Lunar Follies

LANGRENUS

What, precisely, was it about Claude Langrenus, often called the King of Transgression, the Broom King, the Emperor of Mustard, Royal Claudie, and, most usually, simply the King, that prompted so many distinguished photographers of the San Francisco Bay Area to take, conservatively speaking, thousands upon thousands of photographs of Kingorooney, as he was known to many, photographs of him in the performance of everyday tasks, tasks that one might think too trivial to occupy, even for a moment, the King of Ideas and Theatre, as he was occasionally dubbed? The “scholarship of the image,” to which we owe so much, has collectively determined that there are presumed to be, roughly, some 43,976 images of Lord Faucet, as he was known to close friends, and, remarkably, that those images represent the King of Canned Tomatoes, as that legendary figure was called by the beloved street urchins of San Francisco, city of fogs and food, of hills and highways, of crystal air and cable cars, of art, art, and ever more art; and that the “tomato monarch” may well be Langrenus himself, shown in a number of mundane activities and things that appeal to the sophisticated citizens of” Kansas on the Bay,” as The City is known to its oldest residents, some of whom were last seen in Noe Valley looking for signs of life on the quiet streets. Langrenus, or the King of Tomatoes, or “Larry,” is seen admiring an organ grinder’s monkey, and, in a few cases, an organ grinder; running in terror from a bear who is attacking a youthful companion; laughingly strapping on a “lady’s helper”; being cheated by a three-card monte dealer while he smirks the smirk of chumps everywhere; fleeing in panic from a Pekingese who is chewing on an old woman’s knee; buying a deluxe edition of Théâtre Epinal by “Chet”; pissing up a rope. Just who was Claude Langrenus? Prize-winning chemist, multimillionaire inventor, hack novelist, wretched playwright, furniture designer, fashion plate, and much-loved lecturer on the horror of phallocentrism in the rest room, yes, yet happy to be thought of as, simply, King Corn Flakes. These remarkable photographs, a mere sampling of the rich treasures stored in the vaults of the California Palace of the Legion of Honor Annex, will not tell us. Sadly, the King of Oxycetabutylinase, as he was teasingly called by the hobos, rakes, and ladies of the evening of Russian Hill, remains a mystery to all — still another mystery shrouded in the fogs and mists of the brooding Bay Area that many call home!