From "For R.I.'s Love 22, Life is a Quirky Numbers Game", appearing in the July 20, 2019 edition of the Providence Journal.
By Mark Patinkin
Journal Columnist
Posted Jul 20, 2019 at 3:15 PM
Updated Jul 20, 2019 at 3:17 PM
Love 22, one of R.I.’s most colorful political characters, is still going strong at 82, and casting his Uncle Sam hat into the ring in the 2020 presidential race.
One thing Rhode Island has plenty of is characters, especially of the political ilk.
Like Ralph aRusso, who added an “a” to his name to be first on Johnston’s mayoral ballot, and Bob Healey, who ran for lieutenant governor on a platform of eliminating the job of lieutenant governor.
Sadly, they’re not with us anymore. But I was surprised to hear someone in those ranks still is.
I drove to Westerly to see Love 22.
That’s a real person.
He’s been running for president as a write-in since 1976, ran for governor in the 1990s, studied accounting at URI, and was born Lawrence Wagner in Providence 82 years ago.
I told him Love 22 couldn’t possibly be his real name.
He showed me his driver’s license.
Under last name, it really does say “Twenty Two” — and “Love” under the first.
He showed me his passport, too. Surname: “XXII.”
It turns out even characters age; he’s now in the Golden Years Assisted Living home in Westerly. He’s among the more nimble residents, always taking the stairs to the third floor, where he lives.
I asked if it’s OK to describe his room as messy.
“No,” he said. “Say ‘disheveled.’”
It’s full of novelty $22 bills he had made bearing his image — his signature gimmick — which he folds into origami shapes. That’s part of what he did for a living — a longtime event comedian.
He’s still a funny guy. I asked what his dad did.
“He was a CPA,” said Love, “a cleanser, presser and alterer.”
Love himself was in sales after college, but decided he was meant for show business.
“Do what u love & love what u do,” he said, instructing me to write the phrase just like that — with two u’s and an ampersand. Then he explained why: the characters count out to 22.
He married twice and has two middle-aged sons, a travel agent and a hotel concierge.
“What do they think of the 22 thing?” I asked.
“They love it,” said Love.
Back in the ’90s, he was a gadfly figure in many elections, and I remember him campaigning in an Uncle Sam hat. Ever the showman, he was wearing one when I came into his room.
So where, I asked, did the 22 come from?
His URI fraternity was at 22 Campus Ave., which got him looking into it, and he found — I’ll use his words: “22 is the master vibration of the secrets of the universe.”
How about his first name?
“If you’re not coming from a place of love,” said Love, “you’re wasting your time.”
He changed it legally in the 1970s.
As for running for president: “It’s time to stop voting for elephants and jackasses.”
The two of us walked down the hall and paused to chat with Janis Barton, the home’s dietary manager.
“Everybody loves Love,” she told me.
She said he adds joy to the home, and they’ve missed him the last few winters when he went to Key West, where he once ran for mayor and is an adored character selling his origami and riding a three-wheeled bike.
Most of those trips, he said, lasted 22 days.
I turned to Janis and said, “He’s led an unusual life.”
“But one some people would dream about,” she answered.
Why does she think so?
“He’s done what he wanted. Gone all over the world by the seat of his pants.”
Clearly, Love 22 is quirky, and I thought that would be my main takeaway.
But I found myself thinking differently as I drove back from Westerly.
You don’t often meet someone who gets a nonstop kick out of life. Love always has, and still does.
That’s not a bad way to live.
— Mark Patinkin’s columns run Sundays and Wednesdays