Meet The Emperor Of The United States of America, Also Known As Joshua Abraham Norton
To list all the odd 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 is virtually endless.
Yet among all the distinguished aspirants in this eccentric procession, one individual singularly distinguishes himself. Emperor Norton was, is, and shall eternally be regarded as the most eminent and cherished eccentric in the annals of San Francisco.
Joshua A. Norton was born circa 1818, likely in a region that is now part of London. His early life remains largely obscure, save for the fact that he was of Jewish descent and migrated with his family to South Africa in 1820. Following the receipt of a $40,000 inheritance from his father, he relocated to San Francisco, arriving in December 1849.
Like many who ventured there during the Gold Rush, Norton promptly immersed himself in the bustling world of commerce. Possessing both intelligence and exceptional business acumen, he swiftly amassed a considerable fortune through real estate and the import trade. By 1853, his wealth had burgeoned to an impressive $250,000, a staggering sum for that era. Furthermore, he garnered a reputation for ethical conduct and fair dealings.
Then disaster struck. Speculating in commodities was even more perilous in Gold Rush San Francisco than it is today. Successfully cornering the market on a commodity like tobacco could lead to overnight wealth. However, market intelligence was practically nonexistent, and an unexpected surplus could ruin a speculator.
Norton attempted to corner the rice market, only to lose his entire investment when two ships laden with rice unexpectedly arrived through the Golden Gate, causing prices to plummet. He sued investors whom he claimed owed him money, but he lost the case. The final blow came when he forfeited 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 labouring, 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.
Predictably, given the scenario — “Man suffers financial calamity, proclaims own Majesty” — questions about the Emperor’s sanity trailed him. His biographer, William Drury, argues that, in fact, there was no single “snap” between 1852 and 1859, before which he was completely “normal” — but, rather, that there were signs of “the Emperor to come” well before Joshua Norton arrived in San Francisco.
As to what happened after September 1859, the travel documentarian Timothy “Speed” Levitch put it this way: “Some say he’d gone mad; others say he’d gone wise.”
Indeed: Most often using his preferred modus of the newspaper Proclamation, Emperor Norton called for many things in the 1860s and '70s that were well ahead of their time.
He was an adversary of corruption and fraud of all kinds — political, corporate and personal.
He was a persistent voice for fair treatment and enhanced legal protections for immigrants and racial/ethnic minorities.
He demanded that African Africans be allowed to ride public streetcars and that they be admitted to public schools.
He commanded that the courts allow Chinese people to testify in court; and he pronounced that “the eyes of the Emperor will be upon anyone who shall counsel any outrage or wrong on the Chinese.”
He proclaimed, with respect to Native Americans, that all "Indian agents" and other parties connected with frauds against "the Indian tribes" were to be publicly punished before as many "Indian chiefs" as could be assembled together.
He was a religious humanist and pluralist who favoured church-state separation and warned against the dangers of puritanism and sectarianism, refusing to give his imprimatur to any one church or synagogue but, rather, attending them all. And he prohibited the enforcement of state Sunday Laws, which discriminated against Germans and Jews.
He supported women’s right to vote.
He was a defender of the people's right to fair taxes and basic services, including well-maintained streets, streetcars, ferries and trains.
He was an exponent of technological innovations that enhanced the public welfare.
Usually attired in a military-style coat lavishly adorned with brass buttons, grand gilt epaulettes, and an array of ribbons and medals, he wore a beaver hat embellished with feathers. He carried a large walking stick with a snake-head top, accompanied by 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, theatres, 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 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 humoured 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-6-foot 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 theatre free and journeyed by rail wherever he pleased without paying. Banks honoured 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 captivate the imagination. The Wikipedia entry on “Emperor Norton in popular culture” enumerates two dozen books, a dozen operas, musicals, and songs, several plays, a film, multiple bands, two role-playing games, a couple of comic strips, eight television show episodes, two organizations (including the lively fraternal society E Clampus Vitus), and several food products inspired by his life.