"100 is the temperature not the speed limit" and "What's holding you up? Buckle your seat belt."
Elvis Aron Presley fascinates even those who did not care much for his music, possibly because his is a classic "poor boy makes good" story. He was born in Tupelo, Mississippi, on January 8, 1935, in a two-room house built by his dirt poor father, grandfather and uncle. Young Elvis dreamed of becoming a legend like his comic book hero, Captain Marvel. Getting a guitar instead of the bike or gun he wanted, was step one. Becoming a fan of Black gospel and blues music was step two.
Step three came when the family moved to Memphis in search of better work. Elvis found not only a high school graduation and work as a truck driver, he found an outlet for his music, cutting a demo record at his own expense, performing on the country circuit and recording at Sun Records. Cue the Thunderbolt, hair style and cape of Captain Marvel as Elvis signed with RCA in 1957. The rest is show biz history and just as Elvis dreamed, legend.
We checked into The Guest House at Graceland and quickly caught a shuttle over to the Visitors Center. Our plan was to pick up our prearranged tickets and see Graceland then go into Memphis for dinner and to see the city at night. We would start the morning in Memphis then return to do the Elvis Exhibitions, cars, motorcycles and planes.
So much for plans. Our tickets were not there, so while the clerk did some checking, we did some retail therapy in the large shop. Finally, we were told our tickets would be there the next morning, upgraded to VIP for the snafu. Okay then, disappointed but undaunted, we would have an adult beverage in the Jungle Room Bar, catch a shuttle back, spiff up a bit and head downtown. Sorry, said the clerk, they changed the hours; it closed at 4. It was now 5:45, the last shuttle left at 6.
Hot and truly frustrated, we went back to the hotel and sought out an adult beverage in the lounge. It was packed and they had run out of proper glasses for what we finally managed to order. Put it in anything you have, the exhausted Good Girls replied, knowing we would not be making it to downtown Memphis.
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| Mirrors overhead. |
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| Lobby chairs inspired by Elvis' capes. |
We listened to the good cover band in the lobby then headed to our room, loving the tasteful and often subtle Elvis homages.
We turned on the TV and "chose our Elvis," '50s. '60s or '70s.
Sadly missing was my favorite, the landmark return TV special, a handsome, black leather clad Elvis singing at his peak in an intimate, in-the-round setting.
Our own Elvis homage began the next afternoon, cramming a full day into a half-day. We started with Graceland, shuttling over from the Visitors Center and jumping the line in true VIP style. We had been loaned an I-pad and headset for an inform-yourself tour narrated by John Stamos and Lisa Marie Presley, but I found the wires made taking notes impossible and photos difficult and abandoned it, preferring to soak up the atmosphere unencumbered.
I was impressed with the house and its grounds. Not grand by today's standards and very livable, it was a poor boy made good's gracious home for his beloved mother.
and kitchen are perfect for family gatherings. Visitors don't see the upstairs bedrooms, but we did see his parents' bedroom and that fun loving boy's toys:
the ridiculously dark Jungle Room,
his pool room
and music room with its three TVs (just like President Johnson's).
Outside,
you continue on to his father Vernon's office filled with fans' portraits of Elvis, racquetball court, gym,
gun range, trophy room, swimming pool,
paddocks, pastures and barn for horses.
Sometimes the visitors are part of the story.
A large display area of family memorabilia, from report cards and decorators' bills to wedding attire and nursery furnishings further endeared the late performer to us.
Seeing the family burial plot beyond the pool was particularly moving, cementing the overall impression.
This was not a showplace, it was home.
The glitz, glamor and excess are shown off in The Presley Motors Automobile Museum, The Entertainer Career Museum and Elvis Discovery Exhibits.
It is, in a word, overwhelming. You could spend hours looking at cars alone including
and the 1973 Stutz Blackhawk he was driving the last time he arrived at Graceland.
One room is of metal racks filled with the minutia of an incredibly full life.
The costumes Elvis wore on stage, displayed in chronological order, are dominated by clinging jumpsuits, bejeweled belts, matching shoes and sweeping capes.
They did not forget his Army days - uniform and luggage - or the influence Elvis had on other performers who adopted elements of his style.
Transitioning through a narrow room with walls of gold and platinum records, awards, firsts and achievements, is mind-blowing.
So much achieved in such a short life.
All the while you are silently or quietly singing along to the recorded songs that underscored much of our lives. It isn't a castle but it is definitely a royal tribute to the King.
It is also exhausting. These are not small spaces and two tired, footsore Good Girls who were on visual overload skipped the two planes to catch the last shuttle back to the Guest House. Memphis at night would have to wait for another time.
Instead we fought even larger crowds for an adult beverage in the wrong glasses and pondered what to do next. The concierges are supremely helpful and told us about Marlowe's Ribs & Restaurant 15 miles farther down Elvis Presley Boulevard.
They would pick us up in a pink Cadillac limo and bring us back after dinner. With feet so sore we didn't even want to walk out to our car in the parking lot, that sounded perfect.
It was. Casual, funky with a lively bar, good local beer and decent barbecue plus an Elvis homage or three, we left re-energized. Perhaps we might even manage to stay up for the much heralded nightly peanut butter sandwiches served at the Guest House.
It wasn't hard.The lobby was full, everyone enjoying the older, very talented piano player who sounded so much like Elvis he might have been an impersonator in his salad days. He was a consummate entertainer and eventually had all up dancing to the infectious songs of Elvis and his contemporaries.
When his sets finished, the peanut butter sandwiches and hot chocolate were brought out. We weren't hungry and the sandwiches weren't anything to write home about, but it brought a satisfying conclusion to our Elvis immersion.
We had resisted the ultimate immersive souvenir, a glittering gold lame suit, only $2,900.
