Emperor Norton, circa 1871.

People say America has no royalty. But they forget about Norton I, Emperor of the United States and Protector of Mexico, and one of San Francisco’s most renowned oddballs.

Born Joshua Abraham Norton in 1818, the Gold Rush-era merchant plunged into despondency after losing his fortune on the rice market.

He disappeared. Then a few years later, Norton rose again. He placed a notice in the San Francisco Bulletin on Sept. 17, 1859, that declared himself the nation’s emperor “at the peremptory request and desire of a large majority of the citizens of these United States.”

Many San Franciscans thought him insane. Still, they played along, tickled by the royal personage who surveyed his empire in a beaver hat decorated with a peacock feather and with a sword at his belt.

Army officers gave him a uniform with gold-plated epaulets. Theaters reserved seats for him. And businesses honored currency issued in his name.

Norton issued ever more outlandish decrees, published gleefully by the San Francisco press. Congress, he declared, was formally abolished, and any utterance of “the abominable word ‘Frisco’” was a misdemeanor punishable by fine.

When a police officer tried to have Norton involuntarily treated for a mental disorder, an outcry arose. The police chief ordered him released with an apology.

For all his fame, Norton died a pauper while out walking on a rainy day in January 1880. The San Francisco Chronicle reported the news under the headline “Le Roi est Mort” (“The King is Dead”).

Funds were raised for a grand civic funeral that was said to draw more than 10,000 people.

Norton’s remains are buried under a tombstone inscribed with his full royal title at a graveyard just south of San Francisco. Nearly 140 years after his death, a small group of admirers gathers there each year to remember the benevolent king.

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