Hey, Mister! How Did You Come by That?

In America, no man can be king. But it can be said that Nelson “Butch” Ward was “Mr. Smallmouth Bass of Maryland.”

That is how Ward was known, according to an obituary last November. “Fishing was his life,” said his wife, Linda; he was a nationally recognized expert on Potomac River smallmouth bass.

Yes, but Mr. Smallmouth Bass of Maryland?

Indeed. We are surrounded by a strange sort of royalty, the Misters of the Universe, crowned (sometimes by the media, sometimes by admirers) with nicknames that suggest they personify a place, an occupation, an affiliation, a hobby, a fish.

Most often, they turn up in obituaries.

John K. Hanson, a motor home pioneer, was Mr. Winnebago. Tetsuya Fujita, a University of Chicago meteorologist, was Mr. Tornado. Hawaiian music legend Benny Kalama was--yes--Mr. Hawaiian Music.

It was a sad day in Nebraska when Mr. Republican died--just as it was a sad day in Stark County, Ohio, when its Mr. Republican passed on, and in Canyon County, Idaho, when its Mr. Republican breathed his last.

But the Grim Reaper doesn’t vote a straight ticket. Mr. Democrats die too: In Havre, Mont., and Rockland County, N.Y., to name just two. And Mr. Republican in a Democratic Community, mourned in Biddeford, Maine.

Of course, none of these gentlemen--Carl Curtis, Robert E. Levitt, R.H. “Bill” Young, Jim Pasma, Philip Rotella and J. Richard Martin--was born with a political party for a last name.

Did anyone approach them when they were alive and call them Mr. Whatever? Probably not--though in Coffee County, Tenn., they pick Mr. and Ms. Democrat each year. “It’s giving some people some credit before they toe-tag ‘em,” says Roland Seagroves, a former Democratic leader.

Who was the first Mister? Nobody seems to know. “I’ve heard some bizarre questions, but that’s a new one,” says Anne H. Soukhanov, U.S. general editor of the Encarta World English Dictionary.

Steve Miller, editor of GoodBye!, a bimonthly obituary magazine, guessed that the Mister sobriquet was a creation of public relations, probably in the 1920s.

“It has that ring to it, to my ear, like those silly newsreel stories about the guy who eats goldfish, or bathing beauties in Atlantic City back when people mostly swam there,” he says. “It certainly doesn’t sound like Shakespeare.”

“Clearly related to Miss America, Miss Rheingold, etc.,” says Stuart Ewen, author of the book “PR!”

The Random House Historical Dictionary of American Slang offers Mr. Charlie (1928--a contemptuous term for white men), Mr. Big (first noted in a 1940 letter by Groucho Marx) and Mr. Nice Guy (as in “No more . . . ,” from “Get Smart,” 1966).

But nothing like Mr. Oklahoma Gardening (Raymond Kays). Or Mr. Safety (seat belt advocate Alex Haynes). Or Mr. Charms (candy maker Vincent R. Ciccone, also crowned the Lollipop King).

Some nicknames were widely used while the Misters were alive. Barry Goldwater was known as Mr. Conservative. Columnist Herb Caen was Mr. San Francisco. Milton Berle is Mr. Television, and catcher and raconteur Bob Uecker is known, jocularly, as Mr. Baseball.

But there have been other Mr. Baseballs, like George Long, manager of the semipro Muscatine Red Sox from 1930 until 1996. And there have been Mr. Softballs, like Doug Borg, a giant of Utah fast pitch.

Marty Cohen fought, trained, managed, promoted, judged and refereed--he was Mr. Boxing. Coach Nat Holman was Mr. Basketball. John Duncan “Jock” Semple, who chased an illegal female runner from the 1967 Boston Marathon, was Mr. Marathon.

In 1946, Edwin Wade Williams paid $44,375 for a champion steer at the American Royal, Kansas City’s annual livestock fair; ever after, he was known as Mr. American Royal.

Marsh Nelson, a longtime sports announcer in Duluth, Minn., was Mr. Sports in the Twin Ports. Lathrop K. Leishman was both Mr. Rose Bowl, for his dedication to the annual Tournament of Roses, and Mr. Pasadena.

The passings of Mr. Scottsdale, Mr. Mill River, Mr. Stroudsburg, Mr. Biloxi, Mr. Block Island, Mr. Cheboygan and Mr. Brooklyn also have been noted in recent years, along with the deaths of Misters New Mexico, New Jersey, North Carolina and Great Plains.

Jimmy Stier was Mr. Neighborhood in Fort Wayne, Ind.; Ben Happersett liked a pageant, so he was Mr. Parade in Federalsburg, Md.

The Philippines had Mr. United Nations (he preferred to be called “General”), Britain had Mr. Europe, and France had Mr. Africa and Mr. Music (Messieurs Afrique et Musique).

There were so many others:

Two Mr. Weathermen. A Mr. Bitterroot (advocate of the Montana state flower). Mr. Houston Television. Mr. Mercedes. Mr. Disney. Mr. Science. Mr. Environment.

Then there was Howard C. Raether. For 35 years, he was executive director of the National Funeral Directors Assn.--defending the industry and educating the public.

And when they buried him last Oct. 12, they said farewell to Mr. Funeral Service.