"Before Elvis, there was nothing." John
Lennon's frequently quoted tribute to the King of
Rock and Roll is an exaggeration. Before Elvis,
there was the girl, name unknown, who won first
prize in the talent program at the
Mississippi-Alabama Fair and Dairy Show on October
3, 1945. Ten-year-old Elvis Aaron Presley won
second place singing 'Old Shep,' a heartbreaker
about a boy's love for his doomed dog. Years
later, with characteristic modesty, Elvis would
remember finishing fifth or even seventh in the
contest, but no matter. He won the competition
that counts.
Today, you can visit any record store and search
the bins in vain for even one recording by the
first place winner. But, as a song by Mojo Nixon
declares, Elvis is everywhere. For his
performance at the fair, Elvis won five dollars and
a free ticket to all the rides. With stardom, the
five dollars multiplied into millions, and Elvis
still had a ticket to all the rides, including the
chemical kind that most reports indicate were in
his system on the afternoon of August 16, 1977 when
his lifeless body was found at Graceland, his
estate in Memphis, Tennessee.
There are those who maintain that drugs were not a
factor in his death, that the original autopsy
citing an irregular heartbeat was correct. But the
conflicting reports about the cause of his death
are just another part of the mystique of the man
for whom even the word "superstar" always seemed
inadequate. This year marks the twenty-fifth
anniversary of his death, and some fans remain
convinced he did not die at all, but fabricated his
demise to escape the burdens of fame. Silly as
these true believers often seem, you can't blame
them. In a sense, Elvis is more alive than
ever.
Although none of his 33 movies earned Oscar
nominations, three of 1994's Best Picture nominees
(Forrest Gump, Pulp Fiction, and Quiz Show) refer
to him, as have too many movies and TV shows to
count. There are songs about him and enough books
examining his legend to stock a special Elvis
section in a large bookstore or library. Greeting
cards bear his likeness, as do collector plates,
and virtually any product that has room for his
portrait.
He's been officially recognized by the
United States Postal Service with a stamp in his
honor, and his gaudy estate earned a spot on the
National Register of Historic Places several
decades earlier than the rules allow, simply
because its place in history is a foregone
conclusion. Even the announcement made at the end
of his concerts - "Elvis has left the building" -
has taken on a new life. It's an exclamation point
now, a way to describe an exciting moment, such as
the winning touchdown in a football game.
The Beatles idolized him, as did former U.S.
president Bill Clinton. It could be argued that
the wavy-haired Clinton might not have been elected
to the Oval Office if not for the social revolution
that Elvis started in the Fifties. Before Elvis,
the 20th century's presidents were old and often
bald. "(Elvis) introduced the beat to everything,"
said Leonard Bernstein. That included hairstyles.
Presley paved the way for Clinton's presidential
pompadour.
His unrivaled popularity, even in death, is proof
that talent and charisma are more important to
stardom than marketing or management. Elvis had
the worst manager of them all in the form of
Colonel Tom Parker, a con man to whom many give
undue credit for Presley's success. But Parker
latched on to Presley only after the star had
conquered the South in ways unseen since the Civil
War. Parker rode Presley's coattails to glory
while creating hurdles that his client had to
overcome. The long string of mindless movies that
wasted the star's talent for almost a decade were
Parker's idea. And if Parker had had his way, the
1968 TV special that rescued Elvis from Hollywood's
manipulative and destructive claws would have been
a cozy, mild-mannered hour of Christmas carols
rather than the dynamic showcase for Elvis's
talents that it
became.
Nor did RCA Victor, the record company that bought
his contract from Sun Records, provide him with
much support. The label treated its biggest star
as little more than a steady source of predictable
profits. Knowing his records would always sell a
minimum number of copies, the company rarely gave
his albums and singles the promotional push that
would have increased his existing fan base. Until
his death, his RCA contract required him to crank
out three albums a year at a time when major
artists were considered prolific if they released
only one in the same time period. With Presley
product flooding the market, it's little wonder
that after 1972's "Burning Love," his singles
consistently failed to crack the top ten and his
albums stalled below the half million mark needed
for gold certification.
But if his management and record company let him
down, his voice never did. Bob Dylan compared the
experience of hearing Elvis for the first time to
"busting out of jail." No one led more jailbreaks
than the sharecropper's son from Tupelo,
Mississippi. "It was like he came along and
whispered some dream in everybody's ear, " Bruce
Springsteen said, "and somehow we all dreamed it."
And down at the end of lonely streets all over the
world, late at night in rooms illuminated only by
the glow of the radio dial, he's still whispering
that dream, inspiring more broken-hearted lovers to
bust out of jail. The dream may only last a
moment, but its memory can live a lifetime and
beyond. Twenty-five years after Elvis left the
building for a final time, his voice still echoes,
and so does the dream it carried.
Brian W. Fairbanks
Entertainment Editor
Entertainment...
