An Elegy for Mr. Paul Mooney

“The truth speaks for itself,” is a maxim worthy of being passed down through the generations. Whether it’s a clever phrase, or a witty joke, the truth will always persist when handled by founts of wisdom.

Mr. Paul Mooney was one of these founts. He possessed a rich understanding of human foibles that didn’t require being just a race, sex, class, or any other barrier that humans have erected to separate ourselves.

What Mr. Mooney did was unwrap a tale through the power of humor. He could either make an audience member stand up and cheer or scowl, collect their belongings, and head for the exits. This only emboldened Mr. Mooney. He’d say, “Bye I hope n—- are burglarizing your home, ma’am!”

His contemplations on beauty and health among the races made the listener question the root of their preconceived notions. In one bit, he said that the infamous doll test that asked young negro children to pick out which doll was better, the black or white one, pushed the narrative into overdrive. He said he would ask, “which doll is the serial killer? Which doll is the one to shoot up a school?”

By switching up the situation, he allowed in a fresh take on what most people think is acceptable. What was so great is that he often took more shots at black people than any other race. The celebrities he skewered were like a lineup of broken windows who could allow light to glow in a room, but were still shattered. Michael Jackson, OJ Simpson, Oprah Winfrey, Bobby Brown, Tiger Woods, Chris Brown, Dionne Warwick and a whole host of others all found themselves in Mr. Mooney’s crosshairs. He wished to show just how frail the human body can be against the human spirit.

With the power of the mind, he applied his craft like a master locksmith. He’d tinker on an idea, and just when you thought the idea was locked, and could never be opened, he’d used his tools of charm to pop the lock, and leave audiences rolling.

By stripping the crowd of all of their wishes, hopes, and dreams about what has been spoon fed to them by traditional, regressive American education, Mr. Mooney could beat up his listeners and viewers, and then provide a buffer for the verbal roundhouse kicks and uppercuts he’d just administered. Or not. He only wanted to inform and educate and if you laughed that was a bonus.

With the air of a minister delivering a fiery sermon, packed with nuggets of sagacity, he could command any group of people. He just knew that more blacks occupied those seats in the dark theaters. By knowing who he was talking to, he could uplift, and alternately tear down someone with just the turn of a phrase.

The glint in his eye was that of a scientist. He could add in all the chemical ingredients of a comedian that could do straight stand-up, or just (literally) sit down and riff on topics with charisma and brilliance. His innovative style was like a life-saving medicine formed in the lab in his mind.

He rose above “your favorite comedian’s comedian” by displaying his own brand: a mixture of history, language, and psychology. When he talked about white people, it was like he was staring them in the eye and saying, like an Individual Rights Movement sign, “I am a Man.”

Mr. Mooney unpacked notions of black stereotypes by embracing them and then showing them in a new light. In a bit where he roasted MC Hammer, he said that the director of the commercial wanted the rapper to catch the popcorn chicken “with his big fat lips.” He exposed how this physical attribute applies to some blacks and how the hip hop artist sold his soul for some bits of chicken.

Mr. Mooney is no longer able to express the jewels he dropped during his career, but there are hours of content available on various platforms. Mr. Mooney has left behind a sturdy, exceptional example of how humans speak, act, and interact. His memory will forever be imbued with brilliance and power.