10 Years After Prince: Friends Unveil the Man Behind the Myth

Ten years on, the day Prince left us is still crystal clear and still completely surreal. What happened inside Paisley Park that morning, how his inner circle reacted, how he ran his career like a fortress, and what the estate is doing now — it is all a very Prince mix of private, precise, and larger-than-life.

The morning at Paisley Park

At 9:43 a.m. on April 21, 2016, a 911 call came into the Carver County Sheriff’s Office from Prince’s Chanhassen compound. The caller was Andrew Kornfeld, a 26-year-old pre-med student sent to Minnesota by his father, addiction specialist Howard Kornfeld. Prince’s team had contacted Howard the day before to get help with the singer’s opioid dependency; Howard could not get there from California quickly enough, so he dispatched Andrew ahead of him.

When Andrew walked into the 65,000-square-foot maze that is Paisley Park, staff pointed him to Prince, who was on his back near an elevator. On the call, Andrew told the dispatcher they were at Prince’s house and said the person in front of him was not breathing; he then confirmed it was Prince. Paramedics arrived, but the 57-year-old musician — born Prince Rogers Nelson — had been gone for hours.

How the news landed

It spread fast. PR vet Michael Pagnotta — whose first client back in the early 90s was Prince — remembers seeing CNN break into programming with the headline that someone had been found at Paisley Park and feeling, instantly, that it was him. Prince’s longtime lawyer L. Londell McMillan was at his desk when the alerts hit and felt his heart lurch. Prince’s ex-wife Mayte Garcia was driving when she got the call; she barely remembers how she made it home. That day was awful for everyone who loved him.

Prince vs the spotlight

Even in death, he remains a riddle — just like he wanted it. Prince demanded maximum attention while giving minimum access. Interviews were rare; in 2003, he told Australian TV host Richard Wilkins he was shy. He was fiercely protective of his image and set the terms every time. One example: when he played the Today show in the mid-90s, producers wanted an interview after the set. Anchor Bryant Gumbel tried to grab him live, and Prince simply slipped away. That is about as on-brand as it gets.

'When things go good, it’s because of me. When things go bad, it’s because of you.'

That line, delivered with his trademark sly smile, is how Pagnotta remembers the pressure of working for him. Intense? Absolutely. But it was also a lesson in accountability that helped shape careers around him.

The artist who changed his own name

Nothing shows his control-freak genius more than 1993, when he changed his stage name to an unpronounceable symbol during a bitter fight with Warner Bros. Records. Publicist Mitch Schneider says Prince called to ask how far he was willing to go; the next thing Mitch got was a computer disk loaded with the symbol so press releases could actually use it. The attention to detail bordered on obsessive — and that is why the move worked.

The guy his inner circle knew

Behind the mystique, people close to him describe someone warm and wildly curious. McMillan remembers limo rides turning into rolling salons about music, art, history, health, food, community work, and business plans. Garcia — who danced with him, sang in New Power Generation, married him in 1996, and divorced four years later — says there was never bad energy between them, and that once you were inside the circle, he was wide open and miles ahead of his time.

Chef Ray Roberts, who met Prince when the singer stopped by his Minneapolis spot Peoples Organic and then spent the last three years as his personal chef, says working for him made everyone sharper. Prince loved a very specific Roberts creation — corn on pizza — so much that he kept asking guests if they had ever tried it and requested it for weeks. He was also a serious espresso guy; the band would joke that the shot count was basically a forecast for how long the night would run. (Roberts also owns Darling in the Seward neighborhood, for the locals keeping score.)

The loss that changed everything

In 1996, Prince and Garcia had a son, Amiir. He was born with Pfeiffer syndrome, a rare genetic disorder, and died days later. Garcia says kids were never discussed until they married; Prince wrote her a song called 'Let’s Have a Baby' and then threw himself into fatherhood, staying at Amiir’s side in the NICU. The grief hollowed them out. Garcia believes that is what ultimately broke their marriage. Years later, she adopted a daughter, Gia, in 2013. She also recently relaunched their 1996 nonprofit, Live 4 Love Charities, created in Amiir’s honor.

Prince, she says, did not fear death; he believed in spiritual growth and told those around him to celebrate when the time came — not to sit in the dark.

What actually happened medically

After a long investigation, officials determined Prince died from an accidental overdose. The pills he took were counterfeit and laced with fentanyl; he believed they were prescription Vicodin for chronic hip and ankle pain built up over decades of giving every ounce of himself onstage. People who knew him say he was staunchly anti-drug; in his mind, prescribed pain management felt like a different category. Garcia had heard he was not feeling well in those last years but did not realize how serious it had gotten — and given how private he was, whispers alone were a red flag.

Keeping the legacy alive

Since then, the estate has been busy — sometimes beautifully, sometimes messily. Paisley Park is now a museum that also hosts fan events, just like he used to. On the 10th anniversary of his death, fans lined up for tours of the complex and its NPG Music Club, held a candle lighting, and watched a 2014 concert screening. There have been court fights among heirs. There have also been competing visions for how to tell his story on screen.

• Netflix shelved a completed nine-hour documentary by Oscar winner Ezra Edelman over alleged factual inaccuracies.
• The estate teased its own film built from Prince’s archival footage.
• Director Ryan Coogler is producing a jukebox musical movie that McMillan stresses is an original story set to Prince’s music, not a traditional biopic.

Why he still matters

For younger artists trying to level up, his catalog and performances are a masterclass. Industry folks who worked with him in the 90s, like publicist Karen Lee, say you can learn just by watching. Roberts puts it even more plainly: he was ahead of the curve, constantly blending genres and reinventing himself. Plenty have followed the map since — but there is still no one like Prince.