Just Play Like You Do in the Basement: Coming of Age as the Drummer for the Greatest Entertainer in the World is your memoir, sharing your journey from a basement in Cleveland Heights to the stages around the world on tour alongside Sammy Davis Jr. Why was this an important book for you to write?

It was an extraordinary experience to perform with a legendary entertainer. But because I was fairly young—just out of high school—the sense of wonder and the impact of those experiences hit me even harder than they might have if I’d been a seasoned musician in my thirties or forties. That’s why I framed the book as a coming-of-age story.

When I returned home, at least two people who heard my stories urged me to write a book. Within a few years I began taking notes, outlining, and drafting chapters. I eventually put the project aside when I became absorbed in researching my grandfather’s murder, which led to my first published book. Still, the vivid memories of traveling with Sammy Davis, Jr. and the people I worked with and friends I met, stayed with me for decades.

In 2023 I finally returned to the project in earnest. By then I understood the potential of my experiences to become not just a music story, but a powerful reflection on family, identity, and the choice between two very different dreams.

What were some ideas that were important for you to share in this book?

I can think of three or four. First, the influence of family. In my case, it was positive. I had a natural interest in jazz and the drums, but it was my father, my brother, and later my drum teacher who educated, coached, encouraged, and helped me build both talent and confidence. My father’s friendship with the great drummer Louie Bellson also provided a unique connection that shaped my style.

Second, the importance of commitment. My skill didn’t develop in a year or two—it took seven or eight years. Countless hours of practice went into learning the instrument, developing a jazz feel, mastering big band arrangements, then gaining performance experience. Often, when friends were out playing or partying, I was home working through a drum lesson or playing along with jazz albums.

Finally, I wanted to share how my journey forced me to face two competing dreams: the one my father and I shared, and the one that only I envisioned. Choosing between them ultimately set me on a path that was, in many ways, foreign to my family, a disappointment to my father, and changed the course of my life.

I appreciated the candid nature with which you told your story. What was the hardest thing for you to write about?

My memoir was a significant departure from writing books about organized crime, like To Kill the Irishman, which had become my comfort zone. The most difficult part was being honest about my vulnerabilities as young Ricky Porrello—my vulnerabilities and flaws. But I knew authenticity was essential if the story was going to resonate with readers, and that meant allowing emotional depth to come through. My editor, Cherie Rohn, helped by often asking the uncomfortable but necessary question: “How did you feel?”

I also wrestled with writing about lovemaking. The tone I envisioned for the book didn’t include explicit physical detail, yet intimacy was part of the story. I needed to convey the pull of attraction, the thrill of discovery, and the feelings of love that shaped my coming-of-age as a young man traveling the globe.

What advice do you have for aspiring memoir writers?

Remember that an autobiography and a memoir are not the same. An autobiography has a wide view—this is the story of my life. A memoir is a slice of life, however small or large, that reveals a deeper truth—what you learned or experienced about some universal theme.

In Just Play Like You Do in the Basement, my primary theme is coming-of-age. Other central ideas include family, identity, and choosing a path. At its heart, though, the story is about a boy becoming a man—set against the backdrop of a successful musical family and the extraordinary experience of touring with a legendary entertainer.

Over the decades, many aspiring authors have consulted with me. A common mistake I’ve seen is summarizing a life as a simple chronicle: this happened, then that happened, then something else happened. The episodes may be interesting, but anecdote after anecdote—without emotional depth, story threads, and a clear beginning, middle, and end—does not make a memoir. You must identify the theme or themes and be willing to tell the truth with honesty and vulnerability. With focus and commitment, you can do it!

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