GOOD GOLLY ( A SORT OF MOTHER'S DAY STORY)

I felt very sad about the death of Little Richard this Saturday at 87.  Not because I knew his music. I didn't. I mean I've heard. "Good Golly Miss Molly" and "Tutti Frutti" Who hasn't?  But they're not my taste. I felt sad because I once spent an unusual winter afternoon with Little Richard in New York City in January of 1994. I was in New York staying at an office-residence in the hopes of writing the lyrics to a musical (my musical taste). Little Richard and his entourage were staying there as well, conducting phone business at the bank of phones before the evening's performance. He was charming, sincere and only mildly flamboyant. He asked me questions about my life and seemed genuinely interested. While we chatted his bodyguards or aids seemed especially busy. There were about four of them: all tall, black, dressed beautifully and incredibly handsome. Each model-like assistant was a super-cool height of control until one got a disturbing phone call. This was January 17, 1994, at about 4:30, the day of the Northridge Earthquake in L.A. Suddenly most, who were from L.A., were in a panic to telephone their mothers. Not their wives or lovers first, but their mothers. It was both sweet and comical since all these macho men suddenly seemed so young. That was, of course, the end of my chat with Little Richard and I never did write that musical.  But how nice it was to meet somebody that famous and find out back then how unpretentious he was, and to find out this week what a long and successful life he deservedly enjoyed.