Me and Elvis

 

My mother mentioned Elvis so much, I thought he was a relative

While growing up in our house, Elvis Presley was very much present. We didn’t have the black velvet Elvis paintings and Elvis music wasn’t played that much in the house. The times Mom sent me to the store to get the Los Angeles Sunday Times was when her Elvis fixation reared its head.

My parents went to Las Vegas a lot. Three or four times a year, they’d pack up and leave for a few days, leaving me with my grandparents. After a time, I knew when they were going to leave when I heard the name Elvis. She’d be on the phone with one of her friends or family when she’d say ‘We’re going to Vegas to see Elvis’.

I thought Elvis Presley was a family member

To my 8-year-old self, this was very befuddling. They were leaving me to see someone that was like a mythical being. Elvis Presley was like Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny.

Why hadn’t I met Elvis? How come this Elvis guy was some kind of mystery? The adults talked about him like they knew him. I would watch cartoons and shows and wonder if some people were Elvis. We’d go to church and I wondered if I’d see Elvis there.

Then I saw Elvis on television. It was a replay of his 1968 comeback special. This Elvis guy was kind of a big deal. Then I discovered the moms of a couple of friends of mine had Elvis records. When I tried to explain that I thought he was a cousin or something, they called my mom.

That’s when I realized my mom’s obsession. Elvis Presley had her under some sort of spell. I didn’t like the fact that this person could take her attention away. Elvis could make her drop me off at Grandma’s house at a moment's notice.

I made my mind up that I didn’t hold this Elvis in high regard.

How dare he! My dad didn’t really think Elvis was so great. He’d once met Ernest Borgnine at a bar and Borgnine introduced my dad to Frank Sinatra. Now, to him, that was big. Elvis, however, was just some upstart that the women liked. He didn’t go with my mom to see Elvis. I was on my dad’s side.

Elvis had been regularly putting on shows at the Las Vegas Hilton since 1969.

Mom would get a ticket and go solo, I guess. One of her most prized possessions was a gold scarf that one of Elvis’ assistants would bring onstage. Elvis would drape it around his neck and then hand it out to the crowd. Women in attendance would leap to their feet to get one. I guess my mom elbowed her way to the front and got one. She kept it neatly folded on a top shelf in her half of the bedroom closet.

When I was old enough, they would take me with them to Vegas. I spent my 10th birthday there, wandering up and down the strip. It was a different time and place. There weren’t a lot of hotels there. There would be a casino and then a lot of desert open spaces before I’d get to the next one.

Everyone seemed to be friendly in 1974. I’d go to different hotels and search for the concierge. They’d give me vouchers for free food and ice cream. It was a good racket.

On December 4th, 1976, my mom came to get me in our hotel room

It was just before Christmas. I was 12. She said she won two tickets to see Elvis in concert that evening and told me I was going with her. I didn’t see the reason in those days. Elvis was some old washed up singer. It sounded like a bore fest to me. She had tickets to the dinner show. I went because the food had to be better than the buffet.

Walking into the Hilton was crazy. I had never been to a concert before. There were women everywhere. For a 12-year-old boy, it was spectacular. My mom was a professional at this and as we made our way to our table, there were other ladies there that knew her. She introduced me to them. Suddenly, I had a veritable plethora of new aunties.

The show started with the theme of the movie 2001: A Space Odyssey, also Sprach Zarathustra, and then the segue to the song C.C. Rider, where Elvis takes the stage. The place went nuts!

Elvis was pretty good! I got swept up in the energy. The best part for me was the wait staff kept checking on me. I ate everything I could get.

Tuesday, August 16th 1977

I was polishing a coffee table at the house. We had a stereo rigged up, so that there were speakers in all the adult rooms. It was playing when the news of Elvis’ passing came across. My mom was in her bedroom. I asked if she heard.

She hadn’t.

When I told Mom, she said not to joke about things like that. When I told her I wasn’t joking, she asked me to turn the radio to the new channel, and there it was. She said little the rest of the day. My mom had been reading the book that Elvis’ crew had written earlier that year, detailing how he wasn’t taking care of himself, so I guess it wasn’t as much of a shock to her as I thought it would be.

It was around that time that I developed a deep appreciation for rock and roll music. I caught the fever when I received a stereo and a stack of records when my older brother finally moved out. I listened to everything I could get my hands on.

It wasn’t until years later when me and some friends were talking about music and our first concert experiences that seeing Elvis was the most impressive. It was like seeing a lightning flash of history.

Now that I think about it, there are probably not that many people left that can say they saw the King of Rock and Roll. It was a personally legendary first concert for me.

It wasn’t until I became a fanatic that I understood why people dedicate their time and resources to follow the career of a person or the success and failure of a team.

That feeling of pride that makes someone cheer the victories and suffer the defeats along with them. It taught me to appreciate the good times and endure the not-so-good. Neither lasts forever.

Those feelings create a bond that we can relate to

A sense of fellowship in shared experiences. For me the concert turned out to be a lesson in how to connect with Mom on a real level.

She was now so cool I would be friends with her if she wasn’t my mother. I could talk to her about anything without judgement or apprehension.

That was a gift and why I miss her so much.