Richard Pryor at The Cellar Door
How Richard Pryor taught me to cry.
In the Fall of 1971, Richard walked into my life, sat down at the club where I was bartending, and ordered a ginger ale. The place was The Cellar Door, a Washington DC night club that would ultimately be ranked with the legendary Troubadour in Los Angeles. On this particular evening, The Cellar Door was still mostly unknown and I was a wet-behind-the-ears college kid.
Like most of the entertainers I met Richard Pryor was a pretty nice guy one-on-one. In 1971 Richard was getting his career back on track, and on this particular evening was quiet and introspective. I served him the ginger ale in a tall glass and introduced myself. He shook my hand and whispered that what he really wanted was some “coke.”
At the time cocaine was considered a recreational drug; looking back I don’t think anybody anticipated the monster it would become in general or for Richard Pryor, in particular. Nobody I knew gave “a couple lines” much more thought than downing a couple shots of tequila. I knew somebody, who knew somebody else and as a result of my assistance, Richard and I became “buddies,” at least when he was in town.
Offstage Richard hung out with the club staff, sharing cocktails and stories about the business. It was then we learned what had really happened in Las Vegas in 1970 when Richard’s career had been “interrupted.” The official story was that he had stormed off stage, tired and frustrated with doing comic “bits.” According to him the truth was that he walked on stage, saw a well known singer in the front row and remarked to the audience about what he would like to do with her, using a word that was not considered appropriate in polite company. The curtain closed and he was escorted off the premises. This obscure event was the catalyst for Richard re-evaluating his career and material.
Since then Richard had been steadily rebuilding his act with new material and a new stage attitude. The week was fantastic. Richard sold out fourteen shows and kept us laughing off-stage and on-stage. Saturday night I was
working the cash register behind the bar and Jack Boyle, the club owner, told me that I should count out ten thousand dollars in cash and bring it to his office.
In those days you didn’t see many large bills. It was mostly twenties, and by the time I’d counted out the full ten thousand, there was a pretty thick wad of cash. Jack and Richard were waiting for me and I handed the envelope to Jack who handed it to Richard and then stood, assuming that everything was settled. Richard insisted on counting the cash and when he was finished, stood up, yelled “Yippee!” and threw the money up in the air like confetti. I broke out laughing. Jack, a man who took cash very seriously, giggled at first then broke into uncontrollable laughter. From that day on, Richard and Jack became fast friends.
Six months later Richard was back selling out the club again. Now he attracted entertainers and celebrities including Bill Cosby and Nat Adderly. And he was “hot.” When he stepped on stage he effortlessly transformed himself from comic to social commentator and back. His show
material was no longer comic “bits.” At the time he was working on a new piece called “Winos,” presented like one act play, a tragicomedy of the street. It was raw social commentary and was packed with powerful emotion and disturbing insight.
Thursday night after the last show Richard took a few of us out to a Black after-hours club downtown. He bought us a round of drinks and disappeared into the crowd. A few minutes later we heard his voice screaming, “Now who let the white men in here?” He was pointing at us and “performing” in the persona of one of his wino street characters. We were terrified college boys while Richard was in his element, moving people’s emotions and making them think. Fortunately he also got us out of there alive.
But that ability to think was Richard’s gift to us all. His humor and commentary transcends class and racial lines, forcing us to examine who we are and what we believe in.
The last time I saw Richard was in 1973 after another week at The Cellar Door. He was the opening “act” for
Herbie Hancock, who was on the road promoting his new album, Mwandishi. That night, Richard closed his show with his Winos skit. It was probably the thirtieth or fortieth time I’d seen it, and although the audience was laughing, I found myself moved to tears. Thank you, Richard, from all of us who loved you.
Harry Viens, a former advertising executive and author of the novel Virgin Logic resides in New Hartford and is currently writing a novel about his years at The Cellar Door. He can reached through www.HarryViens.com
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