by Ginger Alden
Certain things in life are bound to make you wonder how much of your destiny is due to fate and how much is the product of chance. For my family, the U.S. Army was a catalyst.
In 1943, the world was at war and my father, Walter Alden, was drafted into the army. My mother, Jo Spencer, enlisted in the Women’s Army Corps and they were both posted at Fort Stewart, Georgia. Two years after meeting at the base service station one fateful day, they married. Eleven months later, they had my brother, Mike, and five years later my sister Rosemary was born.
My dad decided on a career in the military, and in 1951 they settled in Memphis, Tennessee. Memphis was home to many great musical talents, but in the mid-1950s, Elvis Presley had begun to put our city on the map for millions around the world.
In 1955, the year my sister Terry was born, my family was living in an apartment building on Getwell Road. Unaware that Elvis lived about five blocks away, my brother was riding his bike on Stribling Street one day and recognized Elvis in a flatbed truck as he drove up beside him. Elvis smiled at Mike and slowly passed him. Mike followed him to Dunn Avenue until Elvis made a turn and he lost sight of him. My brother later told my parents, “He probably smiled at me because I was staring at him.”
Like my brother, most Memphians felt a sense of pride that Elvis shared their home. I was born on November 13, 1956, at the naval hospital in Millington, Tennessee, and I would grow up feeling that pride even as a small child.
In 1957, my father, now ranked sergeant first class, was in public relations and recruiting for the army. He worked closely with the Memphis draft board, notifying and advising individuals that if they enlisted, they would be able to receive special opportunities. Earlier that year, the board had announced that Elvis would probably be drafted. Every branch of the military began making offers, trying to get him to enlist.
Hoping to speak with Elvis on the army’s behalf, my dad made a trip to Graceland, Elvis’s recently purchased home, only to be told that Elvis was away. Before my father could return to Graceland, he was informed that Elvis had decided not to enlist and would take his chances with the draft. At the end of the year, Elvis received his notice for induction into the U.S. Army.
On the morning of March 24, 1958, Elvis arrived with his parents, Gladys and Vernon, at the draft board office located inside the M&M Building in downtown Memphis. Elvis and the other recruits being drafted then boarded a bus for physicals at the U.S. Army and Air Force recruiting main station at Kennedy Veterans Hospital. Shortly after arriving, they entered a reception room and sat on chairs lined up in rows behind long tables.
In that room, soon-to-be Private Elvis Presley laid eyes on my father for the first time as my dad walked in and said a few words, giving the new recruits some insight as to what lay ahead. My father had finished speaking and was gathering his things to leave when Elvis approached him.
“Is there someplace inside this building where I could get change?” Elvis asked, explaining that he wanted to use one of the pay phones.
My father reached into his pocket and offered Elvis a dime. Elvis took it and thanked him. Elvis had his physical, and by that afternoon, he was sworn into the U.S. Army.
Due to Elvis’s fame, the press covered the event. Photographers took pictures of him with my dad for the newspapers, and whenever I look at those clippings, it still hits me: Here is a young Elvis, and here is my dad. They were worlds apart, yet at that moment they were connected for the first time.
My father came home that evening with two publicity photos of Elvis, one signed, “To Mike,” and the other, “To Rosemary.” Before going to bed, he wrote inside my sister’s small autograph book, “Today I shook the hand of Elvis Presley, March 24, 1958.”
Elvis’s mother had become ill, and that August, the army granted Elvis an emergency leave so he could return to Memphis to see her. His mother passed away on August 14, 1958, and he was granted an extended stay for her funeral. On March 7, 1960, after twenty-four months of active duty, Elvis returned to Memphis again, this time as a civilian, with four years left in the reserves.
A few nights later, my father decided to stop by Graceland after work, hoping for some follow-up public relations tidbits for an army newsletter. He parked his army sedan near Graceland’s driveway and walked toward its closed gates, where some others were milling about. The gates had become a popular place for fans to hang out, chat, and catch a glimpse of Elvis.
My dad saw Elvis and a few others standing in the driveway, talking to a teenager with a bandaged hand. When Elvis noticed my father, still dressed in his army uniform, he yelled, “Let him in,” to a guard near the gates.
My father learned that Elvis had assisted the teenager two nights earlier, when he’d been in a motorcycle accident near Graceland, and the teen had returned to thank him. My dad lucked out; he got to see Elvis and now had a story.
My father stopped by Graceland a few more times the following year along with a friend, a reporter for the Memphis Press-Scimitar, who was also looking for Elvis-related pieces. They became friendly with a guard at the gates named Travis Smith, who happened to be Elvis’s uncle. One evening, Travis invited my dad to bring my mom and join Elvis at a local movie theater called the Memphian, where Elvis often treated others to movie showings—it was the only way he could watch a movie out of the public eye.
As Travis had requested, my parents drove to Graceland and waited in their car by the front gates. Before long, a few other cars emerged from around back of the mansion and, as they exited the driveway, my father eased in behind them and followed.
It was well after midnight when my parents arrived at the theater, its marquee dark, showing it was closed to the public. They saw Elvis and a few others already out of their cars and talking, so they approached them. Recognizing my dad, Elvis shook his hand and my father introduced my mother.
The group soon entered the lobby and Elvis walked over to the food counter while my parents and some other guests made their way inside to get seats. Before long, Elvis came walking down the aisle with popcorn in hand. Upon noticing my father again, he tossed out jokingly, “Hey, Sarge, I’m ready to go back into the army.”
My dad replied, “We’ll be glad to have you back.”
Elvis screened two movies that night, and it wouldn’t be until the wee hours of the morning when everyone left the theater.
Not long afterward, Travis invited my parents for a second outing, telling them Elvis was renting the Memphis Fairgrounds Amusement Park, and friends and guests were welcome to bring their children. Travis and his wife were going along this time, and he told my dad when and where to meet them after the park closed to the public.
I was five years old when I rode with my family to the fairgrounds that night. Although I was too young to remember much, that evening became a memorable experience for my entire family. My brother and one of his friends drove separately. A security guard let us into the entrance of the amusement park, where we waited alongside other invited guests.
Travis arrived and introduced his wife, Lorraine, to my parents. Before long, a black car slowly pulled up to the entrance and the security guard waved it inside. The car came to a stop and Elvis stepped out, dressed in a dark shirt with dark pants and wearing a white captain’s hat. My most vivid memory is one of seeing Elvis shake hands with people and thinking he must be important, for his face looked just like the ones I’d seen on some record sleeves at home.
My parents greeted Elvis, and as my father introduced each one of us, Elvis shook hands with Mike and Rosemary, then patted Terry and me on our heads. When my mom mentioned that my brother was taking guitar lessons, Elvis joked, “I’ve got one at home he can have, because I can’t play the thing.”
Everyone laughed, and then the group continued inside, following Elvis to the park’s large wooden roller coaster (a ride that would remain one of his favorites). Elvis climbed into the front car with his date,
Bonnie Bunkley, and as the seats began to fill, Travis approached my mom. “Want to ride with me?” he asked.
Never having been on a roller coaster before, she told him yes, as long as he picked a safe and not-too-scary seat. They ended up sitting in the very last car, which unbeknownst to my mom was notorious for being rough.
My father and Lorraine Smith sat in the car in front of them, while my siblings and I stood by to watch. Screams of fright and laughter echoed from the ride as it raced by us multiple times before finally coming to a halt. When everyone got out, my mother, a little rattled but smiling, told Travis, “I think I might just have a heart attack right here.”
Elvis continued through the park with his date and some friends while my parents took my sisters and me to the kiddie section. My brother and his friend decided to wander the park alone. A concession stand was open to all of us, and we got to enjoy the rides as many times as we wanted.
Our special night was over too soon. Catching up with Travis and Elvis, my parents thanked them for our amazing evening. Mike and his friend begged my parents to let them stay longer; they didn’t return home until nearly sunrise. Later, still excited, Mike told my parents that Elvis and his friends had divided into groups and he got to drive the dodgem cars with them. Then Elvis sent someone across the street to get milkshakes at a place with two large polar bears out front called the Polar Bear Frozen Custard shop.
I didn’t know it then, but that night was just a preview of Elvis’s giving nature.
CHAPTER 2
By the early 1960s, my family was living in a three-bedroom, one-bathroom house in one of the new suburbs springing up around Memphis. Our home was half a block down the road from a cotton field that a farmer and his mule plowed from time to time, a remnant from the Old South. When the postwar boom hit, part of the field was paved and a gas station was erected there as modernization swept across Memphis, eventually surrounding our home with malls and fast-food restaurants.
My parents were hardworking, everyday people. My father had retired from the army and was managing a local department store. My mother worked up the street from our home, managing a stamp store. My siblings and I were baptized, and our parents did their best to raise us with good morals and values.
During my childhood and early teens, as I was learning to read and write and discovered a love of art, Elvis’s celebrity continued to skyrocket. He made music and movies, got married, and had a child. On occasion, when relatives visited us in Memphis, they wanted to see Graceland. We accommodated them and rode along with a security guard in a striped, canopied pink jeep—renowned at the estate—up Graceland’s driveway and back. It was a small tour of the estate, usually offered when Elvis was out of town.
Tomboyish, I roller-skated, rode horses, and clambered up trees. I often climbed on my brother’s motorcycle, too, pretending to ride it. Though our parents worried, occasionally Mike would take me out for a short spin and I would be thrilled.
My big brother’s love for motorcycles quickly became my own obsession. When I was fourteen, I pestered my father to purchase a minibike for me. My parents were apprehensive, having had enough safety concerns with my brother riding motorcycles, but my father gave in and I got my minibike. I continued to love motorcycles, and years later, I would eventually get my own.
Art, however, was my biggest passion. I was constantly drawing and painting, and I revered my brother, Mike, a wonderful artist who had begun taking art classes in college. I had an inspirational art teacher in high school named Mrs. Murphy who usually dressed in purple. She wore purple eyeglasses and carried a purple cane. Even her silvery white hair seemed to have a purple hue. Art was an easy way for me to express myself, and by my teens I was thinking about how to turn my passion into a career.
I also loved to sing. Pretending my hairbrush was a microphone, I’d dress up in one of my mother’s old skirts and croon along with various records. This wasn’t surprising to anyone because music was central to our home life. My mother was a self-taught musician who could play piano, guitar, and mandolin. Her father had been the minister of a small church in Arkansas, and having been spiritually influenced by both parents, she usually played gospel hymns on our piano.
My mom enjoyed a variety of music, from classical to gospel, and when she was home you’d hear the voices of Dean Martin, Bing Crosby, Engelbert Humperdinck, Tom Jones, and yes, Elvis, resonating from the stereo in our living room. Her love of music rubbed off on us. Terry became interested in the piano and began taking lessons, practicing fervently. At thirteen, I started taking vocal lessons. I could play piano a little bit by ear and occasionally fooled around on a big red guitar I’d been given, but usually when I wanted to sing, I’d pester Terry to accompany me on the piano. Despite the fact that our parents weren’t wealthy and had four children to feed and clothe, they had generously found the money for music lessons when we expressed our interest.
Whenever my mother was playing the piano, I’d wander in and stand behind her to sing. My father and sisters would occasionally join in, making those moments some of my fondest memories. When answering machines later came out, my mother, sisters, and I recorded a singing message in harmony on a whim. Friends claimed we sounded just like the Andrews Sisters.
As much as I enjoyed singing, I was too self-conscious and concerned about what others thought to sing in public. I made my family look the other way when I practiced and even asked them not to come to my recitals. I continued voice lessons through high school, then stopped, unable to overcome this great shyness. I decided it would be all right to let this particular passion of mine remain a childhood fantasy, safely tucked away.
Despite my tomboyish inclinations, my sister Terry and I used to cut out pictures of models we liked from McCall’s magazine and the Sears catalog, using them like paper dolls. As a teenager, I thought, “Wow, being a model sounds so cool.”
At sixteen, I finally saw my first live fashion model, and caught a glimpse of the world beyond Memphis when I tagged along with Rosemary and her girlfriend to Lowenstein Department Store downtown to watch auditions for a pageant called “Model of the Year.” The pageant was put on by Stewart Cowley, the owner of a New York modeling agency.
As I stood among the crowd gathered to view the entrants, I became fascinated by the sight of a female model seated beside Mr. Cowley, helping him interview contestants. This girl was rail thin and she’d cut her black hair very short. In my mind, she represented everything I thought a New York City model must be.
Looking about the room, Mr. Cowley stood up at one point and walked our way. He approached me and asked, “Why aren’t you in the contest?” Offering me an entry form, he returned to his table.
I began filling out the form, but my hand was shaking. I was excited but unprepared for this. Rosemary pressed me to personally hand the form back to Mr. Cowley and said, “Make sure you smile.” She had more confidence in me than I did. I returned the form but, upon seeing my age, Mr. Cowley asked me to come back in a few years, for eighteen was the eligible age to enter.
A few weeks later, through friends, I modeled some clothing alongside two other girls during a brief segment of the show Talent Party, which showcased bands. My interest in modeling had outweighed any fears. Someone saw me on the show, and not long afterward, I was contacted and hired to work in a hometown television commercial. I also held two part-time jobs after school, working at a restaurant on weekends and decorating the windows of a dress shop. I viewed the latter as an apprenticeship and a stepping-stone in the artistic field.
My interest in art continued throughout high school, and I began entering my paintings into local art competitions, even winning some awards. I graduated in the spring of 1974 with scholarship money to put toward a college that fall. I chose the Memphis Academy of Art, a small private college of art and design. As I started classes, I gave up my job at the restaurant but continued working part-time at the dress shop
.
I was one of the younger students in my classes; between my drawing, sculpting, and pottery courses, I felt out of my depth and slightly overwhelmed. Although my teachers, friends, and family told me I had talent and I believed it on some level, the academy’s curriculum proved to be too intense for me. Wanting to slow down and figure out my future one step at a time, I decided to take a sabbatical from the art academy after my first year. I hoped to find a different path that could lead to a future art-related career.
In the spring of 1975, Terry saw an ad for the Miss Memphis pageant. Pageants were prominent events in the South, and she decided to enter, winning first runner-up. Finding it challenging and fun, by the end of that year she began encouraging me to enter the Miss Tennessee Universe pageant. I wasn’t a competitive person, but I could definitely see how competing could help me overcome my shyness. So, with nothing to lose, in the beginning of 1976 I took the plunge. The title went to the sister of the pageant’s executive director and I placed first runner-up.
In February 1976, my family moved into a larger home on a nice corner lot in east Memphis. My father still managed a local department store and my mother had been working for the Internal Revenue Service. My brother, now a firefighter, lived close by with his wife and two daughters, while my sisters and I still lived at home. Rosemary worked in sales, Terry attended Memphis State University, and I did extra work at the dress shop while tending to the store’s windows.
My parents’ relationship had not been at its best the past few years. My mother had applied for a divorce twice in 1974, but dismissed it both times, hoping to work things out. When my parents purchased our new home, my siblings and I wanted to believe it was the beginning of a brighter future for them.
In the spring, Terry entered Miss Memphis again and won. This led her to the Miss Tennessee pageant in June, and our family proudly watched as she was crowned Miss Tennessee of 1976. The pageants had been exciting, and with my sisters encouraging me, I entered a few more local ones around the same time, winning Miss Traffic Safety and Duchess in our annual Cotton Carnival Ball.
