Elvis Presley|Long gone but still #1
Dec
23
Filed Under (Elvis Presley) by georgejones
Andy Andersohn asked:
Recruitment Agencies: An interesting job oportunity awaits if you look like someone famous-living or dead.
Has anyone ever told you that you look like a celebrity or a politician, living or dead? If you look like Abraham Lincoln, Elvis Presley or some current star there are recruitment agencies looking for you.
There are recruitment agencies that go out of their way to look like someone else. Being misleading is what these agencies do. These agencies are very specialized and provide a service like a talent agency.
Recruitment look alike agencies are a specialized recruitment agency service. These places employ celebrity look-alikes and provide the services of a booking agent for the look-alikes.
Surprisingly, celebrity look-alikes are more popular than the average person might guess: major companies have used celebrity look-alikes to draw attention to their stores or products, and the look-alikes are even used as stunt doubles for movies. It seems the uses for a celebrity look alikes is constantly growing.
Recruitment Agencies fill the same purpose for celebrity look alikes that a talent agency or a talent representative serves for an actual celebrity. Essentially, celebrity look alikes are actors and actresses; they need to book “shows” just like any other actor, so they relay on an agent. Recruitment look alike agencies simply find companies that need a celebrity look alike for any number of reasons, and then the agency matches the desired celebrity look alike to the event.
Some of the larger recruitment look alike agencies have more than one look alike for each popular celebrity. For example, there is usually more than one Angelina Jolie or Johnny Depp celebrity look alike at an agency. For less popular celebrities like Mel Gibson or Nicole Kidman, there is usually only one look alike. Some of the more famous, classic cinema and music stars also have more than one look alike at an agency: Frank Sinatra, Sammy Davis Jr., Elvis Presley, Princess Diana, Marlene Dietrich, and Cher all usually have multiple look alikes.
Where do these agencies find companies that want to employ celebrity look alikes? Companies will usually approach reputable look alike agencies with an event and celebrity already in mind. Other companies may only have an even that needs some kind of spice, and they leave the choice of celebrity look alike up to the recruitment look alike agencies. The events that most companies will employ a look alike for vary greatly: cocktail parties, holiday parties, store openings, fundraisers and even conferences all regularly have celebrity look alikes in attendance.
In addition to booking celebrity look alikes to company events, recruitment look alike agencies also will employ look alikes with movie and TV companies. Some movie or TV companies choose to hire a celebrity look alike as a stunt or ****** double. If the actual actor or actress is unable or unwilling to shoot an especially difficult or gratuitous scene, a celebrity look alike may be called in to be the back of the celebrity’s head or even his or her back side.
So if you have been told you look like someone else, here’s a possible path for some extra money or even a career. All you have to do is look like someone else.
Chad
Recruitment Agencies: An interesting job oportunity awaits if you look like someone famous-living or dead.
Has anyone ever told you that you look like a celebrity or a politician, living or dead? If you look like Abraham Lincoln, Elvis Presley or some current star there are recruitment agencies looking for you.
There are recruitment agencies that go out of their way to look like someone else. Being misleading is what these agencies do. These agencies are very specialized and provide a service like a talent agency.
Recruitment look alike agencies are a specialized recruitment agency service. These places employ celebrity look-alikes and provide the services of a booking agent for the look-alikes.
Surprisingly, celebrity look-alikes are more popular than the average person might guess: major companies have used celebrity look-alikes to draw attention to their stores or products, and the look-alikes are even used as stunt doubles for movies. It seems the uses for a celebrity look alikes is constantly growing.
Recruitment Agencies fill the same purpose for celebrity look alikes that a talent agency or a talent representative serves for an actual celebrity. Essentially, celebrity look alikes are actors and actresses; they need to book “shows” just like any other actor, so they relay on an agent. Recruitment look alike agencies simply find companies that need a celebrity look alike for any number of reasons, and then the agency matches the desired celebrity look alike to the event.
Some of the larger recruitment look alike agencies have more than one look alike for each popular celebrity. For example, there is usually more than one Angelina Jolie or Johnny Depp celebrity look alike at an agency. For less popular celebrities like Mel Gibson or Nicole Kidman, there is usually only one look alike. Some of the more famous, classic cinema and music stars also have more than one look alike at an agency: Frank Sinatra, Sammy Davis Jr., Elvis Presley, Princess Diana, Marlene Dietrich, and Cher all usually have multiple look alikes.
Where do these agencies find companies that want to employ celebrity look alikes? Companies will usually approach reputable look alike agencies with an event and celebrity already in mind. Other companies may only have an even that needs some kind of spice, and they leave the choice of celebrity look alike up to the recruitment look alike agencies. The events that most companies will employ a look alike for vary greatly: cocktail parties, holiday parties, store openings, fundraisers and even conferences all regularly have celebrity look alikes in attendance.
In addition to booking celebrity look alikes to company events, recruitment look alike agencies also will employ look alikes with movie and TV companies. Some movie or TV companies choose to hire a celebrity look alike as a stunt or ****** double. If the actual actor or actress is unable or unwilling to shoot an especially difficult or gratuitous scene, a celebrity look alike may be called in to be the back of the celebrity’s head or even his or her back side.
So if you have been told you look like someone else, here’s a possible path for some extra money or even a career. All you have to do is look like someone else.
Chad
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Dec
17
Filed Under (Elvis Presley) by georgejones
Tyson Champagne asked:
President-elect Barack Obama won the November election with a promise of change but turning Graceland into a presidential retreat isn’t the kind of change Elvis fans had in mind. With a continuing economic crisis and an unpopular war facing the incoming administration, a Graceland move was the last thing many people expected.
“To me it seems crazy to even consider,” one man commented. “With everything that’s going on the last thing Obama should be worrying about is taking over Graceland.”
An informal poll suggests that a majority of people are bewildered by the idea that the president-elect would even consider using the Presley estate as a Camp David of the mid-south. The question on people’s minds is: Could it really happen?
So far there is no reason to think that Graceland will be used in an official presidential capacity in the near future. Obama aides have said nothing publicly about the purported move and it is widely accepted that any such announcement would by highly unpopular. Many feel that, in such uncertain economic times, Presley’s opulent Memphis mansion would be an insensitive choice as presidential retreat. The move could also spark a backlash from Presley fans who would likely face restricted access to the popular site.
It is unclear where the idea of a new retreat originated as Camp David has met the requirements of sitting presidents since Franklin D. Roosevelt. How Graceland came to be considered for the role is also speculation at this point, although some feel it may be due to the success of President George W. Bush’s official visit to Graceland with Japanese Prime Minister Junichiro Koizumi in 2006.
Details about the situation have not been forthcoming from the Presley camp. Lisa Marie Presley, Elvis’ daughter and owner of Graceland, has not made a statement regarding any possible Obama plans. Robert F X Sillerman, founder of CKX, Inc. which purchased 85% of Elvis Presley Enterprises in 2004, has also not commented.
Overall, the consensus appears to be that commandeering a beloved historic landmark for use as a private presidential retreat would be a politically risky move by a first term president. The potential political fallout makes such a bold endeavor unlikely. Also, without public confirmation from the Obama camp, Lisa Marie Presley, or Elvis Presley Enterprises, any talk of Graceland as a presidential retreat is, at this point, pure speculation.
Michael
President-elect Barack Obama won the November election with a promise of change but turning Graceland into a presidential retreat isn’t the kind of change Elvis fans had in mind. With a continuing economic crisis and an unpopular war facing the incoming administration, a Graceland move was the last thing many people expected.
“To me it seems crazy to even consider,” one man commented. “With everything that’s going on the last thing Obama should be worrying about is taking over Graceland.”
An informal poll suggests that a majority of people are bewildered by the idea that the president-elect would even consider using the Presley estate as a Camp David of the mid-south. The question on people’s minds is: Could it really happen?
So far there is no reason to think that Graceland will be used in an official presidential capacity in the near future. Obama aides have said nothing publicly about the purported move and it is widely accepted that any such announcement would by highly unpopular. Many feel that, in such uncertain economic times, Presley’s opulent Memphis mansion would be an insensitive choice as presidential retreat. The move could also spark a backlash from Presley fans who would likely face restricted access to the popular site.
It is unclear where the idea of a new retreat originated as Camp David has met the requirements of sitting presidents since Franklin D. Roosevelt. How Graceland came to be considered for the role is also speculation at this point, although some feel it may be due to the success of President George W. Bush’s official visit to Graceland with Japanese Prime Minister Junichiro Koizumi in 2006.
Details about the situation have not been forthcoming from the Presley camp. Lisa Marie Presley, Elvis’ daughter and owner of Graceland, has not made a statement regarding any possible Obama plans. Robert F X Sillerman, founder of CKX, Inc. which purchased 85% of Elvis Presley Enterprises in 2004, has also not commented.
Overall, the consensus appears to be that commandeering a beloved historic landmark for use as a private presidential retreat would be a politically risky move by a first term president. The potential political fallout makes such a bold endeavor unlikely. Also, without public confirmation from the Obama camp, Lisa Marie Presley, or Elvis Presley Enterprises, any talk of Graceland as a presidential retreat is, at this point, pure speculation.
Michael
Comments Off
Dec
01
Filed Under (Elvis Presley) by georgejones
Karen Cole Peralta asked:
By the way . . . I’m not ******. And life itself is ludicrously sexist. Our Baptist Church was colored only, and we worked very hard for civil rights during those times, but hardly at all for women’s rights. This story is partly about that silent and much neglected fact.
When the Negro menfolk in front of the fateful scene at the colored hotel got together for the photo of the murder of Dr. Kane, they pointed their arms wildly in circles, more or less in the direction of the sniper. Shocked utmost, they couldn’t think or point straight. They had been the great black man’s protective entourage. Lots of people would have died to have taken those bullets, and those young men were no exception. But it was too late; Dr. Kane was dead of several gunshot wounds in his hotel room.
So the men were quite put out, completely frightened witless, as they gesticulated like waving palm fronds in a house fire. Screaming loudly, appearing to be forever lost, they were nonetheless an equivocal bloblike group of all male togetherness. I stood there, trying to get to the hotel room, unable to push past their bunched up moving group.
I was the maid. I had to go inside, into Dr. Kane’s hotel room. I had the equipment around the corner. I was waiting - because I was stark staring terrified the sniper would shoot me. He was right around the corner on the opposite side of the tracks, only about a hundred feet away. And he had a gun with an excellent sight. Pausing momentarily, I was standing there realizing something, and then I hated myself completely. I had been told by our hotel management to go mop up the room.
I had to get at the hotel room’s towels first. I would be cleaning up some excess blood, slightly. And of course, in the popular and famous colored hotel we were working at, the towels ran short sometimes. I was stuck taking the blame for that, and they were constantly threatening to fire me from my job for breathing. In spite of them, I liked the man who had been kindly staying at our hotel - for being what he wasn’t: a fat comic.
Dying in public was such a martyr thing to do. Martin the Martyr - what a name, what a fate. He was a serious victim like me, a social pawn. I was in love with the guy for breathing, even though he wasn’t. I still wanted to. Anyway, I was stuck standing there, idiotically wondering if James Earl Ray, the assassin as it turned out, liked to shoot hotel maids.
I finally let out a dry chuckle. Both of those young men, famous and infamous, would have to face a terrible final reckoning. Life was totally unjust and unfair. I had no real man in my life to take care of me. Also, I had no unearthly paradise known as Heaven, especially anymore. Now that Dr. Kane was dead, who knew what was going to happen next?
Trembling with both fear and rage, I had a feeling the murderer was going to shoot me. Meanwhile, I had to plan something to get in there to mop up the room, if I wanted to keep my job. Coughing into my fist, I thought I’d rather be shot dead than to undergo such ridiculous indignity.
Then Joshua Jackson ran into the room. I thought, the guy is going to check on the “amazing grace character” in there, namely a Baptist fountain of blood. Y’see, our church worshipped such strange stuff as “fountains of blood of Jesus.” They hated it, but we Baptists were supposed to go be Jesus more so than we ever seemed to. It was somehow important culturally. So I wondered if he went in there to mourn, or worship.
Suddenly, it hit me that someone else was going to see it all. Childish curiosity almost got hold of my so-called “soul.” I wanted to see what was happening briefly, but felt screamingly depressed. Not because I wasn’t bathing in a fountain of Jesus’ amazing blood, like our church was always singing about, but because I had to hold my amazing job. The streets are not a pretty thing to do, especially when you’re colored in the Deep South. Mostly I had to go in and do my job, or I’d be fired.
Anyway, I waited a long time for Mr. Jackson. I thought I heard mumbling sounds and some thrashing. I waited until it settled down, figuring that while I harrumphed to myself, the amazing toy man - at least, people treated him like he was one - was getting dead in the usual way. Previous to my maid job, I had been a nurse at a county hospital. I had seen people die. I would miss the amazing toy man to myself, but I was getting impatient, and I had to get back to my house at five o’clock or five thirty and fix dinner for my abusive husband, or he might beat me - or even kill me. That’s why I didn’t suffer much over the death of Dr. Kane., aside from worrying over whether the assassin would shoot me too.
Why bother? If my death didn’t matter, why mourn someone else’s?
Coughing, I wondered if Dr. Kane abused his wife Coletta. I was a bold Coletta fan to myself in my own Hitchcockian Star Trek Twilight Zone. Fairer skinned than her husband, she was a much learned lady and his intellectual equal. I was also part white, kind of Semitic, having to hide myself from strangers, sometimes. Because I wasn’t really Jewish, but I came from those roots and looked medium toned racially impure. The hotel the great man had been killed at was one of the few places that would hire me, as back in those days places didn’t often hire colored folk, along with the white people geriatric hospital - at which I had been a bed pan orderly.
At the hospital, when someone died, we had to vacate the bed rather quickly. You don’t leave dead people lying around for very long. You get them down to the morgue and they then get shipped out by car to the funeral home. Standing around outside the hotel room was getting to be rather obtuse; I couldn’t keep the people downstairs waiting any longer. I’d have to get in there, sniper or no sniper, even if I died doing it.
So after a long time of feeling like cowering, I finally breathed a big sigh of relief and shouted, “So are you still over there yet?” I screamed really loud, but got no response. Gathering myself, I waltzed the ten million light years around my maid cart. Death was actually real. I had to leave the hotel cart behind - because it could barely fit around the wall’s corner. I thought as I left that I was to blame for not getting around it. I paused. I went back and tried to pull the cart around, and managed to get it in front of the room.
Then it dawned on me what a nice hotel this had been for a fat man who was now in Paradise. It had housed many of the greats of jazz and black culture in its time, including comedians. But Dr. Kane was not truly a fat comic, as he’d been dead serious about everything he’d ever said, which involved getting human rights for colored people and getting rid of racial segregation. I was in favor of that, but not very grateful, being an abused wife with a small daughter at home. I was not in Paradise myself, not yet, but I briefly had to wonder where “He” had gone.
He was so cool, I smiled to myself. But then, clutching my throat, I realized he was so - dead. And he was inconveniently leaving a mess for me to clean up. I frowned summarily, and froze up. But I thought, well, it’s really only some blood, nothing special I haven’t seen before. Any diseases didn’t really matter to me, as I’d been exposed to them when I’d worked in the hospital. And Mr. Jackson had raced right in as I had read he had done in the papers. The man had done his track at college.
I finally got the cart into the room by jerking and pulling it around the tight corner. I was standing behind the cart in the room with the dead great man. I was solid there for two seconds, hoping that all “great men” would die someday. One of them was coming home to me. I wondered briefly about the relationships between suns, moons and stars, and life on Venus and Mars. “Fly me to the moon,” I muttered to myself under my breath.
Meanwhile, I understood that any second now, unimportant I was possibly going to be executed. Briefly, I had seemed to see the assassin’s face by looking over yonder. Gazing down at the dead man’s corpse, I stared for a moment into an unequivocal “maybe.” I would join him by jerking around like a demented puppet, or not. My heart sunk as I realized that such a death would not have anywhere near the honor of Dr. Kane’s death. His had been an assassination; mine would be an accident. I was merely the hotel room maid - and was being made fun of by impertinent people.
Would the gunman shoot me? And for that matter, did I really care? At least we’d go down in history together, although I could only picture the brief newspaper story reading, “Maid dies after Dr. Kane.” I had been involved in civil rights protests, but only as a minor participant. I was a nobody.
Gazing off into the far distance, I twisted my narrow lips into a thin smile, daydreaming that one of these overgrown boys had summarily died for me. I was about to make up for the debt through my chosen husband if I didn’t get home in time, and I was immobilized by the thing called death that was behind me. What if the crazy sniper so much as saw another human back? Would I find a proper towel in time? What about the fat man’s lacy white kerchief? Would they arrest me if they thought I had stolen that? And that thing on the floor was no longer human; it was a motionless death trap. In the shadows, it loomed large - as the Specter of Death.
Not to worry, I told myself. I smiled the Black Cat, an African grin that means you’re not afraid, and began the search for towels. Sooner or later, they would come to collect the body. I wrangled with myself, and then I “got it up” – already - and went to the Spartan little bathroom, did my business, and flushed it, but shakily. It was like the room was spinning all around me, a kid’s ride in an obscene amusement park, waiting to die.
I successfully wiped, washed my hands and got out, but then I remembered I needed to get some towels. I had to go back and collect them - while facing the awful cataclysm in the room behind me. The dead great man’s body was in outer space for a moment, but I was definitely in my own disembodied living body, breathing for a space of time longer.
I received the anointment of the towels in a white shaggy pile against my chest, and stalked slowly out to the room. The great man’s sad corpse was still bunched up, lying there. He was partly turned onto his right side, wearing a dark grey business suit and oozing puddles of blood.
I looked behind me to see if anyone was watching, and gave the corpse a medium kick to see if anything was going on. Nothing was, so I began the mop up with the towels. I poked him gently, and then I looked closely at his beautiful, handsome black face, so Negro and with a fine mustache.
It was extremely destroyed. It had been there, but it was not there. It was a cave with no smile, peeled back and sunken in. As it was dark in the room, I didn’t feel like throwing up, though I almost did. Throwing my head to one side, I could see out the glass window. The sniper was still over across from me, disassembling the gun. He was visibly shaken. I began to realize once again that I could see him, and so did he. What should I do?
What if I acted like I was friendly? Would he buy it, coming from a colored lady who might have loved the dead man for trying to win human rights for our people? Or would he think perhaps an underprivileged woman would not have respect for him, as his speeches had oft mentioned men and children, but not women, usually speaking of “the brotherhood of man?”
My hands trembled as I bent partway over, but I knew that I had to hurry and get home. My husband was always trying to make me come home by five or five thirty, or he’d threaten me. I glanced at my watch. Then the loudest, most obnoxious sound occurred, filling the air around my head with its sad smelliness - a final, ceremonial and gratis ****.
I breathed in an elegant, funky sigh, which was at least partly a painful sob, bending over to mop at the sunken body some more with a small face towel. I suddenly saw the larger hand towel I was looking for, scrunched up against me; it was so thick, white and fluffy, and I dabbed at my tears. I cursed myself for showing my pained feelings in front of the sniper.
Rubbing at my dripping nose, I let the towel drop from my heaving chest. I soaked up some of the major blood, waving it at the still visible sniper, and stuffed it briefly into my green apron’s pocket - while thinking something about what a great man this dead guy might be. In a world of sexism where wife abuse was common, was it possible to be great, even if you were dead – or especially if you were dead? Briefly, I wondered, and gulped.
I stuffed the red stained hand towel all the way clear down into my pocket. And I used a face towel to wipe off my right hand with the other wedding ring on it, deciding to keep only the hand towel. Sniffling, I determined to keep myself from crying - or feeling anything further. I was only soaking a towel in blood to sell it later, not mourning the dead, and this man was not a relative of mine, or anyone who could help me any further.
I left the corpse behind, and then I looked at the door that wasn’t exactly being pounded on. I heard noise, but nothing coming near the room. Well, I went out on the balcony and waved the towel at whoever was still across the way, and saw the man who had killed Dr. Kane. I waved my towel at him, smiling the Black Cat to let him know “all was well.” I was taking my chances. He was at the end of dismantling his gun, and he seemed to look down - as if his faith in humanity had greatly died.
Much relieved, I knew now he wasn’t going to shoot me. I memorized his ugly features, but figured they would find him, so I wasn’t too worried. The great man’s entourage had seen him earlier, and had probably summoned the cops. I heard later they chased him all the way to England.
I figured it was for the best. If my own husband ever murdered me, I didn’t think anything real would be done about it, so I didn’t care whether or not they caught Dr. Kane’s murderer. It didn’t bring him back to life or undo anything that had already happened. It’s not that I was ungrateful when it came to the wonderful things Dr. Kane had done. I merely needed the money. I had a young daughter to raise, and might have to leave my husband. Surely the amazing towel would make me a fortune, once I found the right collection-minded buyer.
Most importantly, I now held the amazing, blood-soaked hotel towel. The martyr-born sacred object was finally in my cold fingered grasp. I knew that it would sell someday as prime memorabilia. It had no special scent of justice on it. I walked away from my job in the room. I was going home at last. I had the most expensive towel I had ever collected in my life. I smiled. I was going to make My Favorite Martyr appear in human history later, all by myself. I had established a collector’s item - in my own greedy mind. All I had to do was wait a couple years, after the hubbub had died down.
Here came the reporters. I stepped back against the outside floor’s metal railing, and one of them brushed a certain body part as they all shoved their way into the room. I was jerking like a puppet, my heart was pounding, and I had been there and in on it, all the way. I had both an incredible story - and the hotel towel. The one from the room he’d died in, the very room!
As the flashlights popped, I turned to race down the stairs. Uneducated me was holding a small fortune in her blood-reddened apron. I collected my amazing “character,” as money-oriented as it may be, and knew I was going to be late home. If so, my husband might beat me up, or even kill me. But I had a chance at life nestled in my apron pocket.
“I **** men, all men,” I chanted to myself as I descended the first flight of stairs. “I’m doing this for my daughter and me. You can’t stop us!”
Dead men take vengeance, I suppose, from a time and a distance away. Banging into the stairs railing, I was looking down far onto the ground below. It seemed to zoom upwards, as my stomach did flips, and I lurched. Pulling away, I was diving around the stair’s corner in a lost little world that I was only too glad to throw away. The railing was there, hard, tempting me to throw myself off. Trembling, I did not jump over the edge.
“There’s no such thing as justice; I’m not evil.” I thought perhaps I lied, but while thinking I might be right. After all, when was my life ever fair? “Don’t judge my by the color of my skin; judge me by how much money I’ve got,” I breathed to myself, glancing down at the metal steps below. Their peeling paint attested to my poverty stricken life, which would surely change.
Sighing, I collected myself and “established justice” by waltzing down the stairs. It was wonderful of me to judge a man - not by his skin color - but by my amazing towel. The dead Dr. Kane had helped someone else out again. I thought to myself, surely he would approve - if he knew about it. And if not, so what? He’d be another hard headed, hard hearted man. I didn’t believe he was like that, and hoped for his blessing. Still, I felt a little guilt ridden, taking a hotel towel soaked in his dying, martyred blood, only to sell it.
I was headed home in a big fat hairy hurry with a gift from God himself in my green hotel maid apron’s pocket. I was going to keep that amazing towel for several decades, until it was worth some big bucks in the Heaven which I would surely never obtain, as it didn’t exist.
Years later, I sold the amazing “Elvis Presley” souvenir towel. I could find no one who wanted to buy the one from Dr. Kane. For you see, I told everyone that it contained the blood of the amazing “Elvis Presley.” And so I sold the towel to the one “true believer” in Elvis the Pelvis - who had tried to come on to me after I got the Black Eye from my abusive husband. The divorce had settled - and I’d gotten custody of my daughter. She had talked me out of selling the towel as Dr. Kane’s, saying that it was in poor taste to sell an American Negro martyr’s blood.
“Just say it’s Elvis Presley’s blood,” she said, “Nobody cares about him; he was only a white Indian who sang really well, not an important martyred political figure responsible for the lives of millions of people.”
I still went to my church sometimes, but it was filling up with other colored people with angry characters, so I left. I was hiding like sixty, but at least I had someone well convinced about the nature of the amazing “Elvis Presley” towel. I finally sold it on EBay, where we traded pictures, and he really went for the Elvis routine. He himself was rather handsome, and we dated - for awhile. He threw me over for some blonde ***** with a limp. He kept telling me he had to take care of her.
In my dreams, in my sleep, I was “burninhellvalkery” - my EBay username - who had sold her soul to the Devil. But I received only $500 in cash for said amazing towel. It helped put my daughter through school, and she excelled at most of her subjects. But she was killed by a drunk driver last August. She had been nice, but she tended to blame me for taking the towel of a fat - but macho - martyred Negro comic…
…away. Take it away, whoever you are. Take it away. And play jazz on it forever.
Karl
By the way . . . I’m not ******. And life itself is ludicrously sexist. Our Baptist Church was colored only, and we worked very hard for civil rights during those times, but hardly at all for women’s rights. This story is partly about that silent and much neglected fact.
When the Negro menfolk in front of the fateful scene at the colored hotel got together for the photo of the murder of Dr. Kane, they pointed their arms wildly in circles, more or less in the direction of the sniper. Shocked utmost, they couldn’t think or point straight. They had been the great black man’s protective entourage. Lots of people would have died to have taken those bullets, and those young men were no exception. But it was too late; Dr. Kane was dead of several gunshot wounds in his hotel room.
So the men were quite put out, completely frightened witless, as they gesticulated like waving palm fronds in a house fire. Screaming loudly, appearing to be forever lost, they were nonetheless an equivocal bloblike group of all male togetherness. I stood there, trying to get to the hotel room, unable to push past their bunched up moving group.
I was the maid. I had to go inside, into Dr. Kane’s hotel room. I had the equipment around the corner. I was waiting - because I was stark staring terrified the sniper would shoot me. He was right around the corner on the opposite side of the tracks, only about a hundred feet away. And he had a gun with an excellent sight. Pausing momentarily, I was standing there realizing something, and then I hated myself completely. I had been told by our hotel management to go mop up the room.
I had to get at the hotel room’s towels first. I would be cleaning up some excess blood, slightly. And of course, in the popular and famous colored hotel we were working at, the towels ran short sometimes. I was stuck taking the blame for that, and they were constantly threatening to fire me from my job for breathing. In spite of them, I liked the man who had been kindly staying at our hotel - for being what he wasn’t: a fat comic.
Dying in public was such a martyr thing to do. Martin the Martyr - what a name, what a fate. He was a serious victim like me, a social pawn. I was in love with the guy for breathing, even though he wasn’t. I still wanted to. Anyway, I was stuck standing there, idiotically wondering if James Earl Ray, the assassin as it turned out, liked to shoot hotel maids.
I finally let out a dry chuckle. Both of those young men, famous and infamous, would have to face a terrible final reckoning. Life was totally unjust and unfair. I had no real man in my life to take care of me. Also, I had no unearthly paradise known as Heaven, especially anymore. Now that Dr. Kane was dead, who knew what was going to happen next?
Trembling with both fear and rage, I had a feeling the murderer was going to shoot me. Meanwhile, I had to plan something to get in there to mop up the room, if I wanted to keep my job. Coughing into my fist, I thought I’d rather be shot dead than to undergo such ridiculous indignity.
Then Joshua Jackson ran into the room. I thought, the guy is going to check on the “amazing grace character” in there, namely a Baptist fountain of blood. Y’see, our church worshipped such strange stuff as “fountains of blood of Jesus.” They hated it, but we Baptists were supposed to go be Jesus more so than we ever seemed to. It was somehow important culturally. So I wondered if he went in there to mourn, or worship.
Suddenly, it hit me that someone else was going to see it all. Childish curiosity almost got hold of my so-called “soul.” I wanted to see what was happening briefly, but felt screamingly depressed. Not because I wasn’t bathing in a fountain of Jesus’ amazing blood, like our church was always singing about, but because I had to hold my amazing job. The streets are not a pretty thing to do, especially when you’re colored in the Deep South. Mostly I had to go in and do my job, or I’d be fired.
Anyway, I waited a long time for Mr. Jackson. I thought I heard mumbling sounds and some thrashing. I waited until it settled down, figuring that while I harrumphed to myself, the amazing toy man - at least, people treated him like he was one - was getting dead in the usual way. Previous to my maid job, I had been a nurse at a county hospital. I had seen people die. I would miss the amazing toy man to myself, but I was getting impatient, and I had to get back to my house at five o’clock or five thirty and fix dinner for my abusive husband, or he might beat me - or even kill me. That’s why I didn’t suffer much over the death of Dr. Kane., aside from worrying over whether the assassin would shoot me too.
Why bother? If my death didn’t matter, why mourn someone else’s?
Coughing, I wondered if Dr. Kane abused his wife Coletta. I was a bold Coletta fan to myself in my own Hitchcockian Star Trek Twilight Zone. Fairer skinned than her husband, she was a much learned lady and his intellectual equal. I was also part white, kind of Semitic, having to hide myself from strangers, sometimes. Because I wasn’t really Jewish, but I came from those roots and looked medium toned racially impure. The hotel the great man had been killed at was one of the few places that would hire me, as back in those days places didn’t often hire colored folk, along with the white people geriatric hospital - at which I had been a bed pan orderly.
At the hospital, when someone died, we had to vacate the bed rather quickly. You don’t leave dead people lying around for very long. You get them down to the morgue and they then get shipped out by car to the funeral home. Standing around outside the hotel room was getting to be rather obtuse; I couldn’t keep the people downstairs waiting any longer. I’d have to get in there, sniper or no sniper, even if I died doing it.
So after a long time of feeling like cowering, I finally breathed a big sigh of relief and shouted, “So are you still over there yet?” I screamed really loud, but got no response. Gathering myself, I waltzed the ten million light years around my maid cart. Death was actually real. I had to leave the hotel cart behind - because it could barely fit around the wall’s corner. I thought as I left that I was to blame for not getting around it. I paused. I went back and tried to pull the cart around, and managed to get it in front of the room.
Then it dawned on me what a nice hotel this had been for a fat man who was now in Paradise. It had housed many of the greats of jazz and black culture in its time, including comedians. But Dr. Kane was not truly a fat comic, as he’d been dead serious about everything he’d ever said, which involved getting human rights for colored people and getting rid of racial segregation. I was in favor of that, but not very grateful, being an abused wife with a small daughter at home. I was not in Paradise myself, not yet, but I briefly had to wonder where “He” had gone.
He was so cool, I smiled to myself. But then, clutching my throat, I realized he was so - dead. And he was inconveniently leaving a mess for me to clean up. I frowned summarily, and froze up. But I thought, well, it’s really only some blood, nothing special I haven’t seen before. Any diseases didn’t really matter to me, as I’d been exposed to them when I’d worked in the hospital. And Mr. Jackson had raced right in as I had read he had done in the papers. The man had done his track at college.
I finally got the cart into the room by jerking and pulling it around the tight corner. I was standing behind the cart in the room with the dead great man. I was solid there for two seconds, hoping that all “great men” would die someday. One of them was coming home to me. I wondered briefly about the relationships between suns, moons and stars, and life on Venus and Mars. “Fly me to the moon,” I muttered to myself under my breath.
Meanwhile, I understood that any second now, unimportant I was possibly going to be executed. Briefly, I had seemed to see the assassin’s face by looking over yonder. Gazing down at the dead man’s corpse, I stared for a moment into an unequivocal “maybe.” I would join him by jerking around like a demented puppet, or not. My heart sunk as I realized that such a death would not have anywhere near the honor of Dr. Kane’s death. His had been an assassination; mine would be an accident. I was merely the hotel room maid - and was being made fun of by impertinent people.
Would the gunman shoot me? And for that matter, did I really care? At least we’d go down in history together, although I could only picture the brief newspaper story reading, “Maid dies after Dr. Kane.” I had been involved in civil rights protests, but only as a minor participant. I was a nobody.
Gazing off into the far distance, I twisted my narrow lips into a thin smile, daydreaming that one of these overgrown boys had summarily died for me. I was about to make up for the debt through my chosen husband if I didn’t get home in time, and I was immobilized by the thing called death that was behind me. What if the crazy sniper so much as saw another human back? Would I find a proper towel in time? What about the fat man’s lacy white kerchief? Would they arrest me if they thought I had stolen that? And that thing on the floor was no longer human; it was a motionless death trap. In the shadows, it loomed large - as the Specter of Death.
Not to worry, I told myself. I smiled the Black Cat, an African grin that means you’re not afraid, and began the search for towels. Sooner or later, they would come to collect the body. I wrangled with myself, and then I “got it up” – already - and went to the Spartan little bathroom, did my business, and flushed it, but shakily. It was like the room was spinning all around me, a kid’s ride in an obscene amusement park, waiting to die.
I successfully wiped, washed my hands and got out, but then I remembered I needed to get some towels. I had to go back and collect them - while facing the awful cataclysm in the room behind me. The dead great man’s body was in outer space for a moment, but I was definitely in my own disembodied living body, breathing for a space of time longer.
I received the anointment of the towels in a white shaggy pile against my chest, and stalked slowly out to the room. The great man’s sad corpse was still bunched up, lying there. He was partly turned onto his right side, wearing a dark grey business suit and oozing puddles of blood.
I looked behind me to see if anyone was watching, and gave the corpse a medium kick to see if anything was going on. Nothing was, so I began the mop up with the towels. I poked him gently, and then I looked closely at his beautiful, handsome black face, so Negro and with a fine mustache.
It was extremely destroyed. It had been there, but it was not there. It was a cave with no smile, peeled back and sunken in. As it was dark in the room, I didn’t feel like throwing up, though I almost did. Throwing my head to one side, I could see out the glass window. The sniper was still over across from me, disassembling the gun. He was visibly shaken. I began to realize once again that I could see him, and so did he. What should I do?
What if I acted like I was friendly? Would he buy it, coming from a colored lady who might have loved the dead man for trying to win human rights for our people? Or would he think perhaps an underprivileged woman would not have respect for him, as his speeches had oft mentioned men and children, but not women, usually speaking of “the brotherhood of man?”
My hands trembled as I bent partway over, but I knew that I had to hurry and get home. My husband was always trying to make me come home by five or five thirty, or he’d threaten me. I glanced at my watch. Then the loudest, most obnoxious sound occurred, filling the air around my head with its sad smelliness - a final, ceremonial and gratis ****.
I breathed in an elegant, funky sigh, which was at least partly a painful sob, bending over to mop at the sunken body some more with a small face towel. I suddenly saw the larger hand towel I was looking for, scrunched up against me; it was so thick, white and fluffy, and I dabbed at my tears. I cursed myself for showing my pained feelings in front of the sniper.
Rubbing at my dripping nose, I let the towel drop from my heaving chest. I soaked up some of the major blood, waving it at the still visible sniper, and stuffed it briefly into my green apron’s pocket - while thinking something about what a great man this dead guy might be. In a world of sexism where wife abuse was common, was it possible to be great, even if you were dead – or especially if you were dead? Briefly, I wondered, and gulped.
I stuffed the red stained hand towel all the way clear down into my pocket. And I used a face towel to wipe off my right hand with the other wedding ring on it, deciding to keep only the hand towel. Sniffling, I determined to keep myself from crying - or feeling anything further. I was only soaking a towel in blood to sell it later, not mourning the dead, and this man was not a relative of mine, or anyone who could help me any further.
I left the corpse behind, and then I looked at the door that wasn’t exactly being pounded on. I heard noise, but nothing coming near the room. Well, I went out on the balcony and waved the towel at whoever was still across the way, and saw the man who had killed Dr. Kane. I waved my towel at him, smiling the Black Cat to let him know “all was well.” I was taking my chances. He was at the end of dismantling his gun, and he seemed to look down - as if his faith in humanity had greatly died.
Much relieved, I knew now he wasn’t going to shoot me. I memorized his ugly features, but figured they would find him, so I wasn’t too worried. The great man’s entourage had seen him earlier, and had probably summoned the cops. I heard later they chased him all the way to England.
I figured it was for the best. If my own husband ever murdered me, I didn’t think anything real would be done about it, so I didn’t care whether or not they caught Dr. Kane’s murderer. It didn’t bring him back to life or undo anything that had already happened. It’s not that I was ungrateful when it came to the wonderful things Dr. Kane had done. I merely needed the money. I had a young daughter to raise, and might have to leave my husband. Surely the amazing towel would make me a fortune, once I found the right collection-minded buyer.
Most importantly, I now held the amazing, blood-soaked hotel towel. The martyr-born sacred object was finally in my cold fingered grasp. I knew that it would sell someday as prime memorabilia. It had no special scent of justice on it. I walked away from my job in the room. I was going home at last. I had the most expensive towel I had ever collected in my life. I smiled. I was going to make My Favorite Martyr appear in human history later, all by myself. I had established a collector’s item - in my own greedy mind. All I had to do was wait a couple years, after the hubbub had died down.
Here came the reporters. I stepped back against the outside floor’s metal railing, and one of them brushed a certain body part as they all shoved their way into the room. I was jerking like a puppet, my heart was pounding, and I had been there and in on it, all the way. I had both an incredible story - and the hotel towel. The one from the room he’d died in, the very room!
As the flashlights popped, I turned to race down the stairs. Uneducated me was holding a small fortune in her blood-reddened apron. I collected my amazing “character,” as money-oriented as it may be, and knew I was going to be late home. If so, my husband might beat me up, or even kill me. But I had a chance at life nestled in my apron pocket.
“I **** men, all men,” I chanted to myself as I descended the first flight of stairs. “I’m doing this for my daughter and me. You can’t stop us!”
Dead men take vengeance, I suppose, from a time and a distance away. Banging into the stairs railing, I was looking down far onto the ground below. It seemed to zoom upwards, as my stomach did flips, and I lurched. Pulling away, I was diving around the stair’s corner in a lost little world that I was only too glad to throw away. The railing was there, hard, tempting me to throw myself off. Trembling, I did not jump over the edge.
“There’s no such thing as justice; I’m not evil.” I thought perhaps I lied, but while thinking I might be right. After all, when was my life ever fair? “Don’t judge my by the color of my skin; judge me by how much money I’ve got,” I breathed to myself, glancing down at the metal steps below. Their peeling paint attested to my poverty stricken life, which would surely change.
Sighing, I collected myself and “established justice” by waltzing down the stairs. It was wonderful of me to judge a man - not by his skin color - but by my amazing towel. The dead Dr. Kane had helped someone else out again. I thought to myself, surely he would approve - if he knew about it. And if not, so what? He’d be another hard headed, hard hearted man. I didn’t believe he was like that, and hoped for his blessing. Still, I felt a little guilt ridden, taking a hotel towel soaked in his dying, martyred blood, only to sell it.
I was headed home in a big fat hairy hurry with a gift from God himself in my green hotel maid apron’s pocket. I was going to keep that amazing towel for several decades, until it was worth some big bucks in the Heaven which I would surely never obtain, as it didn’t exist.
Years later, I sold the amazing “Elvis Presley” souvenir towel. I could find no one who wanted to buy the one from Dr. Kane. For you see, I told everyone that it contained the blood of the amazing “Elvis Presley.” And so I sold the towel to the one “true believer” in Elvis the Pelvis - who had tried to come on to me after I got the Black Eye from my abusive husband. The divorce had settled - and I’d gotten custody of my daughter. She had talked me out of selling the towel as Dr. Kane’s, saying that it was in poor taste to sell an American Negro martyr’s blood.
“Just say it’s Elvis Presley’s blood,” she said, “Nobody cares about him; he was only a white Indian who sang really well, not an important martyred political figure responsible for the lives of millions of people.”
I still went to my church sometimes, but it was filling up with other colored people with angry characters, so I left. I was hiding like sixty, but at least I had someone well convinced about the nature of the amazing “Elvis Presley” towel. I finally sold it on EBay, where we traded pictures, and he really went for the Elvis routine. He himself was rather handsome, and we dated - for awhile. He threw me over for some blonde ***** with a limp. He kept telling me he had to take care of her.
In my dreams, in my sleep, I was “burninhellvalkery” - my EBay username - who had sold her soul to the Devil. But I received only $500 in cash for said amazing towel. It helped put my daughter through school, and she excelled at most of her subjects. But she was killed by a drunk driver last August. She had been nice, but she tended to blame me for taking the towel of a fat - but macho - martyred Negro comic…
…away. Take it away, whoever you are. Take it away. And play jazz on it forever.
Karl
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Nov
30
Filed Under (Elvis Presley) by georgejones
Theresea Hughes asked:
Elvis Presley was a generous man. Not only to those who worked for him, his family and friends, but often to strangers and regular gifts to charities, both national and local. Christmas time every year Elvis would donate around $100,000 to organized charities.
Some of Elvis’s generous gifts donated to charities would become public knowledge , but the rest of the donations were only known to a hand full of people, who were directly involved in the life of Elvis Presley.
These generous gifts in total, annually would reach a figure of 2 million dollars during the period of Elvis’s life when he was able to distribute that amount of money to organized charities.
There were also some small gifts generously given, one of which went to a crippled lady. Elvis personally delivered a brand new wheelchair.
Large and small amounts were generously given to relatives, friends and those who worked for him were also very much considered, with motorcycles, Cadillac’s, horses, trucks and cash gifts, TCB and TLC necklaces were a symbolized gift given to the guys who worked for him and their wives, identification bracelets and Christmas gifts.
Bonuses were considered as a small part of his generosity.
Elvis offered many wonderful gifts to his family and friends. His generosity at times would involve building a beautiful new home for his father Vernon and wife Dee.
Elvis bought Joe Esposito a house in California. He gave Jerry Schilling $30,000 to buy a home also in California. He had given a $50,000 cheque to the Motion Picture Relief Fund Home and Hospital. This large amount was one of the largest ever given and was accepted on behalf of the Hospital, by Frank Sinatra.
When it came to a special occasion, like Weddings. Elvis had great joy in these occasions. He picked up the expenses for Joe Esposito and Jenny Schilling wedding in 1970.
There were also others, Elvis paid for **** Grobs wedding. Then his wedding gift to **** and Marilyn was a new automobile.
George Klein was the next in line, George asked Elvis to be his best man. Elvis proudly accepted, offering to pay for the wedding and reception in Las Vegas.
All arrangements were made for the wedding to take place on the top floor of the Hilton, it was Elvis’ suite, which was beautifully decorated for the wedding. The catering was also organized for the reception.
Then all expense paid first class flights were arranged for the 15 couples being present.
Elvis Presley’s sincere generosity came from deep within, giving to others whether in his music to his fans or giving donations to selected organizations.
His personal gifts to those he loved, was his way of sincere thanks to those who loved him.
Joy
Elvis Presley was a generous man. Not only to those who worked for him, his family and friends, but often to strangers and regular gifts to charities, both national and local. Christmas time every year Elvis would donate around $100,000 to organized charities.
Some of Elvis’s generous gifts donated to charities would become public knowledge , but the rest of the donations were only known to a hand full of people, who were directly involved in the life of Elvis Presley.
These generous gifts in total, annually would reach a figure of 2 million dollars during the period of Elvis’s life when he was able to distribute that amount of money to organized charities.
There were also some small gifts generously given, one of which went to a crippled lady. Elvis personally delivered a brand new wheelchair.
Large and small amounts were generously given to relatives, friends and those who worked for him were also very much considered, with motorcycles, Cadillac’s, horses, trucks and cash gifts, TCB and TLC necklaces were a symbolized gift given to the guys who worked for him and their wives, identification bracelets and Christmas gifts.
Bonuses were considered as a small part of his generosity.
Elvis offered many wonderful gifts to his family and friends. His generosity at times would involve building a beautiful new home for his father Vernon and wife Dee.
Elvis bought Joe Esposito a house in California. He gave Jerry Schilling $30,000 to buy a home also in California. He had given a $50,000 cheque to the Motion Picture Relief Fund Home and Hospital. This large amount was one of the largest ever given and was accepted on behalf of the Hospital, by Frank Sinatra.
When it came to a special occasion, like Weddings. Elvis had great joy in these occasions. He picked up the expenses for Joe Esposito and Jenny Schilling wedding in 1970.
There were also others, Elvis paid for **** Grobs wedding. Then his wedding gift to **** and Marilyn was a new automobile.
George Klein was the next in line, George asked Elvis to be his best man. Elvis proudly accepted, offering to pay for the wedding and reception in Las Vegas.
All arrangements were made for the wedding to take place on the top floor of the Hilton, it was Elvis’ suite, which was beautifully decorated for the wedding. The catering was also organized for the reception.
Then all expense paid first class flights were arranged for the 15 couples being present.
Elvis Presley’s sincere generosity came from deep within, giving to others whether in his music to his fans or giving donations to selected organizations.
His personal gifts to those he loved, was his way of sincere thanks to those who loved him.
Joy
Comments Off
Nov
22
Filed Under (Elvis Presley) by georgejones
Luke Humble asked:
Over the years, the truck driver has made for a great series of stories. Amidst the standard tales of traffic jams, incredible journeys and more incredible bad driving, when involved with a freight exchange, you hear the type of outlandish tales more commonly associated with fishermen. In researching this article, I found too that lorries and lorry drivers are commonly associated with horror stories, and tales (and images) too gruesome to write about here. Suffice it to say, there’s an awful lot of truths and non truths spread in the anecdotes about truckers.
Here, I’ve taken three lorry tales- and discovered two of them to be verifiable truthful. The remaining one is equally exposed as fake. I’m going to list them all, allowing readers to guess which is untrue - I shall then provide the specifics of each one.
A) Elvis Presley was once told to “Stick to driving a truck, because you’ll never make it as a singer.”
B) A man was run over by a truck within hours of winning a lottery
C) The Allman Brothers album “Eat a Peach” is a hidden reference to Duane Allman’s death at the wheels of a lorry carrying peaches.
Has everyone made their guesses? Okay - here’s the answer. C is an urban legend, while A and B are verifiably correct.
Here’s some background information to each lorry story:
Elvis Presley was once told to “Stick to driving a truck, because you’ll never make it as a singer”
While auditioning for a lead-singer position in a Memphis band, Eddie Bond, 21, informed the 19 year old truck driver, Elvis Presley that he should “stick to driving a truck, because you’ll never make it as a singer.” This is the account of a mutual friend, while Bond himself claims the club’s owners forced him to make the decision. Either way, Elvis was rejected and left looking for his big break.
It would come in just a few short months. “That’s All Right (Mama)” was a big hit in Memphis, and Eddie Bond issued an invitation for Elvis to join them after all. Understandably, Elvis decided to turn him down - but not to “stick to driving a truck.”
A man was run over by a truck within hours of winning a lottery
When I first heard this one, I immediately thought of the Alanis Morissette song, “Ironic”, which begins with the lines “An old man turned ninety-eight, he won the lottery and died the next day.” While the subjects of the song are well documented as not being ironic in the slightest, I did assume that the various incarnations of this story I’ve heard must be the same kind of embellishment as Ms Morissette recorded.
Not true, as it turns out. In January 2004, an Indiana man won $73,450 on an Indiana lottery, and was run over by a truck within hours of winning it big. Wearing dark clothing the winner of a ‘Hoosier Millionaire competition’, Carl Atwood, 73, was walking round a corner on a poorly lit intersection when he was struck by the truck, later dying in hospital. On the show, which was televised, Atwood had expressed his surprise at winning and stated his plans to “purchase a very nice car.”
The Allman Brothers album “Eat a Peach” is a hidden reference to Duane Allman’s death at the wheels of a lorry carrying peaches.
While it’s true that Duane Allman died in a collision with a lorry in Georgia (a state associated with peaches) months before the release of the “Eat a Peach”, and it’s also true that the album art does show a truck with a giant peach on board labelled “Allman Brothers”, the album is not a direct reference to the death of the talented young guitarist.
The truth is the lorry that Duane Allman collided with was a flatbed truck with a lumber crane. Suffering no externally visible injuries, Duane held onto life immediately following the crash before dying in surgery with massive internal injuries three hours later.
The album’s title is less interestingly a reference to a comment Duane once made in a magazine interview. When asked how he was helping the revolution, Allman replied that “…every time I’m in Georgia, I eat a peach for peace.”
Fans of the band have also suggested that the album’s reverse cover art - an image of a vehicle carrying a giant watermelon - was a reference to fellow band member Berry Oakley’s similar motorcycle accident at the wheels of fruit lorry is also revealed as falsehood, first by the fact that he collided with a bus, and secondly that his death was 9 months after the release of the album. Any hidden message would therefore be an inaccurate feat of clairvoyance.
Ronald
Over the years, the truck driver has made for a great series of stories. Amidst the standard tales of traffic jams, incredible journeys and more incredible bad driving, when involved with a freight exchange, you hear the type of outlandish tales more commonly associated with fishermen. In researching this article, I found too that lorries and lorry drivers are commonly associated with horror stories, and tales (and images) too gruesome to write about here. Suffice it to say, there’s an awful lot of truths and non truths spread in the anecdotes about truckers.
Here, I’ve taken three lorry tales- and discovered two of them to be verifiable truthful. The remaining one is equally exposed as fake. I’m going to list them all, allowing readers to guess which is untrue - I shall then provide the specifics of each one.
A) Elvis Presley was once told to “Stick to driving a truck, because you’ll never make it as a singer.”
B) A man was run over by a truck within hours of winning a lottery
C) The Allman Brothers album “Eat a Peach” is a hidden reference to Duane Allman’s death at the wheels of a lorry carrying peaches.
Has everyone made their guesses? Okay - here’s the answer. C is an urban legend, while A and B are verifiably correct.
Here’s some background information to each lorry story:
Elvis Presley was once told to “Stick to driving a truck, because you’ll never make it as a singer”
While auditioning for a lead-singer position in a Memphis band, Eddie Bond, 21, informed the 19 year old truck driver, Elvis Presley that he should “stick to driving a truck, because you’ll never make it as a singer.” This is the account of a mutual friend, while Bond himself claims the club’s owners forced him to make the decision. Either way, Elvis was rejected and left looking for his big break.
It would come in just a few short months. “That’s All Right (Mama)” was a big hit in Memphis, and Eddie Bond issued an invitation for Elvis to join them after all. Understandably, Elvis decided to turn him down - but not to “stick to driving a truck.”
A man was run over by a truck within hours of winning a lottery
When I first heard this one, I immediately thought of the Alanis Morissette song, “Ironic”, which begins with the lines “An old man turned ninety-eight, he won the lottery and died the next day.” While the subjects of the song are well documented as not being ironic in the slightest, I did assume that the various incarnations of this story I’ve heard must be the same kind of embellishment as Ms Morissette recorded.
Not true, as it turns out. In January 2004, an Indiana man won $73,450 on an Indiana lottery, and was run over by a truck within hours of winning it big. Wearing dark clothing the winner of a ‘Hoosier Millionaire competition’, Carl Atwood, 73, was walking round a corner on a poorly lit intersection when he was struck by the truck, later dying in hospital. On the show, which was televised, Atwood had expressed his surprise at winning and stated his plans to “purchase a very nice car.”
The Allman Brothers album “Eat a Peach” is a hidden reference to Duane Allman’s death at the wheels of a lorry carrying peaches.
While it’s true that Duane Allman died in a collision with a lorry in Georgia (a state associated with peaches) months before the release of the “Eat a Peach”, and it’s also true that the album art does show a truck with a giant peach on board labelled “Allman Brothers”, the album is not a direct reference to the death of the talented young guitarist.
The truth is the lorry that Duane Allman collided with was a flatbed truck with a lumber crane. Suffering no externally visible injuries, Duane held onto life immediately following the crash before dying in surgery with massive internal injuries three hours later.
The album’s title is less interestingly a reference to a comment Duane once made in a magazine interview. When asked how he was helping the revolution, Allman replied that “…every time I’m in Georgia, I eat a peach for peace.”
Fans of the band have also suggested that the album’s reverse cover art - an image of a vehicle carrying a giant watermelon - was a reference to fellow band member Berry Oakley’s similar motorcycle accident at the wheels of fruit lorry is also revealed as falsehood, first by the fact that he collided with a bus, and secondly that his death was 9 months after the release of the album. Any hidden message would therefore be an inaccurate feat of clairvoyance.
Ronald
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Nov
12
Filed Under (Elvis Presley) by georgejones
Mike Shaw asked:
Music memorabilia has always been popular for keen collectors of merchandise from famous music artists. Now, with the help of online auction sites, collecting music memorabilia is fast becoming a popular hobby for brand new collectors.
If you want a piece of music history these days, just search the internet. There’s no need to check out music shops and second hand shops. You can find virtually anything you’re looking for, some of it very desirable. Items such as Elvis Presley’s Piano, John Lennon’s autograph or maybe a concert ticket from years ago are all available. Of course, this is just a tiny example of what’s available. At the time of writing this article there are over 1500 items for sale on eBay, and that’s just in the UK.
The older the artist the more valuable the merchandise
Music artist such as Elvis Presley, obviously, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones and ABBA are among the many popular artists that are creating thousands of memorabilia sales. I would have to say that Elvis memorabilia is the most popular. Although this changes from one month to the next. I have seen Elvis memorabilia for sale on eBay for as much as a Million Dollars. The Beatles memorabilia can fetch this kind of money too.
Obviously it’s not just about the age of the artist but also the impact that artist had on the world. The examples I have listed above, particularly Elvis and The Beatles were in many ways iconic, many have copied them but they will never be able to replace them. Maybe that’s why memorabilia is so expensive where these artists are concerned, it’s a feeling of having a piece history and it could be argued that these kind of collectables are a good investment for the future.
Learn to be a serious collector
There is obviously an art to collecting the more expensive items available for sale. As a new collector of memorabilia, you wouldn’t want to be spending thousands of dollars without knowing what you are doing. Fortunately, there are many items that are very cheap, all right they might not have been owned by the artist, but it’s a start. You can buy key rings, pictures, posters and T Shirts. These items are probably classed more as merchandise rather than memorabilia. If you want to touch an item that your favourite artist has touched, be prepared to pay a lot of money. Check out listings on a regular basis and learn what the going price is for an item that interests you.
For most people, collecting music memorabilia online will be a hobby, but be careful, because it’s very addictive.
Tim
Music memorabilia has always been popular for keen collectors of merchandise from famous music artists. Now, with the help of online auction sites, collecting music memorabilia is fast becoming a popular hobby for brand new collectors.
If you want a piece of music history these days, just search the internet. There’s no need to check out music shops and second hand shops. You can find virtually anything you’re looking for, some of it very desirable. Items such as Elvis Presley’s Piano, John Lennon’s autograph or maybe a concert ticket from years ago are all available. Of course, this is just a tiny example of what’s available. At the time of writing this article there are over 1500 items for sale on eBay, and that’s just in the UK.
The older the artist the more valuable the merchandise
Music artist such as Elvis Presley, obviously, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones and ABBA are among the many popular artists that are creating thousands of memorabilia sales. I would have to say that Elvis memorabilia is the most popular. Although this changes from one month to the next. I have seen Elvis memorabilia for sale on eBay for as much as a Million Dollars. The Beatles memorabilia can fetch this kind of money too.
Obviously it’s not just about the age of the artist but also the impact that artist had on the world. The examples I have listed above, particularly Elvis and The Beatles were in many ways iconic, many have copied them but they will never be able to replace them. Maybe that’s why memorabilia is so expensive where these artists are concerned, it’s a feeling of having a piece history and it could be argued that these kind of collectables are a good investment for the future.
Learn to be a serious collector
There is obviously an art to collecting the more expensive items available for sale. As a new collector of memorabilia, you wouldn’t want to be spending thousands of dollars without knowing what you are doing. Fortunately, there are many items that are very cheap, all right they might not have been owned by the artist, but it’s a start. You can buy key rings, pictures, posters and T Shirts. These items are probably classed more as merchandise rather than memorabilia. If you want to touch an item that your favourite artist has touched, be prepared to pay a lot of money. Check out listings on a regular basis and learn what the going price is for an item that interests you.
For most people, collecting music memorabilia online will be a hobby, but be careful, because it’s very addictive.
Tim
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Nov
10
Filed Under (Elvis Presley) by georgejones
John S asked:
I located two signed Elvis presley postcards. They are the original cards. One is of a picture of him when he was a boy and the other is a Christmas card. I just want to know if these cards are worth anything and how can I find out if they are worth anything? I have tried finding them on ebay but I did not see anything.
Oscar
I located two signed Elvis presley postcards. They are the original cards. One is of a picture of him when he was a boy and the other is a Christmas card. I just want to know if these cards are worth anything and how can I find out if they are worth anything? I have tried finding them on ebay but I did not see anything.
Oscar
Oct
31
Filed Under (Elvis Presley) by georgejones
belleebuttons asked:
During a 1976 concert in Las Vegas my mom ran up on stage and kissed Elvis. He also gave her the scarf that he was wearing which we have safely locked away. What I want is to find video of this concert. I know that every Elvis concert was recorded, but how can I get a copy? Any help would be appreciated! I’ve looked online, but I don’t know which specific concert it was.
Joshua
During a 1976 concert in Las Vegas my mom ran up on stage and kissed Elvis. He also gave her the scarf that he was wearing which we have safely locked away. What I want is to find video of this concert. I know that every Elvis concert was recorded, but how can I get a copy? Any help would be appreciated! I’ve looked online, but I don’t know which specific concert it was.
Joshua
Oct
30
Filed Under (Elvis Presley) by georgejones
Theresea Hughes asked:
A discography is the listing of the released singles of an artist. It is a tabulation of the songs they contributed to the music industry. Elvis Presley entertained the whole world with his music. Here is his discography from 1954 to 1958.
July 1954:
That’s All Right, Mama
Blue Moon of Kentucky
September 1954:
Good Rockin’ Tonight
I Don’t Care if the Sun Don’t Shine
January 1955:
Milkcow Blues Boogie
You’re a Heartbreaker
April 1955:
Baby Let’s Play House
I’m Left You’re Right She’s Gone
August 1955:
Mystery Train
I Forgot to Remember to Forget
January 1956:
Heartbreak Hotel
I Was the One
March 1956:
Blue Suede Shoes
Tutti Frutti
I Got A Woman
Just Because
I’m Counting On You
One Sided Love Affair
Tryin’ To Get To You
I’m Gonna Sit Right Down and Cry (Over You)
I’ll Never Let You Go (Little Darling)
Blue Moon
Money Honey
May 1956:
I Want You I Need You I Love You
My Baby Left Me
July 1956:
Hound Dog
Don’t Be Cruel
August 1956:
Lawdy Miss Clawdy
Shake Rattle and Roll
September 1956:
Love Me Tender
Any Way You Want Me
October 1956:
Rip It Up
Love Me
When My Blue Moon Turn To Gold Again
Long Tall Sally
First in Line
Paralyzed
So Glad You’re Mine
Old Shep
Ready Teddy
Any Place is Paradise
How’s The World Treating You
How Do You Think I Feel
I Don’t Care if the Sun Don’t Shine
Mystery Train
November 1956
Let Me
Poor Boy
We’re Gonna Move
January 1957:
Playing for Keeps
Too Much
March 1957:
All Shook Up
That’s When Your Heartaches Begin
April 1957
Peace in the Valley
It’s No Secret (What God Can Do)
I Believe
Take My Hand Precious Lord
I Need You So
Have I Told You Lately That I Love You
Blueberry Hill
Is It So Strange
June 1957:
Teddy Bear
Loving You
Mean Woman Blues
Got a Lot Of Livin’ To Do
Lonesome Cowboy
Hot Dog
Party
True Love
Don’t Leave Me Now (Version 1)
September 1957:
Jailhouse Rock
Treat Me Nice
October 1957:
Young and Beautiful
I Want To Be Free
Don’t Leave Me Now (Version 2)
Baby I Don’t Care
January 1958:
Don’t
I Beg of You
April 1958:
Wear My Ring Around Your Neck
Doncha Think It’s Time
June 1958:
Hard Headed Woman
Don’t Ask Me Why
August 1958:
King Creole
As Long As I Have You
Trouble
Dixieland Rock
Don’t Ask Me Why
Lover Doll
Crawfish
Young Dreams
Steadfast Loyal and True
New Orleans
October 1958:
One Night
I Got Stung
Alice
A discography is the listing of the released singles of an artist. It is a tabulation of the songs they contributed to the music industry. Elvis Presley entertained the whole world with his music. Here is his discography from 1954 to 1958.
July 1954:
That’s All Right, Mama
Blue Moon of Kentucky
September 1954:
Good Rockin’ Tonight
I Don’t Care if the Sun Don’t Shine
January 1955:
Milkcow Blues Boogie
You’re a Heartbreaker
April 1955:
Baby Let’s Play House
I’m Left You’re Right She’s Gone
August 1955:
Mystery Train
I Forgot to Remember to Forget
January 1956:
Heartbreak Hotel
I Was the One
March 1956:
Blue Suede Shoes
Tutti Frutti
I Got A Woman
Just Because
I’m Counting On You
One Sided Love Affair
Tryin’ To Get To You
I’m Gonna Sit Right Down and Cry (Over You)
I’ll Never Let You Go (Little Darling)
Blue Moon
Money Honey
May 1956:
I Want You I Need You I Love You
My Baby Left Me
July 1956:
Hound Dog
Don’t Be Cruel
August 1956:
Lawdy Miss Clawdy
Shake Rattle and Roll
September 1956:
Love Me Tender
Any Way You Want Me
October 1956:
Rip It Up
Love Me
When My Blue Moon Turn To Gold Again
Long Tall Sally
First in Line
Paralyzed
So Glad You’re Mine
Old Shep
Ready Teddy
Any Place is Paradise
How’s The World Treating You
How Do You Think I Feel
I Don’t Care if the Sun Don’t Shine
Mystery Train
November 1956
Let Me
Poor Boy
We’re Gonna Move
January 1957:
Playing for Keeps
Too Much
March 1957:
All Shook Up
That’s When Your Heartaches Begin
April 1957
Peace in the Valley
It’s No Secret (What God Can Do)
I Believe
Take My Hand Precious Lord
I Need You So
Have I Told You Lately That I Love You
Blueberry Hill
Is It So Strange
June 1957:
Teddy Bear
Loving You
Mean Woman Blues
Got a Lot Of Livin’ To Do
Lonesome Cowboy
Hot Dog
Party
True Love
Don’t Leave Me Now (Version 1)
September 1957:
Jailhouse Rock
Treat Me Nice
October 1957:
Young and Beautiful
I Want To Be Free
Don’t Leave Me Now (Version 2)
Baby I Don’t Care
January 1958:
Don’t
I Beg of You
April 1958:
Wear My Ring Around Your Neck
Doncha Think It’s Time
June 1958:
Hard Headed Woman
Don’t Ask Me Why
August 1958:
King Creole
As Long As I Have You
Trouble
Dixieland Rock
Don’t Ask Me Why
Lover Doll
Crawfish
Young Dreams
Steadfast Loyal and True
New Orleans
October 1958:
One Night
I Got Stung
Alice
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Oct
25
Filed Under (Elvis Presley) by georgejones
Theresea Hughes asked:
Let me tell you about my brother
A brother like no other
His father married my mother
But he’s more than a brother
Wherever I go
The people keep asking me
What’s it like to be the brother
Of a Celebrity……
By Billy Stanley
Billy, Rick and David grew very close to Elvis.
Elvis wasn’t only their big brother, he became a role model the boys admired and loved.
When Rick was in first grade of school, he remembers his first time autograph. Rick was feeling pretty sure of himself this day, as he approached some of the seventh grade girls asking them if they wanted his autograph. Sure enough being Elvis’ little brother they weren’t about to say no, so Rick took out his crayon and started signing, just like his big brother.
Being apart of Elvis’ world for the Stanley brothers was fun, exhilarating and at times frightening when they found themselves suddenly thrust into Elvis Presley’s golden aura. In the years to follow, it became more evident to the boys the powerful effect Elvis Presley’s presents had on the world.
To Billy, Rick and David, Elvis was just a guy that they loved. But as the boys would soon learn through experiences watching the rest of the world going crazy over their stepbrother, Elvis was more than just a guy they loved.
The Stanley boys new experience being stepbrothers to the King of Rock and Roll wasn’t always fun and games, it could get serious very quickly.
Dee Presley’s concerns about the effects of Elvis’ wealth and fame on her boys were always a high priority. As the years went by, Dee would have the boys involved in Sunday schools, summer camps, swimming pools, and a controlled group of screened friends.
Dee would offer to her boys the more conventional life in respect of the unconventional circumstances. Billy remembers, it being a fairly strict life.
Vernon would make sure the boys understood some rules with being apart of his sons world, having them aware of the situation as Elvis’ stepbrothers. The boys are about to learn their first rule.
LESSON ONE: Never, under any circumstances, reveal anything concerning Elvis to the public or the press. This was the Golden rule, the boys always respected this rule.
Billy, Rick and David all grew up very security minded and tight lipped with any conversation outside the walls of Graceland.
The boys always looked forward to Elvis’ return to Graceland. Naturally, the feeling was mutual, Elvis also looked forward to being home with his stepbrothers, but there were occasions where the age difference would effect Elvis and he simply didn’t want his stepbrothers around.
Billy, Rick and David learned how to be aware of these occasions, giving Elvis his space and respecting his privacy, even though the boys longed to be in their big brothers company.
But Elvis would spend valuable time with his brothers; he would go all out when he had his brothers on board. Offering his brothers endless hours of fun excitement and adventure.
When they all got together, Elvis ran the boys ragged involving them in a range of activities.
There were times they would all be off to Memphis at midnight in his fleet of cars, and times involving country side all night horse rides. Other occasions involved all night movies, when Elvis rented the movie theater from Paul Shafer.
There was a range of exciting experiences for the boys, go-cart racing, and touring around on Elvis’ motor bikes at exhilarating speeds. When the boys were bigger, they would be included in Elvis’ football games.
Ricky remembers, they would always team up against Elvis, and Elvis being the speedy sure handed flanker, he would knock the boys flying at full strength. Elvis being both big brother and father figure to the boys, the boys would turn to Elvis for advice.
Elvis was always happy to offer when any of his brothers reached for it, Elvis wasn’t one to tell them what to do; he would give his opinion on the matter, leaving it completely in the hands of the one involved to work it out.
Vanessa
Let me tell you about my brother
A brother like no other
His father married my mother
But he’s more than a brother
Wherever I go
The people keep asking me
What’s it like to be the brother
Of a Celebrity……
By Billy Stanley
Billy, Rick and David grew very close to Elvis.
Elvis wasn’t only their big brother, he became a role model the boys admired and loved.
When Rick was in first grade of school, he remembers his first time autograph. Rick was feeling pretty sure of himself this day, as he approached some of the seventh grade girls asking them if they wanted his autograph. Sure enough being Elvis’ little brother they weren’t about to say no, so Rick took out his crayon and started signing, just like his big brother.
Being apart of Elvis’ world for the Stanley brothers was fun, exhilarating and at times frightening when they found themselves suddenly thrust into Elvis Presley’s golden aura. In the years to follow, it became more evident to the boys the powerful effect Elvis Presley’s presents had on the world.
To Billy, Rick and David, Elvis was just a guy that they loved. But as the boys would soon learn through experiences watching the rest of the world going crazy over their stepbrother, Elvis was more than just a guy they loved.
The Stanley boys new experience being stepbrothers to the King of Rock and Roll wasn’t always fun and games, it could get serious very quickly.
Dee Presley’s concerns about the effects of Elvis’ wealth and fame on her boys were always a high priority. As the years went by, Dee would have the boys involved in Sunday schools, summer camps, swimming pools, and a controlled group of screened friends.
Dee would offer to her boys the more conventional life in respect of the unconventional circumstances. Billy remembers, it being a fairly strict life.
Vernon would make sure the boys understood some rules with being apart of his sons world, having them aware of the situation as Elvis’ stepbrothers. The boys are about to learn their first rule.
LESSON ONE: Never, under any circumstances, reveal anything concerning Elvis to the public or the press. This was the Golden rule, the boys always respected this rule.
Billy, Rick and David all grew up very security minded and tight lipped with any conversation outside the walls of Graceland.
The boys always looked forward to Elvis’ return to Graceland. Naturally, the feeling was mutual, Elvis also looked forward to being home with his stepbrothers, but there were occasions where the age difference would effect Elvis and he simply didn’t want his stepbrothers around.
Billy, Rick and David learned how to be aware of these occasions, giving Elvis his space and respecting his privacy, even though the boys longed to be in their big brothers company.
But Elvis would spend valuable time with his brothers; he would go all out when he had his brothers on board. Offering his brothers endless hours of fun excitement and adventure.
When they all got together, Elvis ran the boys ragged involving them in a range of activities.
There were times they would all be off to Memphis at midnight in his fleet of cars, and times involving country side all night horse rides. Other occasions involved all night movies, when Elvis rented the movie theater from Paul Shafer.
There was a range of exciting experiences for the boys, go-cart racing, and touring around on Elvis’ motor bikes at exhilarating speeds. When the boys were bigger, they would be included in Elvis’ football games.
Ricky remembers, they would always team up against Elvis, and Elvis being the speedy sure handed flanker, he would knock the boys flying at full strength. Elvis being both big brother and father figure to the boys, the boys would turn to Elvis for advice.
Elvis was always happy to offer when any of his brothers reached for it, Elvis wasn’t one to tell them what to do; he would give his opinion on the matter, leaving it completely in the hands of the one involved to work it out.
Vanessa
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