Elvis Has Left The Building

It was 30 years ago today that Elvis Presley went to that Great Big Pharmacy in the sky – or, was beamed away by E.T. and his pals, depending on your own personal beliefs.

All day long today people have been asking me “Do you remember where you were when you heard that The King was dead?” Gruesome as it may seem, Elvis’ leaving his Earthly vessel via his bathroom floor is one of those events that people will always look back and remember exactly where they were when the heard the news. It’s right up there with Pearl Harbor, JFK being shot, and Sept 11, I suppose.

But to answer your question (c’mon – admit it. You wanna know, don’t you?): Yes, I do remember where I was when I found out that The King was no more.

It was about 10:15 AM on August 16, 1977. I was 12 years old; just about to enter 7th grade. And being a typical summer vacation, I was deep into my usual morning routine – laying on the couch, watching Match Game. (Brett Somers + Charles Nelson Reilly = FUNNY!) I had just learned that Dumb Dora was so dumb (“How dumb was she?”) that something or another happened to her blank. Hardy har har – double entendres flew left and right, and Gene Rayburn and his mile-long microphone went to a commercial break.

The commercial was for an Elvis Presley Greatest Hits album. All of The King's greatest hits on one album or two 8-track tapes. No big deal.

Then my Mom came into the living room and said the fateful words. “You know he’s dead, don’t you?”

Wha???

I literally fell off the couch. “Elvis is dead? When?”

“This morning. They found him dead inside his house.”

My reaction was pure and honest. “No waaaaaaaaay.” (Keep in mind that Fonzie was also big at the time. Every sentence ended with “aaaaaaay.”

I couldn’t believe it – Elvis can’t be dead, can he? I mean, when you’re 12 years old, a 42 year old rock & roll singer seems ancient to you, but The King? There’s no reason why he should be a goner. (I was hopelessly naïve about things such as drug overdoses at the time – which may not have been such a bad thing after all.)

I remember spending the rest of the morning trying to figure out what could have possibly happened to someone who had seemed to be so full of life – or at least he was in the movies and TV shows I’d seem him on. Maybe it was my youthful ignorance that kept the truth from me, and maybe it’s because most of my Elvis moments involved seeing him as the young, hip, always smiling version of The King, and not the fat, bloated, sweating profusely man he became.

It was unbelievable to think: Elvis was Worm Chow.

That afternoon I went to deliver my paper route. The headline on the front page of the Seattle Times summed it up pretty well: “Suddenly a Generation Feels Old.” I hand-delivered a lot of newspapers that day, stopping to talk to customers about the tragedy in Graceland. A few people didn’t care at all, but most were visibly shaken by it. Was their generation really feeling old and vulnerable? If so, where did that leave me?

Over the next few months (and years) the truth of Elvis’ demise came out, but somehow the legend lived on. And on. And on. He’s more famous now than he ever was when he was alive and kicking, and as anyone who has ever been to Vegas or Memphis can tell you, his spirit is very much still with us.

Now here we are 30 years later. I’m still an Elvis fan of sorts – I don’t own all of his albums, but I do enjoy playing my copy of “Viva Las Vegas” really loud every now and then. I’ve thrown plenty of money into the Elvis slot machine at the casino. And I do have an Elvis clock hanging in my basement – his swinging hips serve as the pendulum.

But most of all I have my memories – of the guy who came to the World’s Fair in Seattle in 1962, and of the guy who could make women scream just by sneering his lip. The guy who had it all, and then lost it to a huge monkey on his back.

I turned 42 years old this summer– the same age Elvis was when he croaked. And while I’ve never played a sold out concert or had flocks of groupies chasing me down the street, I can proudly say that I’m still breathing, and hopefully will continue to do so for a long, long time. There’s just some things that money can’t buy, and another day is definitely one of them.

Still, I will always associate “Elvis” with “cool” (except for the pill popping part – that we’ll just write off as “dumbass”.) He’s a legend who has continued to shine three decades after biting the dust.

So thank you, thank you very much, King. We all miss you in our own special way. And while fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches aren’t exactly on my cholesterol-friendly diet, I will tip my iced tea to your memory, and maybe I’ll have to watch “Girls, Girls, Girls” or “Clambake” tonight in your honor.

Hopefully you have wanted it that way.