October 12 - Emperor Norton

Image courtesy sfmuseum.org

On this day, in 1859, Norton I, self-proclaimed Emperor of the United States, decreed that the US Congress was hereby abolished. Born on February 4, 1818 somewhere in England (maybe London, maybe not), Joshua Abraham Norton was an Eccentric (note the capital e) who nonetheless had a valid point. After spending the first chunk of his life in South Africa, Norton drifted west after his parents died, eventually landing in San Francisco, California, sometime in 1849. The famous gold rush was just getting into full swing and Norton immediately got into the real estate game. He was able to turn the $40,000 he walked into town with into over $250,000 in a relatively short period of time. But then he got greedy.

In 1853, China was experiencing a severe drought and banned the export of rice causing local prices to skyrocket from four to thirty-six cents per pound. Norton decided that he would be able to corner the San Francisco market and make an absolute killing. He bought the entire contents of a rice laden ship he'd heard about that was coming from Peru at twelve cents a pound. Just as the ink dried on his contract, several more ships arrived from Peru, also loaded with rice, and the price dropped to only four cents a pound. Norton immediately sued to void his contracts. The lawsuit dragged on for three years. He eventually lost not only his court case but his fortune in the process and quite possibly his sanity. Suddenly impoverished, he disappeared from public view.

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In September 1859, Norton resurfaced in a spectacular way. He marched into the offices of all the newspapers in town with a manifesto of sorts. Only The San Francisco Daily Evening Bulletin decided it was a slow enough news day to actually print it. The letter proclaimed Norton to be the Emperor of the United States and requested that representatives from the other states in the union immediately convene in San Francisco to begin drawing up new laws for the country. No one heeded the Emperor’s call but it was the beginning of two decades of bizarre performance art (for lack of a better term) in a city known for its eccentric citizens.

For whatever reason, the city of San Francisco fully embraced their new royal citizen. Many just felt sorry for the disheveled man whose grasp on reality had clearly lost its firmness but was still fairly harmless. Others saw a business opportunity in his craziness, selling souvenirs bearing his likeness to supporters and tourists alike. At any rate, the once prosperous, now homeless Norton enjoyed his notoriety to the fullest. He walked around town in a threadbare military uniform, magnanimously greeting his subjects on his rounds. Many restaurants around town would treat him to free meals, for the publicity mostly, and some would even make a show of accepting currency that Norton had printed up. When his uniform became too shabby to make a decent showing anymore, the local Army gave him a new one and the city gladly payed for it. He became a tourist attraction that never reaped the benefit of his own fame.

Image courtesy thedailybell.com

All the time that Norton was playing at Emperor, he was continuing to publish edicts in the local papers. Some were fairly ridiculous, like the one that abolished Congress. Or the one that ordered the United States Army to raid Congress when it kept meeting in defiance of the earlier abolishment. But others actually revealed a practical, visionary streak in an otherwise broken mind. He gave directions to set up a League of Nations type organization. He declared that there should be no conflict between religions. And he called for a bridge to be built across the San Francisco Bay, connecting the farthest parts of the city. He also expanded his royal reach and diplomatic efforts, declaring himself to be protectorate of Mexico when the French invaded in 1863.

Image courtesy emperorsbridge.org

None of those foresights came to be during his lifetime, however, and by the end of his life, his proclamations were becoming more and more agitated over the lack of action being taken. Newspapers began publishing fake royal announcements, using the notoriety of the Emperor to try to advance their own agendas. Rumors began circulating that Norton was actually rich and just putting on a show or was really the son of Napoleon III trying to escape prosecution in the States. At one point he was even arrested for vagrancy by a newbie on the police force. The outcry was immediate. Norton was quickly released and never shown anything but deference from that point on. Although the men in blue did keep an eye on the increasingly cranky old kook who had begun threatening the City Council if they didn’t start acting on his wishes. After all, the jury was still out on whether he was crazy or just crafty.

All of the speculation came to an end on January 8, 1880. On his way to a lecture at the California Academy of Sciences, Norton collapsed on the steps of Old St. Mary’s Cathedral. His predicament was immediately noticed by policeman in the area who called for an ambulance, but it was to no avail. Emperor Norton I died from the complications of a stroke before help could arrive. A search of his person revealed only a few dollars in change. Further investigation of his apartment in a local flophouse confirmed that he really was a destitute, albeit entertaining, man. Among his meager possessions were walking sticks, various hats, a single gold sovereign and 98 shares in a long defunct gold mine.

Image courtesy atlasobscura.com

Norton’s confirmed vagrancy didn’t stop the city of San Francisco from giving him a royal send off, however. The following day, papers proclaimed LE ROI EST MORT (the king is dead) and a businessman’s club arranged for a rosewood casket and grand funeral. The city paid for his internment in Masonic Cemetery and about 10,000 people came out to see their Emperor laid to rest. While history has largely forgotten the first US Emperor, Norton does live on, in a way. He was the inspiration for literary characters in works by Mark Twain, Robert Louis Stevenson, Christopher Moore and Neil Gaiman. And it’s entirely possible that his name will gain notoriety in San Francisco once more. There are efforts underway to rename the Bay Bridge after him, which I have to admit, would be a fitting tribute to guy who first thought it was needed and the city finally agreed with.

Also on this day, in Disney history: Bill Anderson

January 13 - Trevor Rabin

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On this day, in 1954, Trevor Charles Rabin was born in Johannesburg, South Africa. The Rabins were a musical family. Dad was first violin in the Johannesburg Philharmonic Orchestra, mom was a classical pianist and ballet dancer. And, as Trevor puts it, all three of their children learned to play the piano whether they wanted to or not. At the age of twelve, Trevor started using his piano lesson books to teach himself how to play the guitar. He began playing in the equivalent of South African garage bands, until 1973 when he joined the group Freedom's Children and toured with them for a year. The name of the band's tour that year was State of Fear, which just happened to also be the name of a song Trevor wrote. After returning home, he began to study arranging and orchestration at the University of Johannesburg with the intent to become a conductor. The intent didn't last long.

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At nineteen, Trevor went into the South African military for his mandatory year of service as part of the entertainment division. He lead the big band and performed in a rock group, spending hours and hours practicing the guitar in between. After leaving the army, Trevor met up with some old band mates to form the group Rabbitt. Technically the group had released a single back in 1972, but their debut album came out in 1975. Boys Will Be Boys would win Trevor an award for his orchestral arrangements and a Best Contemporary Music SARIE for the band (a SARIE is like a South African Grammy). Two years later, Rabbitt released a second album, A Croak and A Grunt in the Night, winning another Best Contemporary Music SARIE plus a production SARIE for Trevor. That same year, Trevor released a solo album and managed to gain the interest of a US record label. International sentiment towards South Africa at the time was pretty low, though, and, unable to get a visa to tour America, Trevor decided to move to London.

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Over the next few years, Trevor released a new solo album each year and sat in on some of the recordings of Manfred Mann's Earth Band. In 1981, he moved to Los Angeles, where he met up with some of the former members of the rock group Yes. As they began putting together an album of Trevor's songs, other members of the defunct group wanted in until the group basically was Yes with the addition of Trevor. The album they put out in 1983, 90125, became the groups highest selling record ever and they all toured for the next two years on its popularity. Yes's next album, Big Generator, was less successful, the lead singer struck out on his own and the group took a two year break. Yes reformed a second time in 1990, released two more records and toured until 1994, when Trevor decided he needed a career adjustment.

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In 1978, Trevor had written some score music for a film he admits he's never watched, a blaxploitation picture called Soul Patrol. Scoring films piqued his interest and when he tired of tour life, he looked for a way into the film industry. He found it when he gave Steven Segal guitar lessons and got to score Steven's next film, 1996's The Glimmer Man. And don't think this change in the focus of his career was just a whim. Trevor was dead serious about honing his craft as an composer. In order to practice, he wrote scores to a couple of silent films on the piano and then transcribed them for orchestra.

The following year, Trevor became part of the Disney family when Michael Bay hired him to score the Touchstone Pictures film Con Air. Like Danny Elfman and Tim Burton, Trevor and Michael hit it off and began a long collaboration. So far, they've made 13 movies together. Trevor's Disney credits include the scores for Armageddon, Enemy of the State, Gone in 60 Seconds, Bad Company, and The Guardian, all for Touchstone. For the Walt Disney Pictures brand, he's done Whispers: An Elephant's Tale, Remember the Titans, National Treasure, Glory Road, National Treasure 2, Race to Witch Mountain, G-Force, The Sorcerer's Apprentice and I Am Number Four. His composition Titans Spirit from Remember the Titans, is frequently heard during coverage of the Olympics and was also used by Barack Obama during his first presidential run. You can also hear Trevor's work whenever you ride Mission: Space at Epcot.

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Trevor has also managed to release three more solo albums in between all his film score work and, in 2016, reunited with some of his former Yes bandmates a third time and has been touring with them all over the world. They were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2017. He reputedly has several albums in various stages of production happening, not to mention more film scores on the horizon. As he celebrates his 65th year on this earth, his creative output shows no signs of stopping.