I’ve always been curious about how Americans really feel about royalty, and, like Alice in Wonderland, I got “curiouser and curiouser” when King Saud of Saudi Arabia came to the United States recently and got a classic concrete-and-steel cold shoulder from New York’s sky line and New York’s mayor. Was New York speaking for America?

I was in a convertible, coasting along Hollywood Boulevard. Beside me in the driver’s seat was Frank Hanrahan, an old Georgetown chum and an ex-FBI agent. Frank looks stern. Frank looks distinguished. Frank has never been known to play a practical joke since coming to Los Angeles. This is important, as you’ll soon see.

Bright-eyed and unaware, we were on our way to an afternoon gathering of Frank’s friends in the Hollywood hills, when “Great screaming Teddy bears!” (or something like that) exclaimed Frank. “With those sunglasses on, you look just like an Arab sheik!” This was not surprising, as both my parents are Lebanese, but right then I knew my moment had come.

“Do I look like an Arab prince, maybe?” I prodded Frank.

“Whaddya mean? Whaddya mean?”

“Do you think I could pass for an Arab prince with your friends?”

Frank gently braked the bathtub and pulled up to the curb. He squinted at me in the glaring California sunshine. “Say something in ‘prince,’” he said finally.

“Ycsss—sank—you—very—mush,” I hissed haltingly.

Frank’s unblinking stare brushed over my face with light, inscrutable finger tips. “We’re in,” he said, and roared into gear.

Frank drove to a house where his friends — none of whom had ever before seen the author — were watching a football game. Frank entered first and prepared his friends.

“Look folks, I’m in a little bit of a spot. I met a Saudi Arabian prince—”

“A prince?”

“King  Saud’s son. I met him at a party some Egyptian friends of mine threw in Beverly Hills the other night. He wants to see how Americans really live and he asked me to show him around town. I’ve got him out in the car and—”

“Right now?”

“Now. So look. I’m gonna bring him in. Now don’t panic! He’s a regular guy and he doesn’t want any fuss made over him. Just remember to address him as ‘your highness.’ But one thing — be casual!”

Blatty entered the room like a slumming prince.

I hastily spotted the most imposing chair in the room, marched over to it like Yul Brynner imitating Sir Cedric Hardwicke, and sat down, curling my fingers around the arm rest as though the chair were a throne, and, so help me, I felt majestic, even though I was wearing desert boots, Bermuda shorts and a loud, peppermint-striped shirt.

“Do you like football, your highness?” asked Denny Owen, a rugged college footballer.

“Foutball?”

“Ah—don’t they play football in your country?”

“I—sink—no.”

“Well…” and he good-heartedly launched into an explanation of the game. This seemed to ease the tension considerably, and someone else asked me if I would like a beer. I gave him the royal “oui” and Denny and Frank went into the kitchen.

I overheard their conversation:

Denny: “Cripes. I can’t hardly stand it! A prince! Here! And watchin’ the Rams on TV!”

Frank: “Take it easy, will ya, Denny? He’ll hear you.”

Denny: “What’s the deal on the candy stripe shirt, huh, Frank?”

Frank: “Oh, he’s just trying lo be one of the boys. Here, give him his beer.”

Denny: “A can, Frank—a can? We gotta give it to ‘im in a glass!”

Frank: “Nah, he’s a regular guy, I tell ya.”

Denny: “Well. O.K.”

And at this point I turned on my thro— er– chair, and saw rugged Denny carefully wiping and rubbing the top of the beer can with the tail of his clean white shirt.

Meanwhile, the Rams won the game, the TV was turned off and everyone became convivial. I learned later that some of the people in the room rather sided with the Israelis in the Arab-Israel dispute, but they were warm and friendly, and never gave a sign of their feelings. They were even suggesting nightclubs that they thought I should visit, places like the world-famous Mocambo.

Blatty was the toast of Hollywood that week. He appeared on talk shows and variety shows. He was invited to private dinners with movie stars. He succeeded beyond his most cynical dreams. The charade climaxed when Blatty got a chance to match his imposture against one of the country’s best fake princes.

One night a noted Hollywood publicist invited me along to an evening at ‘Prince’ Mike Romanoff’s. And thus it was that in the cool of the evening, ‘prince’ met ‘prince,’ ingenious imposter met up-and-coming challenger.

Entering Romanoff’s restaurant, accompanied by a studio publicity agent, Blatty seated himself with noble aplomb at a table. Within minutes, ‘Prince’ Romanoff hovered into view.

“Well, hello there,” he smiled genially, coming up to us.

“Hi, Mike. . . . Uh— your highness. Prince Kheer, may I present his highness, ‘Prince’ Romanoff?”

“How are you?” I murmured.

“A pleasure,” said Romanoff.

“His highness,” said the publicist, “is from Saudi Arabia. You know. King Saud’s son.”

“Oh. Of course, of course.” For one memorable, tremendous moment, Romanoff’s gaze locked with mine. It was toe-to-toe and there was silence in the arena.

The moment passed.

“Uh—by the way, your highness,” said the publicist, “there’s something I think you ought to know. I mean, I think I ought to tell you.”

“Iss what?”

“Well. “Prince’ Romanoff— he isn’t really a prince.”

Our shrimp cocktail had arrived.

“Iss what?” I demanded.

“They say he’s not a prince. Everyone knows it. But we like him so much we go along with the gag. No harm done.”

I put down my shrimp fork. “But iss not prince! ”

“Yes, but—”

“Sorry. I am insult.” And rising majestically, I strode out of the dining room, out of Romanoff’s and out of my life as a prince, because, brother, I believe in quitting while you’re ahead!

With that snub, that out-royaling Hollywood’s most famous ‘royal,’ Blatty returned to life as a commoner.

An Author Tries the Royal Scam for Fun The Saturday Evening Post

Unfortunately, many Americans found it convenient to re-invent themselves again and again, taking on a series of new identities for fun and profit. In a broad, open land of strangers (long before everyone carried “two forms of identification”) it’s surprising that more people didn’t take advantage of the anonymity of a young country.

They existed, of course. You can often find stories in the early Post about imposters (who pretended to be people who didn’t exist) and impersonators (who pretended to be people they weren’t.) One appears in 1849, entitled “A Strange Case — A Family Deceived As To The Identity Of A Son And Brother”

“A very singular case has occurred in Bangor, Maine, which shows absolute and entire deception of a whole family, neighbors and school mates, as to the identity of a person after a few years’ absence.

“A young man, named Luther Hause, 20 years of age, imposed himself upon the family of James Hause, Esq., of Corrinna, by claiming to be his long lost son, and in that character obtained money and goods to the amount of about one hundred dollars.”

The son of Mr. Hause, named Rowland Hause, had been lost at sea on a whaling voyage. Some time after his disappearance, residents from Corinna, Maine, came across a man named Luther Hause while visiting Bangor. They were struck by the similarity of the name, and they insisted that he was, in fact, Rowland. He told them they were mistaken, but they were convinced and, when they returned to Corinna, told James Hause that his son was alive.

Subsequently, a neighbor tracked down Luther and invited him to return home to Corinna.

“Luther accepted the invitiation. When he reached the house he addressed Mr. and Mrs. Hause as father and mother. Mrs. Hause had some doubts as first, as the color of the eyes and hair of Luther was entirely different from that of her son. She referred to several scars her son had, but Luther showed a scar on his knee, one on his breast, one on his neck, and an overlapping toe, all of which Rowland had.

“He remained at their house some five months and the longer he stayed the more they were satisfied he was their son. Mr. Hause stated that he believed him to be his son just as much as he believed his wife to be his wife. Many domestic circumstances were related by the young man, which they supposed could only have been known to their son, but which the imposter had probably derived from themselves, in the relation of family matters, and after brought forward as a confirmation of his identity.

“Several of the neighbors of Mr. Hause took this young man to be Rowland Hause. Young men, who had been schoolmates with Rowland, talked with Luther about past times, and became convinced that he was Rowland.”

Eventually, the deception bumped into reality.

“A Mr. Dow came to Corrinna, saw Luther, and said that he knew this young man, and his name was Luther Hause, and no mistake, and that he belonged in Troy. Another person recognized him as Luther Hause, and said he had lived by him seventeen years. James Hause began to have doubts.

“To settle the dispute existing in the family and the community as to his identity, a warrant was issued against Luther for obtaining goods under false pretences, since he had got a watch and several other articles while remaining at Mr. Hause’s house.

“He was arrested and examined. Mr. Seth Hause, of Troy, was summoned and appeared at the trial, and there recognized the prisoner as his son.”

In the course of his deception, Luther Hause had gained the support of hundreds of residents in the town, and they appeared at the trial to proclaim their support of the pretender’s claim. Luther could never have offered them solid proof, yet they appear to need much. They were probably swayed by the desire of seeing a lost son returned to his parents. Luther’s defense when the trial began would have disillusioned them.

“the counsel of the prisoner contended that James Hause and his family had deceived the young man, instead of his deceiving them — that when he was first seen in Bangor, he stated distinctly that his name was Luther Hause — there was no pretence that he was any one else than Luther Hause; and that James Hause, if he had opened his eyes to the light around him, might have known that. The Jury, after being out a very few minutes, came into Court with a verdict of Guilty.”

The reporter thought it “strange that such an imposition could be practiced upon a family of the intelligence they are said to possess… Mr. James Hause is said to be an intelligent, a Justice of the Peace, and a man of property.”

But he was also a father, whose son had left his family and his town, travelling far away to join the whalers, to die in the cold Atlantic. Surely James Hause could be forgiven for letting hope sway his reason.

The Post reported the case of another imposter (or would it be impersonator?) operating in Philadelphia in 1857.

“A German woman named Anna Maister is now under arrest, together with her assistant, Caroline Venner, both charged with defrauding a number of persons by representing that she would send their souls to heaven for certain pecuniary considerations.

“Mrs. Maister… represented to her disciples, two hundred in number, that she was the daughter of God and the Holy Ghost, and sister of Jesus Christ. Acting upon their belief of this assertion, she induced them to give to her — as “an offering to God” — considerable money, several silk dresses, silver pitchers, gold bracelets, pencil cases, watches, rings and other valuables.

“On one occasion an assessment of five dollars was levied on each member — notice being given that such was the behest of God in order that Mrs. Maister might have a gold watch and chain, to enabler her to be a fitting companion for Christ, when she ascended to heaven.

“It seems incredible that such a barefaced imposture should obtain credit with even the meanest understandings, but the fact is indisputable.”

Imposters live off the credulity of strangers. But in early America, they were aided by a society that lived in daily expectation of the unlikely, miraculous, or impossible. Didn’t Americans see nuermous stories of unlikely good fortune in the newspapers? Surely, in such a wonderful country, it would be possible to find long-lost children or the sister of Jesus.

But American imposters found they could also take advantage of peoples’ greed and social insecurity.

Next: Hypnotized By Royalty

American Imposture The Saturday Evening Post