The Monarch across the Street

Abstract

The disturbed palace lions my sleep. became Finally, a bloody I wrote nuisance. a letter to Night the Emperor, after night, Haile the bellowing Selassie. I had had isturbed my sleep. Fina ly, I wrote a l tter to the Emperor, Haile Selassie. I had misgivings he'd answer but had decided it was worth the effort. The year was 1970. After His Majesty's photo op with JFK in the Rose Garden, after grassy knolls, Martin Luther King and Bobby, and four years before the collapse of the monarchy. Haile Selassie was a diminutive fellow, yet he was a force in world politics, and at home a feared and respected leader. Twice a year, he visited Eritrea, a sometimes volatile extension of his empire, where I lived and taught English. I'd met Selassie on several occasions. These social events at the palace were never a big deal to me. All I had to do was walk across the street from my flat, bow to His Majesty, and speak the few words of greeting I knew in Amharic, and the Lion of Judah, direct descendant of Solomon and Sheba, would smile back. A glass of free champagne, and I was done and out the door.