The King Has Left The Building

Every generation has its watershed moments and mine is no exception.  We boomers all remember the line of demarcation that was the Kennedy assassination and, whether you liked him or not, how his death burns in memory as the end of our innocence.  America felt very different after November of 1963.

"I'm all shook up"

 This week marks the fortieth anniversary of the death of Elvis Presley.  Really?!  Forty years??  At least for me, the "King" personified the beginning of music that spoke our language and let our parents know that the culture now belonged to us and not them.  Elvis was all about free and untrammeled emotion and a never before seen sexual electricity that frightened most adults.  The marriage of what was then referred to as "hillbilly" music with southern rhythm and blues, indigenous to the black community, was all that was needed to confirm our parents contention that the world was going to hell in a big hurry.  Naturally we embraced it and begged for more.  To appease the adults Elvis would sing an occasional hymn on the Ed Sullivan show before launching into Jailhouse Rock, All Shook Up, Teddy Bear or another of his songbook of hip swiveling rock n' roll hits.  Colonel Tom Parker, his Svengali like manager, knew enough to push some of that "good boy" image especially for the benefit of the parents of teenage girls.

I remember buying many of Presley's early 45's to play on my crappy little Sears Silvertone record player only to have dad point out that I was an idiot for spending my hard earned lawn mowing dollars on "that junk".  

"A hunka hunka hunka fried Twinkies please!"

So much happened in those years from the mid-fifties until Elvis's death on August 16, 1977.  The Beatles and others had eclipsed him and chronic drug abuse and a peanut butter and 'nana sandwich habit of epic proportions had made him almost a character of himself. He sweat buckets of gravy while looking like a Macy's Thanksgiving parade float during his concert appearances.  It was a sad ending for a true rock n' roll icon.  

I was on the air at KOGO radio in San Diego on that August afternoon of '77 when the wire services began dinging with the bulletin announcing his death.  I still recall program director, Bill Dodd, bursting into the studio loaded with records and tapes of the King as we transitioned to an "All Elvis ALL the Time" format for the rest of the day.  Now, forty years later, I am retired, radio is no longer the tribal drum of the culture or even relevant,  and records are for antique collectors.  The entertainment business is corporate these days and music is something we stream.   A lot has changed.

Trying to imagine an 82 year-old Elvis seems beyond the pale.  It's doubtful that he would have made it to his 82nd given his condition, and the idea of a tubby gray-haired, liver spotted Elvis slipping around his assisted living facility on one of those rascal scooters just doesn't compute.  Perhaps if he'd merely considered that waking up with a live gopher in your bedroom and peanut butter on the ceiling might have been a significant indication that it was time to slow down?  We'll never know.

I choose to remember the skinny Elvis of the 1950's and 60's when the nation was far more innocent and so was he.  Let the comedians have fat Elvis.  He was a significant piece of the mosaic of our lives and will live on as long as there are a few of us around to recall the magic.  In the meantime, the Gypsy dogs are still barking but the wagons have moved on.

"Does this microphone make me look fat?"