In his 2022 memoir, We Are the Majority, Lt. Gov. Mark Robinson wrote that he committed his life to Jesus in the late 1980s.
“I did not, however, experience a drastic conversion like some do,” wrote Robinson, now the Republican nominee for governor. “My behavior did not immediately reform. They say sin is fun for a season, and I was in that season.”
Robinson didn’t specify how long that season lasted or what sins it entailed. But according to Louis Money, who worked in several of Greensboro’s windowless, 24-hour video-pornography stores, Robinson was a frequent customer in the 1990s and early 2000s. Money, 52, told The Assembly that Robinson came in as often as five nights a week to watch porn videos in a private booth.
Five other men who said they were former employees or customers during this period also told The Assembly that Robinson visited two of these stores: Gents Video & News and I-40 Video & News.
In addition, Money said Robinson purchased “hundreds” of bootleg porn videos that Money sold on the side.
“He was good for at least one a week,” Money said. But Money said Robinson didn’t pay for the last one, which he described as a compilation of “super hardcore” films he acquired in New York City that were too risqué to be sold in North Carolina.
He said he doesn’t really care about the $25 Robinson owes him for that tape. Nor is he trying to derail the Republican’s campaign for governor. An unaffiliated voter, he said he likes Robinson as a person, if not necessarily his politics.
But what he described as a “funny story” offered an opportunity for self-promotion. In mid-August, Money’s band, Trailer Park Orchestra, released a YouTube video for their song “The Lt. Governor Owes Me Money.” In the video, an actor in a dark suit and something approximating a Robinson mask walks into an adult video store to buy porn while Money sings, “I made you a bootleg. I did it all the time. Most of the time you paid me. I guess it, uh, slipped your mind.”
Responding to a detailed list of questions, Robinson campaign spokesperson Mike Lonergan told The Assembly in an email that Money’s claims were “bullshit” and a “complete and total fiction.” He called Money and The Assembly’s reporters “degenerates.”
“This false and personal attack on my boss is complete fiction,” Lonergan wrote.
Robinson was elected North Carolina’s first Black lieutenant governor in 2020, two years after a fiery gun-rights speech to the Greensboro City Council made him a political celebrity. He quickly became the state’s most controversial public official. Robinson’s commentary often targets those who don’t ascribe to his conservative interpretation of Christianity or share his views on sexuality and gender issues.
Robinson is said to have frequented Greensboro’s adult video stores during a formative period of his life. He was in his 20s and early 30s, a married father of two bouncing around restaurant and manufacturing jobs, often struggling to pay the bills. He was also, by his own account, not yet fully grounded in the Christian faith that would define his later political career.
“When I got saved, the devil doubled down in my life,” he told the Bethel Free Will Baptist Church in Kinston in 2021. “(God) told me what I was supposed to do. As I was doing wrong, that voice was in the back of my head, saying, ‘Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!’ And I still continued in disobedience after being saved. And I’m not ashamed to say it.”
‘A Great Deal of Growing Up to Do’
Robinson, who turned 56 on August 18, was the son of an abusive alcoholic who died when he was 12. He graduated from Greensboro’s Grimsley High School in 1986. He spent a semester at North Carolina A&T University but dropped out. He later wrote that he lacked the discipline to continue: “I had become far more interested in chasing pretty girls than learning anything in the classroom.”
In high school, he was a member of the Junior Reserve Officers’ Training Corps. He imagined himself becoming a combat soldier and obsessed over the movie First Blood, he wrote. After graduation, he joined the Army Reserve as a medical specialist. Later, he enlisted in the regular Army but dropped out before his enlistment began. (The Army placed him into the Individual Ready Reserve, an unpaid status that freed Robinson from drills and training.)
He wrote that he wasn’t suited to military life. “I was too much of a talker and didn’t want to always keep my opinions to myself.”
During his semester at A&T, a friend took him to Evangel Fellowship Church, which met in the university’s student union. “That’s the night I got saved and formed a personal relationship with Jesus,” he wrote. “I don’t remember who was preaching. I don’t remember much beyond the profound, life-changing experience that I felt within.”
But, he added, he still “had a great deal of growing up to do.”
In 1989, Robinson, then 20 or 21 years old, paid for his girlfriend Yolanda Hill’s abortion. A year later, he and Hill married while she was pregnant with their first child.
“My perspective on life changed immediately upon the birth of my son,” Robinson wrote. “I was the one God had given charge over this child. I had to be a responsible man.”
Robinson worked at Domino’s Pizza and Sbarro early in their relationship, but he wanted to find a career. His wife’s uncle helped him land a job in a furniture manufacturing business, “the first place I made enough money to support a family,” he wrote.
He quit after his hours were cut, which he blamed on NAFTA, the free-trade agreement that took effect in 1994. Robinson got an $8-an-hour part-time job at Papa Johns. He wrote that he worked his way up to a general manager position before he left to go back to college.
Between 1998 and 2003, the Robinson family filed for bankruptcy three times. During that period, Robinson also failed to file income taxes, and two of the family’s cars were repossessed, according to court records and media reports.
Robinson wrote in his memoir that he “was guilty of bad money management; when I had money and should have been putting it in the bank or spending it on essential things … I was just throwing money away.”
In 2000, Robinson quit college to join his wife’s daycare business. In the next few years, the Robinsons lost their house to foreclosure and sold their struggling business. He completed his bachelor’s degree at UNC-Greensboro in 2022.
“My perspective on life changed immediately upon the birth of my son. I was the one God had given charge over this child. I had to be a responsible man.”
Mark Robinson’s memoir
Robinson wrote that he embraced conservatism after reading Rush Limbaugh’s book The Way Things Ought to Be in the late ’90s. He also wrote that he began attending Guilford County Republican Party meetings during George W. Bush’s 2000 presidential campaign. But he said he found the local party hidebound, so he stopped engaging.
“The party at that point didn’t want to fight,” Robinson wrote. “Anybody who was a fighter had been run out of the party, and they were a bunch of milquetoast sorts who just wanted to talk about lower taxes and less government.”
Three former leaders of the Guilford GOP, including former Greensboro City Council member Tony Wilkins, told The Assembly they don’t remember Robinson during this period—a large Black man would have stood out, they said—and were not aware of him until after his gun speech in 2018.
‘A Good Amount of Money’
Money said he began working at Gents Video & News in 1992, soon after he graduated from high school. He stayed in the video porn business for the next 15 years, working for and managing various Greensboro-area stores, including Gents and I-40 Video & News. (Money is, in fact, his legal name.)
These stores were notorious in Greensboro in the 1990s. Anti-pornography activists protested in parking lots, videotaping customers as they entered and holding picket signs that read, “Do your wife and children know you’re here?” Police, city officials, and conservative Christian groups lobbied to close them as nuisances.
“The government tried for years to shut us down,” Money said. “The only thing that did was the internet.”
Gents didn’t rent porn videos, Money said. Customers could only buy them for about $50 or “preview” them in private booths for $8 a pop. Robinson typically watched two or more previews in a visit, Money said.
“Every night that I worked, which would have been five nights a week, I saw Mark,” Money recalled. “He was spending a good amount of money.”
This went on for several years, Money said. Robinson came in after his shifts at pizza restaurants and hung out for hours. He said Robinson’s tastes were fairly standard for a straight man. Though he added, “I know he might have problems with gay people, but I don’t think he has problems with lesbians.”
Robinson’s campaign vehemently rejected Money’s claims.
“Categorical no to all of the ridiculous allegations,” Lonergan, the Robinson spokesperson, wrote to The Assembly. He said Robinson knew Money because “Money used to hang out at the Papa Johns where Mark Robinson worked in the ’90s and ask for free pizza, but that’s the extent of the relationship.”
Lonergan also called Money a “freak show grifter” and said he had a “long history of criminal charges.”
Court records show that Money has faced nine criminal charges in Guilford County since 2011. Money pleaded guilty to misdemeanor drug charges in 2018 and 2021, and prosecutors dropped felony marijuana charges in 2018 as part of a plea deal. The other cases were dismissed.
“For somebody who doesn’t know who I am, they looked me up really quick,” Money said of the Robinson campaign.
“The government tried for years to shut us down. The only thing that did was the internet.”
Louis Money
Money admitted that he sold marijuana for two decades, though never to Robinson. He also admitted that he asked Robinson for “a free pizza here and there.” But the rest of Robinson’s version is “not true at all,” he said.
“I think I went in that (Papa Johns) one time the whole time that I knew him,” Money said. He pointed out that the Papa Johns only had takeout and delivery. “This is how you know that’s bullshit, because Papa Johns aren’t sit-down restaurants. There’s no place to hang out in there.”
Asked about Robinson’s spokesperson calling him a “degenerate” and a “grifter,” Money laughed. “I think I’m going to write a song called ‘Freak Show Grifter,’” he said.
‘A Regular Dude’
Lonergan criticized The Assembly for relying on Money’s account. But five other men backed up his story.
They are all Money’s longtime acquaintances, and none is inclined to vote for Robinson. But they don’t appear to have political agendas. A review of state and federal databases didn’t show any significant political contributions in the last decade.
Dan Livingston, who said he was a Gents customer in the mid to late 1990s, told The Assembly that he saw Robinson “from time to time.” Livingston said Robinson usually came in with a pizza, purchased a preview, and went into a private booth to watch it and eat.
Livingston said he had “casual” conversations with Robinson but didn’t get to know him that well. He didn’t know of Robinson’s political leanings until after he made headlines for his pro-gun speech in 2018. Livingston is not a supporter: “He’s not put forth anything that I can see as constructive.”
Leo Mitchell, who said he and Robinson shared a mutual acquaintance, used to stop by Gents after work. He said he saw Robinson “every now and then.” Mitchell thought he was a “regular dude. He didn’t really seem hyper-political.”
Money had more vivid recollections. He described the future lieutenant governor as funny.
“I mean, like, hilarious,” he said. “He would have like five or six of us up front dying laughing at 4 in the morning. Almost like a standup routine—not copying Andrew Dice Clay, but almost like doing an Andrew Dice Clay comedy bit.”
Gents’ backroom catered to the gay community, and Robinson’s jokes often targeted the store’s gay clientele, Money added. “I hate to admit this, but he was very homophobic,” Money said.
Another former Gents customer, who spoke on the condition he not be named, recalled Robinson as a “jokester.”
“Mark would come in,” he said. “He’d bring pizza every once in a while, and he’d tell jokes and what have you, and then go look at videos.”
This person said he later went to work at I-40 Video & News with Money. “And the same thing. I worked third shift over there, and he’d come in late at night,” he said. “Sometimes he brings a pizza, and he, you know, would buddy up to everybody.”
At I-40, customers could take rental movies home. Money said Robinson didn’t stay there for hours on end. He would chat for a few minutes, rent a couple of movies, and return them a day or two later, Money said.
Scott Andrews said he worked at I-40 and played in a rap-rock band with Money. He said Robinson was a “pretty regular” customer in the mid to late 1990s.
“He would talk for 10, 15, 20 minutes about every time he came in there,” Andrews said. “We talked about music.”
Ken Burwell, who said he also worked at I-40, said Robinson came in “often” around 1996 and 1997. He said that he remembered Robinson because Robinson brought them free pizzas from Papa Johns even when he didn’t rent videos.
“He was a cool dude,” Burwell said. “He wasn’t an asshole like he is now.”
Burwell said he doesn’t understand why Robinson would deny patronizing porn shops or attack Money. It happened decades ago, he said, and it wasn’t illegal.
“It’s not a big deal,” Burwell said. “To me, it’s like, so what?”
Another person reached by The Assembly, Richard Wilkinson, managed I-40, according to Money. Asked about Robinson, Wilkinson said, “I’m not giving out any information about that,” and hung up. Money said Wilkinson, who currently works with him at a Greensboro sporting goods store, supports Robinson’s campaign.
(Money said several other former associates from this period he contacted, including an ex-girlfriend, did not remember seeing Robinson in Gents or I-40.)
Money said he usually charged $25 for the bootleg porn tapes he made, which typically comprised several porn movies dubbed onto a single VHS tape.
“Instead of them buying a $50 movie for one, I would put three of them on there and sell it for $20, $25,” Money said. “And I did that up until about 2004—which is when Mark owed me the money.”
Money said he made that last bootleg after traveling to New York City to watch a New York Dolls reunion concert. While in the Big Apple, he scored porn tapes that were too explicit to be sold in North Carolina at the time.
“So I picked it up, bought it, and just sold it to all my customers,” Money said. “Including Mark.”
Money said he usually fronted Robinson bootlegs and cashed his postdated checks later. (“I totally wish the bank still had copies of the checks,” Money said.) But Robinson never paid for the last one, he said. And after that, Robinson stopped coming into I-40 Video & News.
That wasn’t unusual. Business dried up as internet porn became ubiquitous, and many stores—including Gents and I-40—eventually closed.
‘A Steady Diet of Communism and Pornography’
In 1973, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that adult pornography was protected by the First Amendment so long as it had “serious literary, artistic, political, or scientific value.” But in recent years, some members of Donald Trump’s Make America Great Again movement have pushed again to crack down on what they view as obscenity.
Porn “has no claim to First Amendment protection” and “should be outlawed,” declared Project 2025, the Heritage Foundation’s blueprint for a second Trump administration. “The people who produce and distribute it should be imprisoned.” (Trump has tried to distance himself from Project 2025, though many of its architects worked for him.)
Robinson does not appear to have taken a position on whether porn should be legal. And it’s not clear whether he took a public position on a bill the General Assembly passed in 2023 that required online porn sites to verify that users are at least 18 years old. A porn industry spokesman called it “backdoor censorship.” In response, Pornhub blocked North Carolina users on January 1.
But Robinson has used the word “pornography” to describe everything from music and network television to LGBTQ-themed children’s books. During this year’s N.C. Republican Party Convention, for example, Robinson called public school teachers and administrators “all-powerful bureaucrats … who believe it’s OK to feed your children a steady diet of communism and pornography.”
Rhetoric like this fueled Robinson’s rapid ascent in state politics. For the men who say they knew him from his porn-shop days, it was jarring to watch Robinson become a national political figure.
“That’s what’s so shocking—he’s nothing like that today,” said Andrews, who said he worked in I-40 Video & News. “It’s like he’s embarrassed of who he used to be or whatever. I spent years as a Christian, too, but I didn’t run for office and get in pulpits and shout about all the craziness I used to do and yell at people for it. Because that’s pretty much what he’s done.”
But while the culture wars propelled Robinson to an easy victory in this year’s Republican primary for governor, it’s unclear how well that will translate to the general election’s broader audience. Robinson has moderated his position on abortion and sought to highlight his working-class background, but he has struggled to shake a long record of conspiratorial statements and hostile comments toward women, gays, and Jewish people.
“It’s like he’s embarrassed of who he used to be or whatever. I spent years as a Christian, too, but I didn’t run for office and get in pulpits and shout about all the craziness I used to do and yell at people for it.”
Scott Andrews, former I-40 employee
More recently, his campaign has been buffeted by a controversy involving his wife’s now-closed nonprofit, Balanced Nutrition. The state Department of Health and Human Services says it must repay $132,000 in federal funds, in part for filing for reimbursements for payments the nonprofit did not make. (Balanced Nutrition asked the DHHS for an “informal conference” to dispute the allegations. As of August 27, the conference had not been scheduled, according to a DHHS spokesperson.)
Robinson heads into Labor Day trailing Attorney General Josh Stein, the Democratic nominee for governor, by double digits in some polls.
‘We Have Always Been Cool’
The morning of the November 2022 election, Money said he was working out at a Planet Fitness in High Point when he heard a loud voice bellow, “Louis!”
“I was like, who the hell knows me in High Point?” he said.
It was Robinson. They hadn’t seen each other in at least a decade, he said. They talked for about 20 minutes.
“I was like, ‘Dude, I’m so proud of you, man,’” Money recalled. “‘I disagree with you. But I’m proud of what you accomplished for yourself.’”
Money said he chided Robinson over the $25 he says he was owed for the bootleg porn tape. “I was like, ‘I’m so glad that you didn’t pay me,’” Money said. “‘I tell everybody in the world that, you know, the lieutenant governor owes me money, so I don’t even want your money anymore.’”
He said Robinson laughed.
“I was like, ‘Man, I can’t wait to do a song about it,’” Money said. “He didn’t chuckle with that one.”
He posted a photo of himself and Robinson on X, formerly Twitter, and on his Facebook page, which is private: “I disagree politically with this guy. However we have always been cool,” he wrote on Facebook. “That’s our Lt. Governor who still owes me money LOL.”
Money told The Assembly that his song wasn’t meant to criticize Robinson. He called it an “inside joke that I’m sharing with the world.”
“I don’t know if he still watches porn,” he said. “You know, people change in 20 years.”
Don Carrington and Tim Funk contributed reporting for this article.
Jeffrey Billman reports on politics and the law for The Assembly. Email him at jeffrey@theassemblync.com.
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Joe Killian is The Assembly’s Greensboro editor. He joined us from NC Newsline, where he was senior investigative reporter.
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