A FRIENDSHIP WRITTEN IN HARMONY: Jimmy Kimmel’s Heartbreaking Tribute To Band Leader Cleto “Junior” Escobedo Jr. — A Life Of Music, Family, And Unshakable Loyalty
On a somber night in Los Angeles, Jimmy Kimmel walked to his desk and delivered the kind of monologue no host ever wants to give. Fighting back emotion, he shared the story of a friendship that began in a brand-new Las Vegas subdivision and grew into a lifelong bond that shaped both a television show and the people who made it. The friend was Cleto “Junior” Escobedo Jr. — Kimmel’s bandleader of nearly 23 years, a gifted musician, and, more than anything, a brother in every way that mattered.
The story started decades earlier, when the Kimmel family left Brooklyn for the still-forming neighborhoods of Spring Valley. On a block of identical houses and fresh stucco, a kid across the street caught Jimmy’s eye — a year older, confident, funny, and endlessly curious. That boy was Junior, and soon the two were inseparable: Wiffle ball in the yard, Nerf football in the street, homemade skits, endless jokes, and the kind of inside language that best friends invent without trying. They boxed with oversized gloves, built backyard games out of whatever they could find, and stayed up laughing until the sun came up. There were pranks, too — harmless mischief fueled by imagination and an appetite for fun — the kind of childhood memories that turn into family legends.
Even then, Junior was already a musician. A prodigy on saxophone, he could stop a school assembly with a solo, and he soaked up every kind of music he could find — jazz, R&B, pop, anything with heart. His father, Cleto Escobedo Sr., had been a working sax player with a successful Texas band before stepping away from the road to put family first. That choice — to anchor the home so his son could one day fly — became a central chord in the Escobedo story. Through a twist worthy of a movie, Sammy Davis Jr. eventually helped Cleto Sr. land a job at Caesars Palace, a reminder that kindness travels in circles and often returns when you least expect it.
As young adults, their paths diverged. Kimmel went into radio, honing his voice behind a microphone in far-flung markets. Junior poured his talent into clubs, tours, and studio work, performing with major artists and leading tight, versatile bands at local spots. But the gravitational pull of their friendship never faded. They cheered each other’s wins, laughed through the misses, and, when the moment demanded it, showed up — no fanfare, just presence.
Then came September 2002. ABC said yes to a late-night show, and Kimmel knew exactly whom he wanted to lead the band. The pitch, on paper, sounded risky: hire your childhood best friend. In reality, it was the only choice that made sense. Junior brought together a world-class lineup — Jeff Babko, Toshi Yanagi, Jimmy Earl, Jonathan Dresel — and, in a full-circle moment, welcomed Cleto Sr. to join on sax. During the audition at Cafe Cordial, father and son locked into “Pick Up the Pieces”, two horns, one heartbeat. The network executive stood, said, “I love it,” and walked out. The band had its green light. A dream built in a Las Vegas driveway had just moved onto a national stage.
From that first broadcast, the Escobedo family became part of the show’s daily rhythm. Sylvia, Junior’s mom, claimed a seat in the audience and a place in the show’s extended family, a steady, smiling presence who prayed her way through tapings and milestones. The band was tight, joyful, and impossibly professional — the rare unit that could glide from rock to standards to soul in the span of a commercial break. And at the center was Junior: calm, generous, quick with a grin, and unfailingly prepared. He never missed work. He loved rehearsals. He loved the team. He loved being a dad to Jesse and Cruz, and a husband to Lorie. If the show ever needed a compass, he was it.
In his tribute, Kimmel remembered how Junior carried success: with humility. When the spotlight shifted and the talk show bore Jimmy’s name, there was no envy — only pride. Texts would arrive after tapings: “That bit killed,” “Proud of you,” “I’m lucky to be here.” It takes real character to celebrate a friend’s victories as if they were your own. Junior did that every day.
The monologue was full of gratitude for the people who cared for Junior in recent months — the teams at UCLA Medical Center and Sherman Oaks Hospital, the nurses and doctors who showed extraordinary skill and kindness. Kimmel thanked the band, the staff, the neighbors, and a long list of friends who checked in constantly. And he offered a special thank-you to Cleto Sr. and Sylvia: for raising a son who led with kindness; for sharing him with a show, a city, and millions of viewers; for treating Kimmel as family since fourth grade.
There was humor — because Junior loved to laugh — but not a word was wasted. The memories painted a portrait of a person whose talent was undeniable and whose character was unshakable. A leader without ego. A friend without conditions. A musician who made every note feel easy and every colleague feel seen.
In closing, Kimmel shared the lesson he’s taking forward: cherish your friends. Call them. Sit beside them. Tell them what they mean to you while you can. The show will pause for a couple of nights, he said, because some moments require stillness. But in a nod to what Junior would have wanted, the evening continued with a guest he loved: Eddie Murphy — laughter, music, and friendship sharing the same stage, exactly as Junior liked it.
What remains is the sound of a life well played. A father and son on two saxophones. A best friend beaming from the bandstand. A family, rosary in hand, cheering from the seats. And a host who knows that the greatest gift his show ever gave was the chance for Cleto “Junior” Escobedo Jr. to pick up where his father left off — and to lead, with grace, for more than two decades.
In the end, the tribute was less an elegy than a promise: the music will go on, the memories will stay bright, and the friendship that started on a quiet Las Vegas block will keep echoing, night after night, in every note the band plays.