Sometime in the late 1980’s, the exact date escapes me, I was walking down Hollywood Blvd near Musso Frank’s, when I heard a cheerful voice hail me from inside a gorgeous white Rolls Royce. “Hello, Brother!” The mellifluous voice sang. Curious, I glanced in and saw the beaming face of Little Richard. He gestured for me to come closer, and, knowing darn well to never turn down an invite from that awesome King of Rock and Roll, I did. I blurted out the first thing that popped into my head which was “Why, Little Richard! Hello! What are you doing here?” “I am spreading the word of Jesus!” His Awesomeness proclaimed, and presented me with a bible. “I’d like you to have this. Now, you read the bible, don’t cha?” He asked, the “cha” arching up almost into his famous upper register shriek. I said I did and rattled off the first bible selection I could think of, which was some garbled version of Luke Chapter 2, inept enough to have made Linus Van Pelt throw his blanket over his head in disgust. Still, the King seemed delighted I had produced anything vaguely scriptural on request. “That’s right!” He exclaimed. “That’s where it all began!” We shook hands, Little Richard saying a fast prayer as we did, and he wished me blessings. I waved good bye and went off with my new bible. For half a block I was simply in stunned amazement at the bizarre but wonderful randomness that had just happened. Then I uttered the only thing I possibly could under the circumstances: “Well…Whomp-bomb-a-loo-momp-a-whomp-bam-boom!”
Thanks for the good book, Your Highness. Peace.