The epic fall and rise to power of S.F.’s most beloved eccentric
To list all the kooky characters who have wandered the streets of San Francisco would require the combined talents of Shakespeare, Dickens, Balzac, Hieronymous Bosch and the U.S. Census Bureau. From “Dirty Tom” McAlear, a 19th century Barbary Coast habitue who for a small coin would eat literally anything given to him, to the “12 Galaxies” man of our own day, the list of our fair city’s cracked denizens is virtually endless.
Yet of all the worthy contenders in this demented cavalcade, one alone stands out. Emperor Norton was, is, and shall forever remain the greatest, and most beloved, nut in the history of San Francisco.
Joshua A. Norton was born around 1818, probably in what is now part of London. Little is known of Norton’s early life other than that he was Jewish and sailed with his family to South Africa in 1820. After receiving a $40,000 inheritance from his father, he emigrated to San Francisco, arriving in December 1849.
Like most people who got here during the Gold Rush, Norton immediately began wheeling and dealing. He was intelligent and an excellent businessman, and quickly made a fortune in real estate and the import business. By 1853, he was worth $250,000, a fabulous sum in those days. He also earned a reputation for ethical behavior and fair deal-
ing.
Then disaster struck. Speculating in commodities was even riskier in Gold Rush San Francisco than it is now. If you cornered the market on, say, tobacco, you could get rich overnight. But intelligence about the market was practically nonexistent, and a sudden glut could wipe a speculator out.
Norton tried to corner the market on rice, and lost his entire investment when two ships carrying rice unexpectedly sailed through the Golden Gate, causing prices to plummet. Norton sued investors whom he claimed owed him money, but lost, and the final blow came when he lost his extensive real estate holdings.
The shock of these reversals “constituted a severe blow to Norton’s sanity,” Robert Ernest Cowan writes in “The Forgotten Characters of Old San Francisco.” “He retired into obscurity, and when he emerged in 1857, he gave palpable and distinct evidence of an overthrown mind.”
Norton’s madness took the form of a delusion that he was the Emperor of the United States. In September 1859, a proclamation appeared in the San Francisco Bulletin stating that “at the peremptory request and desire of a large majority of these United States, I, Joshua Norton ... declare and proclaim myself Emperor of these U.S. and direct the representatives of the different States of the Union to assemble in Musical Hall ... then and there to make such alterations in the existing laws of the Union as may ameliorate the evils under which the country is laboring, and thereby cause confidence to exist, both at home and abroad, in our stability and integrity. Norton I, Emperor of the United States.”
Emperor Norton, who soon added the honorific “Protector of Mexico,” cut a distinctive figure. Invariably attired in a militarystyle coat profusely adorned with brass buttons, huge gilt epaulettes and various ribbons and medals, he wore a beaver hat topped with feathers and carried a large walking stick with a snakehead top, along with a sword and a faded umbrella.
He dedicated his life to the welfare of his subjects and took a keen interest in the affairs of the day. “His familiar form was seen and known everywhere,” Cowan writes. “He was a constant attendant of churches, theaters, musical affairs, civic gatherings and school commencements.” He also liked to visit the markets, docks and construction sites.
Norton’s delusion had not robbed him of his native intelligence, nor his kindness. He was gentle and courteous with children, well-versed on current affairs, and could carry on a lucid conversation. The only time he ever became violent was when cartoonist Edward Jump drew a caricature of him at a free-lunch table, skewering a meatball while San Francisco’s two most famous and beloved pets, Norton’s dogs, Bummer and Lazarus, look hungrily up at him. Norton saw the caricature in a shop window, growled, “It is an insult to the dignity of an Emperor!” and smashed his walking stick through the glass.
Norton was once arrested by an overzealous young policeman, who brought him before the Commissioner of Lunacy for commitment. The next day he was released with an apology, which pointed out that “he had shed no blood, robbed no one, and despoiled no country; which is more than can be said of his fellows in that line.”
What was most remarkable, and touching, about the Emperor’s career was that the entire city not only humored him, but embraced him. “For sustenance he had the freedom of nearly every restaurant in the city, as also of every saloon,” Cowan writes.
Norton imbibed sparingly, and when he visited bars it was not to tipple, but to eat the then-ubiquitous free lunch. The Masons gave him a stipend, which paid for his 9-by-6foot room at the Eureka Lodging House at 624 Commercial St. (He dutifully paid the 50-cent rent every night before retiring.)
Newspapers ran his proclamations, including his most famous, a weirdly prescient call for the construction of a Bay Bridge. (In an even more prescient order, Norton ordered Congress dissolved — a demand that was unfortunately ignored.)
He attended any theater free and journeyed by rail wherever he pleased without paying. Banks honored his imperial checks.
At 8:15 p.m. on Jan. 8, 1880, Emperor Norton collapsed and died on the southeast corner of California and Grant, across from Old St. Mary’s Church, with its inscription, “Son, observe the time and fly from evil.” His funeral was attended by 10,000 San Franciscans from all walks of life, who had taken to their heart the harmless madman whose benign reign had lasted 23 years.
Emperor Norton continues to cast a spell. The Wikipedia entry on “Emperor Norton in popular culture” lists two dozen books, a dozen operas, musicals and songs, several plays, a film, several bands, two role-playing games, a couple of comic strips, eight TV-show episodes, two organizations (including the rollicking fraternal organization E Clampus Vitus) and several food products based on or inspired by his life.
Emperor Norton is dead. Long live Emperor Norton!
Gary Kamiya is the author of the best-selling book “Cool Gray City of Love: 49 Views of San Francisco,” awarded the Northern California Book Award in creative nonfiction. All the material in Portals of the Past is original for The Chronicle. Email: metro@sfchronicle.com