When one names a beer after a historical figure, should the final product in some way reflect the spirit, personality or legacy of that person? What if it was a person who wasn’t particularly well understood? Or one famous specifically for his eccentricism?
These are not the kinds of things I usually find myself pondering while sitting down to write a beer review, but most beers aren’t named after Joshua Abraham Norton, perhaps better known as “Norton I, Emperor of the United States and Protector of Mexico.” In the proud history of American eccentrics, the life of “Emperor Norton” is one of the most colorful and fascinating entries. And so I took special interest when I read that San Francisco’s Almanac Beer Co. had created a beer in his honor, likewise named Emperor Norton, with instructions to “enjoy in the company of unconventional friends.”
The real Joshua Norton was born in roughly 1817 in England, before spending most of his early life in South Africa. He immigrated to San Francisco in 1849 after inheriting a fortune from his father’s estate, making him the equivalent of a millionaire when adjusting for inflation. Until the mid-1850s it appears he lived richly as a businessman, until he made a fatefully bad investment on a shipful of spoiled Peruvian rice. Unable to recoup his losses and tied up in legal dealings, he was reduced to poverty and declared bankruptcy in 1858 before disappearing completely. This, however, is where Norton’s story gets interesting.
In 1859 he reappeared in San Francisco, apparently having lost his mind in the interim, and declared himself “Emperor of the United States” in a series of missives published for their humor quality by the San Francisco Bulletin. He then immediately began to issue various edicts for how the country should be run, demanding the dissolution of Congress, the end of the Civil War and various building projects be carried out. Many of these decrees were oddly prophetic in their forward-thinkingness, including his repeated demands that a bridge and a tunnel be used to connect San Francisco and Oakland, something that wouldn’t be accomplished for another 60 years.
It sounds like behavior that might land someone in a mental hospital to be lobotomized, but in reality, the “emperor” became a beloved local celebrity in San Francisco. Tourists posed with him as he strolled around the city “inspecting” things and wearing a gaudy uniform of his own devising. He printed his own currency, which was often accepted and traded for souvenir value. Fine dining establishments created plaques reading that Norton approved of their businesses. In general, he was treated with a sort of bemused but sincere respect by the city and its government, who recognized a man who was clearly addled but apparently harmless and inherently likeable. He remained a fixture of the city until his death in 1880, collapsing in the very streets he loved, which was followed by a funerary march reportedly attended by 30,000 San Francisco residents.
I was first exposed to this story by Neil Gaiman’s The Sandman, which puts an absolutely beautiful twist on it for the duration of an issue entitled “Three Septembers and a January.”