Kings

The first time I ever thought about "my future" was in Irwin Elementary School when we were told to prepare an oral report of what our declared professions would be. At the time, I was oblivious as to what I was going to be and didn't really care. I told my dad about the assignment and he told me I was going to be a king.

The church we attended didn't have priests, and so substituted "kings":

Blessed and holy is he that hath part in the first resurrection: on such the second death hath no power, but they shall be priests {kings} of God and of Christ, and shall reign with him a thousand years.

Rev. 20:6, KJV 

I didn't volunteer, and was eventually called upon at the end of class. When I stated that I was going to grow up to be a king, I didn't have to explain my career choice because the students and teacher all laughed at me.

I didn't think of it again until King Love died many years later.

King Love was an Egyptian physician named Kamal Youssef who left his former life and family and came to America, and then Tallahassee in 1993 to become a regular often homeless eccentric fixture at our town's busiest intersections. He wore a red cape with "King Love" emblazoned upon it and a Burger King crown that he later upgraded to a "jewel"-encrusted party novelty crown. He preached his message of love with a $29.99 Radio Shack Megahorn and collected cash in an over-sized Coca Cola coin bank while handing out fliers printed at Office Depot with his sundry aphorisms. I know about his association with Office Depot because that is where I met him.

King Love died at 65 years of age twelve years ago tomorrow. Yes, that's 9/9/99. When I read about his death the following day, I was already behind schedule working on a fantastic Halloween costume that would next year become the most prolific contest-winning costume I've ever designed and worn. King Love was such a well known person and if I can be excused for using the term to describe him posthumously, a "fresh" subject. I already owned a $29.99 Radio Shack Megahorn -- and still do. I used it with great success last Halloween.

Constructing King Love's ankh was the most labor-intensive part of my costume and a fun woodworking project in itself. I bought some iron-on inkjet printer transfer paper and printed myself a t-shirt with the American flag, recreated his cape and sign, bought a Santa beard and his same choice of crown from a mail order toy catalog, and added glasses.

 

Late afternoon on Friday, October 29, I took his one-man act to the corner of Tennessee and Monroe Streets downtown Tallahassee for rush hour traffic, and greeted passing motorists in King Love's memory until 6 pm. Cheers and honks were common.

I should add here that mental illness is no joke. I simply employed my artistic talents to create and wear a successful Halloween costume based upon a current local person and event, which in this case was King Love's life and passing. 

I went to several Halloween parties. It was like being "Norm" on Cheers. Everywhere I went, as soon as I entered the room, a chorus of "KING LOVE!" would resound from just about everyone around. King Love was renowned. People I met would regale me with stories of their personal experiences with him. Men taught me to be a better King Love, correcting my rendition of his signature "WHOOP!" to passing cars. Women who recognized King Love each had their own special story of how King Love had asked them at one time or another to marry him.

It was the right Halloween costume at the right time.

I won four costume contests and I grew up to be a king, just as my dad predicted.

King Love, and my photo and story with Dave the Cat, are published on pages 145 and 146, respectively, in "Tallahassee: A Capital City History."