Pryor Richard - Pryor convictions, and other life sentences

To my angels

One night a man had a dream. He dreamt he was walking along the beach with the Lord. Across the sky flashed scenes from his life. For each scene, he noticed two sets of footprints in the sand: one belonging to him, and the other to the Lord.

When the last scene of his life flashed before him, he looked back at the footprints in the sand. He noticed that many times along the path of his life there was only one set of footprints. He also noticed that this happened at the lowest and saddest times in his life.

This bothered him, and he questioned the Lord about it.

The Lord replied, My precious child, I love you and would never leave you. During your times of trial and suffering, when you see only one set of footprints, it was then that I carried you.

Margaret Fishback Powers

There are so many people who have assumed important roles in my life. Some are mentioned in this book. Others are not. However, my thanks and appreciation go out to the entire group. It has been quite a ride. Without you, I might not have become me.

Likewise, I was fortunate in the help I received in preparing this book, which so many people bet I would never finish. Alas, here it is, and in that respect I am grateful to my co-writer Todd Gold; my William Morris agent Dan Strone; my dear friend (lets leave it at that, theres more later) Jennifer Lee; and my cohort in living life to its funniest, Paul Mooney.

For their assistance, prodding, cajoling, and intractablity in various roles over the past few years, I feel obliged to mention David Schumacher; my lawyers, doctors, and accountants; and my physical therapists. There are also my ex-wives, girlfriends, and all my children.

My love goes out to all of you.

IF WE WERE SITTIN' 'cross from each other right now, your ears would be filled with a muddy old voice that sounds somethin' between a preacher's Sunday morning sermonizin' and a grizzled seen-it-all coot sittin' at a bar drinkin' and spinnin' some wild bullshit, and you know what?

That voice would belong to me.

Mudbone.

I was born in Tupelo, Mississippi. Long time ago. So long ago it ain't worth rememberin' when exactly, because after a certain while, it's just a long time. Now in that time I met some of the most fascinatin' people ever alive, most of whom you've never heard of. But they was fascinatin'. Trust me. There was a lady I met in St. Louis who liked to ...

Well, she was fascinatin'. You're just going to have to take my word for it.

The young man who's writin' this book is the most fascinatin' person I ever become acquainted with. He started listenin' to Mudbone back when both of us needed to be reminded that old people weren't no fools.

Don't get to be old being no fool, I said. Lot of young wise men deader than a motherfucker.

It tickles my ass just to think Richard Pryor is still around, because he is the motherfucker. Made almost forty movies. Had his name on twenty-five comedy albums, some of which he actually got paid for. People have gone and wrote books about him. College professors include him in lectures. There was even a television special honoring him for being inspirational and shit. But I know the real shit on the motherfucker. Shit, I know Richard since he was a skinny-ass motherfuckerback in Peoriashooin' flies off his sweaty face at the slaughterhouse, and dreamin about having a pension and some pussy. But probably not in that order. And then later on, I still knew Richard better than anyone when he fucked up, which about everyone also knows about. Right?

Remember when he fucked up? That fire got on his ass and it fucked him up upstairs. Fried up what little brains he had.

Course that's nothin' compared to what's happened since then. A while back he had a heart attack. Then he had what doctors called a quadruple bypass, which is an operation rather than what he should've done for some of his wives.

Bypassed 'em.

And nowadays he's got this MSmultiple sclerosis. Which is a very complicated disease. It don't kill you, though.

It just makes you wish you were dead.

Like some of the womens he's been with. Six marriages to five woman. Numerous womens in between. Some at the same time. A revolving door of bitches all come just so he could fuck up their lives and they could fuck up his.

I asked why.

Because when God makes a fool, he makes a perfect one, he said.

No, seriously.

Boy, why in the hell don't you just sticks with one pussy? Why you gotta go and marry all them bitches? You even married one of 'em twice.

You know what he said to me?

He said, Shit, I'm just tryin' to find one that'll fit.

THAT'S RICHARD. Some people fall in love. Others fall in shit. Richard once said they're the same thing. Oh well, no question the boy is funny. Funny like Ali could fight. The heavyweight champ of hilarity. No doubt about that. I remember the motherfucker back when he was young and truly ignorant. Absolutely nobody was funnier. He could make a motherfucker laugh at a funeral on Sunday, Christmas Day.

Course, that was then. I speak to the boy all the time and I asked him what happened since.

"Monies," he told me. "I got me some monies.

That's what happened to him. He got some monies, and all of a sudden those missed-meal cramps and shit disappeared and he said, Fuck it.

That's what he told me, anyway.

Fuck it. I said, Fuck it.

As for me, I could never afford to say fuck it the way he said it. That's why ol' Mudbone's still hungry. Shit. I've been around so longlong enough that nobody remembers when I started in show businessthat I knowed pretty near everybody. Don't mean I liked 'em. I knowed 'em. Big difference. I gave Moms Mabley, who I liked, her break. Moms was an ugly child, and I told her, Girl, you ought to go into comedy.

Unlike Moms, Richard wasn't ugly. He was just ignorant.

Shit, he didn't even know he was black. Used to call himself Sun. Sun the Secret Prince.