The Night Momma Tried to Save Elvis

        It's "Elvis Week" in my hometown, and River City is being overrun by more Elvis worshipers and wannabes than you can shake a fried peanut butter and nanner sandwich at. Unless you believe those reports that the King is now flying around in a UFO with Jimmy Hoffa or is living in a Burger King in Kalamazoo, Elvis has been dead now for 33 years. Nevertheless, the King is more popular now than he was 40 years ago when he was alive, not exactly well and living in a white jumpsuit. 

       Well, contrary to the accompanying photo, I'm not an Elvis impersonator and I don't play one on TV. However, I am a lifelong Memphian who long ago had a close encounter with the King. No, he didn't buy me a pink Cadillac, and we never rode the Pippin together after midnight at the fairgrounds. But I did almost meet him once on a memorable night nearly 50 years ago when my momma tried to save him. 

       In the early 1950s, my father was a youth minister at the First Assembly of God Church, which was then located in south Memphis. Dad worked with a lot of fine young people at the church, including a young man named Elvis who lived in the Lauderdale Courts housing project downtown. Dad tells me that when I was a little tyke, we would drive by Lauderdale Courts early on Sunday mornings, pick up the once and future king and take him to church. Unfortunately, I have no memory of this.  But I do recall and will never forget a night a few years later when my momma dragged Daddy and me to Graceland on a rescue mission. 

       Momma had followed Elvis's career in the mid-1950s as he made the transition from the First Assembly Youth Choir to the ''Ed Sullivan Show.'' One Sunday he was singing "Shall We Gather at the River," and before you knew it, there he was on ''Ed Sullivan,'' swiveling his hips and crooning "Jailhouse Rock." Momma was not impressed. She was concerned. Momma thought rock and roll was satanic and she was worried about Elvis's eternal destination. Suffice to say she did not believe that there was a rock and roll heaven. 

       So one night not long after Elvis had moved into Graceland, Momma insisted that she and Daddy and I go visit Elvis, witness to him, and bring him back into the fold of First Assembly of God. 

       Momma and Daddy and I arrived early that memorable evening at the gates of Graceland where we stood in line at the guard shack. The shack was manned by Elvis's Uncle Vester, who was sort of Graceland's St. Peter. He would screen visitors at the gate and determine whether to allow admission. 

       After what seemed like hours, Momma and Daddy and I had finally made it to the front of the line. Daddy shook hands with Uncle Vester and said, "I'm Brother Bill Haltom. I was Elvis's Sunday school teacher and youth minister at First Assembly. My wife and son and I would like to meet with him briefly." 

       "He ain't here," Uncle Vester quickly replied. "He's in Las Vegas." 

       "Well, I'll just leave him a note," said Dad, pulling a pen and a notepad from his pocket. 

       About that time Momma and Daddy and I heard an unmistakable voice clearly coming from a speaker inside the guard shack. "Hey, Vester. Is that carload of girls from Tupelo here yet?" 

       "No, not yet," replied Vester. 

       Momma shot Vester a look that would kill and said, "You said Elvis wasn't here!" 

       "He ain't here, lady," replied Vester. "Like I told you. He's in Las Vegas." "Well," Momma said, her eyes blazing, "if he's in Las Vegas how come we just heard his voice? Don't tell me he was calling long distance!" 

       About that time, we once again distinctly heard the voice of the King of Rock and Roll. "Hey Vester," said the King. "When them girls from Tupelo get here, you send them right up, you he-ah?" 

       "Will do," said Vester.

        Now Momma was really mad. "You lied to us! You said Elvis wasn't here, and we've just heard him not once, but twice." 

       Uncle Vester had his story and he was sticking to it. "Lady, I'm telling you, he ain't here. Now you nice people need to go." (He could have added, "particularly since them girls from Tupelo will be he-ah any minute.") 

       I will never forget Momma's words. Looking at Uncle Vester straight in the eyes, she took me by the hand and said to my father, "Come on, honey! Let's get out of here. I feel dirty just standing here!" 

       Well, Momma's in heaven now, and I hope Elvis is up there too. Who knows? Maybe Momma finally brought him back into the fold. Maybe, just maybe, at this very moment they are singing together in a magnificent choir. But if so, one thing's for sure. They're singing gospel. There's no way Momma would sing rock and roll, not even with Elvis.