It was a Sunday. I had mistakenly brought nothing but suits with me on that trip. I wore suits to work everyday. It was Cutler/Williams corporate policy. The job I had before Cutler/Williams allowed me to wear sweats so the change came as quite a shock. I decided wearing suit pants and a dress shirt all day Sunday wouldn't be any fun so I went to Walmart for a comfort buying spree.
It was around one o'clock when I arrived at Wally World so I encountered the church crowd. It consisted of a lot of over weight men in polyester suits and women with big hair. I really wanted to get in and out quick so as to avoid unnecessary contact with the hicks on parade. I'm a little sensitive about hicks because I almost was one. I purchased tennis shoes, a sweat shirt and pants, all for under 50 bucks. Let's just say they were not top quality products.
I went back to my room and got comfortable. The Dallas Cowboys weren't on. Since I was a fan at the time, that sucked. Note I no longer root for that team since the foreigner took over.
I decided to read a book. Just as I'm dosing off after the first chapter ( technical books always make me sleepy ) my faithful Indiancompanion Parchi ( no really, he's from India ) knocked on my door. "Keith," he says, "I want to go to Graceland." What the heck. I'm in Memphis. The Cowboys aren't on the tube. I have nothing better to do so we go.
My first impression of the King's abode came from the parking lot. Yes, I said parking lot. It turns out that the Elvis Presly Estate, EPE for short, has a major industry surrounding Graceland. The parking lot is on the scale as the Walmart I visted earlier with approximately the same clientèle.
It was a cold Sunday afternoon and the parking lot was still almost 1/2 full. I couldn't believe it. After a brief hike past the Elvis Airplane museum we made it to the main ticket building in the Graceland shopping/museum complex. This place is pretty big. About the size of a small mall. It has no less than 4 shops, 2 restaurants, 3 museums, 1 movie theater and a reception area. I just stood looking around in awe.
I heard Parchi ask me a question but my mind was on Elvis overload.
"Huh?" I said, slowly pulling my jaw back into place.
"I asked if you wanted to get tickets for everything, you know man, all the museums and films and stuff."
"How about we just do Graceland and then see how much time we have left"
"Oh, OK." He was disappointed I could tell.
Even as I asked the question, I knew what the answer would be. "Hey Parchi, is Elvis very big in India?"
"Elvis is big everywhere" he said.
I could tell by the tone of his voice he thought this was a stupid question. The answer should have been obvious to anyone. Just what I need. Ghandi with an Elvis fixation. I realized that I needed to watch what I said or I could offend my co-worker. As it turns out this probably either saved my life or kept me from getting the snot beat out of me by trailer park people. But I'm getting ahead of my self.
Graceland was a short bus ride away. Parchi and I bought our $9 tickets and headed for the bus. As we queued up, I noticed the people around me. The usual tourist group was there; Orientals with cameras, a young couple with a baby, some obvious retirees, and lastly Parchi and me. Two more families joined the line before we loaded. As it turns out both groups were trailer park people with Elvis fixations. This was the first time I thought of the term which described them so perfectly. These people were Elvisians.
It fit. These are the people that read the Globe and the National Inquirer. These are the people abducted by UFOs. These are the people that voted for Fritz Mondale. By the way, if space aliens did abduct people, the Elvisians would be perfect candidates. Not only would no one believe them when and if they returned but I can think of no one else I'd like to see removed from the planet.
As we boarded the bus, each of us were given a tape player with "PROPERTY OF GRACELAND" stamped on it. Apparently this was a self paced tour. We were instructed to turn on our recorders. I place my headphones on and pressed the "ON" button. Nothing happened. Thank God for small favors. Billy Bob of Elvisian group #1 was having difficulty finding the on button. His massive set of chins no doubt hindering his ability to see it. Finally his wife, Marj, pushed it for him. Marj's mother gave a snort of disgust and mummered something about dumb and ox.
Elvisian group #2 seemed content enough. They were watching everything. "I bet he's up stairs right now" I heard one say. Apparently they were of the 'Elvis is Alive' sect of the Elvisians. I couldn't help but smile. This was going to be fun after all.
Parchi clicked his off button. Others did the same so I assumed the first section of the tape was complete. I couldn't help but notice the idiot grin on his face. He was enjoying himself immensely. So was I but for completely different reasons. The situation only got funnier.
Our first tour guide was a little guy with a high pitched southern accent. Smart remarks kept coming to mind but I suppressed every one of them. I noticed the young women with the baby had the same mischievous grin I did. When we locked eyes it was nearly more than we could do to keep from laughing.
The two Elvisian groups seem to have bonded. Between discussions of the greatness of Elvis came talks on the relative merits of manufactured housing. "Now if you would turn your tape players back on we'll enter the main hall," the tour guide finished.
If the impact of the moment was wasted on me, it was not wasted on the Elvisians. As devoted Catholics entering the presence of the Pope, they crossed the threshold to Graceland. Awe-struck they walked through the entrance to the Temple of Gawd. The young lady, I think her name was Beth, and I hung back to watch the others. Her husband Jeff was a semi-Elvisian so she also had to watch what she said.
The place was indeed the house of Gawd. Gawd made it's home here and Gawd was here to stay maintained and preserved by the EPE. I wish you could see the post cards I bought of each room. Words cannot describe it. Experience can barely contain it. My mind works even now to remove the memory of it. Bright yellows, royal blues, tacky glass statuettes, and that ugly green shag carpet so prominent in the 70's were all here in abundance. I remembered some of the styles from my childhood. I'd truly forgotten how ugly the 70's were.
My mom had some of these same decorations when I was a child. My first thought was that if mom had gotten lots of money back around '72, this is what her house would have looked like.
We completed our tour of the Living room, Dining Room, and Kitchen and headed downstairs to the TV and Pool room. The Elvisians had finally shaken themselves of their reverent silence and began talking amongst themselves again. It was a this point that I found out the mother-in-law of Billy Bob was psychic or at least she thought she was.
"The spirit of Elvis is close by. I can feel it"
"Of course he's close by. He's up stairs."
"What kind of idjit thinks the King is still alive."
"If he's not upstairs, why won't they let us up there."
And so the argument went. Beth and I were at the back of the group swapping snide comments. We had to do this in hushed tones in order to avoid a jihad by the Elvisians.
The TV room was a sight to behold. The bright, bright yellow mixed with dark royal blue in conjunction with mirrors on the ceiling lead to an effect that required sun glasses to appreciate. Think of the yellow vinyl material they used to make bean bag chairs. That was the decor of this room.
The baby on Beth's shoulder chose this moment to puke. Don't worry. Not a drop hit the sacred floors of Graceland. My left shoe caught it all. Beth started to apologize but I stopped her. "I know just how the kid feels." The shoe self destructed some 20 hours later.
Next we headed for the pool room. This room has some form of tapestry on each wall and the ceiling also. It reminded me of a giant, square, paisley tent. This is also where the trailer park psychic saw the ghost of Elvis. I guess billiards and the after life sort of go together. I wonder what effect this news would have on theologians and philosophers .
Next up was the Jungle room. We've been informed that this was one of Elvis' favorite rooms. The stairs on the way up from the basement are carpeted in green shag. Not just the floor but the walls and ceilings as well. This trend continues in the Jungle room. Carpet is on the ceiling. I stand in awe. Billy Bob made the comment that Elvis was probably the first person to think of putting carpet on the ceiling.
"No," I mummer, "he's the first person to think of it and not think it was stupid"
Apparently Elvisians have good hearing because I got several scowls. After that I didn't see much of either group.
Next on the tour was the office area. The only really interesting thing about it was the fact that there as a shooting range in the same building. Next came the Graceland museum and finally the racquetball court/Elvis monument. This was actually one of the more tasteful exhibits.
Finally we near the end of the tour at the "really final" resting place of the King. Apparently his last "final" resting place wasn't secure enough so they moved him to Graceland. It was here that we caught up with the Elvisians. Group one was in respectful silence while group two was wondering who was actually buried there. "Maybe it's Jimmy Hoffa" I say in my most innocent voice. I could see the look on all of the Elvisians. They had one thought on their respective pea brains; Kill the Heretic.
A short bus ride and many dirty looks later found us back at the Elvis strip mall where we were forced to buy Elvis souvenirs. I noticed a strange look in my co-worker's eyes. He began to have that same sort of vacant expression on his face characteristic of Elvisians. Parchi drove us forward into shop after shop, museum after museum, all at a pace the would kill Mongols. He had to see it all. He had to do it all. I had to stop him before a UFO abducted him and subjected him to rectal probes.
Elvis mania was upon him! What to do? My friend was becoming an Elvisian before my very eyes. The PA spoke. "Graceland will be closing in 5 minutes"
I looked upward and mouthed a "Thank you" to God. I glanced a Parchi. He had to have more whatever the cost. Then slowly, oh so slowly, sanity returned to my friend's face. "Well, I guess its time to go."
I breathed a sigh of relief. "Hey, we'll be coming back to Memphis again. Maybe we can come back and see the rest," I lied.
"Yeah, maybe."
Parchi was quite on the way back to the hotel. He looked like he'd lost his best friend. I think on some level he knew how close he'd come to an Elvis OD.
Me, I left a little sadder than when I went into Graceland. Not because of what I saw of Elvis but what I saw of the Elvisians. Their lives seem to revolve around the King. They missed the point that Elvis was just a guy. As good or as bad as any of us. Mostly he was just a small town southern boy who made good. I'm not sure he knew the effect he had on people. I'm sure he never guessed that Elvis cults would spring up across the nation after his death.
I can even forgive him his house. If I made a gazillion dollars back then and let my mom decorate, it probably would have turned out much the same way ( although I hope I would have forgone the shag carpet on the ceiling ).
To this day, he fills a niche in some people's lives by giving them something they're missing. He makes them feel a part of something bigger and better. I don't know why he still effects people this way after so many years. I think its genetic. Probable involves the same gene that makes people think living in tornado bait is a good idea.
I did learn a lot about Elvis from going through the museums erected in his honor. He was generous with his money. There were several walls of "thank you" certificates from charity groups. There were even more walls containing all of his gold and platinum albums. His music changed the world and, as much as I hate to admit it, he is still the King of Rock 'n Roll.
In the end, I have to say I had a pretty good time. If you like people watching, or maybe I should say weird people watching, go to Graceland. It's a hoot. If you're ever in Memphis, check it out.
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