Elvis Presley Remembered...

This past Monday marked the thirty-third anniversary of the death of rock-and-roll legend, Elvis Aaron Presley. Thousands of hardcore fans paid tribute to the singer at not only his home in Graceland, but around the world, as well.

A variety of emotions were evident in the huge crowds that stood in the hot sun to show their respects. And it was clear by the fact they were there, that for a vast number of people, Elvis is still an important and enduring part of their lives.

Many of those present seemed too young to have even seen Elvis when he was alive. Why, then, did they feel such a strong kinship with the deceased rock-and-roll legend? After all, I had personally watched him from the start of his career, and considered him one of my teenage idols. Yet, for whatever reason, I felt none of the emotion being displayed by his current fans, either young or old.

Elvis began his public career when I was in Junior High School. And like most young boys at the time, I thought he was just about the coolest dude on the planet. There was something downright seductive about his slicked back hair, long sideburns, with a forehead curl in the front, and a rebellious ducktail (D.A.) in the back. I mean, he made a statement to guys my age either coming or going.

And what he wore compounded our loyalty. He always looked so non-conformist dressed in that black leather jacket, tight blue jeans, and engineer boots. And when adults said he looked like a street hoodlum, we simply loved it. And their comment propelled him to instant sainthood in our minds.

Then, in 1956, when columnist and T.V. host Ed Sullivan had his cameramen shoot Elvis from the waist up while he was dancing during, “Hound Dog,” whatever was going on “out of frame” fanned the fires of our fertile imaginations. We could only mourn being visually cheated of those “wicked movements” the camera angle had censored.

Even the titles of his songs had a ring of juvenile disdain about them, and they never failed to energize us. “Heartbreak Hotel,” “Don’t Be Cruel,” and “Hound Dog,” all resonated in our heads with lyrics that seemed so counter culture at the time. And though we didn’t quite understand they were mostly descriptions of love and romance gone bad, they almost seemed an anthem to the systematic persecution of youth… at least in our minds.

When Elvis was drafted into the Army in 1958, I was a High School Junior. It was at that point his brightness as an icon began to fade for me. I still listened to his music, of course, but his new soldier image no longer meshed with that of the exciting rock-and-roll idol who made adults angry. Now he was an adult, himself, and serving his country as grownup males did when the draft was still in force.

And by the time Elvis was discharged, I had graduated and enlisted in the Army myself. From that point on, he became just a familiar voice on the radio as his songs were played overseas where I was stationed. Our connection across the miles, then, was simply musical. No more caring about how he dressed or styled his hair, or how the girls screamed as he thrust his pelvis during a rock-and-roll performance. No more caring that he was in now in movies, and that Hollywood had dyed his hair black and shortened his sideburns. In the bigger scheme of my life, it no longer seemed to matter.

As always seems to happen, then, the process of living tends to sort things out for a person. And in the end, I guess that when Elvis grew up, so did I. While I did come to respect him as a musician and performer many years later, I no longer thought of him unless I happened to hear his music being played. And then, for the briefest of moments, it brought me back to that special time when being a teenager was an exciting adventure on an alien planet. And Elvis Presley made me feel I belonged.