richard pryor

In my old blog (the one I deleted two years ago) I wrote a lengthy post about Richard Pryor and what he meant to me. I wish I had it around now, to help me articulate this emptiness inside of me upon hearing of his death over the weekend.

There's been a spate of celebrity deaths this year, and although Wendi Jo Sperber's passing touched me on a personal level, Pryor's has touched me on a whole 'nother one...

Richard Pryor was more than just funny. You hear about his honesty and his jubilance, but what stands out to me is his realization of the entire situation we find ourselves in, this thing called 'life'...

Pryor had the kind of life that would crush the souls of lesser people. His mother and grandmother were whores, and his early years were rooted in poverty and racism. His later years were mired with drugs, alcohol and disease. And yet, through it all, Richard Pryor made us laugh hysterically.

There are many who feel that Pryor caused more harm than good. I've heard countless stories about people who were offended by his jokes and his worldview. But you always got this feeling that Pryor meant well, and that his jokes were not meant to be exorcisms or the venting of a frustrated individual. He simply wanted to make people laugh, and it was evident in how he would laugh at his own jokes immediately after making an audience full of people crack up.

For Richard, the audience's pleasure came first. For a man known for his vulgar mouth, he had a sweetness about him. Women loved him-- even the ones he treated badly. They all stuck around and wanted to be a part of his life.

He was not perfect, but he was so fucking funny. It makes me sad knowing that he is gone, but thank God we have the albums, the movies, and the generations of equally brilliant comedians whom he influenced and mentored, from Eddie Murphy to Robin Williams to Sandra Bernhard.

I don't have a favorite Pryor bit, because there never was a least favorite. Everything he said and did was funny. Pryor was like the guy at the party whom everyone crowds around, while he himself is blissfully unaware that his words and ideas are splitting our sides. Then, the moment he becomes aware, rather than starting to decline he majestically swoops upward and makes you laugh despite yourself.

If there is one thing I want to remember him by, it's his face. That face. The funniest face on the planet, capable of causing laughter to erupt with a twitch of the eyebrow or a roll of the eyes. He could've been a silent movie star, with that puppy-dog expression and his natural gift for physical comedy. On his short-lived TV series (now avaliable on DVD for the first time) the best skits were the ones where he barely said a word.

It wasn't so much what he said but how he said it. His longtime comedic writing partner Paul Mooney (now famous for his contributions to Chappelle's Show) was one of the first people to discover this. Paul Mooney is a laugh riot unto himself, but his presence is lacking the quality that made Pryor a star. Mooney fumbles his words, looks uncomfortable while he talks, and seems bitter about a great deal of things.

Compare this to Pryor, a man whose dirty laundry was routinely aired in public, a man whose demons fueled his comedy and whose passions were loud and bold. And yet, even after being diagnosed with MS, he still seemed like he was just happy to have ever been allowed to hold a mic and speak his mind. Maybe during his cocaine years Pryor might have seemed arrogant or cold, but that was the drugs altering his mood. Underneath it all, you could still see the humility and the graciousness.

Pryor may have made some rude comments during his lifetime, but they never seemed mean-spirited. It was more like the yearning of a man who seeks to understand his environment: Why do women act a certain way in bed? Why are white people so uptight? Why do black people call each other 'nigger'?

But the most important question he asked was: What is funny? The answer: Everything. Heart attacks, third-degree burns, drug binges, domestic violence, alcoholism, family discipline, racism, the ghetto, death, war, politics, sex, religion... all of it was funny; none of it was sacred.

But if you wanted sacred, then Richard Pryor could reach into himself and find it. He did it when he delivered his famous bit about visiting Africa and realizing that there were no niggers there. He then swore to never use the "N" word again. I'm not sure if he stayed true to that promise, but the gesture was revealing and deeply moving.

In the Bible, King David was described as "a man after God's heart". Now think about the sins David committed: adultery, murder, betrayal, indifference, pride... the list goes on, but each and every time David found it in himself to reproach himself and go on living and serving God, despite his enormous flaws.

Thus, I say to you this day: Richard Pryor was also a man after God's heart.

And I'm sure even God had to laugh at some of Richard's routines, because God knew that he was merely speaking the truth in a way that caused smiles to break out on our faces.

Those smiles are momentarily turning into tears right now, but they will fade as time elapses. What endures is the voice of a gifted comic who revolutionized the way Americans (and people all over the world) responded to forbidden topics and unspoken taboos.

Here are a few choice lines from The Man-- mind you, there were plenty of other lines I wanted to use, but they're not as funny unless you see him actually delivering the lines. Part of his genius was using his appearance to enhance the flavor of the joke, so here's a compiled short list of his best print-friendly quips:


On his infamous running-down-the-street-on-fire incident:

"Every night before I go to bed, I have milk and cookies. One night I mixed some low-fat milk and some pasteurized, then I dipped my cookie in and the shit blew up."

"When that fire hit yo' ass, it will sober yo' ass up quick! Fire is inspirational. They should use it in the Olympics, because I ran the 100 in 4.3."

On his father's sex life:

"I'd like to die like my father died... My father died fucking. My father was 57 when he died. The woman was 18. My father came and went at the same time."

On being tough:

"If you up against a man with a gun and you ain't got nothin' in your pocket but a hand and some skin, you better RUN!!!"

On beautiful women:

"Bitch was so fine I'd suck her daddy's dick."

On love and war:

"Fuckin' is good for you, Jack. Gettin' some pussy beats having a war."

On drugs:

"I'm not addicted to cocaine... I just like the way it smells."

And finally:

"I had some great things and I had some bad things. The best and the worst... In other words, I had a life."


I'm crying like a baby as I write this. I remember the lines, when he said them, how he said them, and how old I was when the words first pierced my consciousness. Normally, I cry from laughing so hard at his jokes, no matter how many times before I'd heard them. Now, I'm crying because I feel like I lost a friend, one who made me smile when I had nothing to smile about.

I very rarely say this about someone I've never met, but here goes: I loved you, Richard Pryor, and may your soul rest in peace. You made my dark little world more bearable with each and every joke. Thank you.