Ohhhhh Yes! The Undertaker’s Manager, WWE’s Mortician, and Wrestling’s Undead MVP
If ever there were a Mount Rushmore for professional wrestling managers carved into the side of a haunted mausoleum, you can bet your last vial of formaldehyde that Paul Bearer’s ghoulish mug would be front and center—right between Bobby Heenan and a weeping gargoyle. William Alvin Moody, known to generations of wrestling fans as Paul Bearer, wasn’t just a manager—he was an institution, a mobile funeral parlor in a black suit, wielding an urn, a high-pitched wail, and more secrets than the Catholic Church.
He was part mortician, part magician, and part mother-in-law from hell—and he made it work.
Before the Wails: Moody Origins
Born April 10, 1954, in Mobile, Alabama, Moody was the only person in wrestling history whose real-life resume matched his gimmick. This wasn’t just kayfabe embalming—he had a degree in mortuary science, an embalmer’s license, and probably knew how to powder your grandmother’s nose post-mortem.
He served in the U.S. Air Force in the 1970s and cut his teeth in the business not in the ring but at ringside—as a photographer, capturing blood, sweat, and tears before learning to draw his own. By 1979, he was managing under the name Percy Pringle III, a name that sounded more like a breakfast sausage heir than a future undead cultist. But don’t let the silly moniker fool you—this was the same man who helped launch the careers of Rick Rude, “Stunning” Steve Austin, and The Undertaker himself.
Percy was southern, snarky, and flamboyant. Think Bobby Heenan with a bottle of peroxide and a sash that read “I Never Lose, I Just Preen Louder.”
Paul Bearer Rises from the Crypt (1991–1996)
Then came Vince McMahon, looking to push a new character—a seven-foot zombie mortician named The Undertaker. Naturally, he needed a manager who looked like he’d already been embalmed and who sounded like a banshee on helium. Enter Paul Bearer.
With skin the color of skim milk and a voice that could summon bats from the rafters, Bearer debuted in 1991 on WWF Superstars, replacing Brother Love as The Undertaker’s handler. From the moment he wailed “Ohhhhh yessssss” and clutched his urn like it contained the last spirit of a condemned soul, he was a sensation.
Fans weren’t just intrigued—they were unsettled. Paul Bearer didn’t walk; he floated like a grimacing ghoul. He didn’t cut promos; he delivered ghost stories at a séance. Every word he said felt like it should be read by candlelight while thunder cracked in the distance.
The Deadman’s Daddy Issues: Mankind, Kane, and Soap Opera Insanity
In 1996, Bearer did the unthinkable: he turned on The Undertaker. During SummerSlam, he betrayed his undead protégé and aligned with Mankind, marking the first of several Shakespearean betrayals that would make the writing staff of Days of Our Lives nod in admiration.
Then things got… messy. Bearer revealed that The Undertaker had a brother. Not just any brother—but a fire-loving, mental asylum-raised, mask-wearing half-sibling named Kane. And guess who the daddy was? That’s right—Paul Bearer had apparently gotten frisky with The Undertaker’s mama during some light mortuary overtime.
At this point, Paul Bearer wasn’t just a manager. He was a full-fledged Jerry Springer storyline in a church suit.
From setting people on fire (in kayfabe, thankfully) to hiding family members in institutions, Bearer did it all with a wicked smile and a gallon of pancake makeup. If you’re wondering whether this was all too over the top, remember: this was the Attitude Era. Over the top was the minimum requirement.
Bearer’s Bizarre Boomerang Returns (1998–2012)
In 1998, Bearer betrayed Kane and went crawling back to The Undertaker faster than a teenager who needs to borrow rent. Together, they formed the Ministry of Darkness, the only stable in wrestling history that looked like it ran on goat blood and Metallica lyrics. Bearer was back in his element—tormenting mankind (the concept and the wrestler), managing fire demons, and possibly organizing bake sales in hell.
After a few years backstage, Bearer returned in 2004 just long enough to be buried in cement at The Great American Bash, because wrestling is beautiful like that.
He reappeared again in 2010, managing The Undertaker briefly before being kidnapped by Edge and subjected to the most ridiculous ransom demands in WWE history, including forced wheelchair rides and pizza-based psychological warfare. Bearer sold it all with the kind of acting that would’ve made Vincent Price rise from his grave and say, “Damn, that’s commitment.”
Life Beyond the Ring—and Into It
Outside of the ring, William Moody was known as a kind man, a devoted husband, and a true professional. He battled obesity, underwent gastric bypass surgery, and continued to make appearances on the independent circuit, helping guide a new generation of wrestlers.
Ironically, one of his final protégés was a young talent named Shaun Ricker, now better known to WWE audiences as LA Knight. So yes, Paul Bearer’s influence lives on—in leather jackets, sunglasses, and “YEAH!”
Death Comes Knocking (And Vince McMahon Probably Booked It)
In 2013, the wrestling world lost William Moody. He died of a heart attack caused by a dangerous arrhythmia. It was a tragic loss, but if there’s any consolation, it’s that Bearer’s entire gimmick was one long audition for the afterlife.
In true WWE fashion, his death became storyline fodder. CM Punk used his urn to taunt The Undertaker, and though it was controversial, you have to imagine Bearer would’ve cackled like the Ghost of Christmas Past watching it unfold.
In 2014, he was posthumously inducted into the WWE Hall of Fame by Kane—his son (kayfabe), arsonist (possibly), and proof that wrestling family trees grow sideways.
Final Words from the Crypt
Paul Bearer wasn’t just a character. He was a cultural artifact. In a business filled with cartoon characters, tough guys, and loudmouths, Bearer managed to make being pale, weird, and unhinged look cool. He didn’t need muscles—he had mythos. He didn’t need pyro—he had the urn. And he didn’t just manage careers—he resurrected them.
In the pantheon of wrestling weirdos, Paul Bearer is the ghost that still haunts the halls. And if you listen closely during a promo or when the lights flicker unexpectedly, you might still hear it…
“Ohhhhhh yesssssssssss…” 🕯️
