The mask of Moms Mabley
Or, sneaking past barriers instead of breaking them
If you’re the first person to accomplish something, you should get the credit. Unless of course you do it so early that no one’s paying attention. Or you do it in disguise.
Moms Mabley was the first woman to reach the heights of standup comedy, playing both the Apollo Theater and Carnegie Hall. She was among the first African-American comedians to play to white audiences. And she was certainly the first openly (if quietly) gay performer to break those barriers. But she did it all in character, so no one really noticed.
Born in the 1890s to freed slaves in North Carolina, the early details of Loretta Mary Aiken’s life are horrific. Her father was killed by an explosion, and that her mother was hit by a car on Christmas Day. She was raped at age 11 and age 14, giving children up for adoption each time. Soon after, she joined a minstrel show and moved to Ohio. Some accounts have her entering into a forced marriage with an abusive older man, purportedly the source of her abundant material about having no use for old men. As one of her lines went,
“They say you shouldn’t say nothin’ about the dead unless it’s good. He’s dead. Good!”
By her mid-twenties, Aiken had changed her name to Jackie “Moms” Mabley and found the persona she would inhabit for the rest of her life. She put on a frumpy hat and housedress, jutted out her chin in a toothless grimace, and made acid comments as though she were sitting on her porch watching the world go by. She wore this costume for half a century, from the vaudeville era to her death in 1975.
As Ebony magazine wrote in 1962:
“Offstage Moms Mabley is a striking figure in tailored slacks, matching sports shirt, Italian shoes, horn-rimmed glasses — and teeth. She looks utterly sophisticated. Onstage, however, is a different story. She creates the impression that the theater cleaning woman has somehow wandered into the spotlight.”
The costume was a disguise that let Mabley find exceptions to all the rules of prejudice. Audiences are threatened by a woman telling jokes? It’s OK, she’s old and wears a ridiculous hat. Audiences are afraid of black comics? She can’t hurt you; she’s actually toothless! Audiences don’t want to feel old and out-of-touch? No matter your age, Moms Mabley plays older.
In this way, Mabley didn’t so much break barriers as sneak around them. True wit requires surprise, and that was something Moms Mabley designed her whole act to provide. How did she keep it fresh over half a century of performance? Vaudeville helped. On the chitlin circuit, where Moms came up, a comedian who could dance was interchangeable with a dancer who could comedify. If her act was a bust, she could bust a move.
There was also her choice of audiences. She went from small stages to The Apollo Theatre, where she was at the peak of black entertainment. And then she introduced herself to white America, who had no idea what to expect from this little old lady.
And she changed with the times. Her quips in the 1930s and 1940s were about her lust for young men and frustration with older men. “Being married to that old man,” she drawled, “was like trying to push a car up a hill — with a rope.” By the time the civil rights movement began in earnest, Moms had updated her act. She recounted being pulled over in South Carolina: “I seen all you white folks going on the green light,” she told the police officers. “I thought the red light was for us!”
Moms Mabley was on the edge of social change but used her persona to take the edge off. She doesn’t get the recognition she deserves because her disguise was just that good.
Quick quips; lightning
“Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. But give him a mask and he will tell the truth.” Oscar Wilde
“Did St. Francis preach to the birds? Whatever for? If he really liked birds he would have done better to preach to the cats.” Rebecca West
“In a world where everything is ridiculous, nothing can be ridiculed. You cannot unmask a mask.” G.K. Chesterton
That’s issue No. 45 of Get Wit Quick, a Mother’s Day edition in deep disguise. My book Elements of Wit: Mastering The Art of Being Interesting missed Moms, but that’s why this email exists. Don’t forget your mom; why, she might even like this newsletter. For the record, my mother’s favourite issue was No. 16 on Tallulah Bankhead. Tap the ♥️on your way out!