A rags to riches story for the common man

In times of trouble, we always turn to our heroes for inspiration. But we're no longer in the Age of Heroes - instead of Lincolns and Roosevelts, we've got Clintons and Bushes. Where have all the heroes gone?

Well, there is Barack Obama. He's become a messiah figure to many, obviously. Perhaps he will prove to be great, and historians can talk of the reign of the Second Coming of FDR. At any rate, Obama's election was one bright spot in a sea of gray news.

But there's not much in Obama's narrative that can inspire hopeful emulation in those who are truly honest with themselves. Sure, he had the necessary hard-times upbringing and rags-to-riches story. But he's also a fellow who rose to become the president of the Harvard Law Review and didn't break a sweat campaigning before millions. In short, he's basically superhuman. What I mean to say is, don't take too much solace from Obama's successes, because odds are, none of us is as smart, competent or chill to follow in his footsteps, even on a small scale.

However, there are perhaps more human, and more replicable, heroes towards which we can turn for guidance. Indeed, in times like these I turn to my favorite protagonist, one of the oft-forgotten heroes of American history and a leader who deserves his place in the pantheon alongside Lincoln and Roosevelt.

I speak, of course, of His Imperial Majesty Norton I, Emperor of These United States and Protector of Mexico.

Norton I had his dime novel success story, as well: the child of simple South African merchants, he rose to become a wealthy San Franciscan landholder, fell to become a penniless drifter, and returned from a three-year disappearance as the sole American Emperor - all without a great deal of intelligence, competence or psychological stability.

In short, he's someone you can look up to without straining your neck. Here's his inspirational story in a nutshell.

In 1859, there appeared on the streets of San Francisco a man dressed in a (somewhat ragged) second-hand British Admiral's uniform who proclaiming himself the Emperor.

In 1880, Emperor Norton I died. His possessions totaled less than $10. Over 10,000 San Franciscans from all levels of society turned out for his funeral, which was the headline news of all the major papers. In 1934, Norton was given a second, more ceremonious funeral, with full military honors.

The particulars of the emperor's reign are themselves fascinating. For example, there is the manner in which his fiery self-determination, natural showsmanship and unshakable belief in his own sovereignty caught the attention of the people of San Francisco and then the nation, leading his Imperial proclamations - for example, the one where he ordered Congress dissolved by force of the Army - to receive more attention in San Francisco than the acts of the mayor and governor. Or the way in which Norton's fame led restaurants to offer him free meals, railroads to proffer complimentary rides and every major San Franciscan theater to reserve him a balcony seat for opening nights, simply so they could brag of and advertise his Imperial patronage. Utterly broke and entirely destitute, Norton I believed and proclaimed his way to a life of occasional splendor, while becoming arguably the single greatest asset in San Francisco's tourism industry.

But, while extremely entertaining, the particulars of this story are not actually especially important. It's mostly an allegory; the Little Engine That Could, with a side of neurosis.

The unemployed legions of America, the scores of auto-mechanics and door-to-door salesmen, may well be wondering if this is what it's all about, asking themselves if they were put here on this Earth to collect severance checks while eying their 401(k)'s warily and tinkering with the lettering of their resumes. And perhaps they were. After all, for most of us, Fate turns a blind eye to our pathetic mewing while it grinds us coolly beneath its heel.

But sometimes, someone hears us trying - provided we try long enough, hard enough and with enough resolve. Norton knew that. Some of us were meant to be Emperors.