San Francisco is a town filled with individuals who proudly assert their own styles, making statements to the world through the way they present themselves. One of the most notable figures was the Mission District’s Red Man, a gentleman who sported a fine moustache, always dressed impeccably, and painted his face and his hands in red paint, resembling a devilish Salvador Dali or Errol Flynn.

Much mystery floats about this figure, but those who knew him the best seem to agree on one fact: a year ago in Dec. 2002, he was wheeled into San Francisco General Hospital. His unique appearance was killing him: the Chinese food coloring and other substances he had used to paint himself had poisoned his blood and damaged his internal organs. He died a few days later.

Although myths and legends have sprouted all around Red Man, one can still glean a few facts from this harvest of fables. Perhaps because he called himself “Mata Siete” or “The Killer of Seven,” many rumors claim that he was involved in a gruesome act of physical or sexual violence, either as a victim, perpetrator, or witness. However, according to Martin Rapalski, Red Man’s closest ally in San Francisco for 20 years, this moniker refers to a brave bullfighter who has slaughtered seven cattle, not to some traumatic event.

Prince Charm
Red Man once showed his 1984 Drivers License to Rapalski, which indicated that he was born in 1918 and had legally changed his name to “Prince Charm.” A native San Franciscan, his family once owned one of the first houses in the Upper Haight. He spoke Spanish fluently with a good accent, which seems to indicate that he was Latino.

Red Man told many people about his career as a merchant marine, waxing poetically about a certain spot in the Atlantic Ocean where the winds are gentle and the water calm. At some point, he may have lived in New York City, but he returned to San Francisco where he worked for many years as a barber and as a manager of the Market Street hotels. He dwelled mostly in various SROs around the city, finally settling in the Sunshine Hotel on Valencia Street.

Many San Franciscans remember first noticing Red Man in the late 80s, when he spent time at Picaro’s, once the most popular bohemian spot in town. People report that he seemed very surly during this period.

Rapalski explains that Red Man suffered from paranoiac schizophrenia and, especially when he neglected to take his medication, threatening voices would bombard him. Therefore, when something disturbed him at Picaro’s, he might start yelling at people and making a scene. Because he was so busy battling against the demons in his own mind, it seemed that he disliked many people.

Indeed, he would sometimes angrily rant about how much he hated black people or white women. He frequently argued with the manager of Picaro’s, once becoming so furious that he kicked and spat upon him.

A Gentleman
Despite this angry side, Prince Charm showed himself to be a sweet, charming gentleman to those who knew him the best. He began hanging out at Adobe Bookstore on 16th and Valencia streets, befriending the staff and speaking about his life.

Red Man endeared himself so greatly to the women at Adobe that they soon began calling him “Princey.” On July 6, 2001, two staff members, Christine Shields and Lara Allen, organized an art exhibit at the bookstore.
Flanked by portraits of his elegant, enigmatic beauty, “Princey” held court amid crowds of fascinated spectators who were thrilled at the chance to finally approach his majestic presence. Many people treasure this event as their last and most vivid memory of this glowing individual.

Why Red?
Now that he is gone, San Franciscans still wonder why he painted himself red. Although he generally did not like to talk about his unique hue, he confided to Christine Shields a possible explanation: while he was living next to the Hare Krishna temple in the Tenderloin, he became aware of red apparitions that exist on a different level of reality and that inhabit human bodies to do their business here on Earth. As their avatar, Red Man would tour them around the city, collecting maps and charts to help them navigate. Shields speculates that he did not actually die last December, but rather Red Man passed into this next world and now wanders our fair city as an apparition.

Those who still wish to visit this still-blazing spirit can view his brilliant artwork at Martin Rapalski’s Latin American Club on 22nd and Valencia streets

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