Clint Nohr’s website bio describes stand-up comedy as coming from a “warped and twisted, yet somehow always relatable point of view.”
Nohr proved that once more last month.
He worked a two-week gig at Jokers Wild, the comedy club inside the Atlantis Bahamas resort, from March 3-15, just as the Americas came to grips with the coronavirus pandemic. HIs social media commentary reflected that moment.
March 12: “Oops I drank ALL my Purell”
March 12: “I have four more nights to to decide the last words I want to speak into a microphone so fire away. I’ll open up the line for dedications…”
March 14: “THE WORLD CANT END I NEVER TRIED BATH SALTS”
March 16: “Hot Month 2020: POSTPONED”
He got back to New York City that Monday, posting that last status as a selfie while wearing a face mask. Nohr unexpectedly died on Wednesday, March 18. He was 38. Family and friends, including his comedian roommate, Paul Hooper, are awaiting an autopsy to find out why he died.
Here’s Nohr, introduced by the late Brody Stevens, on the outdoor second stage of Funny Or Die’s Oddball Festival in 2014:
Born and raised in South Carolina, Nohr started his comedy career in Charlotte, North Carolina in the early 2000s. In his first year, he made the callback rounds of season 2 of NBC’s Last Comic Standing, and took third place in a Carnival Cruise Comedy Challenge. Over the years, he performed in comedy festivals and competitions from Boston to Austin, from Asheville to Charleston and Laughing Skull. His TV credits included AXS TV’s Gotham Comedy Live and FOX’s Laughs.
Derek Humphrey remembers Nohr:
When we met in Charleston, Clint was a road and club comic who had moved to the area to work on his craft with a couple of other like-minded people. I was a member of a theater community, acting in improv and sketch, while attempting stand-up comedy in a burgeoning scene that didn’t feature a club. If you think that there are a limited number of opportunities in Chicago, LA or New York then try looking for places to tell jokes where people would rather watch Clemson football and shuck oysters. There was an uneasiness between the two groups, and it was sometimes palpable.
There was an annual local contest for stand-up that was based on audience participation. It wasn’t necessarily a “bringer” show, but it certainly helped to bring a ton of audience who would vote for you. In the first year that we knew each other, Clint and I were in the same round of competition. I was worried about facing him because he was much more experienced, so I brought a bunch of friends to the show. I did okay in my set, but I knew I lost once Clint took the mic.
His opening joke absolutely crushed, and he went on to kill for the next few minutes. He told one joke, if I am paraphrasing, where he amounted someone’s wife to be the saddlebag on her husband’s motorcycle. While everyone else was dying at that, even me, one lone person audibly groaned at the joke and Clint said “What the fuck do I care? I don’t know anyone here.” He really didn’t care or know anyone there either. He didn’t need to bring an audience. He took mine.
Being a new comic, I was a petty spiteful bitch about it because I thought some local contest mattered and I kind of resented Clint over it for a while. I remember mentioning as much to a good friend of mine, who was better friends with him, who told me “Really? Because Clint has nothing but nice things to say about you.” I instantly felt like an idiot. Deservedly so. Clint saw the forest through the trees and understood that there were more important things than winning one round of a contest.
I reached out to Clint and we became better friends from then on. Being a theater/alt scene comic, I didn’t know the road like he had. He hooked me up with work to gain that experience and I tried to help him integrate into New York as much as I could, giving him spots when and wherever I could. If I ever slipped back into my pettiness about what I felt was a lack of opportunity, he quickly reminded me that, from his perspective, things were going well for me. I was just choosing not to view it that way.
Some people have inquired as to how Clint passed. I don’t know the official results of his autopsy and if I ever do find out, I doubt I would be inclined to share. It isn’t my business. Clint had a lot of dark spots in his past, but he somehow still could find the light. It’s more important to remember how he lived than how he passed.
I feel like the worst aspect of this is twofold. His parents lost their only child during a pandemic. I don’t know how or when the logistics and economics of this tragedy will play out for them. I just know that two people are hurting, and a community of his friends can’t even get together to have coffee and cry over it. But once we can, we will.
Once this is over, I won’t look at the world the same anymore. None of us will. But I will emerge a little more grateful and since I have been working out, a lot hotter. It’s what Clint would have done. April was his hot month after all.
Humphrey added that some comedians wanted to create a GoFundMe, but Nohr’s mother nixxed it, telling him: “In lieu of money; we wish you to pay it forward. Kind deeds for your neighbors, helping an elderly person get groceries, a warm smile for someone sick. During the bleakness and fear: let’s spread some kindness to one another. I believe Clint would like this best. We are all family now.”