Dedication of Dave’s portrait with artist Morris Jones, Viola (head librarian), the principal of Germantown High School, and David P. Richardson at the Coleman Library at 68 W. Chelten Ave., then named Northwest Regional Library. (Photo used with permission from Morris Jones via his own collection.)
This story was produced as part of GIH’s Then & Now series, where we examine historical jawns—good, bad, and everything in between—through storytelling and engagement in relation to Germantown’s present. Have memories you want to share about the David P. Richardson or other historical jawns? Email us at gtowninfohub@resolvephilly.org.
Standing at 6’ 3, former 201st District State Representative David P. Richardson, also known as ‘Brotha Dave,’ was big in size and presence. Over 47 short years of life (1948–1995), the many who came across him, as a Germantowner, community organizer, or a politician, would agree.
A “Paul Bunyan” of stature, as remembered by former State Rep. Steven Kinsey, Richardson was a man about his people, dedicating his life’s work to Black people. That means in the neighborhood and around the world.
As one of the few Black elected officials at the time, as recollected by Elder Germantower Bernard Fisher, he was fearless. And he showed up as himself and fought for what he believed in, no matter the setting.
Fisher, who just turned 76-years-old, described the memory of the late State Rep at a Memory Circle GIH and Coleman Library held in March.
“Dave was the only State Representative that didn’t adhere to the dress code. The dress code was a suit, shirt, and tie or sportcoat, shirt, and tie,” he explained.
“Dave always wore a dashiki, a rawhide around his neck, and a big circular bronze of Malcolm X… years later, he went to a shirt and tie.”
But he also refers folks to Richardson’s final speech for Mumia Abu-Jamal, just days before he died of a heart attack on Aug. 18, 1995. He said if folks truly want to know who he is, they’ll watch it.
And he’s right — the following words, pulled from the speech, truly underscore how Fisher and others remember his love, passion, and ferocity for Black people and other underserved and disenfranchised communities.
“…some of us are not afraid. That even though we may be elected, we will say what’s on our mind, but we must understand that we are freedom fighters first, and that all the other things come next. That I’m a Black man first and then a state representative. I don’t confuse the two. And I think it’s time for us to wake up and realize and understand that you got a lot of us that are willing to go to battle because the freedom ain’t gonna never be free unless we take it.”
Remembered as almost bigger than life itself, Richardson’s greatness and dedication can be traced back to his early years.
Richardson — as informed by the record.
Richardson was born in Philadelphia on April 23, 1948. He graduated from Germantown High School in 1965. Before graduating, he had already begun amassing a variety of skills.
He was an apprentice at the Clarence Farmer Printing Service in 1960 before being an anesthesiologist aide at Mercy Douglas Hospital from 1965 to 1966. According to the Pennsylvania House Archives, he worked as an insurance agent and as a recreation specialist at the Philadelphia Recreation Department for one year.
Richardson was inspired at a young age to serve as a leader through his appreciation of other African American leaders like Frederick Douglass, Malcolm X, and Martin Luther King, Jr.
With help from the Black People’s Unity Movement, training youth on how to organize, a 19-year-old Richardson helped lead the infamous citywide school walkout in the fall of 1967 to press for changes in the Philadelphia public schools.
This included the right to wear African clothes and jewelry, more Black teachers and administrators, and recognition of Black student unions as legitimate school clubs.
He was honored at the founding Black Political Forum for his youth organizing and leadership in the April 26, 1970, citywide Black high school demonstration for community control of schools.
From 1968 to 1972, he further invested in his community by serving as the Executive Director of the now-defunct Greater Germantown Youth Corporation before pursuing public service.
In the 1970s, when gangs and gang violence were prevalent in Philadelphia, up in Germantown, he was known for trying to unite different sections of the neighborhood.
“He was always advocating for people just getting along. And so he was well respected,” said Steven Kinsey.
Already making big strides in the neighborhood and city, Richardson was the youngest elected state representative in the state congress of Pennsylvania at the age of 24 in 1973. He served 12 consecutive terms as State Rep for the 201st Legislative District.
That same year, Richardson would go on to chair the Pennsylvania Legislative Black Caucus, founded by one of his mentors, K. Leroy Irvis, in 1973.
In that time, Richardson proved his word as a man for the people, which Steven Vaughn said led many to call him “The People’s Champ.”
Throughout the 70s until his passing, he organized an August East Germantown Cookout every year to celebrate all of the work the community and his team did throughout the year. It was a tradition revived in 2018 by the Friends of David P. Richardson, consisting of neighbors and community leaders.
Brotha Dave championed reparations for the Black community — an issue that continues to be an ongoing conversation and, in 2026, still hasn’t been figured out and remains “controversial.”
One of his most popular moves was helping to eliminate liens placed on the homes of those on public benefits — a huge win that helped carry his reputation even with people who had never personally met him.
Beyond his immediate surroundings, Richardson also vocally opposed South African apartheid at various rallies, gatherings, and meetings.
The former state rep backed legislation recognizing Martin Luther King Jr. Day, which the General Assembly passed in 1978. That was five years before it was passed as a federal holiday.
Richardson, as told by his people.
Local artist Morris Jones remembers connecting with Richardson while trying to address issues on his mother’s block. Unaware of the magnitude of Richardson’s activism, he went to his office to arrange a meeting. Richardson, though late, showed up to the block meeting and impressed everyone.
Jones said they talked to him about nuisance businesses and drug dealing on their blocks, and Richardson pledged his support.
“He said, ‘Look, whatever y’ all want to do about it, I’m behind. If y’ all want to go out there and just set up a bullhorn and just protest and block the street off… I’m with you. Whatever you want to do, I’m with you,” Jones said.
Community leader Debbie Fortune says Dave was a friend and mentor to her, a man that she could look up to and could always reach out to.
“He was like basically no other person in the Germantown area,” she said. ‘He saw something in me, just like my mother — a fighter, a go-getter. And Dave mentored me… with him and my mother, the two of them, it’s a time to stand quiet, and it’s time to roar. And he was able to pull a lot of that out of me.”
Fortune said he instilled the same confidence and awareness in many of the community leaders and organizers around him.
Steven Vaughn knew Richardson through the Black Political Independent Party, created from a conference in Philadelphia in 1980 that brought together leaders from the Black Power movement and other progressive groups.
He remembers Richardson as an early model of building solidarity across social lines.
“Dave was very independent, and he always thought that it was most important that Black people, people of color, and even poor white people had an opportunity to expand their horizons. He understood clearly the difference in race and class, and he was able to interpret the importance of race and class and how it affected everybody,” said Vaughn.
Vaughn makes a point that some of Richardson’s greatest advocacy was pushing for quality of life issues — whether it was healthcare, education, employment training, or socialization for all disenfranchised folks, starting in Germantown and the district he served, but moving across the city.
“He wanted to make sure that all communities, all people had those opportunities that could survive and sustain their life,” he said.
His daughter, Nikki Richardson, remembers being a teenager and having just had her wisdom teeth pulled out while her father was on the phone with Mayor Wilson Goode. It was right after the city dropped a bomb on the Move family compound in May 1985.
“Let’s just say he was not happy about him taking responsibility for dropping the bomb. ‘Like, why would you do that? These are Black people. These are your people. Why would you do that?’ I just could not believe the words that were coming out of my father’s mouth, “ she said.
“That’s when I knew… ‘Oh, you are him.’ Yeah, that’s what I’m saying. Oh, you really are the man. You’re talking to the mayor of Philadelphia this way,” said Nikki.
But Richardson’s dedication to his people did not come without sacrifice in his own personal life, as Nikki recalled.
Nikki Richardson is now 54 years old. At the recent memory circle, she mentioned how much she loved hearing stories about her father, because she misses him. But the life and legacy that her father left sometimes came with mixed emotions.
“Daddy issues growing up… absolutely,” Nikki said, candidly, at the gathering.
“He wasn’t there because he was for everybody. He was always on the run. He was always on the go. A meeting here, meeting there. He could fall asleep with you on the phone.”
She understands now, as an adult, how people needed her father to help push forward the change they wanted to see for Black folks, even though, as a young person, she wanted him in her life more.
She says she understands why he did what he did, and she’s grateful for him and his work.
And many people still show how grateful they are. Neighbor Kim Mathis told Nikki at the Memory Circle, “Thank you for sharing your father with us.”
Richardson, as a model and symbol.
Richardson’s memory is immortalized in Germantown — and the city of Philly — with nods including a City Council-issued day of recognition, a photo of him hanging within the Save A Lot on Pulaski Lot, and even a community group with his namesake.
When you’re walking down parts of the East Chelten corridor, you might notice he’s the red-highlighted honorary renaming of the avenue. If you’re in East Germantown, you might see him outside of Mastery Charter-Pastorious in East Germantown, as painted by Morris Jones.
All of these intentional reminders to keep his legacy as a lesson to all.
Current State Rep. Andre D. Carroll talks about what current and future leaders can learn from Richardson’s leadership.
“I think now, like many times in the history of this country, we need leaders and public servants who are willing to be the voice of folks who are not able to have the platforms that we occupy. And we must be the voice of people who have been negatively impacted by some of the decision-making that’s happening in this country.”
Rep. Carroll’s direct predecessor, Steven Kinsey, gave similar sentiments, saying, “You have to stay true to the mission, but also share that mission. So that way, you can get folks involved. It’s not just your mission, you know, it’s finding like-minded folks who can push that.”
No matter the case, neighbors like Steven Vaughn still look to and see Richardson as a great example of how leaders can move around issues today.
“I think his strongest attributes for his existence was his dedication, his determination, and his discipline to get things done in the name of humanity and to make sure that the quality of life for people was something that was going to be permanent and supportive and helpful and useful.”
The Germantown Info Hub sends thanks to State Rep. Andre D. Carroll, Michael Cogbill, Bernard Fisher, Kim Mathis, and Nikki Richardson for participating in our Memory Circle in March to help illuminate more about David P. Richardson. We also thank the others who participated in interviews away from the circle, including Debbie Fortune, Morris Jones, Steven Kinsey, and Steven Vaughn.