Childhood Memories of Richard Pryor

Richard Pryor
1940 - 2005

An early Monday morning in mid-December 2005. I listen while the radio sports announcer talks about this past weekend’s sports highlights. While recanting the top sports news stories he pays homage to a fallen great comedian of my era who just so happened to pass away over the weekend. I, upon hearing the name Richard Pryor, bolt upright in bed crying out as if someone had just thrown cold water on my body. The radio commentator mentioned the sad news almost as an afterthought and moved along to other events of the weekend related more to sports than my childhood memories. But for me at that moment sports had become a past time. For I was bombarded with many thoughts of Richard Pryor and the laughing times I’ve had being entertained by him.

Of course the classic comedy Car Wash crossed my minds eye immediately. Funny that I just watched the 1970’s movie only a month ago for the first time in over twenty five years. The music with the Pointer Sisters, the fashions of Afros and the comedy of Richard Pryor reminded me of the beauty us Black people have stamped on American culture. To see or hear Richard Pryor is to become Black whether your skin color is white yellow black or brown. Even a Native from Africa becomes Black upon being entertained by Richard Pryor’s thought provoking comedy. And when I say Black I mean African American Black. For it is our Black experience here in America that so molded the comedy and person of Richard Pryor.

Just four months back or so I attended the special engagement viewing of “Young Frankenstein,” a classic horror-comedy from the early 80’s. The star of the movie “Gene Wilder” was on hand to meet fans and autograph his new book released that month. While waiting in line to meet Mr. Wilder it dawned on me that my memories of him were most likely very different from the majority of the other folks waiting to meet him. When you’re Black and find yourself alone amongst non-black persons such thoughts can sometimes surface. While looking up and down the waiting line and discussing Mr. Wilder’s new book with other patrons , (the book was terrible per discussions), I could only think of his movie sidekick Richard Pryor in such classics as “Silver Streak” and “Stir Crazy.” I still sometimes find myself singing The Birmingham Jail lullaby that Norberg sang so eloquently in Stir Crazy. Other patrons mentioned their reasons for wanting to meet Mr. Wilder were tied to memories of his late wife Gilda Radner, who it was said he treated very poorly during their marriage. I never did meet Mr. Wilder that day. The line was moving slow and it dawned on me I wasn’t so much a fan of his as a fan of the movie era he was a part of. I got close enough to make eye contact with him, his aged blue eyes showing signs of a pained but thankful life. I gave a nod to him before strolling out of the theater with a satisfied happiness in knowing I’d just re-lived a few wonderful memories. Richard Pryor was first and foremost as the memories that flashed across my mental screen that day.

As I finish with thoughts of Gene Wilder’s book engagement another Richard Pryor memory comes to mind. It was to be my introduction to the censored comedian’s material and a poor ten year old boy determination to stop at nothing to obtain it.

The year was 1972 when the release of another classic movie “Lady Sings the Blues” came out. The movie was an unofficial biography of the life of Billy Holiday and her rise and fall from stardom. Richard Pryor stole the show in his part as a piano playing friend and fellow heroin addict. There was no HBO or video at that time so if you missed the movie in the theater you either depended on family and friends to tell you about it scene by scene, or you purchased the soundtrack on album or 8-track and hoped to hear a few lines between music tracks. Someone in our house had purchased the 8-track soundtrack which I’d listened to many times, getting glimpses of the unexplained taboo comedy that was in the movie. I, being so curious to learn more about sex and drugs as well as the comedy of Richard Pryor, decided to procure for myself and other neighborhood youngsters a copy of a Richard Pryor soundtrack by hook or crook. It would turn out to be closer to crook than hook. The tape man Paul, a hustling Jewish guy who’d come to our black neighborhood on weekends with his huge chevy trunk loaded with boxes of 8-track tapes and other products of Afro-American interest, would be my conduit to Richard Pryor and the taboos that came with his comedy.

As I type this I realize I haven’t thought of Paul since those long gone days. I don’t even know how I remember his name but there he is in my memory along with Richard Pryor, Diana Ross and Big Ben from the City. For those who don’t remember Big Ben (played by scratchy voiced Scatman Crothers)in the movie “Lady Sings the Blues” he was a good paying customer at Miss Lorraine’s Whorehouse where Billy Holiday worked and Richard Pryor played piano. Here are the lines that etched Big Ben so permanently into my pre-adolescent mind:

Young and Tender
A Chocolate Treat
Gonna give me some of that fine Meat
You see I’m Big Ben from the City
And I’m gonna squeeze your little Titty

Billy Holiday then decides to not service Big Ben and gathers her things up out of the room to leave. When Big Ben asks her what she thinks she’s doing Billy Holiday, played by Diana Ross, smoothly says “Nothing personal Mr. Ben, but I just quit the business.” Big Ben gets upset and begins yelling at her and yelling for Lorraine. When the Madam Lorraine see’s Billy Holiday leaving she tries to stop her but Richard Pryor comes to her aid and the two of them escape the whorehouse with Big Ben and Madam Lorraine vowing that she’d never work in this town again as sure as his name is Big Ben, ain’t that right Big Ben, “That’s Right.”


I should inform you that our house was like the Neighborhood Walmart in the hood at that time. I grew up with what seemed like hundreds of cousins with thousands of friends, so a weekend at our house brought people with money to spend and products from less than ethical distributors available for purchase, no drugs mind you. You name it, Rabbit Coats, Leathers, Dysheekies, Alpaca Sweaters, Afro Care Combs&Products, Mini-Skirts, why even my purple apple jack hat(forerunner to Kango) was purchased through one of the most colorful ghetto distributors of the day who patronized our communal home.

And so it was that I’d somehow come up with a dollar and some words of promise to Paul that I’d encourage my mom about buying some other products from him if he sold me the Richard Pryor 8-track labeled “for adult listening pleasure.” I’d spied the Richard Pryor 8-track tape in Paul’s trunk on his last two visits and knew exactly where to find it and which box it was in. The sneaky smile and determination that I must of shown when Paul opened that old dusty trunk in search of the 8-track tape should have been caught on tape. It would be my first planned hustle that would work to perfection. Now that I think about it, the dollar had come partly from my mom and partly from neighborhood kids I’d promised to play it for. When I pointed out to Paul the box with the tape tucked snuggly between Billy Preston and Parliament tapes he slowly reached down and pulled and wiggled until he held the Richard Pryor cartridge in his hand. Before handing it to me Paul had the strangest look, today I know the look to be that of a man about to perform a shameful act and contemplating the consequences if any. Paul hesitated as he eyed the tape title, patted the tape a few times against his free hand then handed it to me with instructions not to tell my mother I got it from him or else we don’t do business anymore. I with dollar in hand, mouth agape and eyes staring wide in anticipation of receiving the tape, could only nod in agreement as Paul passes down the rectangle cartridge of pleasure, plastic wrapped as proof of untainted goods. I hardly noticed Paul easing the dollar out of my other hand as I looked at the 8-track tape in awe. Maybe it was then that Paul reminded me not to tell my mother, but either way I’d made my first deal and now was running off to my brother’s bedroom to play the 8-track in his portable 8-track player, the one that you had to put a matchbook under the cartridge to prevent it from dragging.

Later that afternoon with the bedroom door closed, a roomful of adolescent and pre-adolescent boys listened and rolled in hushed laughter as Richard Pryor, uninterrupted by music, opened our young world to the wisdom of what it means to be Black and the things that boys should know about sex, drugs and being cool. I’d become Paul’s little retailer with my cliché of friends eager for their own copies of the latest Richard Pryor tape. I charged two dollars and Paul allowed me a pick of any 8-track tape I wanted along with each purchase. I made out with a one dollar profit and what would turn out to be a tape collection of Richard Pryor and the Soulful sounds of R&B that was the early 70’s. I sometimes sold the musical 8-track tapes still plastic wrapped to cousins or friends at the house on the weekends. My profit was tied to the two for one deal Paul agreed to give me. It was then that I learned the words capitalism and hustle carried the same meaning. And it all started with wanting to hear Richard Pryor tell jokes and talk about being Black like me.