and played the inaugural musical set in current Mets ballpark, Citi Field, shortly thereafter. There was also, of course, the matter of the Beatles’ half-hour appearance at Shea in 1965, which attracted a bit of local attention at the time.

The Bombers relied on a more demographically appropriate headliner for their current stadium’s inaugural concert, with Yankee super-fan Jay-Z breaking in the venue last fall. Though unlikely to take place next month, a collaboration between the two would not be without precedent.

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Back in February, when the Playboy Jazz Festival lineup — which includes Dianne Reeves, the Roots, Ambrose Akinmusire, Lee Konitz and Buddy Guy — was announced at Hugh Hefner’s mansion in Holmby Hills, I was given the privilege of interviewing the fests’s annual master of ceremonies, Bill Cosby, prior to the press conference.

Cos has been the MC of the Playboy Jazz Festival, being held June 11-12, for 30 of it’s 33 years, so obviously the subject was jazz. Here’s an excerpt of the interview:

SC: I am just wondering, in your mind, what stands out as unique about this year’s lineup versus past years?

BC: Naturally Seven, because I had no idea last year what they were going to do. And I think that they have taken the imitation of the instruments, of using the voice into another level of performance and originality. Because I tell ya, last year when they were performing, while the people were going crazy about them, I went around looking for where the CD was being played, amplified, because nilly manilly vanilly or whatever that is (referring to Milli Vanilli)… I just wasn’t sure man. So they are very, very for real.

SC: And you play as a matter of course at all of the festivals and you’ll be playing this year with Jeri Allen, among others.

BC: The way my playing is described was originated by Tootie Heath, Jimmy Heath’s brother, who was a drummer. Ndugu (Chancler) is the drummer of my group. And then I have my set of drums and I sit down and I do things while the music is playing. And Tootie said "Ndugu is the drummer and Cos is the dramma."

SC: How long have you been playing the drums?

BC: Since I was about 16 years old.

SC: Where do you see jazz today versus 33 years ago when this festival started? What do you think of the scene now?

BC: It’s very, very, very, very different. And this music, called jazz, has morphed more times than any form of American music. Even with electronics, I think that at its best, it is still acoustical. In other words the saxophone and the microphone and the piano and the microphone, but not necessarily things plugged in, except for an occasional Wes Montgomery genius or a Jim Hall. But I do think that the power of the record company challenged progressive jazz because it wanted to sell more records. It took our potential and put it into sort of a funk jazz position.

I also think we lost a great deal of when a person would hear a musician and you’d be able to say, ‘Well that is Dexter Gordon’ or, in a heartbeat, you could tell Horace Silver.

SC: Or John Coltrane for example.

BC: Well not on piano.

SC: Ok you’ve switched to piano, sorry.

BC: Yeah.

SC: Bill Evans?

BC: Yeah, one could tell on the saxophone whether it was Jimmy Heath, one could tell if it was Hank Mobley... But now these musicians are selling their CDs out of the trunk of their car. The radio stations play them, but it’s difficult.

We’ve lost great trumpeters early, the magnificence of Freddy Hubbard. I think that Freddy Hubbard’s loss is that Freddy would have been the first trumpet player — and this includes Miles, Dizzy, Beiderbeck, Navarro, Louis Armstrong — the first to actually challenge what John Coltrane has done with his reed instruments. And I still I have not recovered from his loss, even when he was alive.

SC: It’s interesting that you say that. I think he is probably one of the most undersung trumpet players in history of jazz.

BC: Well the most under is Woody Shaw. I mean there’s a guy who’s like… I think if he were white, they would have done his life story.

SC: I was lucky enough to see him at a double bill with Art Pepper at UCLA.

BC: Ooooo, now there’s a guy whose DNA I wanted to see. I know what he looks like, but I also know what he plays like and what was in his heart. He was East Coast. He was not a west coast musician.

SC: Yeah he looked rather ill when he was appearing that night, but he sounded fantastic. And it was shortly thereafter that he passed away.

BC: Isn’t that a shame. You know I think that the drug dealers in this country really deserve recognition for killing so many people, ruining so many families, so many lives. And I do think that many of them, they may be thinking, ‘You know I’ve got to do this for myself,’ but deep down inside if someone really told them, ‘You know you’re killing people, you know you’re ruining lives, you know you’re tearing up families.’

SC: One more point, I think it’s a very encouraging sign that Esperanza Spalding was nominated for the Grammy best new artist (and eventually won) of 2010 and maybe I’m cynical, but I think one of the reasons for that is that she’s a rather attractive presence on stage. And I’m wondering if jazz, like pop, needs more figures like her only because cosmetics also sells records.

BC: I’m sorry to burst your bubble… I, your honor, would like to call upon Herbie Hancock... and I, your honor, would like to say that Herbie Hancock was not a beautiful person.

SC: I beg to differ.

BC: (Lisps: "Well listen...) But that’s what I’m saying. Esperanza is different. She is highly educated and she knows that instrument. And George Wein, who never gives anybody more than they deserve, has said that she is a marvelous, marvelous, marvelous entertainer. But I also would like to nominate Anat Cohen because I think she’s fantastic also.