A shining, bald duck

Andrew Deacon might be Tulsa’s hardest working comedian

“Man, I am so tired,” Andrew Deacon said when we met. 

As one of Tulsa’s hardest working comedians, he has a right to be. He was still recovering from the Blue Whale Comedy Festival, during which he spent two days running between venues, setting up chairs, grabbing cash boxes for volunteers, performing sound checks, and vibe-checking national comedians he had booked. He also performed in two of the festival’s most popular showcases.

“I did two days of the fest, and did a show last night before I worked this morning and came here.” His work ethic was written in red on his eyes. 

On Facebook, Deacon is a sort of fresh-take machine, socially workshopping material that may hop from news feed to microphone. 

“The first girl I ever asked out on a date became a grandmother recently. I’ve never been more relieved to be stood up at a ska concert,” is one joke that performs especially well. Deacon knows this because he tracks performance stats of his material in a spreadsheet, making him a funnier, though less Asian, Dat Phan. Though he tweets with the irresponsible candor of Trump, he’s as cautious as Clinton when he knows he’s on the record. Throughout our interview he repeatedly down-played his contributions to Tulsa comedy, so I asked local comics to assess him. 

“Andrew Deacon is one of the best ambassadors for Tulsa comedy,” said Landry Miller, local comic and host of the Laundry Room video series.  “He’s one of the most supportive comics, he’s quick to help out new comedians and great at connecting two people that he thinks could benefit from collaboration. Sadly, there are more Andrew Deacon one-liner Facebook statuses than Harambe memes.”
 

Added Evan Hughes, another local comedian who volunteered with Blue Whale: “[Deacon] started the Soundpony Comedy Hour, which he put me on when I was only a couple months into the scene. And he was in the front row at the first comedy show I hosted in Tulsa, a show he wasn’t on, which is the kind of support I’ve seen from him since I started.” 

The aforementioned Soundpony Comedy Hour, held monthly, has become a Tulsa comedy institution. The show provides a chance for upstarts like Hughes to hone their craft and mingle with higher profile comics who are on the road. No matter the caliber, Deacon curates all comics.

Amanda Ruyle, who’s relatively new to the scene, said Deacon saw her at an open mic and put her on a Soundpony show, though she was still green. 

“I killed,” she said. “I just knew I was going to be famous by Labor Day.” 

However, when he gave her a shot to perform alongside Last Comic Standing’s Dusty Slay, she bombed ... “Hard.” Deacon gave her honest comments and direction, and abstained from sugar-coating his critiques. 

“He may not actually have emotions, now that I think about it,” Ruyle said. “I’ll ask the pizza delivery guy since he sees him at his most vulnerable more than just about anyone.”

Other comics offered more praise for Deacon... but most just roasted him.

“He’s a shining example of what Tulsa comedy should be,” Drew Welcher said. “As shining as his balding head.”

“Andrew Deacon is like a comedy duck. Under the water he is working like hell to make something of himself and Tulsa Comedy,” said CR Parsons, before adding: “On the surface he appears confident, serene, and tasty with orange sauce.” 

It was on a trip to the Riot L.A. Comedy Festival that Deacon saw 7 Minutes In Purgatory, which feature comics performing their material without benefit of seeing or hearing their audience. They stand in an empty room and tell their jokes into a camera while wearing noise-cancelling headphones. Deacon spoke with Ian Abramson, the show’s host, and booked it for Blue Whale. He also participated, which he said was a “horrifying” experience—he felt all of his behind-the-scenes tasks had zapped his energy. Deacon was helping to feed Blue Whale volunteers up until the moment he put on the noise cancelling headphones. (I saw his performance and can honestly say he killed it.)

This type of relentless boosterism has made Deacon a poster child for Tulsa Comedy. “I don’t have any ideas about being famous,” he said. “I just travel to raise awareness of our scene and bring comics to Tulsa.” 

Aside from securing 7 Minutes in Purgatory, Deacon also lured the Goddamn Comedy Jam to Tulsa for their first out-of-town gig. 

None of this is to say that Deacon’s cheerleading eclipses his stand-up. He and his bald spot are an ever-present fixture at open mics and features across town, and a good chunk of our country, and he still finds time to emcee the monthly Soundpony event he curates.

“This is the first year I’ve paid all of my bills doing stand-up,” he said. That, and proudly watching the Tulsa comedy scene explode, are enough for Deacon, for now.

For more from Mitch, read his profile of local comedian Evan Hughes.