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While experiencing great sadness at the news of the passing last week, at 87, of the groundbreaking Little Richard Penniman, I recall my distinct pleasure watching him in person on a number of occasions in Milwaukee during his hey-day in the 1950s and talking at length with him by telephone here in 1991.
Indeed, among the many great, black performers I have known and interviewed from the era of original black rhythm and blues (1948-62)—from the likes of Antoine “Fats” Domino to Ruth Brown—Little Richard was in a class by himself. He really ripped it up, echoing the words of one of his many hits.
How well I remember the first time (in 1956) when I saw Little Richard in person at the old Colonial Theater, at the corner of North 16th and West Vliet streets. While many top R&B vocal groups (such as the Moonglows) and singles (such as Bo Diddley) also played the Colonial, it was Little Richard who always brought down the house.
On one occasion, everyone in this jam-packed movie theater laughed out loud when the heavily made-up Little Richard—wearing a bright green suit—struggled to slide a piano across the stage. After he finished, he looked out at the crowd and said “I sure don’t know what’s goin’ on in this theeee-ater. Makin’ a star like me work so hard…”
Friday Night Dances
In those days, black students from Lincoln and North Division high schools would flock to the Northside Y (at 6th St. and North) for Friday Canteen Night dances. And what did we dance to most? The raspy, shouted vocals of Little Richard.
In addition to “Long Tall Sally”—my all-time Little Richard favorite—I best loved “Baby Face” and “By the Light of the Silvery Moon.” The latter is the only upbeat version of the song I‘ve ever heard. And the DJ on the scene at the “Y” always would accommodate me, and my girlfriends, by playing these two tunes.
During his long career, the 5-feet-10 Little Richard—capitalizing on the names of Little Willie John, Little Anthony and Little Esther—sang the theme song in two movies, The Girl Can’t Help It (1956) and $Dollars (1971). He appeared in two others in 1956—Don’t Knock the Rock and Mister Rock and Roll, lip-synching “Tutti Fruti,” “Long Tall Sally,” “Ready Teddy,” “Lucille” and “Keep A-Knockin’.”
As a child, the Macon, Georgia-born Richard Wayne Penniman was heckled by a murdered. father who called him a “sissy boy clown” after seeing him in a dress with makeup and lipstick. He went on to proudly use this persona—wearing Pancake 3—in his early gigs, leading the Upsetters and other small bands on the way to hitting it big.
Over the years, he sold more than 30-million records. Other hits included the likes of “She’s Got It,” “Slippin and Slidin’,” “Good Golly, Miss Molly,” “Jenny, Jenny,” “Miss Ann,” “Rip it Up,” “Send Me Some Lovin’” and “Heeeby-Jeebies.” In 1986, he was one of the first inductees into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.
Talking with Little Richard
In 1991, while researching my book Goodnight Sweetheart, Goodnight: The Story of the Spaniels, I talked at length by telephone with Little Richard, seeking his recollections of this groundbreaking doo-wop vocal group, for my use.
“Yeah, those boys could siiing-iiing,” he said. “They on it. ’Special that bass man, Gerald, I think his name was. And my man, smooth voice Pookie. My goodness. Child, if I was in a group, it would be the Spaniels.”
When asked which Spaniels tune he liked best, he surprisingly named three—their haunting debut record “Baby, It’s You” (1953); the rousing, upbeat version of “Stormy Weather” (1958); and their little known, last hit an a cappella “Danny Boy” (1974).
But most of our talk was about himself—a subject Little Richard never tired of. He told me the reason he temporarily gave up rock music in 1957 to become a minister, and sing only gospel music, was because he heard the voice of God—recalling his youth signing in church. But he returned to rock in 1964 never to look back.
Asked his reaction to inferior covers of his “Tutti Frutti” and Long Tall Sally” by Pat Boone, he said he initially resented it but realized the upside. “White kids may listen to Pat Boone on the radio for their parents, but they buy my records and keep ‘em under their pillow,” he said.
Now Little Richard Penniman—the architect of rock ‘n’ roll and its most influential and uniquely powerful performer—is gone. But his body of work will live forever. In the wake of his passing, accolades poured in from the likes of Spike Lee, Elton John, Mick Jagger, Bob Dylan, Brian Wilson, Paul McCartney and Bette Midler.
When recalling Little Richard’s flamboyant appearances on those memorable Milwaukee nights in the mid-to-late 1950s, I smile and can still see him pounding away at the piano while standing, and joyfully shouting, “Wooooo…” And I am happy.
