Elvis . . . and me

For the past two weeks, I've been immersed in Elvis lore. Everything is Elvis.

My home is in Memphis and now, as everyone knows, Memphis is famous, foremost, as the home of Elvis Presley.

I first heard Elvis in Detroit when I was eleven. He was on the Ed Sullivan show and, wow, was he ever daring. Some good citizens wanted to ban him because he wriggled his hips. Perhaps because of that disapproval, I was glued to our black and white twelve-inch console TV. “Heartbreak Hotel” immediately became my favorite song.

We then moved to Alabama. My brother went to the University of Tennessee Medical School in Memphis, then did several years at Mayo Clinic in Minnesota before returning to Memphis. I went to the University of Alabama and then to Atlanta.

But I often visited him in Memphis. Bill lived near Graceland, and we would drive past when I visited. Memphis was Elvis’s playground, and there were always, always stories. Memphis was Elvis, and Elvis was Memphis.

Then my brother became one of Elvis’s doctors. Not the primary one, but in matters pulmonary. When Elvis had pneumonia, my brother was his physician. And he was impressed. Talked about how polite and friendly he was, and how cooperative.

When Elvis died, the entire city went into mourning.

I moved to Memphis about twelve years ago. It seemed everyone I met had an Elvis story. One writer friend was a distant cousin. Another had attended a wedding reception at Graceland. (The groom left the bride and sang with Elvis all night). Still another had met him in the Sheriff’s office when he was applying for a gun permit. Memphis was – and still is – a very small town when it comes to Elvis.

So . . . what’s the point to all this background?

Perhaps it’s my ongoing astonishment at the power and strength of Elvis, and no place else is it so obvious.

Twice a year tens of thousands of people visit Atlanta – and Graceland – to celebrate Elvis’s birthday. On August 15th even more visit to mourn his death. This week is the 30th Anniversary of his death.

More than 75,000 people from every state in this country and dozens of foreign countries descended on Memphis for the annual midnight vigil Wednesday. The temperature was 106 degrees – the warmest since I’ve lived here – with a heat index of 111. Fans waited in that heat for up to twenty-four hours in order to take their turn to file by Elvis’s grave, a candle in hand.

One person died. Others were taken to the hospital, and still all the remaining 75,000 stood in the hot sun, in unbelievably long lines to pay respects to the King. This thirty years after his death.

There are newspaper sections devoted to him, front page stories daily for two weeks, Elvis concerts, multiple Elvis imitator contests. Silly looking guys running around in white Elvis suits wherever you go.

The devotion never ceases to amaze me. Why not Frank Sinatra? The Beatles? Today’s stars? Why not so many other entertainers whose music crept into our hearts.

He was not a very good actor. He didn’t have the film vehicles to make him great. His manager didn’t want drama, although he did. Elvis wanted to grow, but his manager wanted fluff.

But he was a great entertainer. Some say maybe the greatest ever. My mom and dad went to one of his last concerts. They hadn’t intended to go. But Dad was at the box office of the concert hall in Huntsville when Elvis tickets went on sale. He was there to buy tickets for another event and, on the spur of the moment, decided to buy a couple for the Elvis concert.

Mom was a little dubious. They were in their sixties. Their music was Glenn Miller. It was one of Elvis’s last concerts, and he was over weight and tired and on prescription pills. It But once he started to sing, they were enthralled. They said it was the best concert they ever attended.

I wish I had been to one and felt that magic. I liked his music, particularly the ballads. But I never understood the fanaticism of his fans.

I resisted going to Graceland for a number of years. Too sophisticated for that, I told myself. Then some friends visited from Atlanta. They came specifically to go to Graceland. I reluctantly went. Like my folks, I surprised myself. I was fascinated. I was particularly interested in all the charitable endeavors he took care NOT to publicize. He gave away an amazing amount of his fortune. Quietly.

Is that why so many still revere this man? Because they still see a boy who loved gospel music better than any of the pop songs he made famous? Because he was someone who was deeply loyal to family and friends? Even to a manager who made him famous, then helped destroy him.

Or perhaps it is that we never knew exactly what he would have done if not for his premature death and a manager whose vision didn’t go beyond the dollar bill.

Or maybe people see the young man who, when drafted, happily went to serve his country when he could have easily avoided it, and the star who never forgot his roots.

Twice a year, every Memphian is seeped in Elvis lore. I still don’t quite understand it, but I’ve learned to appreciate it.

Graceland, anyone?