500 miles to graceland

8/2/2019 500 Miles to Graceland

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500 miles to GracelandLarry Van Zandt

Writing 240, Creative Non-fictionEssay 2Lyons


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There is no better-known music icon in existence that has influenced more people than

one Elvis Aron Presley. The top-selling recording artist of all time has won (only) three Grammy

awards, the Grammy Lifetime Achievement award at the absolutely elderly age of thirty-six, and

has probably been inducted into more halls-of-fame than Jesus Christ.

Presley, a one-time truck driver who was repeatedly told early on, before he released his

first single, that he pretty much couldnt sing to save his lifein addition to becoming the most

popular musical icon of all timealso generated more than his share of controversy. Elvis the

Pelvis caused a not-inconsiderable amount of concern for parents of screaming teenaged girl

fans, simply because at the time, gyrating hips (Presleys onstage performance trademark early in

his career) were thought to be something approaching unholy behavior, a rock-and-roll Pied

Piper leading wayward teens into sinful interaction with each other. Females swooned when he

was performing live, creating so much concern that at one point the Catholic church got

indirectly involved by sending a desperate telegram to J. Edgar Hoover, the infamous longtime

director of the FBI, suggesting that the performer might be a danger to national security due to

Presleys supposed ability to make girls lose control of most bodily functions, upon either

hearing or seeing him perform.

Initially working with legendary Sun Records boss Sam Phillips, Elvis combined both

black and white musical influences and quickly took the world by storm, creating a new genre of

music, rock and roll. In addition to that somewhat-mighty feat, he also pushed guitar-playing to

the forefront, casting aside formerly-popular piano-playing (and thirteen-year-old-cousin-

marrying) acts such as Jerry Lee Lewis.

One might assume that Presleys reign of musical terror finally subsided with his passing

in 1977. However, unlike most other blips on the longevity scale, Elvis hasnt disappeared from


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the social radar; far from it, in fact. This long-dead musician currently outsells The Beatles in

Great Britain, and according to Forbes magazine, is either on top of, or within a place or two of

claiming the yearly title of Top-Earning Deceased Celebrity. He is also on top of the list for

most weeks spent at number one on the Billboard charts. If anything, as often occurs with

famous celebrities who pass far too early, this cultural icon has become even more famous in

death, amassing a vast fortune for the Presley estate.

The funny thing is that in 1987, I couldnt have cared less about any of this information.

To my uncultured, immature mind at the time, Elvis Presley was an incredibly-dead, three-

buckets-of-chicken-eating lard ass, and my father (incorrectly) thought he sang just like the

daisy-pushing, worm food musician, which provided no small amount of annoyance for me, and

also doubled to create a considerable amount of joke material for my brother and I.

Noting the outlandish costumes that I saw Presley wearing during spots I would

occasionally see on TV (one of these being the famous white Eagle suit), I routinely and

purposely confused The King with another musician that had just passed away in 1986, from

AIDS, much to the often cruel and morbid delight of clueless, teenage boys everywhere.

Liberacean incredibly flamboyant, highly-overdressed, and famed piano player whose career

overlapped Presleys during the 1950s and 1960slooked like he had a long-lost, overdressing

twin brother in Elvis. Not only did I have to listen to my dad attempt to sing (badly) various

Presley tunes, I was forced, ad-nauseam, to listen to The Kings music whenever I rode in the

same vehicle with my father, which happened often, and prompted me to routinely disable the

radios/tape players in whatever vehicle he was using as a daily driver at the time.

This was a rather impressive feat considering my father owned a few used-car lots during

this time period, and he might grab the keys to almost anything on the lot to drive home from


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work. Since I was riding the bus straight to the main lot location right after school every day, I

had to be on my toes to anticipate what he might want to drive, or suggest vehicles for him to

drive home, of course with all musical-generating devices being placed out of commission

beforehand. He never did figure out what I was doing, so his major concern was trying to

ascertain why there were anywhere between forty and sixty cars or trucks on his used-car lot at

any given time, and none of them appeared to have a working stereoat least when he was

driving them home. This was the only way I could put a dent into his chronic Elvis obsession

while I rode in the car with him.

Elvis was an insatiable fetish for my father. However, now that I think about it, a lot of

things were fixations in my fathers attention span, and Elvis happened to be one of the more

annoying ones. I recall the Great Rod Stewart Preoccupation of 1981, the I Sound Just Like

Rooster Cogburn epidemic of 1984, and the Ive Got A Pot Belly But No Really Im

Amazingly Physically Fit As Evidenced By My Ability To Sit On The Couch At Home With My

Shirt Off While Exposing My Creepy Pointy Man Nipples And Use This Really Annoying Arm

Strengthening Coil Spring/Elastic Strap Thingie craze of1985. My father was not alone in this

aspect, where fads and hobbies may come and go, but for some people, Presley never really goes

away.

Therefore, it should come as no surprise, given his fetish for The King, that it was

(supposedly) my fathers life-long dream to visit Graceland, the tomb/estate/tourist trap of the

long-deceased Elvis Presley.

If there is one physical edifice that has been and will be quintessentially associated with

this titan of the music industry, it is his Memphis, Tennessee, Graceland estate. Originally part of

Graceland Farms, the property was parceled up and the section known to fans around the world


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as Graceland, with its familiar mansionbuilt in 1939was eventually purchased by Presley

for $100,000 in 1957. It was subsequently modified by Elvis to suit his own tastes; a shooting

range, a squash court, and even a meditation garden were added. The estate would grow so large

that shortly after Presleys death in 1977, the yearly tally just to keep the property up and running

was approaching $500,000 a year.

The current-day Graceland includes museums, the property itself, souvenir shops, all of

Presleys old vehicles in an automotive museum across the street, and still has a functioning

horse stable. There are also several memorabilia collections housed all over the estate in various

buildings, including the trophy room and squash court.

After Elvis passed away in 1977, it came to light that Presleys business manager, one

Colonel Tom Parkerwho in reality was illegal immigrant Andreas Van Kujik from Holland,

having faked his death to cover his fleeing from his home country (more on that later)that he

had been making incredibly poor business and contractual decisions, not to mention was

pocketing 50% of all of Presleys earnings. During the court case in which Priscilla Presley

(Elvis and she divorced in 1973) was outlining how Parker could remain in charge of the estate,

the judge in the case appointed a trustee to begin investigating Colonel Tom, and found shady

deal after shady deal, on top of countless bad decisions concerning royalties and contracts. The

judge then ordered Elvis Presley Enterprises to sue Parker for mismanagement. He countersued,

and received $2 million in a settlement, but was finally out of the way, although the estate now

owed the IRS over $15 million.

A recommendation suggesting that the estate be sold was suggested. however, Priscilla

did not want to sell the first home of her daughter, Lisa Marie, so an outside advisor was hired to


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sort out what to do with what remainedand the decision was made to make the entire estate

into an Elvis-themed museum.

The actual property is on the east side of Elvis Presley Avenue, however, across the street

are located a museum or two, several other buildings, and the two personal jets belonging to The

King; Lisa Marie, aConvair 880 passenger jetliner, and Hound dog II, a Lockheed Jetstar

which are both extra-charge exhibits of the Elvis museum. The property all of this is situated on

is Graceland Plaza, a generally dumpy area which was opened as a shopping center in the late

1960s, but was purchased by E.P.E. (Elvis Presley Enterprises) in 1983.

It was decided by unanimous decisionin that Dad decided for all the rest of usthat

the entire family would go visit Memphis and see the sightsthose associated with Elvis

Presley, anyway. My father, stepmother, older brother Ric, older sister April, younger sister

Traci, and I would board a full-size, 1983 Chevy half-ton conversion van, replete with late-

1970s/early 1980s disco paint, Western turbine wheels, fiberglass fender flares and front air

dam, and Dad frantically piloted this garish menace like a TV evangelist on his way to the bank,

all the way to Tennesseebreaking several speed-limit laws in the process.

What this trip amounted to as the sobering reality began to set in, was that we, the

aforementioned suffering rest of the family, were about to take a family vacationon his terms.

If any of the rest of us had anything that we wanted to see on this journey, well, it had better be

something in an Elvis museum, or we would be simply shit out of luck.

We arrived on the outskirts of Memphis sometime around eight in the morning, and the

Van of Idiots/Ship of Fools arrived at the Elvis Presley museum around nine. The family happily

disembarked from the Chevy, Im sorry, I meant to say escaped from the vehicle, my brother

and I pushed each other around a bit more, and Dad, for the eight-hundredth time on this trip,


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looked like he was going to burst a blood vessel on his neck as he told us to knock it the hell off;

he was already approaching apoplectic because for some reason, the brand-new Pioneer tape

deck that he had just installed for this trip had somehow mysteriously quit working during the

first gasoline stop. This produced an extreme amount of swearing, because he had brought his

entire Elvis tape collection along to listen to on the journey, and now this goddamned blank-

blank-blank Pioneer piece of blankety-blank-blank had quit blankety-blank working, and even

more maddening was that he had paidfull retail price for this unithe could no longer listen to

Elvis, and he sure as hell was not going away quietly.

Darn.

The Family Van Zandt finally assembled in line out in front of the Museum, because dad

wanted to see the Presley aircraft first. My dad was a wanna-be pilot, having on many occasions

loudly proclaimed (with volume of proclamation depending on amount of alcohol consumption)

that he was a chopper pilot in Vietnam, yet none of the family members I have ever stumbled

across on his side of the family can ever remember him having ever actually served there.

Needless to say, Dad wanted to see the airplanes first, so we went to see the planes, although I

think my brother, my two sisters and I somehow managed to convince Father that we really did

not care about what was in the planes, and since he was able to save money, i.e. by not having to

spend it on making us happy, he of course gladly went inside sans children.

As the morning dragged on in Memphis, and my siblings and I were forced to look at the

cheesy Elvis paraphernalia while Dad and Sheila didwhatever it was they were doing on board

the two derelict Presley aircraft, I noticed something interesting. Scores of tourists were

beginning to show up now as the sun slowly climbed into the sky. Some were attempting to

imitate Presley, whether it be singing (badly) one of his songs. Others, in an Elvis-ish voice,


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were saying, Thank you very much!, as if theyre wearing a sweaty jumpsuit, and are exiting

the stage after four curtain calls, where theyre Elvis, and have just completed the Aloha from

Hawaii concert in front of tens of thousands of screaming fans.

This was the point in my journey where things began to get a bit weird. The usual type of

nondescript traveler was present, but they were vastly outnumbered by tourists either wearing

something that made mention of their love for all things Elvis, had Elvis-looking hairdos (even

some women), some were dressed quite a bit like Elvis, and the most frightening of this rapidly-

expanding group were the truly faithful of this cabal, who were packingframed pictures of Mr.

The King. It was at this point that I recall saying to my brother, Holy Shit, I think these people

are serious.

Upon further reflection, having seen milling throngs of hundreds either emulating Presley

or imitating him outright, I am routinely reminded of the Jesus Syndrome, a phenomenon

which occurs to travelers quite often in Jerusalem, in which tourists show up in the Holy City

(for example, Ed from Kansas City), and immediately begin to think theyre Jesus. The problem

is so prevalent that Israeli hospitals have set up Jesus Wings, psychiatric floors entirely devoted

to assisting patients who are utterly convinced that theyre the risen-again Son of God. I never

did find out whether or not this happens around Graceland, however, I would not have been all

that shocked to discover that several dozen visitors a year had succumbed to thinking they were

the risen-again Elvis Presley.

Im thankful that my father either had the foresight to avoid, or by stupid, bumbling good

luck, somehow managed not to arrive on January 8th, which in Memphis is code for We hope

youre not in a freaking hurry to get anywhere!, as hundreds of thousands of fans attempt to

infest Graceland like a massive, biblical, Ten-Plagues-of-Egypt-level swarm of memorabilia-


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purchasing locusts, celebrating Elvis Presleys birthday. Not only do they crowd the streets of

Memphis, they also surround Presleys birthplace in Tupelo, Mississippi, in addition to holding

parties around the world. Are you one of the Elvis Faithful, and cant make it to Graceland for

his birthday? Dont panic, there just might be a party at a location near you!

In addition to the celebration of his birth, serious Presley fans can also get in on the Elvis

celebration in a most glorious two-fer, where thousands of fans can again flock to Graceland to

crowd around the gravesite of one Elvis Aron Presley (tent provided), and remember his passing

on August 16th, 1977, an event which draws spectators from all around the worldnot just

Arkansas.

To give an example of just how world-wide the Elvis phenomenon truly is, one only has

to hop in the car and drive a few miles down the roadoh yeah, and board a plane, fly several

thousand miles, land at an airport in Jerusalem, rent a car, and drive a bit towards the city of Tel

Aviv, where one might stumble across the town of Abu Gosh, and contained therein is a small

little business called, appropriately enough for the Holy Land, the Elvis Caf and Restaurant. In

addition to this pair of buildings, there is an establishment not too far away called, The Elvis

Inn, where you can see a gigantic white statue of The King (not Solomon), and see Elvis name

in Hebrew, not to mention listen to Presley songs during the duration of your visit.

Not only does Elvis still sell merchandise thirty-fouryears after his death, Presley himself

is still in big demand. According to the Professional Elvis Impersonators Association (as

opposed to the Rank Amateur Elvis Crappy Impersonators Group), there are overtwo hundred

thousandknown professional Elvis Presley impersonators worldwide, up from a mere one

hundred and seventy in 1977. Among current impersonators; Peter Singh: a Sikh living in Wales,

England, sings Indian-themed Elvis tunes at his pub; Elvis Herselvis, a lesbian impersonator; and


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Robert Washington, the first black man to ever win the World Elvis Impersonator

Championship. An additional note: There is also a World Elvis Impersonator convention held

each year, usually in Las Vegas, a popular stopover point for the real Elvis Presley when he was

still alive.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I mean museummy brother, sisters, and I were

beginning to be weirded out. Looking around, waiting for Dad to finish up his drooling on the

upholstery in the planes, we noticed that only maybe half of the tourists within earshot were

speaking English. I think I recognized German, French, Spanish, and Arkansanese, an

impossible-to-understand, frontier gibberish dialect of English that I just now made up to

describe the drawled-out, heavily slurred conversation which occurs in that part of the

countrybless their hearts.

It was now time to board the bus for the trip, and go across the street to Elvis Nirvana.

Upon entering the mansions gigantic front door, after having passed through what are

literally the worlds most famous front gates aside from the White House, it doesnt ever register

until much later that you are walking through the home of someone that hasnt bothered to drop

by to check his mail in almost thirty-five years. The most frightening aspect for me is that

Presleys home is so perfectly preserved, no, embalmed; the entire edifice is such a wonderfully-

captured moment in time that you almost expect Elvis to step out of a closet somewhere and ask,

in an annoyed manner, Uh, can I help you?

The problem with Graceland, at least the mansion anyway, is that there really is not a

whole lot to see. Most of the main floor is open to the tour (the lounge is roped off, but you can

see a beautiful baby grand piano in a far room), as is the basement/entertainment area. However,

the entire upper floor is completely blocked off to the public, and it takes an act of congress to be


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able to access that area, much less view the most secret domain of Elvis; his bedroom. There are

only a couple of grainy pictures available of this room and his bathroom online, where the King

reportedly passed away, or was found unconsciousdepending on which family member you

ask, because no relative can corroborate where Presley actually died. The shadow of secrecy

surrounding the entire upper floor is legendary: one of the most disturbing things I encountered

while researching this paper about the house itself was an artists recreation of the Death Scene

via a startling, life-like miniature diorama, depicting the loudly-colored, red and green bedroom

and bathroom of Presley; an Elvis Presley action figure is splayed dead on the bathroom carpet,

pants around his ankles, where he slid off of his luxurious, custom-built, barber-chair-style

padded toilet. A Ginger Alden action figure is also captured, mid-stride, lavender dress on, arms

raised in exclamation as she discovers Presley unconscious on the floor (Ginger Alden was his

last girlfriend, and lived with him at Gracelandand apparently, Elvis really liked to take long

dumps and read).

Aside from the almost-nauseating realization that some sick bastard fan with way too

much time on their hands thought it would be a great idea to capture Presleys final moments like

you would with a Star Wars action playset (gee, what a great idea it would be to recapture other

famous morbid final moments in toy form, such as a Kenner Third Reich Strikes Back themed

playset, where kids ages 7-13 can recreate the Adolf Hitler/Eva Braun suicide!), there is very

little known about the mysterious second floor, other than Presleys aunt actually lived up there

until her death in 1994. Elvis stated that she could live there as long as she wanted. Presleys

parents also lived at Graceland for quite some time, and their bedroom is part of the tour on the

main floor. The aunt lived in the house while the mansion was being toured by thousands of fans,


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passing below the floor directly beneath herseven days a week, four weeks a month, 12

months a year, for thirteen years.

From the first moments of entering through the front door, and exiting through the back

of the main house, one word echoes through scores of post-tour interviews to describe the entire

experience, where tourists are asked about their opinions of the working tomb. The word?

Tacky.

The entire house (including the grainy photos of the second floor) is the tackiest place on

the planet. The lounge (at one point completely adorned in royal red) looks like a low-rent

antiques flea market. The kitchen appears to be large enough to supply an entire troop

platoonorat least one hungry Elvis. The Jungle room, replete with green shag carpet (possibly

resembling a jungle floor?), seems to be an eerie caricature of where Mowgli from The Jungle

Book might spend his nights. The entertainment/TV room downstairs, where Presley

watchedthree TVs at oncelooks like a surreal, abandoned 1970s adult movie set. Green

shag carpet once again rules the day, but unlike the aptly-named Jungle room upstairs, the

entertainment room in the basement not so much entertained Elvis as it does tourists, who I

often heard gasp Oh my God!, accompanied by hushed giggling, upon realizing that no room

in Presleys home was safe from his tasteless, lottery-winner interior design. I know that I was

definitely entertainedafter passing through that part of the house.

Upon exiting the tomb/haunted mansion, ones vision is restored to normalcy, as the

grounds outside are of a conservative ambiance; as a stark contrast between the excesses of the

interior and the quiet, thoughtful, and introspective solitude of the grounds and outlying

buildings outside, one begins to wonder if Elvis projected an inverse, dual personality onto his

estate; Elvis was a showman on the outside, but a quiet, thoughtful, extremely intelligent man on


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the inside, away from the public. In contrast, the exterior of Presleys domain represented peace

and serenity, while the interior looked like any number of poorly-executed, loud, and overdone

stage backgrounds that might have been behind Elvis during the filming of any one of his many

crappy movies.

The home has an embalmed feel to it: Elvis is perfectly preserved outside in his casket,

buried in the meditation garden with his mother and father, the house is also perfectly preserved

inside, as if Graceland was the worlds first working tomb, reliving Presleys last day into

oblivion, in some sort of macabre version of Bill Murrays epic movie, Groundhog Day, but in

this version, only Graceland wakes up every February 2nd to Sonny and Cher, and Elvis is still

pushing daisies outside.

I still do not know what to make of it. To me, the entire Elvis Presley experience has an

almost religious feel to it, as if Graceland is the Holy Land of Presley fanatics, where, like Jesus

Christ before him, Elvis walks with mere mortals every day, performing miracles big and small

through his music. When you really begin to take a look behind the curtain, and cast aside any

theocratic connotations, stripping away Presleys success reveals a man who was just as weird

and erratic as any other normal human being, but millions of people still worship him

nonetheless.

My father walked away a bit disenfranchised. He was among the Elvis faithful, and I

believe was disappointed because the rest of his family didnt share his religion, sort of like

being Jewish and discovering that all of your kids have just became atheists. It probably also did

not help that his two sons mocked his musical savior at every turn, with one of those kids being a

rather talented smart-ass, able to find something funny about pretty much anything and

everything. I walked away from Graceland with a set of questions that has never really been


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adequately answered, and an amazing case of gas pains, in which combined with my brothers

also-distressing gastronomical problems, created a rather stinky problem for the trip home, as my

brother and I began a severe, two-hundred-mile-long farting contest, in which every window in

the van was opened, but did nothing to alleviate the waste-processing-plant stench that was

emanating from our rears as the 70-mph, freeway-flying winds howled through the open

windows.

Oh, and by the way, concerning Colonel Tom Parker faking his death so he could flee his

native Holland? Apparently there is an interesting bit of evidence that Elvis may not be buried

out in the grave in the meditation garden, and may have faked his own death as wellbut that is

a topic for another paper.

If you are ever in Memphis, Tennessee, the current price of a ticket to tour Graceland is

$27. You have to see it at least once. Keep in mind that you need to stay the hell away on two

specific dates, otherwiseyou just might join Elvis in the Great Beyondwherever that might

be. Also remember to leave your intelligence at the door.

500 miles to graceland

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