Of Short Rows and What If Moments
I was driving home tonight alone in the dark. Void of the lights of town, a bright and mostly full moon shown above, and absolutely NOTHING was to be found on the radio. This is nothing new. To me, radio as a music delivery system is less than a generation now from being a thing of the past. Today is the time of instant gratification; instant and the antithesis of what one would think. Instant in the past might bring to mind a cheaper version, something less, lacking in quality, non-appealing in any way, and the only redeeming trait would be a quicker delivery. Today, however, quick, easy, instant, are adjectives that can back up and even surpass expectations and claims.
I drove into the night, not in a hurry, not in a rush, but in need of a distraction, something to quiet a hyperactive mind. I picked up my phone and held it underneath my chin, thinking of someone I could call, a text I could send, or that one perfect song that would fill the bill. Songs flipped through my mind like a Rolodex and for whatever reason, an Elvis Presley tune popped up, a favorite of an old friend of mine who left this world several years ago. I pulled up the song on my phone, and you guessed it, instantly, the cab of my truck was filled with the rich bass lines, the drums, the piano, the backup vocals, and then, of course, that voice, that incomparable voice of the one and only, Elvis Presley.
Reliving the experience now, I have to correct myself. When I said “quiet a hyperactive mind,” that is a drastic mischaracterization. I should have said, “To re-direct or funnel the thoughts of a hyperactive mind.” “To squelch the noise, the remnants of an extremely busy day, an extremely busy life.”
I made it to the DBeazy One-Man-Think-Tank, poured 3 fingers of bourbon, and kicked off the Elvis song again, this time, over the decent quality barroom sound system. My friend, Mr. Lee, had learned of the then-burgeoning technology of the likes of Napster and immediately bought into the idea of the concept of what we now know of as a “playlist.” I can hear his voice tonight as clear as if it was yesterday, “Hey Donny, see if you can find “It’s Midnight” by Elvis.”
It turned out that I could in fact find that song, and I copied it, and delivered it to him, but not before listening to the song myself. I guess it should be noted here that I’m not a real big Elvis fan. I have a ton of respect for the man, his voice, who he was, his nothing-short-of-God-Given-Talent, but I always had to subtract points for “Hound Dog,” “Jail House Rock,” “Blue Suede Shoes,” and those made for TV Elvis movies. As a very young lad, I fell in love with “Don’t,” then years later, I found my second favorite through my friend, Mr. Lee.
Elvis was not the writer of the song. But it is obvious at least to me that Elvis identified greatly with the lyrics. Any question about it abated when in at least one version of the song, the KING adds to the words, “listen Cilla.” And for those not fully informed, Cilla would be a reference to Priscilla and should be noted that the marriage of Elvis and Priscilla Presley ended just two months before “It’s Midnight” was recorded.
I identify with the song as well. In fact, I think anyone who has loved and lost might imagine a similar conversation shortly after a split, or maybe years later during a time of contemplative thought after a night of drink. When I hear the song though, it is with great fascination that my thoughts go to my friend Mr. Lee. I attempt to envisage the reason why this was his favorite song. I wonder if at the time, he was coming to grips with the fact that he’d made it to “the short rows” and the song forced some of those “what if” moments.
For sixteen years, I spent time with the man for an hour or more almost every workday. We were close, and I knew much of the man that he was. For example, I knew that Mr. Lee had served in the Air Force and had been stationed at Goose Bay, Labrador. A gifted storyteller, Mr. Lee always had a tale it seemed.
In particular, I recall him telling about his last night in Goose Bay and how, against his better judgment, he got into a poker game. The specifics are vague in my memory, and without him telling it, are inconsequential, but suffice it to say, it was just one of those nights. Every card he needed came and every strategy he applied, came off without a hitch. By the end of the night, he had broken up the game and had all of the money. I remember thinking it odd, as the story went, that at some point between Goose Bay and Columbia, Mississippi, he stopped at a department store and purchased a suit. I don’t know, it just seemed out of character for the man who rarely wore anything other than overalls or coveralls. I also chuckle at a memory of my sister-in-law trying to shop for Mr. Lee, complaining of the difficulty to find anything in a size 50-30.
Introspective walks down memory lane like this are a favored pastime for me. True, I spend more time and effort in the evaluation of present personal performance in light of its application to the future, but I believe there is value in the examination of the past as well. This latest trip, prompted by a song almost 50 years old, has been an enjoyable one for the most part, but I can’t just mention an Elvis song and leave it at that.
So as my thoughts flowed, it occurred to me that with every passing year, knowledge of Elvis Aaron Presley becomes less significant, less compelling, less momentous; hell, less MONUMENTAL. I shared an Elvis video with a friend of mine many years my junior, and her initial response was, “I can’t get past those awful sideburns.” I consider the era in which my much younger friend was born and I have to give her credit because, after giving her some direction, she was able to set aside past mores in an attempt to see the ICONIC figure that is ELVIS, and grasp a little of the TOTAL picture of the man. The total exercise serves as an eye-opener. The realization that the learned youth of today think that they live in an enlightened era and an argument can be made to that effect. But can I offer the argument that to have been alive and to have witnessed the birth of significant technology, to have lived within the transition from analog to digital, man, how lucky am I to have lived in an era of Elvis as well as within an era of the likes of George Strait and Michael Jackson? Where are the ICONS of today? I mean, really. Are they present? Do they exist?
The white boots, the bell-bottomed studded and sequined jumpsuits, the gaudy rings and jewelry, the sweaty scarves that women fought for, the pork chop sideburns, and the body gyrations, well, I can see if one is viewing it all for the first time here in the year 2020, it might be hard to take it seriously. But the influence of Elvis Presley over a generation is unfathomable. Seriously, Elvis was the beginning of the unraveling of the establishment, and while the focus was on Elvis, and his “satanic gyrations,” the likes of Conway Twitty got away with singing lyrics like “I’d love to lay you down,” and “I don’t know what I’m saying as my trembling fingers touch forbidden places.” Yes, there was a change in the wind that blew through Elvis Presley. A wind that fueled an inferno and stood no chance of being stopped, in spite of all efforts to try. I’m sure if it had not been Elvis, it would have been somebody, but it was he that showed the world that it was ok to be “moved” by the music.
Elvis has been gone for years now, as well as Mr. Lee. I consider their lives as it pertains to the song, and I still wonder of their thoughts regarding it, and of course, their thoughts as their days counted down until the end. I think of them today and I’m reminded of a great line from the Showtime series, Californication when Hank Moody speaks to the ghost of Lew Ashby, and Lew says, “It’s true what they say you know, got one Hell of a band.”