Road Philosophy		Touched by Elvis Angels My phone rings. A female voice on the other end inquires about a tour that I give called the Greatest Hits Tour of Memphis. We agree on the price and pickup time. I arrive at her downscale franchise motel near the outskirts of town and she spots me from behind the plate glass window. She climbs aboard the 1955 Cadillac, we begin to cruise, and she begins to talk. There's a look about her that's not quite right. Most Elvis fanatics have a look that's not quite right, but this is different. Her face seems rearranged...her clothes don't fit. She tells me she's from South Africa and she doesn't have to tell me that she loves Elvis. It's stamped upon her bearing. 30 years ago she'd been young, pretty and married to a singer in a rock and roll band back in Johannesburg. He had a swagger... and oohhh he could sing just like Elvis. She would have stayed with him forever. One tragic afternoon they were riding his motorscooter and there was an accident. She doesn't remember much but she was hurt terribly. Unconscious for weeks and scarred for life, she slowly came to and began to realize what had happened. Soon after she regained focus her husband came to her room and he explained his sorrow yet defined his need. He divorced her before she was released from the hospital. A few years slipped by but the pain never really left her. One day in the long shadows of a late afternoon, she got word that he died in a drinking brawl still desperately pursuing a singing career and she never stopped loving him. Or rather, loving the way they had been in the good time of their lives. She tells me three years ago she was diagnosed with cancer, she was operated on and given chemotherapy and now the cancer is in remission. She received some insurance money and came to a conclusion that since she'd always wanted to get close to the King, and time was dwindling, she'd better do it now. She took the money, booked her flight, and came by herself. As we drove slowly around Memphis I showed her where Elvis went to high school, where he lived in the public housing projects, where his early pain and humiliation transformed itself into a yearning that would not be denied. She let her mind untangle, and dream, and imagine how it might've been. Another place, another time. She got close, closer than most I see that come up to the flame to catch a little glow, a little afterlight from the brightest comet that ever blazed a trail across the American sky. Later, as we parted company on the hot asphalt of a Shoney's parking lot, I could tell she'd been touched by the Elvis angels. She got close. There was a look on her face... And as I pulled away and steered the Cadillac out into the traffic with a wave goodbye I wept and wailed because I knew that was how she had decided to conclude her life and I had been a witness to it. Soul Memo #1 operate in the synapse Driving Elvis Around Memphis He was cool. And like most famous people, when you see them you can't help but think, "Hey,you look just like...just like...yourself." There he was, Elvis Costello. He was in town for a visit because he'd been in Oxford recording his album "Monkey to Man". He had a day off and brought a few friends with him to Memphis to relax and look around. Through my friend Robert Gordon, Elvis had booked a tour with my company, American Dream Safari, and we planned an excursion around town riding in my 1955 Cadillac, it was late in April and the afternoon was slow and softly breezy. Elvis doesn't think of himself as a Star but he's aware that he his. He was relaxed and affable, engaged and curious. He is nothing if not a student of music, a man who has spent his life immersing himself in a subject. His context in 20th century music, modern music, reaches like the tentacles of an old and well rooted tree. That knowledge emerges in his easy going style of conversation. In the great neo-Tradition of a lot of English rockers, Elvis pays homage to American music and Memphis music in particular. He's a devoted fan of 60's soul music and as we cruise through the neighborhoods where that very music was spawned and recorded, I look in the rearview mirror and can see him leaning his elbow out the window, a memory wind in his face, enjoying the odors of Memphis as they waft into the car. He becomes another fan on a tribute tour as we drift past Stax and Hi, Sun and sin and salvation. The music playing on the stereo ...I'm a soul man at the dark end of the street but that's alright mama cause I walk the line 10 feet offa Beale..... He liked the obscure neighborhoods the best. My favorite moment that I now like to reflect on occured as we were driving past Humes High School where another Elvis went to school. I pulled over to the curb and said something about Elvis and then I looked in the rearview mirror and saw Elvis and I thought to myself, cool, I'm the only guy on the planet right now talking about Elvis to Elvis. My Grandfather's Hat Sweat stained and the Stetson brand. Not a 10 gallon hat like a phony Hollywood cowboy but the simple Open Road style. Well shaped by rough hands and good intentions. Protection from the Sun. Wind. Rain. And a little rakish style for Saturday night. Inside it smells of sweet hair oil and the mysteries of a man's thoughts. He pulls the hat away from my face and says peeky boo. I'm 3 1/2 years old and think he's a giant. Tobacco odors and a faint sweetness of bourbon linger in his white shirt. He shoves the hat back on my face and needles my ribs. "Charlie don't scare the boy," she says over thimble, thread, and button. Grandmother's faded print dress and the tick of the clock on the wall. I climb into his lap and wear the hat. "Tell me the one about the dog under the bed." I say, begging to be frightened. Later. We're driving down the dirt road in his 1950 Buick Roadmaster. I'm standing in the seat beside him. The hat is tilted back on his head revealing a sunburnt line between his ruddy face and the geography of his forehead. He allows me into his world when he asks so seriously, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" "You!", I answer without pause. He roars with laughter and punches down hard on the accelerator. Behind us, in the rearview mirror, mad plumes of dust and the world swirls away.
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