I wrote a poem about heroes of mine.
Now I think your hero is who you say it is, right?
One can have for his hero.
As long as you know.
As long as you have a rational reason.
And since I think that people should
have rational reasons for whatever they do,
that doesn't seem unreasonable to me.
One of my heroes is a man named Richard Penniman.
You ever heard of him?
Now, you black people have never heard of Richard Penniman?
I'm so embarrassed.
Well maybe you will know.
I'll give you a hint.
He appears on television.
Not as much as he used to, but still.
And this guy did something extraordinary,
something that I would not have been able to do.
Richard Penniman, when his mama and daddy died,
put on an apron and long pants and raised up
12 brothers and sisters.
When a whitey asked one of his brothers one time,
is Little Richard a man or what?
He replied, in perfect understanding,
'you bet your faggot ass he is.
You bet your dying ass.'
Do you know who Little Richard is?
He sings and breaks pianos and carries on.
Carries on.