Two years ago he owned "the Rolls Royce" of tenor saxophones but couldn't play it. Nor could he walk or talk. A stroke had suddenly put paid to life as Edwin `Doc' Simons had known it - or so it seemed.

For decades he had combined his talents as a fine supervisor cycle mechanic with those of a top musician, and he was much in demand for both. He loved what he did, and his customers and audiences admired him. Nothing gave him greater pleasure than facing a new day, and he would packed into it all that he could. Then suddenly he found himself staring at the ceiling of his hospital room, and the future seemed bleak indeed. How would he ever come to terms with being a semi-invalid, he wondered. Worse, being self-employed with no health insurance, how would he pay his bills?

These, and other doubts, filled his mind, yet he could not enunciate them for he had become locked in a strange, new world that seemed to hold him prisoner. Would it always be like this? It was a question that remained unanswered even after Mr. Simons' release from hospital until one day the man who had once headed his own bands and packed dance floors with his playing took a philosophical look at his situation, and from somewhere deep within his soul he found the courage to aim for a comeback.

"I figured, `Well, I'm sick. It happens. All I can do now is look forward'," he says.

The road back was not easy, to be sure. As the days melted into weeks and then months, progress was painfully slow, it seemed to him, and there were many times when he was discouraged, but the love and support of his family, friends and fellow musicians, and the skill and faith of his therapists kept him focussed on his goal.

Help with his medical expenses came in the form of a benefit concert at Club Azure, arranged by his fellow musicians. For approximately ten hours, musicians, entertainers and singers, Bermudians and otherwise, dropped by to contribute their talents to an unforgettable concert, all the while presided over by a grateful Mr. Simons.

"Occupational therapist Holly Sinclair went well beyond the call of duty. She loaned me equipment, and used me as a role model to show other people that you don't have to give up. She was good, and so was my physiotherapist, Andrew Cooper. He said to me, `Doc, you will play your saxophone again'," Mr. Simons says.

And that, after all, was what he wanted more than anything else for, having waited all his life to own a Selmer, just three months after taking delivery of his prized Mark 6 tenor sax, he had the stroke.

If there are two things which are vital to a sax player, they are mind to hand co-ordination and embouchure - the all-important way the mouth is applied to the mouthpiece. Following his stroke, Mr. Simons lost control of both, and as much as he persevered and progressed during the first year of his recovery, they were still deficient. The skills that once came so easily didn't all fall into place now, and he admits that he was very depressed. Nonetheless, one night he took his horn and sat in at Hilly's Jazz Club. Sharing the stage was the visiting group, Najee.

"I was trying to get back in the field and Najee's sax player, a 17-year-old Canadian guy, saw me playing and noticed my sax. He asked me to sell it to him, but I said, `No sir'," Mr. Simons recalls. "Instead, I asked him if he wanted to play it.

"When he gave it back to me he said, `You know it isn't working right, don't you? After the show I'll fix it for you.' Sure enough, he did and when he handed it back he said, `Try it now.' When I tried it, I said, `Boy, oh boy.' I played it like I had never stopped! It wasn't me after all, it was the instrument."

The indescribable joy he felt was also the defining moment from which the veteran saxophonist has never looked back. Today, he estimates that he has recovered almost all of his former skills, and he's back doing gigs. Recently, he thrilled a blues night audience with his performance. Not only was his horn wailing, but his old buddies from his former band, The Warren Experience, showed up, and together they had a blast recreating history.

His next move, he hopes, will be to organise an entire showcase of Bermudian talent on Front Street during Harbour Nights.

From age 18, music has been Mr. Simons' life, and as one of the Island's much-loved professional musicians he was always in demand. Tourists and locals alike enjoyed his playing, and he in turn thrived on being where the action was.

Not only did he head his own bands, The Arpeggios and The Warren Experience, but also he has shared the Bermuda stage with some of the world's top international artists. One group, the Shaky Ground Rock Band, has been paying for him to attend the Chicago Blues Festival since 1998 as a thank-you for playing with them here.

Despite the fact that his father, Edwin (Forty) Simons, Sr. played in the North Village Band, and gave his son his old saxophone at age 14, `Doc' showed no interest in becoming a musician himself until he was 18 and came under the influence of guitarist Jimmy Landy - a man who was to shape the careers of many of Bermuda's top musicians - and then Gandhi Burgess.

"Jimmy was the brainbox and he taught us all. Everybody went off and played professionally from his teachings, that's how well he groomed us. He taught me the basics of music, and what he taught me I am still using today. Anything I wanted to know I would ask him," Mr. Simons says. "I also took lessons from Gandhi, who was a very good teacher too. He told me, `I don't care how good you get on the sax, make a good tone.'

"The sax represents the voice, you see, and what you are doing is singing through your horn. I can make it sound hard, sexy or bluesy."

In fact, the saxophonist learned so well that he formed a band with Mr. Landy on guitar, Calvin Carmichael on drums, and himself. Their first gig was so successful that he had to add a fourth member: bass guitarist Quinton (Tiny) Burgess, who plays today with the Joe Wylie Trio.

They called themselves The Arpeggios and were very popular.

"We were the group in Bermuda. We played against Ruby and the Romantics, Jimi Hendrix who came here with the Isley Brothers, as well as the Merrymen, the Blues Brothers, the Contours, Martha and the Vandellas, Brenda and the Tabulations, 14-year-old Stevie Wonder, and Jackie Wilson. I've played with them all," Mr. Simons says. "We were also the backing band for Olive Trott's `Battle of the Stars' nights at the Rosebank Theatre. Sometimes there would be 12-15 groups, and in one night we'd have as many as 150 songs to play all without music, just our ability to listen and play."

The Arpeggios also played rock `n' roll for thousands of college students who flocked to the big parties on Elbow Beach. In fact, the group was so hot that even their Saturday rehearsals attracted a crowd at what became known as The Arpeggios Rehearsal Hall in Warwick.

"We would have so many people around there that one night we formed a dance and the place was full. (Visiting artists) the Chantelles, Chuck Jackson, Phil Flowers - they all knew us and they'd come by and have fun," Mr. Simons says. "In fact, Phil Flowers sang so much one day that he forgot he had to work that night, and when he tried he discovered his voice was gone. He said, `That damned swizzle messed me up!"

Like all professional musicians, Mr. Simons' long career includes many highlights and memories. He was a founder-member of the original band at Hubie's, along with Erskine (Fat Man) Phillips, Dayton Wharton (guitar) and Mike Stowe (drummer). He also played in every hotel in Bermuda, including the Belmont and Castle Harbour right up to the time they closed.

From the days when the Queen of Bermuda and the Ocean Monarch regularly sailed into port, he also packed the Guinea Discotheque on Burnaby Street with the sounds of his second band, The Warren Experience, consisting of Harold Pimental on bass, Howard Rego and later Peter Profit on drums, Darrell Fubler on keyboards, and himself.

Among the many who visited, Mr. Simons particularly remembers Neil Diamond, who had not yet become an international household name, but was performing live at the 40 Thieves Club.

"Neil used to beg to sit in with us on Friday nights because the Guinea Discotheque was there the action was. We were a rock band, but Neil sang country and western, and people would get riled up because they wanted rock. They'd say, `Doc, who is this man?' and I'd say, `Neil Diamond,' and they'd answer, `I don't care who he is, take him away.' Next thing I see, he's a big star!"

Having played with all nationalities, the saxophonist says that, while language barriers restrict verbal communication, music is an international language which works, and versatility is the key.

"Music is always the same. It is only the technique for each instrument that is different. A seasoned musician can play anything. If a musician only plays one type of music he is a dead duck. Even if you don't like the music you have to play it," Mr. Simons says. "I have played `Yellow Bird' two million times, but you play it as if it is the first time.

"People can tell if you are enjoying your work or are ready to knock off. When a musician says, `Only another half hour and I'll be out of here' it's time to quit the business."

Naturally, having been on the local entertainment scene for so long, and having witnessed the boom years of tourism, when night light was vibrant and plentiful, and his bands meant crowded dance floors, the saxophonist has firm views on what our visitors want, and he laments the current dearth of entertainment and lack of management's respect for local talent.

"In order to get a job in Bermuda today you have to please the manager, but I'm not playing for the manager. Let the entertainer entertain the tourists. If they want to hear rock and roll, what's wrong with that? We are fighting a losing battle," he says. "What I don't like is seeing a visitor pay all that money for accommodation, and the hotel has one guitar player or pianist for entertainment. People want a band."

Recalling his 25 years at The Reefs with the Warren Experience, Mr. Simons cites owner David Dodwell as "one of the best hotel managers on the Island".

"We packed them in, and Mr. Dodwell would never leave until I did my calypso fanfare, when the tourists danced on the tables and formed a conga line. You must have audience participation. You're not going to make it if you can't get the audience to swing with you.

"I'm from the old school, and I know how to get the people cracking. Most bands in Bermuda today don't entertain, they dictate from the stage. People take an attitude towards that. A musician is not necessarily an entertainer, and he won't always have a job, but if you are a musician who also entertains you've got it made."

Asked what it takes to be a professional musician, and what he thinks of today's aspiring young musicians, Mr. Simons responds: "Dedication, hard work, practice and education.

"It is not going to fall out of the sky. You have to like it and do your homework. Most Bermudians have a key problem. They play in the key of C, and when you start moving to other keys with Sharps and flats they have difficulty, all because they haven't studied enough. Music is vibrant and authentic. If you come up with an ugly sound, the band is not synchronised. You can have the best instrument in the world but if you don't play well it is not going to get you to play well. Some of our musicians want top pay but they can't play."

That Mr. Simons is back on top today is as a result of all those lessons he learned years ago, plus the one the stroke taught him. Although he has never smoked, and hates being around people who do, his formerly unhealthy diet and poor eating habits have now been replaced by a sensible new regime, thanks to a vegetarian friend who encourages him to take better nutritional care of himself. As a result he has lost 38 lbs.

"The stroke taught me never to take myself for granted, because health and strength can be taken away from you in one night," he says. "I tell everybody, `Watch what you put in your mouth because it can be damaging'."

As he re-embraces life, Mr. Simons remains grateful to his sister, Maxine Dixon, for getting him to the hospital so quickly, and for all the good friends who have supported him since.

"If it weren't for them holding me together for two years I wouldn't have made it," the musician and master mechanic says. "Friends are worth more than money."