Remembering Richard Pryor: A True Friend And Comic Genius

"He might not be coming," the guy in front of us was saying. We had to stand in a long line that snaked around the corner of University and 10th Streets, in Berkeley.

In 1971, Richard Pryor was already a legend. It was his outrageous humor, his satire, that one heard about. But nobody I knew had actually seen him. There was a rumor that he was going to appear at the Mandrake. After being an hour late he strolled across the dim stage. He was of average height, almost skinny, in a green sweater, grinning, holding a cigarette. His face was open, sincere, and genuine.

In 1966, when critic Phil Elwood (San Francisco Examiner) saw him he thought he was "unfunny and not original." Pryor had already been on at least three major TV shows, but despite such exposure, Richard appeared to be "insecure and ill at ease, despite his projected hipness." But that night when I saw him he was able to handle his nervousness -- and he was very hip.

He stood, looking out, his eyes moving over the audience, stopping at me. I was one of the few blacks in the place. Pryor had already been discovered by a black audience, and now it was the hip white youth's turn to discover this comic genius. "I used to smoke weed, but I gave that up," he said, "it made me paranoid. Then I snorted cocaine. I had to give that up too. 'Cause I got so paranoid, I used to wake up my wife in the middle of the night and ask, you f----g the paper boy?'"

He told jokes about Richard Nixon who loomed in our minds like Bush does today -- "I think President Nixon's a lesbian! And Agnew is his man!" He told jokes about police brutality. He told jokes about show business. The audience easily fell under the spell of Richard's voices. Next he added the Wino "who knew Jesus personally."

"Jesus Christ? That boy ain't shit. He lives right down here on 3rd street. She was carrying that boy. She carried him low, that's how we knew she had a boy."

The bits Richard did that night were from the "junkie and the wino" Period -- a period in which Richard's genius unfolded like a larvae into a butterfly, from the stuff he was doing on television to the stuff he was doing on his first records.

"There was a time -- not so long ago," he said, "when black was not beautiful. There was a black man who used to come by our house and tell people, 'be black and be proud.' My parents say, 'That nigger's crazy!'" "Back before black was beautiful, the winos just winos." "Now," he looked out at the white people in the audience. "Now them mofos want more than wine; now-they want justice!"

I went backstage to meet him, to tell him how much I enjoyed his show. We ended up being friends for the next thirty-five years. After I met other friends of Richard's who told me that they had met him after going backstage to thank him for the show, I realized that this was the way Richard met most of his friends.

The next day, we went to lunch in Berkeley and discovered our shared interest in black films. "I love film making," Richard said. The films he wanted to make, he said, "would show people's humanity." He had written a script, called 'Uncle Sam Wants You Dead, Nigger' about Vietnam. He said, he "wanted to show that people have dignity, and are not just a bunch of fall down people."

We would talk endlessly into the night about the subjects and methods of how we would make films, if and when we got the chance. Richard said that when he got famous in Hollywood, he was going to bring me on as a writer.

It was not long after, he got his big break, as "Piano Man" in 'Lady Sings the Blues.' When Richard left for Hollywood, we all felt sad to see him go, but we knew that he had other destinies to fulfill.

It was during this time he refined his nightclub performances. Through this deep reservoir of black oral traditions, Richard perfected the art of creating characters through voice intonations, dialogue, gestures, and movement. He modeled his performances on jazz musicians, like Miles Davis, whom he knew. From the counter culture comic Lenny Bruce, he had learned the economy of aural poetics to create characters.

Then one day a Hollywood director and producer called me and said that Pryor had recommended me as a screenwriter. When I arrived in Hollywood in the early seventies, Rosalind Cash, a leading black actress, said to me, "So you know Richard Pryor?" I said, "Yes," and she said, "Well, you know the hottest m.f. in Hollywood."

It didn't take me long to see that Richard had surrounded himself with other black performers. On any given night, I would arrive at Richard's house to see the Pointer Sisters or Isaac Hayes, Billy D. Williams, or Hollywood Henderson sitting at the table. To let everybody know that I was his running buddy, he put a scene in "Black Hollywood" on the 'Bicentennial Nigger' album about me and Rosalind.

When he would call me, he would say, "Come over. There is somebody I want you to meet." When I arrived, I saw a middle aged man wearing glasses. Excitedly, Richard explained to me that "this brother traced his ancestors back to Africa," he said, introducing me to Alex Haley, who was still working on a book called 'Roots.'

Richard was impressed by African-American writers. When he went to the Cannes Film Festival, I saw him and asked him how it was. I expected to hear him talk about the famous movie stars he met. "Man," he said, "Guess who I saw? James Baldwin!"

After his successful role in 'Ladies Sing The Blues,' Richard began to get more work as an actor. In 1973, Melvin Van Peebles directed him in 'Greased Lightning.' In this film, Richard and Melvin arranged the first all black production crew. It was the first film with all black stars, production crew, and hairdressers. Richard was proud to be working with Melvin Van Peebles, because he had admired his work since the Berkeley days.

After 'Greased Lightning,' Richard went to work on 'Which Way Is Up?' a film I co-authored for him. The film was so successful that Richard commissioned me to work on both a Bert Williams and Charlie Parker script that would star him. Unfortunately, these projects never were realized.

But Richard continued to create innovative concert specials. One day when Paul Mooney and I showed up for work around ten o'clock, as we always did for script conferences with Richard, he told us that some producer had offered him a hundred thousand dollars to show a video of his night club act. The amount of money astonished us all, and stopped us in our tracks. This was the film, 'Richard Pryor Live on Sunset Strip.' After that, all of his concerts were filmed.

Richard had started a trend. One of the sources of Richard Pryor's reputation for being a "bad boy" in Hollywood stems from the reality of race in Hollywood. Richard reacted to the racist and hostile atmosphere that frequently developed around him. When we were filming 'Greased Lightning,' in Atlanta, in the seventies, local whites often drove their cars around his house. While shooting 'Stir Crazy,' locals drove around his house and fired their guns. When we were shooting 'California Suite,' one of the black actresses came to Richard in tears because the director had treated her in a rude way. Richard went to talk to the producer Ray Stark. "Ray," he said, "we have to treat these people like they are stars, too."

In an incident in the Hollywood Bowl, Richard came to the defense of one of the black dancers, who had complained to him about racist treatment. When Richard tried to get some justice for her, he was abruptly turned away. When he walked out on the stage that night, he told the white audience to "kiss his rich, happy, black ass!"

The next day, Richard was contrite, but he was also defiant. "If they are going to end my career for standing up for my people," he told me, "Then I don't need a career in the first place." At moments like this, he would say that God is testing him, testing him to make him a better person.

For millions of Black Americans, Richard was a symbol of perseverance and integrity. He stood up for hundreds of black actors and voiced their concerns about the racist treatment they received in Hollywood. For this heroic stand, Hollywood gave him a bad name. But it wasn't the first time. Richard came from a long line of tough resilient people, and he knew that was what, finally, informed his genius. Knowing him has changed my life. A man of great courage and great dignity, he was always truthful to his word. Of his word.

My hat is off to you, Richard. You never went back on a true friend.

Cecil Brown began his education at A & T College, Greensboro. He has a Ph.D. from U C Berkeley in Narrative, African-American Literature, and Folklore. He is the author of 'The Life and Loves of Mr. Jiveass Nigger' (1969) as well as the recently published 'Stagolee Shot Billy' (2003). He currently teaches at University of Santa Barbara.