Flashback Friday: One Night with Elvis

Lord Almighty,
I feel my temperature rising
Higher higher
It's burning through to my soul

Picture it… North Georgia. The early ‘90s.

For some reason which completely escapes me now, my mother (aka The Belle) and I went on a road trip one fine spring to spend time with my cousin and his wife at their house on Lake Lanier, between Gainesville and Cumming.

Yeah. I know. I laugh every time I reference that town.

Anyway.

Aside from doing the usual family-visiting-family things – sitting around drinking and telling old stories; going out to eat; telling more stories; drinking – my cousin always liked to throw something fun in to the mix. A very genteel Southern gent, he would have been a city slicker out of water in his country environment had it not been for his natural and unassuming charm. One summer visit when I was a young lass, that “something fun” involved catching several hundred dollars worth of fish at a trout farm. My younger cousins and I just kept catching the bloody things and before our host realized it, we had acquired fish for days. The real fun, though, happened later that evening when The Belle and my other cousin’s wife (don’t try to keep up with the family relationships – even I get confused) after consuming several “Silver Bullets” (aka martinis) tried to package the filleted trout into little freezer bags. It’s been over 30 years and I still recall the hilarity that ensued.

So.

The “something fun” for this visit involved a trip to a place called the Lantern Inn. An inauspicious rural Southern joint where the menu was fried and the draught was cold and plentiful. The place had entertainment! – not usual for this sort of establishment. A brother/sister duo.

She was a Patsy Cline impersonator.

And as for the bro -- he took on the icon. The King. The One and Only.

Elvis.

Let's rock, everybody, let's rock.
Everybody in the whole cell block
was dancin' to the Jailhouse Rock.

The best part of this whole thing was that these two were multi-talented and multi-taskers. Patsy was a waitress. And Elvis – well, Elvis was the fry cook.

We opted not to eat dinner there the night we went -- if I recall correctly, we’d hit a catfish fry earlier in the evening at the VFW. Amazing hush puppies. So after supper, The Belle, my cousin’s wife and I headed off for an evening of beer and entertainment.

We had plenty of both.

Patsy Cline was meh – not a bad voice, but really – no one can come close to the original voice of silk and heartache.

And then there was Elvis. Wearing the While Jumpsuit. With the moves and the vocal affectations.

Awesome.

By the time he hit the stage, our little crew was well into the long neck Buds. By the time he segued into “All Shook Up” we were dancing on the floor. And by the time he finished up with “Burning Love” we were atop the picnic table we’d been sitting at, shaking our groove things. Even The Belle. Oh yeah.

Little sister, don't you
Little sister, don't you
Little sister, don't you kiss me once or twice
Then say it's very nice
And then you run

Little sister, don't you
Do what your big sister done

After his set, he didn’t retreat to a dressing room to recover and recoop. Nope. There were French fries to cook and some chicken to tend to. The Belle, fueled with Bud and bravado, wandered into the kitchen to extend her appreciation and spent some time with him, still clad in the White Jumpsuit, TCB, baby. That’s Taking Care of Business in Elvis-speak, y’all.

Somewhere in a photo box, I have a pic of us three ladies with Elvis, his parting gift of scarves ripped – literally – from cheap red rayon and autographed “Love, Mike Jones as Elvis”, draped around our necks. Hoping to unearth it sometime during the move.

So today, which would have been Elvis’ 75th birthday, I think not only of the King and his music and his tacky-fabulous-white trash taste, but also of Mike Jones as Elvis. And my One Night with The King.

Uh huh ohh, ohh, yeah, yeah!


I'm all shook up!