Explaining to most of my friends and relatives the reason I was keen to visit Colma's Woodlawn Cemetery met with a lot of blank stares. If you are unfamiliar with the city of Colma, it's a small town on the northern end of the San Francisco penninsula with a population of less than 2000. It's also a true-to-word necropolis, where the dead outnumber the living by a ratio of 1000 to 1. So much of Colma is dedicated to cemeteries that it is colloquially known as "The City of the Silent." Something like 75% of the cities land is stuffed with graves.
My pilgrimage to this morbid place was sparked by a childhood hero, Emperor Norton. This is going to take some explaining. Firstly, The Emperor of the United States and Protector of Mexico is by far my favorite historical eccentric- a sort of Don Quixote figure with a dollop of Christ-like goodness for a crown. So much has been written about the Emperor that there's very little I can add that isn't already available, so I'll stick to what he means to me.
Holy Chao! |
Amongst the saints and heroes of Discord there is one who stands above them all: The Emperor. Inspiration for countless comics, novels, poems, and tombstones, the Emperor reaches an almost mythical stage amonst those who've studied his life. It is difficult to imagine a man strolling down the street with a saber, followed by two dogs, barking imperial degrees in this day and age without being committed. Yet, the city of San Francisco embraced this man and gave him a place to be himself. In his time he made predictions and statements that seemed ludicrous- a bridge to be built that crossed the bay, that his self-issued bonds would be worth something in the future.
We call that bridge the Bay Bridge. The few remaining notes issued by The Emperor sell for thousands of dollars at auctions. So far, as a prophet goes, he's been totally right.
When his dog Bummer died, Mark Twain wrote an epitaph. When he himself passed away some 30,000 people came to his funeral.
For me, the journey to Colma was about paying respect to a man I wish I could have known. It is easy to deify him as some sort of celestial hobo, a magic vagrant like Parry in Gilliam's The Fisher King, but all humor aside, who could ever have known the lonely heart of The Emperor?
When I reached Whitelawn, I wandered around in the massive graveyard for some time before capitulating and asking for directions at the front desk
"Are you visiting family?" the receptionist asked. I resisted answering in the affirmative, and told her I was looking for Joshua Norton.
"Ah, the Emperor." Nothing that had been said to me in the last few days meant so much. She gave me a map with his grave marked on it. I wandered towards it's general direction when I was stopped by a groundskeeper who seemed really interested in helping me but spoke very little English. I told him I was looking for the Emperor's grave.
"Norton? He is between two-" he struggled for the words. "Big bushes." He pointed towards a hill on the west side of the cemetery.
When I reached the grave of The Emperor, a sense of completion arrested me. I had come so far so quickly, and now I sat before the Throne itself, and yet something remained undone.
I set my backpack down, took out my lunch and thermos of coffee, and ate lunch at the feet of Emperor Norton. I'll admit, having had no real companionship for the last few days, I was eager to talk to someone familiar. I asked what kind of person he was, beneath the heavy weight of that imaginary crown. Had he ever loved anyone? Did he know people thought he was crazy? Did he care? He sat in regal silence. I'm not really sure what I expected.
When I finished my meal, I took a small golden apple I found years ago and set it on the base of his headstone. I'd come a long way along the snake's back of the I-5 without stopping for distractions. I'd passed that crux that went west to LA, north to Vegas and south to Tijuana without faltering. I'd completed my short pilgrimage.
I didn't really know what to do next.
I walked back to the parking lot and got in my car. I drove out towards highway 1 and headed south aimlessly. I drove for miles through the gathering darkness and invasive fog. I stopped at sundown at a beach whose name I can't remember and bought a one-dollar taco from a catering truck. I ate it, and waded in my jeans into the ocean. I stood there for sometime. A woman in an Ohio State shirt watched me come out of the water with a perplexed look on her face and scoffed. I changed in the shit-stink public bathrooms and got into my car again.
I remember sitting in the car for a couple of minutes, just breathing slowly. I had nowhere to be and days to be there. I decided in that moment to just relax and let Eris do the heavy lifting for the rest of the trip. I drank some more coffee from the thermos and drove south.
I reached the seaside town of half moon bay, or rather, it's outskirts, after dark. I drove down the 1 wondering if I'd just drive until I couldn't anymore and sleep wherever I was. The idea had some merit, I'll admit, but I pulled up to a place called Cameron's Inn. I was dismayed to see a wooden "No" sign flipped down next to the "Vacancy" sign, and was about to leave but decided to check anyway.
The bartender told me they actually had two rooms available, and that the wind must have knocked the sign over.
Not only is Cameron's Inn one of the coolest pubs I've ever been in, it has an ingenious solution to the smoking drinker's dilemma. Out back is a double decker bus, air conditioned, with a radio and TV and tables, where one can drink and smoke a cigarette like a red-blooded American wants to. This sort of genius seemed Imperially appropriate. I played their Donkey Kong and Galaga and Dig Dug arcades late into the night, met a couple of locals and drifted to sleep with 3 beers in my stomach, 2 of which I didn't have to pay for. If that's not a good advertisement for Cameron's Inn, I don't know a better one.
CHECK IN TOMORROW FOR PART 5!
you were in Colma Ca. You should have headed for the ocean.. Santa Cruz. the best with the famous boardwalk. You missed it.
ReplyDeleteKevin - Cameron's makes a great prime rib. Also, check your facebook (I left a message and my cell - call me if you want to meet up).
ReplyDeleteLauren