Ooooooooh, I am going to get in such big trouble for this. Such big trouble.
But I have to tell it!
I came across this photo of Luke and Rick Schroder at the premiere of Leatherheads, and I was like, “Oh my God. It’s time. It’s time for the Rick Schroder story.”
You guys ready?
Okay, so I’m like 16 years old, maybe 17. My best friend’s parents are having a dinner party, and my boyfriend and I go to hang out toward the end of the evening. One of the dinner party guests is Rick Schroder’s father. He’s a Born-Again Christian, and he is also trashed out of his gourd.
I’m Jewish. So is my best friend, and, consequently, her parents, the hosts of this party. This does not stop Rick Schroder’s father from going on an extensive, drunken rant about how we are all going to rot in hell for our failure to accept Jesus Christ as our Lord and Savior.
This is not the funny part, but it’s important that you have a clear mental image of this holier-than-thou character.
We keep talking, Rick Schroder’s dad keeps drinking. We’re all out on the patio of my best friend’s stunning home, a huge expanse overlooking the mountains in Paradise Valley. People are dressed up. Wine is being served in crystal glasses. It’s all very fancy, like the kind of environment in which you’d want to demonstrate some measure of class.
At some point, I mention that I don’t eat pork, as a part of the whole Kosher thing that’s going to result in my one-way ticket to Devil-land. This prompts Rick Schroder’s mother to turn to Rick Schroder’s father and say, “You should do your fried bacon impression.” And my best friend and I are like, “Excuse me?” And she’s like, “Oh, he does the best fried bacon impression.” And my best friend and I are, once again, like, “Excuse me?” This continues for awhile, until finally, Rick Schroder’s father agrees — without much encouragement from us — to do his impression of fried bacon. It’s the kind of thing you know can’t end well.
It’s like 11:30 pm, and we’ve been lectured for HOURS about the importance of accepting Jesus into our little Jew-girl hearts.
And then Rick Schroder’s father stands up, walks to an open part of the patio, lies down flat on his stomach (wearing a suit!), and proceeds to shake his body up and down like he’s having a seizure. His arms are flailing. His legs are kicking. His stomach is rolling. This is, I suppose, sort of like what bacon looks like when it’s fried. The adults are delighted. They’re clapping, they’re excited, “Oh, how funny! Oh, it’s just like fried bacon!” And my best friend and I are just staring at each other, like, “Did that just actually happen? That could not have just actually happened.”
But it did. Oh, it did. And it’s one of the more scarring memories of my childhood.
And that, my friends, is the Rick Schroder story.