He was going to corner the rice market. There was a shortage in San Francisco and he, well, he knew people.

Unfortunately, the day “his” ship arrived in port with a delivery of rice, every other ship that arrived also had a full load of rice. The shortage was suddenly over, but Joshua Norton had invested his entire fortune—possibly as much as a quarter-million dollars—on that one shipment. He declared bankruptcy.

He began filing legal proceedings and lawsuits against every institution that he could think was to be blamed on his misfortune, from banks to the United States of America itself. Finally, he declared himself Emperor of the entire continent. He had probably gone insane in his frustration and endless effort, but no man found greater riches.

One-hundred thirty-six years ago today, “Norton 1, Emperor of the United States and Protector of Mexico” died on a street corner in his adopted hometown of San Francisco, California.

In 1859, a few years after his abrupt bankruptcy, Norton strode into the offices of the San Francisco Bulletin and requested (demanded) that a proclamation be printed: “At the peremptory request and desire of a large majority of the citizens … I, Joshua Norton … declare and proclaim myself Emperor of these United States.” The newspaper printed it, as a joke. It only confirmed in Emperor Norton’s mind that he was indeed Emperor. He began to act like it. San Franciscans began to act like he was their Emperor, too.

For the next two decades, citizens of San Francisco treated him with deference and respect: Restaurants reserved seats for him (and his dogs—or any dogs that he adopted on the spot that day and decided looked hungry); the banks issued fake currency that only he could use, and businesses always accepted this money from him; the newspapers printed on their front pages the many decrees that he delivered to them to print and, when they noticed that sales spiked for those editions, they sometimes published fake decrees composed by their editorial writers to pump up sales; businesses that he “approved of” received personal seals of approval from him, which they displayed proudly in their shop windows. He walked the streets wearing one of many self-designed uniforms and military-style hats. He carried a sword that was noticeably dented and rusted. Every so often, real military officers at the Presidio would supply him with a clean, new uniform.

Among his many decrees: one outlawing political parties and a prescient one requiring that a bridge be built where the Golden Gate Bridge ultimately was built several decades later.

When famous people of the day showed up in San Francisco, the powers-that-be made certain that the Emperor Norton was included among the official welcoming party.

Some fantasized that he was secretly a millionaire, but when he dropped dead on a street corner, only five dollars was found on him and only a couple dollars more found in his lodging, which was a local flophouse. A special fund was established to pay for his funeral. More than 10,000 turned out to mourn him.

Many people have written articles and volumes about the adventures of Emperor Norton I, so there is little anyone can add to the legend. But it is a legend about friendship and caring for our fellow more than it is about madness. He was a very rich man, indeed.

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The WordPress Daily Prompt for January 8 asks, “Tell us about the one luxury item you wish you could afford, in as much detail as you can. Paint a picture for us.”

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