My “Secret Subject” is:
Imagine it’s 1977. It’s January 8, Elvis Presley’s birthday. You have been chosen to have a dinner with him. Tell us all about your encounter!
It was submitted by: http://thethreegerbers.blogspot.ch/
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It’s actually pretty interesting that I got this prompt considering the ongoing novel I have been working on (and have stalled on) in my very limited amount of spare time has Elvis as a main focus. I wouldn’t exactly say he’s a character but more or less a plot tool. Of sorts. It’s complicated.
That’s not to say I’m exactly an Elvis fan.
He’s sort of hailed as the King of Rock, but he’d pretty much been influenced by others before him who didn’t have the privilege of being white and handsome. He didn’t know how to play the guitar all that well and many of his hit songs were either covers or written by someone else. He was, maybe, one of the first big pop music stars—he was a good looking, hip-gyrating frontman with a good voice who made it easy on the media to have a controversy without risking too much by covering the many, many, many minority artists who were actually creating music. Yes, he had a great sense of timing and rhythm, and yes, he was a pop culture influence, but overall, he profited off the pioneering work that other artists did. I don’t think that it was necessarily intentional, but it’s all too common a story.
Even outside of all that, I’ve never been much of a fan. The music doesn’t appeal and Elvis’ larger than life personality was not really my thing. He always said he was destined for great things, and I suppose he achieved that, but he was never really my cup of tea.
That being said, by January 1977, Elvis was pretty near the end of his road. He died in August of that same year, a heart attack caused by his lifestyle choices and a host of physical ailments. Between a fatty diet and an addiction to numerous prescription pain medications, it’s honestly surprising he lived as long as he did. So at that point, if the pills hadn’t made him completely incoherent, sitting down to dinner would be fascinating research for my book. I’d want to know everything he would tell me while studying his mannerisms and how he moved even when he was seated. Describing those things in book form without having seen more than a few youtube videos is difficult, and it’s something I really want to nail. The details draw you into a story more than anything sometimes. I mean, I guess that’s a matter of opinion. When I meet a fellow reader who, unlike me, isn’t a fan of Stephen King, it’s typically because his attention to meandering detail drives them mad more than anything else. But, for me, the details are important, and these details, to make the entire storyline something you’re willing to buy into for a time, can make or break the effort.
I want to ask questions about who he was in 1965 and ’66 and ’67. I want to know what changed him, what moved him, what made him sigh. I need to know how it felt being on that stage and if he ever felt like some sort of divine totem and why people still idolize him even now like he’s some sort of god. What I really want to know is what other people see in Elvis that I don’t quite get and how it is that this man captivated so many people for so damn long.
It wasn’t the sheer enormity of his talent for fuck’s sake.
Pop stars now have that same ability to charm and captivate, but not to the same degree, and that’s what I feel like I’m missing. Maybe it has more to do with modern society. I mean, we’ve seen it all at this point considering some of our biggest celebrities these days gained fame by being recorded having sex with other shitty people. Maybe we’re too desensitized to get swept up in someone the way people did over Elvis. Maybe we’re too critical and self-absorbed. But, being there, having that dinner could possibly answer that for me.
So without further ado, here’s the first chapter to my book. Just in case you’re interested:
*********
We all have our Idols.
I reckon that's the best way to explain what happened Tuesday at 4:15 p.m. More so, it explains what has happened in the aftermath of what I've since named "Elvis' Return To The Building." It's Friday as I stand here in the cool of the night waitin’ in the line with the rest of them—I mean the whole damn town just about--for the Big Show. Three days have passed since Elvis graced us with his presence, and I'm still pretty clueless ‘bout what’s goin’ on ‘round here, but judging by how fast this line's movin' towards the entrance doors, I imagine I'll figure a few things out pretty soon.
I have to say I don’t have a real good feelin’ ‘bout any of it, though.
Here's what I know so far.
Every single radio station, television stations, pages on the internet that do live feeds....every media outlet possible broadcast The Return. I happened to be at work. I own a bar and keep a television on for the daytime patrons, The Regulars. The Regulars consist of two guys, Frank and Percy, who I ain’t likely to get rid of no time soon. We had the T.V. on Three's Company--the episodes when Suzanne Somers was still on. Frank and Percy were down at one end of the bar arguing over whether Jack's friend, Larry, was really a gay. That’s the way they talk or the way Frank talks. Percy don’t say much. By much, I mean he don’t say nothin’ at all and hasn’t since ‘fore I knew him. Now, I ain’t exactly educated, but you won’t hear me arguing with a mute ‘bout whether or not some fictional character on a long-gone television show is some kind of homosexual. And you surely won’t hear me refer to him as “a gay.” My mama raised me better than that. But, that’s Frank, and Percy’s just along for the ride it seems.
Anyhow, the TV screen went black in the middle of a closeup of Somers and her school-girlish pigtails. She’s what you might call the essence of every dumb blonde joke, that Chrissy Snow. I was lookin’ at the screen thinkin’ how that schoolgirl thing she had goin’ on ain’t as appealin’ as it was meant to be not to me at least when "Are You Lonesome Tonight?" began to play. In the middle of the slideshow of schoolgirl types that was playin’ in my head, I thought, What is this bullshit? just before the screen showed a young Elvis descending onto a stage from the heavens. And when I say young Elvis, I mean 50s Elvis not bloated and sad 70s Elvis…not back from the dead, skeletonized, zombie Elvis either. This was the real thing if seein’ is believin’ as they say. The Elvis much of the country fell in love with way back when.
"What the fuck s'wrong with the TV, Mack?"
"Can't be the TV, Frank," I'd replied. "Just bought the damn thing. Cost me 600 bucks down at Wal-Mart. Maybe it's the cable or the channel itself." I grabbed the remote and changed the station but every channel I flipped to played the same thing. I had flipped full circle and come back the original channel when the screen started to close in on Elvis while the music simultaneously quieted down.
"Aw, horseshit," I had yelled down the bar to Percy and Frank. "You guys into Elvis?"
"Naw, Mack, not since I was a kid. You?"
"Nope." I'd powered the thing off by then and walked over to the satellite radio hookup I had over behind the bar. I kept it on Sirius’s Classic Vinyl channel playing all the greats from Rock ‘n Roll history (no Elvis). Everyone seemed to like it just fine when we weren't in the mood for daytime television bullshit. But, as soon as I pushed the power button, Elvis' undeniable voice blasted through the speakers.
"Thank you. Thank you very much."
I'd heard no applause. But, of course, Elvis continued on.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I've got a whole lotta shakin' up to do tonight. I'm here to give you some news that may be hard to stomach at first. The King is back, folks. Ever since I was a kid, I knew God had something special in store for me. When I passed on to the heavens above, He asked me for a personal concert then told me how I was his son and that I'd return one day to this world to fulfill his plan. I'm here, folks, to do just that. The gospel foretold of this day. I am the King, as always, but I have returned to my people, my fans as Christ. I know there will be doubts, but as I have always said, truth is like the sun. You can shut it out for a time, but it ain't goin' away.”
The station went to silence then. Nothing I did to the radio or the T.V. would work. Every channel was static. In the thick quiet of the bar, I poured us all a shot of my best scotch. TV, radio, even the Internet from what I hear...none of it has worked since.
This line's movin' slower than I first thought or maybe my nerves is just gettin’ the best of me now. I’m a bit antsy—that kind where you pop every knuckle in your hand 15 times just to have something to do with yourself. I have no fucking idea what's going to happen, pardon my language. But, sitting at home tonight wasn't an option. That thing that looks like Elvis and is calling itself the messiah made that much pretty clear the second time we saw it. That was Wednesday morning at about 10:30. We were all waiting for it, really. With nothing else to entertain us, the stories had already gotten pretty wild. Of course, the crazies were already out in full force, too. The gossips, the newspaper, every customer, every whispered word held stories of what could be going on. It was really Elvis after a lot of plastic surgery. This is the one people who were sure he'd never died, The Elvis Spotters, were always going on about. Then there were The Invaders. These people were sure it was aliens. Jesus Freaks were divided. Some said God would never pick such a loose hipped rock star to represent Jesus, Lord and Savior. The real nasty ones referred to him more as a drug-fueled, egomaniacal demon sent to take the first born of every man in the county, but that’s a bit much, ain’t it? The other Freaks thought it was a comforting, modern image...and smart of God to use such a recognizable, trusted face. The Conspiracy Theorists decided it was a government experiment and then The Desperate Housewives with their Elvis memorabilia in the form of Russell Stover collectible tins and Ty Beanie Babies were ready to be led like sheep to a slaughter. Everyone else, which was just me, Frank, and Percy far as I could tell, just sort of waited on some answers.
Strange world we live in.
So, Wednesday at 10:30 in the a.m. Every television, radio, computer, even mp3 players and intercom systems announced another speech when they simultaneously began to play Elvis' version of Amazing Grace. Wasn’t a single one of them things on when it happened. Not in the bar anyway. But it happened anyway. We were all on the edge of our proverbial seats, though, right where that...thing...wanted us. And we all hung on every word. I know I did. Frank and Percy had their eyes glued to the television set from their end of the bar, too. We were caught up in the power of it, but who wouldn’t be?
He didn’t descend from the sky this time, but he did his routine of playing to the audience—that’d be us and whoever else was watchin’. He was wearin’ a leather suit like he did in the 1968 Comeback Special, but this one was white instead of black. His shirt was black and the tie was white with just a hint of twinkling sequins—that familiar Elvis flamboyance was there but slight. He took a knee at each end of the stage, waving and blowing kisses like an ass finally stopping in the middle and raising both arms making his suit jacket stretch and pull at the buttons. Behind him, a line of gentlemen stepped out from the shadows. Some I knew right off and some I didn’t.
“Mack, who the fuck are they?”
“Shut your loud mouth, Frank. We ain’t never gonna find out if you talk through the whole thing.”
Elvis let his arms down then and stood to take the microphone.
"Thank you for more of your time, ladies and gentlemen. I'll be brief so we can all get on with our day and prepare. As some of you may have figured out, it's time for my next big comeback tour. We're callin' this one The Judgement. We've got a lot of dates and stops to make to fit all you folks in. I won’t leave a single soul in my flock behind, don’t ya’ll worry. That’s why I ain't doing this tour alone. I've got some good ol' boys to help me out. My apostles. Let me introduce you. This here's Peter, one of my original disciples. You might be more familiar with him as Bobby Fuller. That there is Andrew. Some people call him Dimebag but Darrell seems more appropriate, don't it, son? That's James the Greater. His name here was Rhett Forrester. James the Lesser was, well, not too well known as Jaco Pastorius. Then, there's my dear John who was named Joe Strummer for some time. My man down towards the end of the stage there is Philip better known as Peter Tosh. This guy here is John Bonham to you all but I've known him as Bartholomew. Next to Bartholomew is Matthew. He lived here in the Rolling Stones as Brian Jones. That guy down near Philip who's got his back turned is Thomas. Turn on around, son, and let them get a look at their beloved Jim Morrison. He's a little shy or he likes to play it anyhow. On this side of Thomas, there's Thaddeus. He looks so much like his daddy, that Jeff Buckley. The kid jerkin' 'round in the middle there is Simon. You probably know the name Woody Guthrie even if you don't recognize him. And then back here behind everyone hiding out is Judas. Come on out and show them your face, Kurt. Kurt Cobain to those who might know the face. Come on, now. They aren't going to stone you... That's everybody, ain't it? Yeah, so anyway, folks, you'll be getting a list of tour dates in the mail. We all expect you to be at one of these dates. It's free. Get on a bus or drive your car. Walk. It don't matter none. We'll take care of it. Just come to the show. If we have to come looking for you, you've ruined any chance you've got at salvation. We just don't have long enough for that. I expect you'll have your mail today. The first date is Friday. Now, I've been getting some bad publicity--you got to expect that. But, I also expect to see ya'll there all the same."
And that was that. The screen went black again and I poured shot after shot until I ran out of scotch.
Here are links to all the sites now featuring Secret Subject Swap posts. Sit back, grab a cup, and check them all out. See you there:
Baking In A Tornado http://www.bakinginatornado.com/2017/01/secret-subject-swap-coming-clean.html
Dinosaur Superhero Mommy http://dinoheromommy.com/2017/01/06/happy-new-year/
I reckon that's the best way to explain what happened Tuesday at 4:15 p.m. More so, it explains what has happened in the aftermath of what I've since named "Elvis' Return To The Building." It's Friday as I stand here in the cool of the night waitin’ in the line with the rest of them—I mean the whole damn town just about--for the Big Show. Three days have passed since Elvis graced us with his presence, and I'm still pretty clueless ‘bout what’s goin’ on ‘round here, but judging by how fast this line's movin' towards the entrance doors, I imagine I'll figure a few things out pretty soon.
I have to say I don’t have a real good feelin’ ‘bout any of it, though.
Here's what I know so far.
Every single radio station, television stations, pages on the internet that do live feeds....every media outlet possible broadcast The Return. I happened to be at work. I own a bar and keep a television on for the daytime patrons, The Regulars. The Regulars consist of two guys, Frank and Percy, who I ain’t likely to get rid of no time soon. We had the T.V. on Three's Company--the episodes when Suzanne Somers was still on. Frank and Percy were down at one end of the bar arguing over whether Jack's friend, Larry, was really a gay. That’s the way they talk or the way Frank talks. Percy don’t say much. By much, I mean he don’t say nothin’ at all and hasn’t since ‘fore I knew him. Now, I ain’t exactly educated, but you won’t hear me arguing with a mute ‘bout whether or not some fictional character on a long-gone television show is some kind of homosexual. And you surely won’t hear me refer to him as “a gay.” My mama raised me better than that. But, that’s Frank, and Percy’s just along for the ride it seems.
Anyhow, the TV screen went black in the middle of a closeup of Somers and her school-girlish pigtails. She’s what you might call the essence of every dumb blonde joke, that Chrissy Snow. I was lookin’ at the screen thinkin’ how that schoolgirl thing she had goin’ on ain’t as appealin’ as it was meant to be not to me at least when "Are You Lonesome Tonight?" began to play. In the middle of the slideshow of schoolgirl types that was playin’ in my head, I thought, What is this bullshit? just before the screen showed a young Elvis descending onto a stage from the heavens. And when I say young Elvis, I mean 50s Elvis not bloated and sad 70s Elvis…not back from the dead, skeletonized, zombie Elvis either. This was the real thing if seein’ is believin’ as they say. The Elvis much of the country fell in love with way back when.
"What the fuck s'wrong with the TV, Mack?"
"Can't be the TV, Frank," I'd replied. "Just bought the damn thing. Cost me 600 bucks down at Wal-Mart. Maybe it's the cable or the channel itself." I grabbed the remote and changed the station but every channel I flipped to played the same thing. I had flipped full circle and come back the original channel when the screen started to close in on Elvis while the music simultaneously quieted down.
"Aw, horseshit," I had yelled down the bar to Percy and Frank. "You guys into Elvis?"
"Naw, Mack, not since I was a kid. You?"
"Nope." I'd powered the thing off by then and walked over to the satellite radio hookup I had over behind the bar. I kept it on Sirius’s Classic Vinyl channel playing all the greats from Rock ‘n Roll history (no Elvis). Everyone seemed to like it just fine when we weren't in the mood for daytime television bullshit. But, as soon as I pushed the power button, Elvis' undeniable voice blasted through the speakers.
"Thank you. Thank you very much."
I'd heard no applause. But, of course, Elvis continued on.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I've got a whole lotta shakin' up to do tonight. I'm here to give you some news that may be hard to stomach at first. The King is back, folks. Ever since I was a kid, I knew God had something special in store for me. When I passed on to the heavens above, He asked me for a personal concert then told me how I was his son and that I'd return one day to this world to fulfill his plan. I'm here, folks, to do just that. The gospel foretold of this day. I am the King, as always, but I have returned to my people, my fans as Christ. I know there will be doubts, but as I have always said, truth is like the sun. You can shut it out for a time, but it ain't goin' away.”
The station went to silence then. Nothing I did to the radio or the T.V. would work. Every channel was static. In the thick quiet of the bar, I poured us all a shot of my best scotch. TV, radio, even the Internet from what I hear...none of it has worked since.
This line's movin' slower than I first thought or maybe my nerves is just gettin’ the best of me now. I’m a bit antsy—that kind where you pop every knuckle in your hand 15 times just to have something to do with yourself. I have no fucking idea what's going to happen, pardon my language. But, sitting at home tonight wasn't an option. That thing that looks like Elvis and is calling itself the messiah made that much pretty clear the second time we saw it. That was Wednesday morning at about 10:30. We were all waiting for it, really. With nothing else to entertain us, the stories had already gotten pretty wild. Of course, the crazies were already out in full force, too. The gossips, the newspaper, every customer, every whispered word held stories of what could be going on. It was really Elvis after a lot of plastic surgery. This is the one people who were sure he'd never died, The Elvis Spotters, were always going on about. Then there were The Invaders. These people were sure it was aliens. Jesus Freaks were divided. Some said God would never pick such a loose hipped rock star to represent Jesus, Lord and Savior. The real nasty ones referred to him more as a drug-fueled, egomaniacal demon sent to take the first born of every man in the county, but that’s a bit much, ain’t it? The other Freaks thought it was a comforting, modern image...and smart of God to use such a recognizable, trusted face. The Conspiracy Theorists decided it was a government experiment and then The Desperate Housewives with their Elvis memorabilia in the form of Russell Stover collectible tins and Ty Beanie Babies were ready to be led like sheep to a slaughter. Everyone else, which was just me, Frank, and Percy far as I could tell, just sort of waited on some answers.
Strange world we live in.
So, Wednesday at 10:30 in the a.m. Every television, radio, computer, even mp3 players and intercom systems announced another speech when they simultaneously began to play Elvis' version of Amazing Grace. Wasn’t a single one of them things on when it happened. Not in the bar anyway. But it happened anyway. We were all on the edge of our proverbial seats, though, right where that...thing...wanted us. And we all hung on every word. I know I did. Frank and Percy had their eyes glued to the television set from their end of the bar, too. We were caught up in the power of it, but who wouldn’t be?
He didn’t descend from the sky this time, but he did his routine of playing to the audience—that’d be us and whoever else was watchin’. He was wearin’ a leather suit like he did in the 1968 Comeback Special, but this one was white instead of black. His shirt was black and the tie was white with just a hint of twinkling sequins—that familiar Elvis flamboyance was there but slight. He took a knee at each end of the stage, waving and blowing kisses like an ass finally stopping in the middle and raising both arms making his suit jacket stretch and pull at the buttons. Behind him, a line of gentlemen stepped out from the shadows. Some I knew right off and some I didn’t.
“Mack, who the fuck are they?”
“Shut your loud mouth, Frank. We ain’t never gonna find out if you talk through the whole thing.”
Elvis let his arms down then and stood to take the microphone.
"Thank you for more of your time, ladies and gentlemen. I'll be brief so we can all get on with our day and prepare. As some of you may have figured out, it's time for my next big comeback tour. We're callin' this one The Judgement. We've got a lot of dates and stops to make to fit all you folks in. I won’t leave a single soul in my flock behind, don’t ya’ll worry. That’s why I ain't doing this tour alone. I've got some good ol' boys to help me out. My apostles. Let me introduce you. This here's Peter, one of my original disciples. You might be more familiar with him as Bobby Fuller. That there is Andrew. Some people call him Dimebag but Darrell seems more appropriate, don't it, son? That's James the Greater. His name here was Rhett Forrester. James the Lesser was, well, not too well known as Jaco Pastorius. Then, there's my dear John who was named Joe Strummer for some time. My man down towards the end of the stage there is Philip better known as Peter Tosh. This guy here is John Bonham to you all but I've known him as Bartholomew. Next to Bartholomew is Matthew. He lived here in the Rolling Stones as Brian Jones. That guy down near Philip who's got his back turned is Thomas. Turn on around, son, and let them get a look at their beloved Jim Morrison. He's a little shy or he likes to play it anyhow. On this side of Thomas, there's Thaddeus. He looks so much like his daddy, that Jeff Buckley. The kid jerkin' 'round in the middle there is Simon. You probably know the name Woody Guthrie even if you don't recognize him. And then back here behind everyone hiding out is Judas. Come on out and show them your face, Kurt. Kurt Cobain to those who might know the face. Come on, now. They aren't going to stone you... That's everybody, ain't it? Yeah, so anyway, folks, you'll be getting a list of tour dates in the mail. We all expect you to be at one of these dates. It's free. Get on a bus or drive your car. Walk. It don't matter none. We'll take care of it. Just come to the show. If we have to come looking for you, you've ruined any chance you've got at salvation. We just don't have long enough for that. I expect you'll have your mail today. The first date is Friday. Now, I've been getting some bad publicity--you got to expect that. But, I also expect to see ya'll there all the same."
And that was that. The screen went black again and I poured shot after shot until I ran out of scotch.
____________________________________________
Here are links to all the sites now featuring Secret Subject Swap posts. Sit back, grab a cup, and check them all out. See you there:
Baking In A Tornado http://www.bakinginatornado.com/2017/01/secret-subject-swap-coming-clean.html
Dinosaur Superhero Mommy http://dinoheromommy.com/2017/01/06/happy-new-year/
Spatulas on Parade http://spatulasonparade.blogspot.com/2017/01/ranch-cheesy-potato-bake-and-sss.html
The Diary of an Alzheimer’s Caregiver http://www.thediaryofanalzheimerscaregiver.com/blog.html
The Lieber Family Blog http://www.thelieberfamily.com/2017/01/a-collection-of-cat-stories-and-food.html
Confessions of a part time working mom http://thethreegerbers.blogspot.com/2017/01/january-secret-subject-swap-embrace.html
Simply Shannon http://shannonbutler.org
Never Ever Give Up Hope http://batteredhope.blogspot.com
The Bergham Chronicles http://berghamchronicles.blogspot.com/2017/01/the-game-of-life-jan-2017.html
A Little Piece of Peace http://little-piece-of-peace.blogspot.com
Southern Belle Charm http://www.southernbellecharm.com
So funny how your prompt fit right in with what you're already writing.
ReplyDeleteAll the music greats for so many different genres come back to speak the gospel. Amazing. Now I'm wondering if you're going to share chapter two?
What a concert that would be!
ReplyDeleteHahahaha, Jenniy, you've let your imagination run wild! Elvis, the plot tool, and his musical apostles are here to save us!
ReplyDeleteI don't consider myself being an Elvis fan, but I certainly like him and some of his music. I think he was a lonely and charitable guy with a big heart.
When we were in Tennessee a couple of years ago we visited Graceland, and even though many things seem tacky to me (the furniture in his mansion, the plastic flowers at his family's grave) you get an idea of what it must have been like to be a victim of your success.
I'm not an Elvis fan either, but my son is. We took him to Graceland for his 13th birthday. It was a pretty cool house, but it seems small in today's micro-mansion world. So we're touring the house and we get to his grave which is the very last thing you do before you hop on a bus to ride across the damn street. We're standing there and this woman is crying like he just died in her arms. My daughter was 9 and this ladies sobbing has pretty much terrified her so she walked between this woman and the grave to get to me quickly. This woman grabs her by the arm and jerks her out of the way. Hard enough to leave red marks on her arm! I went bat-shit crazy and told the woman she was about to join her beloved. I swung (yes, not my proudest moment), but my husband who knows me better than I know myself grabbed my arm just before it connected with the side of her face. So yes, I almost got arrest at Elvis' grave!
ReplyDeletehahahaha that's the best story. I would be the same way if someone did that to my child, no doubt
DeleteCan't wait to read more! Love it
ReplyDelete