Baby, Let's Play House Part 17

"Did y'all hear me? I said, 'My c.u.n.t really hurts hurts!' "

Lamar almost ran off the road-he had to stop the car-and Alan doubled over. Elvis fell on the floor, choking now, barely able to catch his breath.

"He had a Pepsi in his hand that just went up in the air all over the seat," Anita says, "and they just died laughing." She didn't know why they were making such a big thing of it. Elvis had told her that now that she was going to Hollywood, she had to know the L.A. word for behind behind. And her rump was was sore. sore.

"He loved to pull tricks. I was so embarra.s.sed when I found out what I'd said. It's not that I was dumb. My family didn't talk ugly words, and I was just very naive."

Anita was also ingenuous about Elvis's ability to be faithful. Two weeks before the finals of the "Hollywood Star Hunt," he had brought the British-born starlet Venetia Stevenson to Memphis. She had been divorced from Russ Tamblyn, Elvis's Hollywood acquaintance, only since Valentine's Day.

"He'd always come to me and say, 'But, Little, you know these are just publicity stunts. It doesn't mean anything. You're the only one I care anything about.' " For proof, he wrote her mash notes: "I love you, love you, love you, you Little."

Anita wanted to think it was true, that even though he had his arms around all those starlets and showgirls (the latest was Vegas singer Kitty Dolan) it didn't really mean anything. "And gullible me . . . Elvis could make you believe anything."

She moved into Graceland in 1957 and lived upstairs. "That got to be a hot and heavy affair," in Lamar's viewpoint. The guys weren't sure whether she actually slept with him-there were two other bedrooms on the second floor-but they a.s.sumed not. Anita was too proper for s.e.x before marriage, and Gladys wouldn't have liked it going on under her roof.

Either way, says Marty Lacker, Elvis reverted to his usual ways when she was out of the house.

"One time Anita went out shopping, and Elvis brought another girl upstairs. He was fooling around with her in the bedroom, when all of a sudden, one of the guys called up and said, 'Hey, Elvis, Anita's coming through the gate.'

"If you looked out his window, it was a straight drop to the ground. So we put a ladder up to the window. He let the girl climb down first, and he waited about five minutes, and then he went down. Anita came in and went upstairs, and, of course, he wasn't there. He walked around the back of the house to the front and came upstairs behind her. He said, 'Oh, you're home. Great.' He would do stuff like that all the time."

When she found out about the other women, she was hurt and angry, but she rationalized it as the actions of a man in a unique situation. "They were all available, and it was a great temptation, and he succ.u.mbed to it."

And he was also her first love. Now she cared so much for him that when she went out to California for a movie role, she realized she didn't really want a career if it kept them apart.

"He called me on the phone. 'Little, I miss you. I want you to come home.' Well, I just said okay. He met me at the airport." Eventually she would give up her whole career.

It hadn't meant a lot to her anyway. Her parents had always wanted her to be an entertainer, because G.o.d had given her a voice, and she did like to act and sing. "But really and truly, I just wanted to get married and have children and be a normal person. Well, with Elvis, you could never be normal. I found that out right away."

The Colonel, for example, insisted that she and Elvis stay at different hotels when she accompanied him to California. His fans would leave him if they thought he was in love, Parker argued, and so Elvis should just say that he and Anita were dating. The manager didn't even want them photographed together, or if they were, he said, Anita should look away from the camera, and from Elvis, too. He certainly didn't want her looking happy happy.

But there she was, right behind him, smiling like a newlywed backstage at the Tupelo Fair in late September. The Colonel chomped hard on his cigar. But n.o.body seemed to notice. They were talking about those big pelvic thrusts that Elvis did onstage. Wow, where did he learn to do that that?

On October 28, 1957, a who's who of show business celebrities were among the nine thousand in attendance on the first of Elvis's two nights at the Pan Pacific Auditorium in Los Angeles. That evening, Elvis not only gave the most incendiary performance of his career, but he also scandalized himself in a lascivious display that surpa.s.sed anything the majority of his audience had ever seen. Harnessing all his power as a s.e.xual revolutionist, he went far beyond his inflammatory appearance on thousand in attendance on the first of Elvis's two nights at the Pan Pacific Auditorium in Los Angeles. That evening, Elvis not only gave the most incendiary performance of his career, but he also scandalized himself in a lascivious display that surpa.s.sed anything the majority of his audience had ever seen. Harnessing all his power as a s.e.xual revolutionist, he went far beyond his inflammatory appearance on The Milton Berle Show, The Milton Berle Show, and even his recent act at the Tupelo Fair. and even his recent act at the Tupelo Fair.

Byron Raphael had the best view of anyone, and in 2005, he wrote about it for Playboy Playboy magazine: magazine: The Colonel had put me on Nipper Control that night, which meant he positioned me beneath the stage and charged me with the safety of a three-foot-high, plaster of Paris canine-the infamous c.o.c.ked-ear, Jack Russell mascot of RCA, Elvis's recording label. Elvis was going to use the pup as a prop during "Hound Dog." "Whatever you do, don't let that dog fall off the stage," Parker snapped. "And tell Mr. Presley you're going to hold Nipper up, so he doesn't have to worry, he can just be free."

The Colonel often said, "Elvis has stardust," meaning that it was remarkable how such a shy person could change himself into a creature of infinite magnetism onstage. But the old hustler never dreamed what Elvis was planning to do with man's best friend.

Elvis came out onstage with his now-famous gold-lame jacket topping a pair of loose-fitting, black dress slacks. During his fifty-minute, eighteen-song set, he "wiggled, b.u.mped, and twisted," according to Jack O'Brian of the New York Journal-American New York Journal-American, one of many out-of-town papers that covered the event. But it was the finish of "Hound Dog" that prompted another paper's headline, "Elvis Presley Will Have to Clean Up His Show-Or Go to Jail." I don't know exactly what got into him, but as he launched into that song, he was vastly different from the Elvis I knew at the studio-his eyes were dilated, as if he were taking his direction from someplace far, far away. Then he did the unthinkable. Pumped up by either adrenaline or libido, he began to unfasten his pants and slowly pull his zipper down, which prompted wild screaming from an audience that was already frenzied at the s.e.xual surge Elvis sent out through the auditorium.

With his pants now open, but not down, Elvis reached for Nipper, which I still held tight from below the stage. Suddenly, Elvis pressed the dog against his crotch, and I could feel him pus.h.i.+ng it back on me as he rode the pooch back and forth in a masturbatory glide. As the crowd noise grew to a furious roar, Elvis continued to dry hump poor Nipper as if he were a teenage girl at a drive-in.

Then all of a sudden, Elvis pulled the dog out of my grip, and then began rolling around on the floor with him in full simulation of b.e.s.t.i.a.l bliss. It was one of the most shockingly erotic things I'd ever seen. There's no question that Elvis was truly trying to have s.e.x, because when he finally gave the dog back to me, I could see a huge hard-on through his pants. The next night the L.A. Vice Squad came, armed with warnings, and the police filmed the show. But Elvis toned it down, and Nipper made it through without undue violation.

When the Playboy Playboy article was published, Elvis aficionados challenged Raphael's account. Gordon Stoker of the Jordanaires, who performed with him that night, insists he saw nothing inappropriate in Elvis's actions. "Elvis did not do anything onstage with Nipper that was suggestive or off-color. We were standing very close to him onstage as we always were. We would have seen him." article was published, Elvis aficionados challenged Raphael's account. Gordon Stoker of the Jordanaires, who performed with him that night, insists he saw nothing inappropriate in Elvis's actions. "Elvis did not do anything onstage with Nipper that was suggestive or off-color. We were standing very close to him onstage as we always were. We would have seen him."

Photographs, however, show Elvis draped across the dog, and the New York Journal-American New York Journal-American reported his performance was "far too indecent to mention in every detail." reported his performance was "far too indecent to mention in every detail."

"He was on the floor, he put his arm around the dog lying flat next to it, and he had his leg around it," offers Kevin Eggers in explanation. "That's what was happening. Now, in the context of what he was doing, it was outrageously provocative. But it wasn't Jim Morrison." Byron had made it clear that Elvis had not actually exposed himself, as the lead singer of the Doors was arrested for doing in an infamous 1969 incident in Miami. Still, Eggers says, "Elvis Presley would never have pulled down his fly."

But Eggers was not in the audience that night. And the Jordanaires did not have Byron's proximity from beneath the stage. Even if Byron embellished his story, or if his memory was faulty after nearly fifty years, others had the same interpretation of the singer's intent. Albert Goldman's 1981 controversial biography, Elvis, Elvis, refers to adults leaving the theater with the idea that "Elvis had capped an obscene performance by pretending to b.u.g.g.e.r the dog." refers to adults leaving the theater with the idea that "Elvis had capped an obscene performance by pretending to b.u.g.g.e.r the dog."

d.i.c.k Williams, the entertainment editor of the Los Angeles Mirror-News Los Angeles Mirror-News, was clearly outraged at what he saw, calling Elvis a "s.e.xhibitionist," and going on for a dozen paragraphs: "If any further proof were needed that what Elvis offers is not basically music but a s.e.x show, it was proved last night. . . . The madness reached its peak at the finish with 'Hound Dog.' Elvis writhed in complete abandon, hair hanging over his face. He got down on the floor with a huge replica of the RCA singing dog and made love to it as if it were a girl."

Ricky Nelson, who met Elvis at a party in his hotel suite after the second night, never got over the performance, telling friends for years how Elvis "group-f.u.c.ked 10,000 people."

Whatever happened on the first night-whether Elvis's eyes were "dilated," as Raphael wrote, because he was taking pills, which might have affected his behavior-Elvis was far less flamboyant the following evening. When the police showed up with a movie camera, he poked fun at it all, just as he had in the Jacksonville incident. Using hand gestures, he repeatedly indicated to the audience that the censorious camera was on him, even holding his arms out and binding his wrists together, suggesting that he had been handcuffed. At one point, he announced to the crowd, "You should have been here last night!"

But there was plenty to captivate on October 29, too, at least for one young girl, eleven-year-old Cherilyn Sarkisian, who grew up to be a singer herself. Like Elvis, she would be famous for just one name: Cher.

The child had already seen Elvis on The Ed Sullivan Show, The Ed Sullivan Show, and it was as if a thunderbolt had hit her: "I was a goner. I loved the way he sang and the way he looked. In some strange way, I felt he expressed who I was." and it was as if a thunderbolt had hit her: "I was a goner. I loved the way he sang and the way he looked. In some strange way, I felt he expressed who I was."

It was weird for an eleven-year-old girl to feel that way, she thought. She was a tomboy, but a girlie girl, too, though definitely more of a tomboy in a lot of ways. She liked to sing, but she had a really low voice, and she didn't even get into a singing group in her school. Not even a play. She was always in the chorus, but her voice was too high for guys and too low for girls, so she just sang for herself. She didn't seem to neatly fit into any category, and that was part of what she got from watching the gyrating image on TV: Elvis didn't either. "When I saw him, I thought, 'Well, this is kind of who I am.' "

Part of it was his bad-boy vibe, the way he went against the grain and defied authority, because as a younger child, Cher did, too. "I got in trouble a lot. Not really big trouble, but when I was ten or eleven, my friend and I ran away from home-took a horse and went out to San Bernardino and hopped a train-just for the adventure of it. I ran away from home once on my tricycle, too. I was always this strange child that wanted more adventure than there was."

When she saw Elvis on TV, then, "I thought, 'This is perfect. I'm going in the right direction.' He just validated where I was going."

It helped that her mother, Georgia Holt, a backwoods beauty from Sharp County, Arkansas, not all that far from Memphis, was also into early rock and roll. She thought it was good music, and she wasn't threatened by it. When Cherilyn's friends' mothers saw Elvis, they shrank in revulsion and forbade their children from buying his records. But Georgia watched The Ed Sullivan Show The Ed Sullivan Show with her daughter, and then when Elvis came to town, she bought tickets for the two of them. Cherilyn was ecstatic, she said in an interview for this book. with her daughter, and then when Elvis came to town, she bought tickets for the two of them. Cherilyn was ecstatic, she said in an interview for this book.

"I was so crazy. I got my hair cut for it, because I hoped he would notice it. I was in such heaven. I almost didn't walk on the ground."

Inside the auditorium, she saw him in the gold suit that Nudie, her mom's friend, made. "He's really s.h.i.+ny," she thought. Then all of a sudden, "All the girls were on their chairs screaming. I didn't understand why exactly-I wasn't completely sure about the s.e.xual part of it-but I was just fascinated with it. I remember saying, 'Mom, can we stand on our chairs and scream, too?' And so we did. My mom was yelling and laughing, and I projected myself up there. It didn't make much difference what s.e.x he was."

Cherilyn had seen Dumbo Dumbo as a little kid, and sitting in the dark, watching the big screen, she was so transfixed that she'd peed her pants rather than get up and miss anything. The die had been cast for her future that day. But when she saw Elvis, "It was cemented in stone." as a little kid, and sitting in the dark, watching the big screen, she was so transfixed that she'd peed her pants rather than get up and miss anything. The die had been cast for her future that day. But when she saw Elvis, "It was cemented in stone."

The Pan Pacific shows, among the greatest Elvis ever played, were meant to be the last of the tour, until promoter Lee Gordon convinced the Colonel to let him book two Hawaiian dates in November, just as last of the tour, until promoter Lee Gordon convinced the Colonel to let him book two Hawaiian dates in November, just as Jailhouse Rock Jailhouse Rock opened in theaters. Those concerts, in Honolulu and at Schofield Barracks, Pearl Harbor, would be Elvis's last public performances before entering the military. opened in theaters. Those concerts, in Honolulu and at Schofield Barracks, Pearl Harbor, would be Elvis's last public performances before entering the military.

Every branch of the military service made bids for Elvis to join their ranks, offering perks of one kind or another. Elvis and the Colonel decided on the army, which offered a two-year enlistment with a 120-day deferment so he could complete his new movie, Paramount's King Creole. King Creole. He'd begin shooting it in January with Hungarian director Michael Curtiz, most famous for He'd begin shooting it in January with Hungarian director Michael Curtiz, most famous for Casablanca. Casablanca.

On December 20, 1957, he went down to the Memphis draft board to pick up the dreaded notice in person. The Colonel told him to do it, saying it made him look more patriotic, and that mothers and fathers all across the nation would respect him for it. It was good publicity. When reporters asked how he liked trading his blue suede shoes for army boots, he bit his tongue and followed the drill. "It's a duty I've got to fill, and I'm going to do it," he said.

In private, it was a different story, according to Barbara Pittman, who Elvis had planned on taking on the road with him. "Elvis cried in my lap because he had to go into the service. Parker had said, 'Look, son, you play the hero. If you start battling it and try to get out of it to support your mother, it's going to make you look bad. Just be the all-American kid type.' "

Milton Bowers, the draft board chairman, had sent him informal word that his induction notice had been drawn up and was waiting for him.

Anita remembers the day. His parents were devastated. "They could not believe that he was going to have to leave them. He didn't mind going and serving, but he really didn't want to leave his family. And his mother was so worried about what would happen to him. She did not see another happy day after they received that notice."

The newspaper came out and took pictures. Elvis held his draft notice up in one while the others captured the splendor of Graceland and the white nylon Christmas tree festooned with red ornaments. Cliff and Elvis then posed with a huge pile of presents, but neither could resist some att.i.tude-Cliff holding a cigarette, and Elvis, wearing gloves indoors, offering a half-sneer.

Otherwise, he pretended everything was fine. Elvis bought his mother a mink coat, his father a diamond ring, and the Colonel a snazzy Isetta sports car. Even Billy and Bobby got hundred-dollar bills.

"That whole Christmas was like a kid's dream," Billy remembers. A couple of Christmases before, the Smith children had gone to the Goodfellows dinner for underprivileged kids. Now Aunt Gladys had "all kinds of good things to eat for the holidays," and the house was decorated with holly and berries. "It was a fun time," Anita confirms, and Gladys made herself get in the spirit for her first Christmas at Graceland. "She would look at Elvis, and grit her teeth and talk this baby talk, and he would do it back to her. They were gritting their teeth at each other."

By the time next Christmas rolled around, Gladys told Elvis, she hoped he and Anita would be married with a blond-headed baby on the way. They talked about it, Anita says. If it were a girl, they'd call her Alisa Marie. But Gladys wanted a boy, Elvis Jr. "She said, 'I can just see him running up and down the driveway in his little bare feet.' She was trying to plan Elvis's future, not having any idea of things that were going down.' "

At twenty-three, the most famous man in the world was in no hurry to marry, especially since his military service was upon him. The younger Elvis proposed marriage quickly and often, but he was now past such impetuous actions. Lamar understood the changes. since his military service was upon him. The younger Elvis proposed marriage quickly and often, but he was now past such impetuous actions. Lamar understood the changes.

"As kids, we were taught that you grow up, get married, and smoke cigarettes. That's just what you did. But he really didn't want to get married. Because we'd go on the coast, and he'd get loose and chase everything that was moving."

In early 1958, Anita went with Elvis to New Orleans for location shooting on King Creole, King Creole, his fourth and best film. But she stayed back at the hotel on Parker's orders, as she did in Los Angeles: Anita ensconced at the Knickerbocker, and Elvis at the Beverly Wils.h.i.+re. his fourth and best film. But she stayed back at the hotel on Parker's orders, as she did in Los Angeles: Anita ensconced at the Knickerbocker, and Elvis at the Beverly Wils.h.i.+re.

On the set, he took a s.h.i.+ne to seventeen-year-old June Wilkinson, who had just come over from England at the invitation of Hugh Hefner and Playboy Playboy magazine. (Hef dubbed her "The Bosom.") The amply endowed cheesecake model (43-22-37) had been trained as a ballerina, but began her career as a topless dancer at age fifteen, joining London's Windmill Theatre as a fan dancer in 1957. June would later gain fame as a platinum-haired vixen in the mode of Jayne Mansfield. But at the time Elvis met her, she was a stunning brunette and merely a young friend of the ch.o.r.eographer on the picture. magazine. (Hef dubbed her "The Bosom.") The amply endowed cheesecake model (43-22-37) had been trained as a ballerina, but began her career as a topless dancer at age fifteen, joining London's Windmill Theatre as a fan dancer in 1957. June would later gain fame as a platinum-haired vixen in the mode of Jayne Mansfield. But at the time Elvis met her, she was a stunning brunette and merely a young friend of the ch.o.r.eographer on the picture.

"Elvis came over and started talking to me," June recalls of their meeting, "and he said, 'Would you like to have dinner?' A seventeen-year-old girl, of course, course, I would like to have dinner!" I would like to have dinner!"

He sent a car to bring her to his hotel, and then in his usual approach, he offered to show her the luxurious suite. When they got to his bedroom, "He started kissing me, which was okay with me, and then he wanted to make love." But June was a virgin and intended to stay that way.

She thought Elvis would surely cut the evening short when she told him. But instead, "He said, 'Oh, okay,' and sat me on his bed, got out his guitar, and sang to me for a couple of hours. I was so impressed. He knew he wasn't going to get anyplace with me, and it didn't matter."

Even Sophia Loren flipped for him during a chance meeting on the Paramount lot while filming Desire Under the Elms Desire Under the Elms. A studio photographer captured the meeting of the two international s.e.x symbols, her arms around his neck, flirty smiles all around.

King Creole, based on Harold Robbins's gritty novel based on Harold Robbins's gritty novel A Stone for Danny Fisher, A Stone for Danny Fisher, offered Elvis a magnificent role as a young singer navigating the mob-controlled New Orleans club scene. His work reflects his close study of Brando and Dean, and finds him worthy of leading a first-rate cast, including Walter Matthau (as Maxie, the crime boss) and Carolyn Jones (Maxie's jaded mistress, who also has a soft spot for Danny). offered Elvis a magnificent role as a young singer navigating the mob-controlled New Orleans club scene. His work reflects his close study of Brando and Dean, and finds him worthy of leading a first-rate cast, including Walter Matthau (as Maxie, the crime boss) and Carolyn Jones (Maxie's jaded mistress, who also has a soft spot for Danny).

Elvis's scenes with the exotic Jones proved powerful and poignant. ("He was always asking a lot of questions," she remembered. "G.o.d, he was young! He was always talking about his folks and the house he'd just bought them.") But he took more pleasure in reuniting with Dolores Hart, as the straight-arrow dime-store clerk Nellie.

Again, Elvis showed interest in her (he nicknamed her "Whistle Britches"), and again, Dolores demurred. She played with his pompadour on the set, but she might as well have been his sister.

Elvis didn't push himself on her, because it wasn't right to do so. It was the same with their characters' relations.h.i.+p, too. He understood this so innately that in a rare display of a.s.sertiveness, he challenged director Curtiz about a scene in which Danny tricks Nellie into going to a hotel. Still shots remain in which the two sit together on the bed, with Nellie about to unfasten her dress.

As the actress remembers, the scene wasn't effective. "It was Elvis who finally called a halt to it. He said, 'I just don't see how Nellie would even come this far. She wouldn't have me take her dress down and then say no.' I agreed with him."

After King Creole King Creole wrapped in March 1958, Dolores never saw Elvis again, though he wrote her postcards from his military service in Germany, asking, "What's doing, hot lips?" It was a private joke, since they'd been forced to do one of their kissing scenes in 104-degree temperature. Elvis was "like a young animal," she told a British reporter. "He doesn't have much refinement, but this is part of his charm." wrapped in March 1958, Dolores never saw Elvis again, though he wrote her postcards from his military service in Germany, asking, "What's doing, hot lips?" It was a private joke, since they'd been forced to do one of their kissing scenes in 104-degree temperature. Elvis was "like a young animal," she told a British reporter. "He doesn't have much refinement, but this is part of his charm."

Still, stories swirled that she left show business and became a nun because she was pregnant with his child. Today, Mother Dolores is, indeed, a Benedictine nun at the Convent of Regina Laudis in Bethlehem, Connecticut. But she didn't enter the order until 1963-five years after making King Creole. King Creole.

Philip Stanic, an entertainer who calls himself Elvis Presley Jr. (born December 24, 1961, in Gary, Indiana), initially said he believed that he was the actors' illegitimate son. Now, however, he claims his birth mother was the late actress Angelique Pettijohn, an extra in Elvis's 1961 film Blue Hawaii Blue Hawaii.

Elvis was always a business a.s.sociate and not a close friend, Dolores insisted. Yet she spent enough time around him to make some observations. In 1959, a movie magazine quoted her as saying, "Elvis is a young man with an enormous capacity of love . . . but I don't think he has found his happiness. I think he is terribly lonely."

In 2003, she spoke of her most abiding memory of him, which occurred during the making of Loving You. Loving You. They were out in the country, and they'd finished filming for the day. They were out in the country, and they'd finished filming for the day.

"There were some horses around . . . and we were just laughing and enjoying being out there. He was standing by a rail, and he had his arms reaching out each side of it. He put his head back . . . he was looking up to the sky, and he was so beautiful and real. And for a moment, he just looked so peaceful."

Elvis had finally found some footing in a world he, himself, had turned upside down. Now the army was about to separate him from everything that mattered: his fame, his career, and most of all, his deathly ill mother.

On leave from the army, Elvis posed for this formal portrait with his parents at Graceland, June 1958. Gladys would die before the summer was out. (Robin Rosaaen Collection) (Robin Rosaaen Collection)

Chapter Fifteen.

Private Presley.

On January 1, 1958, Jimmie Rodgers Snow, who had been Elvis's roommate on some of the early tours, arrived at Graceland for an extended visit. Elvis had run into Hank's son backstage at the Grand Ole Opry eleven days earlier, when he'd gone to Nashville to deliver the Colonel's Isetta sports car. Elvis invited him over to take part in his last big hurrah-a man-child marathon of roller-rink bas.h.i.+ng, motorcycle riding, and all-night movies-before leaving to make some of the early tours, arrived at Graceland for an extended visit. Elvis had run into Hank's son backstage at the Grand Ole Opry eleven days earlier, when he'd gone to Nashville to deliver the Colonel's Isetta sports car. Elvis invited him over to take part in his last big hurrah-a man-child marathon of roller-rink bas.h.i.+ng, motorcycle riding, and all-night movies-before leaving to make King Creole King Creole and then going off to the service. and then going off to the service.

They'd had a long talk one night. Jimmie laughed about opening for Elvis in Texas in 1955, saying how the "Memphis Flash" came out in "a chartreuse jacket and black pants with a white stripe down the side, and the kids were just going wild." And he remembered "how cool he was in my mind. I wanted to sing like him. I wanted to dress like him, and do things that I never cared about till I met him."

Elvis was studying his script for King Creole, King Creole, and tossed it to Jimmie. "Hey, man. Why don't you just go out to California with me? I'll get you a bit part in the picture." But Jimmie declined. and tossed it to Jimmie. "Hey, man. Why don't you just go out to California with me? I'll get you a bit part in the picture." But Jimmie declined.

"I told him how much it meant for me to be there, but I said, 'I'm getting married in March, and I'm going into the ministry.' Elvis thought that was great. As a matter of fact, he was probably the only one who commended me for it. Everybody else thought I was crazy."

Two months earlier, Jimmie realized he'd been living a perpetual dark night of the soul. He'd been drinking and doing pills since his days on the road.

"I was just a miserable, unhappy man. But the call of G.o.d was on my life. I had sensed it for years, but I didn't know what it was." Just prior to going over to Graceland, Jimmie had turned his life over to Jesus. "I quit drinking and pills cold turkey. I was changing my life."

Jimmie thanked Elvis for his offer of a part in the movie, but the only way he knew to break with the entertainment business was just to cut all ties. but the only way he knew to break with the entertainment business was just to cut all ties.

When Jimmie left Graceland in early 1958, his heart was heavy for two reasons. He feared for Elvis's soul, for the way he was conducting his personal life. And he worried about Gladys. "My memory of his mother is coming downstairs and seeing her sitting in the kitchen drinking beer, always in the same chair. I don't know if she was a lush, but I would see it all the time."

Alan Fortas was also concerned about Gladys. She hardly ever left the house, and Alan didn't know what she did with her time. Elvis talked about what a great cook she was, but since they got Alberta (Elvis called her "VO5"), Alan had never seen Gladys fix a meal. In 1954, when Elvis made his first records, he'd walked into Harry Levitch's jewelry store and bought his mother an electric mixer for Christmas. A few days later, he came back and bought another one, also for Gladys. When Harry asked why, Elvis said he wanted one for each end of the kitchen so she wouldn't have to walk so much. Now, as both Jimmie and Alan noted, she hardly ever got out of the chair.

"I just remember pa.s.sing through the kitchen on my way out to the pool or into the den, and she'd always be there.

" 'h.e.l.lo, Miz Presley, how you doin'?'

" 'Fine, Alan.' "

She was a nice, simple woman who never pretended to be more than she was, in Alan's view. "She dipped her snuff, she watched TV in her room, and she worried about her boy."

That was her life.

She sat by the window in the kitchen, daydreaming or looking out in the backyard. Sometimes she sat out front, away from the fans, sequestered from the neighbors who had tormented her on Audubon Drive. Other times, Vernon would take her for a drive in her pink Cadillac, since she'd never learned to drive. That summer, he would carry her down to Tupelo to see Annie Presley.

"We was sittin' there talkin'," Annie remembered, "and she said, 'Annie, I'd give the world if I lived next door where I could just get out and feed my chickens and do things, but Elvis won't let me do nothin'. You know me. I want to do do.' "

She killed her pain with the mult.i.tude of beer bottles she hid in the refrigerator behind the milk and the Pepsis, and she sipped on them all day long from a brown paper sack, was.h.i.+ng down diet pills-Dexedrine, or other forms of amphetamine-that the doctor gave her. She wanted so to lose weight, to s.h.i.+ne in the pictures the magazines took of her family. Normally, she wouldn't drink in front of others, Billy Smith says. She'd stay in her room.

"The biggest majority of the time she would go without it, but it seemed like when she got worried, she clung to that real quick."

Elvis had known about her "medication" for a long time, because as Lamar remembers, he pilfered her "speed" to stay awake on the long drives on tour, even though it made him more hyper than usual. But he had been mystified by her wrenching mood swings. She would be bubbly one minute and at the ends of despair the next. She seemed to be weepy all the time, and pale and withdrawn. She almost never came out of her robe anymore, and she walked so slowly. Somebody put it to early menopause, because she'd be hot one minute and cold the next. But the dark circles under her eyes, the color of old blood, were getting so deep they threatened to one day swallow her up. She was almost forty-six years old now, but everything about her seemed so much older.

Why did she look so unnaturally bloated, as if she might burst if p.r.i.c.ked with a pin? Elvis asked about it, but Gladys didn't want him to find out how sick she was-said she didn't know just exactly what her tests had shown. Their bond was so strong that when the wheel bearing went out on his Cadillac that time in Arkansas and caught fire, she bolted upright in her sleep and screamed, "Elvis!" "Elvis!" But he was so busy now, so preoccupied with getting things ready for the army, that he wasn't in tune with her the way he had been. That, too, was a source of grief. But he was so busy now, so preoccupied with getting things ready for the army, that he wasn't in tune with her the way he had been. That, too, was a source of grief.

She was losing him. First it was Jessie, and now Elvis. The first weeks of basic training, they wouldn't even let her come see him. And then they were sending him overseas. To Germany, enemy territory. Elvis had already said he'd take his family with him, but she couldn't imagine such a thing. She told Lamar, "I can't see myself away from Sonny Boy that long. But I just can't go with him." How would she cope without her baby? How would she live?

The night before his induction, Elvis, Anita, and the gang went to the drive-in movie to see movie to see Sing, Boy, Sing, Sing, Boy, Sing, starring Colonel Parker's onetime protege Tommy Sands. The picture was an adaptation of a television drama, "The Singing Idol," loosely based on Elvis's own story. Everybody got a kick out of it, especially since Nick Adams played Elvis's buddy, standing in for the whole inner circle. Afterward, the group went to the roller rink one last time and played Crack the Whip, Elvis handing out "happy pills" he got from the dentist to ease everyone's pain. That night, Alan pulled sleepwalking duty and stayed in his room. But Elvis was too keyed up for sleep, worrying what the next two years would bring, so they just stayed up all night and talked. starring Colonel Parker's onetime protege Tommy Sands. The picture was an adaptation of a television drama, "The Singing Idol," loosely based on Elvis's own story. Everybody got a kick out of it, especially since Nick Adams played Elvis's buddy, standing in for the whole inner circle. Afterward, the group went to the roller rink one last time and played Crack the Whip, Elvis handing out "happy pills" he got from the dentist to ease everyone's pain. That night, Alan pulled sleepwalking duty and stayed in his room. But Elvis was too keyed up for sleep, worrying what the next two years would bring, so they just stayed up all night and talked.

At 6:30 A.M. A.M. on March 24, 1958, the twenty-three-year-old recruit, modeling black trousers, pink-and-black socks, and a blue striped s.h.i.+rt under a gray-and-white-checked sport coat, reported to the Memphis Draft Board in the M & M Building at 198 S. Main Street. There, he and twelve others would be inducted into the U.S. Army, and Elvis would be a.s.signed army serial number 53 310 761. on March 24, 1958, the twenty-three-year-old recruit, modeling black trousers, pink-and-black socks, and a blue striped s.h.i.+rt under a gray-and-white-checked sport coat, reported to the Memphis Draft Board in the M & M Building at 198 S. Main Street. There, he and twelve others would be inducted into the U.S. Army, and Elvis would be a.s.signed army serial number 53 310 761.

With him were his parents, Anita, Lamar, Alan, and Judy Spreckels, who had taken over some of his national fan club duties. His double first cousin, the teenaged Patsy Presley, showed up, along with a smattering of fans and quasiromantic interests, including an attractive blonde named Bonnie Mosby Underwood, the wife of songwriter and future Sun Records engineer Charles Underwood, and the girl some people thought secretly owned Elvis's heart. He carried a small leather bag containing exactly what the induction notice said to bring-a razor, a toothbrush, a comb, and enough money to last for two weeks. Among the officers there that day was Walter Alden, whose one-year-old daughter, Ginger, would grow up to have her own unique place in Elvis history.