Yul Spencer’s story reads like a hybrid of “Celebrity Rehab” meets “America’s Most Wanted.”

A junior member of L.A.’s Comedy Store rat pack (he rolled with the likes of Richard Pryor, Sam Kinison and Chris Collins) the comic actor has battled drugs and alcohol, and overcome a life of early crime.

Clean and sober the last decade and a half, the French-born, Oakland-raised entertainer this month embarks on a uniquely personal one-man stage play called “Ya’ Gotta Go Higher,” playing June 12–28 at Hollywood’s Complex East Theater.

Familiar to comedy fans from shows like “Comic View” and Make Me Laugh,” Spencer, along with his co-writer/director Larry B. Scott and co-writer/producer Danita Jones, mines a rich seam of irony and pathos.

“'Ya' Gotta Go Higher' means just that,” Spencer tells The Wave during a recent break from rehearsal. “I’ve recovered in the past 15 years from alcohol, drugs, guns, pimping, hate, resentment — just a laundry list of stuff to get over. But basically we’re all recovering from something, whether it’s drink, cigarettes, debt, food, sex or exercise. We all have choices to make.”

The title of the show came from a late-night inspiration that would be familiar to any “Seinfeld” fan.

“I was originally thinking of calling it ‘The Junkie Monologues,’” a catchy riff on the popular women’s stage play. “Larry came around to the studio one night and I asked him what he thought. He said, ‘No, you’ve gotta go higher.’ I said, ‘That’s it.’ He said, ‘What’s it?’ I said, ‘Ya gotta go higher. That’s the title of the show.’”

Born in La Walck, a little town in the Alsace region of France, Spencer was adopted by an American woman who loved “The King and I,” particularly its star, Yul Brynner.

Relocated to Oakland, Spencer endured a lawless youth that saw him incarcerated just short of his tenth birthday. Later he become a disciple of the Black Panthers.

“My adoptive father split pretty quickly and left my mother to cope on her own,” Spencer says. “But she’s great. The only thing I’m scared of today is my momma and a bullet, and both will kill [you].”

He added: “But she had to work. You leave two badass kids in the house with no supervision and it can be wild. “I was sneaking out and running with the 16-year-olds — drugs, armed burglaries and car thefts. That was the whole scene in Oakland in the ’70’s. The only way a Black man could make a buck was by selling dope, pimpin’ or robbing someone.”

According to Spencer, it was the Panthers that offered salvation. “I knew all those cats — Newton, Cleaver, Bobby Hutton. Back then, if you were in lockup you got extra credits if you actually studied and went to classes. So I started reading all their books, just eating up their knowledge. Because of the Panthers, we would all know the criminal codes. I was the Black child who got that ‘So you think you’re a smart kid?,’ especially from the cops.”

It was during one of these incarcerations that Spencer learned he was adopted.

“I would fight someone every day,” he says. “And I guess they thought if maybe they tell the boy something about himself he might calm down. So, I was about 12 or 13 and had come back from the institution for Christmas. I’ll never forget it. I ran into the house and said, ‘Momma, I want to go out and do something,’ and she said, ‘Wait, they want me to tell you something.’ I said, ‘Yeah? What?’ She said, ‘You’re adopted.’ I said, ‘Cool,’ and just ran outside. It didn’t mess with me until later.”

Nevertheless, Spencer got his life together long enough to gain admission to San Jose State University, where he studied business administration and met his now ex-wife.

But old habits sometimes die hard. Spencer began supplementing his college grant with what he describes as a lucrative “chemical distribution business on the side.”

He eventually dropped out of school, yet continued to pursue a creative outlet in local theater and comedy, founding a comedy troupe called The Past Time Players.

“I always knew I would go into acting or comedy,” Spencer says. “There was no lineage, no one in my family was in the business, but I remember with all the misery and sadness at home the only time that [things] would stop was when momma put on a Richard Pryor, Bill Cosby or Redd Foxx album.”

Some years later, Spencer, his wife and two daughters relocated to Los Angeles, where he became a doorman at the Comedy Store.

It was fairly early on that he connected with his idol, Richard Pryor.

“All the aspiring comics worked the door and I’d said hi to Richard a couple of times,” Spencer says.

“Anyway, after 11 years my wife said she wanted to divorce me. I just couldn’t believe it. We’d been together so long and I loved my daughters more than anything. I was seeing one of the girls who worked at Richard’s production company and I told her I was going to quit. She went crying to Richard about it. I’ve no idea why he did it, but he said he wanted to meet me at the Store.”

Spencer, who bears an uncanny resemblance to Pryor, nervously met the comedic icon a couple of nights later.

“I was still like, ‘I’m gonna go. F Richard Pryor. Is he gonna give me a job now?’ But what he told me still overwhelms me to this day. He just said, ‘Don’t quit. You’re really talented and your comedy is universal.”

Taking Pryor’s advice to heart, Spencer persevered and started getting more spots. People began to joke that he was Pryor’s illegitimate son.

“Yeah, some people speculated that’s why I was getting more [mic] time, because I had a relationship with him,” Spencer says. “It was a bit of jealously, but you’ve got to realize in this business that not everybody’s pulling for you.”

However, the famed big break was just around the corner, courtesy of Comedy Store alum Arsenio Hall.

“That’s where he got started, and he was always helping to promote the club,” Spencer says. “I knew him. He said, ‘Spencer, I’m gonna get you on my show.’ So, I get a call one day from my manager who tells me to get down there. When I do, Arsenio’s like, ‘I got you, man. You’re going on next.’

“Bam, the TV lights hit me and he’s like, ‘Tell a joke.’ So I said, ‘Er … I was on Hollywood Boulevard and ran into a prostitute. I asked her, ‘How much?’ She said, ‘For $500 I’ll take you around the world.’ And I said, ‘Well, for $10 can you drop me off in Compton, ’cause I like to save my money.’”

The joke aired to nearly 4 million viewers that night, launching Spencer’s career.

“I’ve made it this far … through the grace of God and people who intervened, like judges and cops,” he says. “But, seriously, I’ve learned to be free of the blame, accusation, hate and resentment. That’s what I’ll be trying to pass on to the people coming to see the show.”