Ezekial Van Landingham

Ezekial Van Landingham is a small – some might even think him tiny – man, standing 5’ 1” (unless he is wearing his “Small Man’s Friend” elevator boots, which add some three inches to his height) and weighing some 125 pounds. He favors an old-fashioned “stove-pipe” hat, thinking that it adds still more inches to his short frame. His hair is black, usually shiny from brilliantine, he is inordinately proud of his dark, heavy mustache.

Ezekial has held many jobs over the years, but the one that he found most to his liking was during the war years, when he served as a civilian “procurement officer” attached to the staff of Benjamin “Beast” Butler -- the general who commanded the Union troops occupying New Orleans. Glorified title notwithstanding, Ezekial was in fact nothing more than a pimp who supplied young women and girls to meet the carnal demands of Butler and his officers. It was a job that the little man greatly enjoyed, for it allowed him to cater to his own predatory sexual instincts.

Eventually the war came to an end, but Ezekial remained in New Orleans for a number of years, enjoying the life of a “sport” and paying off his debts by supplying women to fellow gamblers and rakehells. At length, however, he made the mistake of ruining the wrong man’s daughter, and was forced to flee the city.

Ever a flamboyant man, Ezekial supported himself for a while by becoming an actor, treading the boards of The Rose Theater in St. Louis. He reveled in the life of an actor, soaking up the attention and adulation the admiring multitudes, but once again thought it prudent to leave town before the full import of some of his darker doings caught up with him.

A bit down on his luck when he first came to Whiskey Flats, Ezekial arrived in town in the guise of a proverbial “snake oil salesman” -- a purveyor of pills, balms and elixirs. Ever a schemer, he has high hopes of advancing his own interests and lining his pockets while here.

And if things don’t work out as he hopes -- why, he will simply move on, as he has done many times before. For there are always greener pastures – more marks to be fleeced and women to be preyed upon – just over the next hill. Yes, oh yes, of course there are . . .