The reporters were itching with anticipation, for today they were to have the honor of interviewing Elvis Presley, the king of Rock‘n’Roll himself. People wanted to know everything about the man who packed every venue he played, who stole young girl’s hearts and carried the most beautiful dames in America on his arm, and had taught an entire generation to dance to his provocative, infectious rhythms. He had the devil in his bones and a voice without equal; he shocked the public, he stirred gossip and debate, and he had the bearing of a star. Though Elvis had never performed outside North America, his stardom had gripped the entire planet, especially in the English-speaking world. A clamor rose up in the room, and the microphones were carefully aligned to catch every precious syllable uttered in the king’s inimitable voice. Elvis Presley would soon be making his majestic entrance, and they wondered what he would be wearing. He loved to keep the world guessing, and his style was unique – a mix of panache, glamor and eccentricity. Would he have some beautiful southern belle on his arm? The minutes dragged on, until suddenly a silence fell on the room. The king entered, and took his seat. Then he cleared his throat, ready to answer the reporters’ questions.
“Mr. Presley, thank you for accepting our invitation. It’s not every day we get to talk to a king!” ventured the first, with a nervous laugh. “First off, why the military uniform? Is it a costume, or...?”
“This here ain’t no costume, no. I got nothin’ but respect for the US Army. That’s why I’m wearing this uniform, ‘cause it means a lot to me. I’m wearing it to remember an important time in my life. In 1957, I was called up to serve under the flag of this great nation. The Star-Spangled Banner smiled down on me. I was just a regular soldier when I was enlisted to the second armored division, when I went to do my training in Fort Hood, Texas. In August, when I was still at Fort Hood, I got permission to go on emergency leave to visit my momma, who was sick at the time. Then she left us, God rest her. It was a terrible shock to me, but it gave me the courage to push myself even further in my service. So this ain’t no costume. It’s a military uniform, and I wear it in support of our army.”
“Thank you, Mr. Presley, thank you very much! I have another question. You bought a house in Memphis, Tennessee. What does that home mean to you? What place does it have in your life?”
“You know, I was born in my parents’ house in East Tupelo, Mississippi, just about a half-hour after my twin brother, Jesse Garon, was still-born. He was buried in an unmarked grave in a park somewhere around there. I’ll carry his ghost with me forever. But I’m the survivor, and so it’s my job to honor the gift that I was given, you see? Surviving is both a gift and a responsibility. Anyway, I grew up in a kinda poor family. My father, Vernon, lived off odd jobs before he was sent to jail for forging a 4-dollar check. Four measly bucks, you imagine that? When he got out he decided to leave Tupelo for Memphis. Hoping for better things, or maybe just to get away from himself. Try to forget his own misery, you know? Suppose he wanted a second chance. I went to Humes High School, which wasn’t no good school, I tell ya. Believe it or not, I even failed music there. But in the end I got my diploma. First one in my family to ever graduate high school. After that I worked in a tool plant, and drove a truck. My career took off when I recorded That’s All Right in July 1954.”
“Thank you, Mr. Presley! It’s refreshing to get such straight answers...really throws some light on a lot of these things. Do you suffer from seasickness?”
“Nope, not one bit. I love the sea, the open ocean, looking over the horizon. Just this year I spent $55,000 on the Potomac. She’s a 165-footer. That’s the boat they called the “Floating White House” when FDR – that’s, uh, Franklin Delano Roosevelt – was president, from 1936 - 1945.”
“Would you say the boat is one of your most prized acquisitions?”
“You know, that’s a tough question. With all my success, I’ve given a lot to other people. Cars, watches, jewelry. Sometimes to friends, sometimes strangers. I’ve done some charity concerts too. One of ‘em made $50,000 to help finish the USS Arizona memorial in Hawaii. They built that to pay tribute to the 1,100 men who died in the attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941. But the money had dried up, I guess. Tickets to that show sold for anywhere between 3 and a hundred bucks, and it got the memorial fund off the ground again.”
Alan Alfredo Geday