A Crow That Makes Me Laugh
“Without Me”
“Though I’m not the first king of controversy
I am the worst thing since Elvis Presley
To do black music so selfishly
And use it to get myself wealthy
Hey, there’s a concept that works
Twenty million other white rappers emerge
But no matter how many fish in the sea
It will be so empty without me…”
LINK
Memphis, Tennessee (2013)
Growing up, I always thought Elvis was one big joke.
I never considered him as a serious artist.
I was too busy being snarky and ironic.
I blame Mojo Nixon.
When he died in 1977, I remember my Mother actually crying.
In retrospect, he was born the same year my Dad was (1931). If he was alive today, he’d be 90. (My Dad will be 90 in October.)
Many people don’t know it, but Elvis had a twin who died during childbirth.
Biographers claim it haunted him all his life.
I remember watching “Rattle And Hum” (or “Prattle And Dumb” as its critics would refer to it) and watching my hero, Larry Mullen, Jr., dismissively talk about his experience at Graceland and assert that Elvis had been buried in the backyard like some dead dog.
That had an effect on me.
Growing up in the almost immediate aftermath of his death and legacy, Elvis was a punchline. A fat buffoon. A clown.
He was the kind of artist you sang pseudo-ironically. Pope was exceptional at this.
(I already mentioned how he brought the house down during karaoke in Biloxi. Or perhaps that was Clarence Carter.)
So, I was in Memphis as support with a female agent on an investigation she had and we had a bit of downtime. I had already mapped out the hotspots we should go see, including The Peabody Hotel and the Lorraine Motel where MLK had been assassinated.
But during the afternoon of our first day we had about a four hour open block between interviews in which I suggested we go to Graceland.
I proposed the idea not because I had some special love of Elvis, but simply because that is what you did when you visited a shithole town like Memphis.
(Sorry, but it’s true. If you’ve been there you know exactly what I’m talking about.)
So, we agreed to go to Graceland and I changed clothes and got in a comfortable shirt and some cargo pants.
She stayed in her business attire.
On the drive over she asked me what I did with my gun?
I told her I had disassembled it and left it in multiple parts hidden in my hotel room.
She told me she was still carrying hers.
I told her that might be a problem, but far be it from me to tell and experienced agent what to do.
When we got to Graceland, I offhandedly told her she might want to leave her gun in the car.
She said she wasn’t going to do that and was sure she could badge her way through.
I sighed and told her to have it her way.
We got in line and she was very fidgety. She was overdressed and looked out of place.
We wound our way through the gift shop and towards the busses that would carry us across the road to the Mansion of the King when I noticed there were magnetometers before you could proceed.
I gestured towards them and once again suggested she return her firearm to the car.
She once again insisted that all would be fine and she would badge her way in.
We got to the security officials and I was able to pass through without a problem.
My colleague, however, tripped all of the alarms which blared like she had tried to bust into Fort Knox and a bevy of Graceland security officials soon descended upon her.
As I stood to the side silently laughing, she tried to show her badge and explain she was an authorized law enforcement official, only for them to tell her that, while that was all well and good, she would need to go back to her car and secure her pistol therein.
As she began her walk of shame back to the parking lot where our lonely car awaited, she caught my eye and I gave her a shrug.
(As an aside, whenever I’d tell that story, I’d make sure to mention how the mighty federal agent had been ignominiously disarmed by Graceland security.)
The tour of Graceland was everything I could have ever wanted and more.
With regard to my appreciation of Elvis, I realized what a fool I had been.
Only after touring his former mansion did I realize how supremely talented he had been.
At one point while touring his racquetball court adorned with all of the gold and platinum records he had received over the course of his amazing life, the audio tour I was listening to played “If I Can Dream.”
I remember that moment as if it was yesterday.
I stopped where I had been disinterestedly shuffling along and paused while looking at one of his sequined costumes and let the music wash over me.
I wasn’t even watching his fabulous life-affirming and life-saving performance. I was just listening to the music.
And I knew right then and there how I had misjudged the man.
We visited his grave and I laughed inwardly to see the acronym “TCB” engraved on his tombstone.
He was buried next to his Mother and Father.
Absolutely nothing wrong with that, Larry.
Song Of Ajax 