Lionel Richie paced a hallway in his grand Beverly Hills home, intently watching a video on his manager’s phone. It showed countless copies of his new memoir, “Truly,” making their way down a conveyor belt at a printing plant in Virginia.
Richie slowly shook his head, hand over mouth, as if witnessing the birth of something precious.
Behind him, two elegant sitting rooms each featured a grand piano. One room boasted shelves laden with awards that stretched to the ceiling, while the other held a pedestal displaying a meticulously tooled leather guest book. Within its pages were signatures from an impressive array of Richie’s renowned friends, including Pharrell Williams, Sidney Poitier, Jackie Chan, and Gregory Peck.
At 76, Richie had just returned from a European tour and was preparing for another in South America. Over his illustrious 50-year career, he has sold over 100 million albums, served as a voice of wisdom on “American Idol,” and commanded sold-out stadiums with audiences so vast they seemed like oceans from the stage.
Yet, confronted with his own life story in print, Richie found himself speechless.
“This isn’t just a book about the people I met or the connections I made,” he explained, stepping into yet another room, his orange sneakers adding a touch of flair. “It’s fundamentally about fear. Can you truly conquer your deepest fears and keep moving forward?”
‘Twice as tough’
In person, Richie embodies the vibrant, charming persona seen in his videos and on stage. He’s a septuagenarian with a fondness for insightful adages, common idioms, and profound life lessons. Noticing my struggles with a newly empty nest, he kindly offered me a box of tissues, the top one folded into a perfect rosette.
“Let me help you, darling,” Richie said gently. He touched the three rings he wears on a chain around his neck, each representing one of his children. “From now on, you’ll understand if they ‘got it.’”
By “got it,” he meant an appreciation for the themes Richie holds dear: family bonds, personal connections, the delicate balance of roots and wings, and the immense effort involved in raising children. He doesn’t shy away from heartfelt sincerity—it’s his signature—yet he manages to be genuinely earnest without ever veering into schmaltz.
“Truly” is a substantial 463-page volume, packed with nostalgic childhood memories, captivating music industry anecdotes, and 25 pages of photographs.
The book traces Richie’s journey from his Alabama boyhood in Tuskegee, where he initially dreamed of becoming an Episcopal priest; through his years as a saxophonist and singer for The Commodores, where he once slept under a table during the band’s first summer in Harlem; to his monumental breakthrough as a solo artist with hits like “Hello,” “Stuck On You,” and the song that inspired his memoir’s title. It culminates in his current role as a philosophical troubadour, celebrated for his enduring presence in music.
Richie’s nearly decade-long retreat from the public eye occupies only two chapters in the book, yet these are arguably its most vulnerable and impactful. This period marked his confrontation with deep-seated insecurities that had traveled with him from Tuskegee to Los Angeles.
He candidly addresses his fear of never achieving another hit after leaving The Commodores, his anxiety of missing opportunities, of disappointing his family, and of lacking a fallback plan. He also explores his struggles with stage fright, ADHD, and depression.
“Truly” is not a somber book, but it is undeniably frank. Richie is refreshingly open when discussing matters of race.
He describes Tuskegee in its earlier days as a sanctuary for “the best doctors, the best lawyers, the best surgeons, who just happened to be Black.”
In the memoir, he recounts a 1986 interview with Barbara Walters, initially titled “Lionel Richie, Rags to Richie.” The title was reconsidered after Walters visited the elegant college-adjacent home that the Richie family received from the heirs of Booker T. Washington. (Richie’s grandparents were also close friends with George Washington Carver.)
He writes, “We all understood that if you were Black, you had to be twice as good as the standard. You had to withstand doubt and overcome obstacles that were twice as tough.”
When Richie was eight, his father endured a harsh reprimand after his son drank from a “Whites Only” water fountain in Montgomery, Alabama. Richie vividly remembers his usually resilient father shrinking under the strangers’ wrath.
In 1963, Richie’s childhood crush, Cynthia Diane Wesley, tragically died at 14 in a church bombing, a hate crime that forever enshrined her as one of the “Birmingham Four.”
“I couldn’t make any sense of it,” he writes. “Not then. Not now.”
During our conversation, Richie repeatedly returned to the theme of fortitude: “My dad used to say, ‘Are you standing up? Or are you hiding behind the couch? What’s the similarity between a hero and a coward? They were both scared to death. One stepped forward, and one stepped back.’”
‘The little boy with glasses’
Richie’s mother was an English teacher, and his grandmother a classical pianist. “He grew up in a community rooted in books, intellectual pursuits, and people dedicated to putting words on the page,” noted Elizabeth Mitchell, Richie’s editor at HarperOne.
Despite this background, he harbored some apprehension about writing a memoir. When he finally committed, he briefly considered following Cher’s lead by publishing two volumes, but his publisher and collaborator, Mim Eichler Rivas, gently persuaded him otherwise.
(“My publishers didn’t like the idea either,” Cher commented in an interview, “but then they realized it couldn’t be one book. You wouldn’t be able to lift it.”)
Initially, Richie and Rivas collaborated for a few hours each afternoon. Eventually, their sessions shifted to Richie’s preferred schedule, beginning around one in the morning and continuing until dawn.
“I have to be there when God is available,” Richie stated. “No lawyers. No managers. No agents. No press. No nothing.”
Richie recounted his stories, and Rivas diligently asked questions and recorded them.
There were minor disagreements, such as when Rivas inserted a word like “flabbergasted.” Richie would respond, “Mim. I’m Black.” It wasn’t a word he would naturally use.
The most challenging aspect, Richie quipped, was “admitting to myself and to the entire world” that he was never a star athlete, an exceptional student, or particularly popular during his school years.
“He was the skinny little boy with glasses,” remembered Ronald LaPread, a childhood friend of Richie’s and The Commodores’ bassist. “Completely insignificant.”
Richie recounted the pivotal moment when things began to change: a talent show at Tuskegee College (now a university).
“The greatest line I ever heard, shouted from a girl in the crowd: ‘Sing it, baby!’” Richie recalled. “It was then that I thought, ‘Okay, maybe I’m actually starting to get cool.’ I had never been cool in my life.”
LaPread affirmed, “Not only did we have a capable frontman, but he was also an incredible songwriter. It all just turned into pure magic.”
Despite the temptation to gloss over painful subjects, Richie understood he would be wasting an opportunity if he didn’t delve into the difficult parts of his life story.
He has another guiding principle for this: “If you run from the lion, the lion will chase you. If you attack the lion, the lion will run away.”
‘God has your next move’
Reading “Truly,” one can sense Richie’s discomfort—and his unwavering commitment to fairness—as he explores the breakdowns of his two marriages and the disbandment of The Commodores. (“I’m sure it wasn’t easy for him, and it wasn’t easy for us either,” LaPread said. “We only knew each other.”)
Richie regains his characteristic optimism when he describes “We Are the World,” the iconic song he co-wrote with Michael Jackson and recorded during an all-night marathon session with a host of music legends in 1985.
“‘We Are the World’ profoundly changed my life,” Richie writes. “It made me ask myself, ‘If I’m in my championship season, what meaningful good can I achieve with this platform?’”
According to the book, the record sold an astonishing 800,000 copies in just three days, raising $80 million for famine relief in Africa.
In the aftermath, Richie felt like he was rocketing into the stratosphere. Everyone else in his circle—agents, manager, family, friends—seemed safely grounded.
“This rocket was flying so fast, you didn’t even realize three years had passed,” Richie mused. “And you feel invincible.”
He continued, “If you walked into a room and just swept everything off the table, everyone would just say, ‘Oh great, Lionel, we’ll clean that up.’ Into girls? All the girls. Into drugs? All the drugs. Ego? All the ego.”
Then, tragedy struck. Richie’s father passed away. His first marriage ended, publicly and painfully. And his voice, his instrument, gave out.
“I didn’t realize you could disintegrate along with the rocket,” he said somberly.
Richie experienced what he described as a “nervous breakdown.” In 1991, he spent five solitary days in Jamaica, sitting in a beach chair, drinking Cristal as the tide slowly encroached upon him. Each night, he recounts, “the hotel staff would appear, lift me—chair and all—and retrieve my empty champagne bottle, now filled with saltwater, guiding me back to dry land before I could drown.”
He returned home to Tuskegee, where his 97-year-old grandmother offered him a no-nonsense pep talk: “Why don’t you get a good night’s sleep? God has your next move.”
Even for readers who have never achieved multiplatinum status, embraced Nelson Mandela, or performed for two billion people at the Olympics, these deeply personal passages are remarkably relatable.
For Richie, that period of hiatus proved to be a lifesaver.
“I share that because it’s incredibly important to understand,” he said, leaning back in a white chair overlooking a lush patio he meticulously tends himself. (Richie also enjoys gardening for his daughter, Nicole Richie, whose neighbors are often amused to see him pruning and humming in her yard.)
Richie sought therapy, remarried, underwent a risky voice restoration surgery, and painstakingly learned to sing anew.
He eventually stepped back into the limelight, where he has remained ever since, joining the ranks of enduring musicians like Bruce Springsteen, Diana Ross, Billy Joel, and Cher.
Cher herself offered him some sage advice just before his book’s publication day.
“You have to prepare yourself. You need to strengthen your resolve,” she advised. “And listen carefully to people’s questions before rushing to answer, allowing them time to absorb. Take your time.”
After all, Cher added, “It’s your life story.”
Richie is clearly ready for it.
“Every time you feel fear, step forward,” he reiterated. “That’s what I hold onto now. Is today confusing? Yes. But tomorrow might not be. Why? Because I confronted today.”