Thoughts From the Front Porch

Elvis Presley's Convair 880

Whatever else can be said about Elvis Presley’s mansion at Graceland, you gotta admit there’s nothing like it anywhere else.  Elvis used his money to surround himself with exactly what he wanted, not what some snooty designer told him was aesthetically correct.  His followers consider the place a shrine, a fact that was proven to me in no uncertain terms.

My now-ex and I toured the place back in the 80’s, not long after the King died.   We did a whole economy package, including Graceland, Heartbreak Hotel Cafe, Elvis’ road tour bus, his Convair 880 four engine jet airliner and Lockheed JetStar business plane.   We experienced his unique taste in decor everywhere we looked.

To be perfectly honest, the whole shebang was as tacky as it comes.  Those jets and tour bus were tricked out like mobile houses of pleasure, with emphasis on gaudy.  All three would have been right at home in Tijuana.   But the best was yet to come; the mansion.

I’ve never seen so many mirrors in my life.  There was a couch about thirty feet long in one great-room.   His Jungle Room was decked out with various spotted & striped animal hides, its ceiling covered with a huge array of multicolored carpet wedges.

As our tour group filed down an entrance foyer and into the main living room, it was like a funeral procession.  Hardly any noise other than a quiet shuffling of feet, very much like you’d hear as mourners pass a casket just prior to interment.  No words above a whisper; even our guide spoke in soft, somber tones.  Many of these folks were actually sniffling, and I don’t think it was allergies.

I had done my best to control my emotions throughout out pilgrimage but, upon catching sight of that couch and all those mirrors, it was just too much for me.   Unable to contain myself any longer, I busted out laughing.

The harder I tried to stifle it, the louder I laughed, as words like “cathouse”, “Bubba” , and “Kmart”  flooded my brain.  My wife hissed orders to shut the hell up then, realizing it was futile, pretended she didn’t know me.  All the other women gave me looks of pure disgust, like I had committed an act of callous sacrilege.  Our tour guide was not happy either, as her carefully-crafted atmosphere had been shattered beyond repair.

In fact, the only friends I had that day were a couple of guys who, like me, had gotten themselves roped into touring the Presley Inner Sanctum.

Views From Benny Hill is a series by Jerry Smith

Views From Benny Hill