by Ginger Alden
As the other men laughed along with him and the conversation became increasingly animated, Elvis’s conversation was peppered with curse words. I thought this must be his way of talking around the guys since, except for an occasional foul word here and there, I hadn’t noticed him speak this way before. Later, as our relationship grew, I learned to overlook the choice words Elvis used at times, although I’d never be 100 percent comfortable with them.
Elvis and the men continued to pal around with one another while I ate quietly. When I finished, I stood to go to the bathroom.
Elvis grabbed hold of my hand, startling me. “Where are you going?” he asked.
“Just to wash my hands,” I replied.
“Oh. Okay. Hurry back,” he said.
I was pleased and flattered. Elvis had been so engaged in conversation with his entourage, I’d thought he wouldn’t even notice if I slipped out of the room for a few minutes. Apparently, though, he was still focused on me, and my presence was important to him.
As the time for Elvis’s show drew near, he went into his bedroom to get ready while I dressed in mine. By the time I returned to the living room, there was a buzz of activity. Various aides, along with Elvis’s hairdresser, physician, road manager, and bodyguards, were all rushing in and out of his bedroom.
Before long, Elvis stepped out of his room wearing a white jumpsuit with varying shades of blue in a rainbow pattern swirled across the front of his suit and down the sides of both pant legs. His hair was styled to perfection. He wore a matching belt with chains around his waist, and his feet were clad in white leather boots. Seeing him dressed in one of his stage suits up close like this, he looked so handsome, it took my breath away.
While some people gathered around to finish preparing him to go onstage, Elvis glanced over at me with a faint smile, placing his hands on his belt and shifting it up a bit. He raised an eyebrow at me and gave me a slightly worried look.
I couldn’t believe Elvis was showing a hint of anxiety before a performance after so many years! That endeared him to me even more. I mouthed the words “very nice” to him from across the room, wanting him to know that I thought he looked great.
Surrounded by Elvis’s entourage, we finally left the room and walked down the hotel corridor. Elvis grew quiet. I could tell he was focused on his upcoming show.
We took the elevator down to the hotel’s ground floor. Outside, a couple of cars and a limousine were waiting for us with a police escort. I had never been in a limo, so climbing into one of these cars was yet another novelty for me.
I scooted into the center of the backseat. Elvis sat beside me. Some of the other men crowded in with us, while others piled into the second car. I sensed that Elvis was still anxious about his performance. He stared pensively out of the window during the short ride, occasionally making small talk or kidding someone, but speaking softly. He explained this by whispering to me, “I’m protecting my voice.”
Upon our arrival at the Cow Palace arena, a huge indoor arena in Daly City, everything warped into hyperspeed. We immediately exited the car, and Elvis was rushed into a dressing room. I was escorted past backstage hands onto the floor of the arena and told to wait by the stage.
The arena looked full and there was a comic named Jackie Kahane already performing onstage. I would later learn that he had been Elvis’s opening act for the past six years or so. I stood alone and felt extremely excited but a little scared, too, as I waited for someone to tell me what to do or where to go.
Reflecting on the only other Elvis concert I’d seen, back in July with my mom and sister, I thought about how lucky I was to be here right now, about to watch his show from the perspective of a guest instead of one more ticket holder.
Eventually, Dean Nichopoulos approached and handed me a soft drink, then brought over a steel chair, explaining it was for me. Elvis wanted the chair placed right onstage behind his soundmen! It felt great that he wanted me this close to him!
“Just make sure you head for the limo at the start of his closing song, ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love,’” he warned. “Otherwise, it might be tough to get you out of here when the fans rush the stage at the end of the show.”
My heart beat faster as I was assisted onto the stage. There I met soundmen Felton Jarvis and Bruce Jackson as I sat down.
Jackie Kahane did a great job of warming up the crowd. As Jackie’s routine wound down, a thrill of anticipation began to ripple through the audience. I was feeling this excitement, too, but on a much more intense, personal level. I wasn’t just going to watch Elvis the performer tonight, but a man who made me feel special and was beginning to stir feelings in me. I really wanted to see Elvis do well.
Finally, the lights slowly dimmed as musicians and singers walked onto the stage and took their places. Screams erupted from the audience as the orchestra began playing “Also Sprach Zarathustra,” better known as the theme music from the motion picture 2001: A Space Odyssey.
Elvis’s onstage entrance was greeted by thousands of flashing camera bulbs. The flashes blinded me momentarily and gave the arena’s interior an eerie strobe light effect. Like a magnet, Elvis drew all eyes to him as he assertively strode back and forth across the stage to grant everyone the best chance to see him and take photographs.
Elvis then approached Charlie Hodge, who helped place the strap to a guitar across his shoulder, and moved to the center stage microphone. There he began playing his guitar, belting out “C.C. Rider” with great passion, volume, and timbre. His iconic voice boomed out over the arena, immediately bringing many in the audience to their feet.
Throughout the concert, Elvis genuinely seemed to be having fun. He joked with the crowd, his musicians, and the background singers. Charlie sang harmony, played rhythm guitar, occasionally handed Elvis a glass of water, and was quick to place a fresh scarf around Elvis’s neck after one went soaring from his hand out into the audience. Sitting onstage so close to him, I found it alarming to watch how the fans tumbled and climbed over one another in a heated competition to grab a scarf. I was afraid one of them might get hurt.
As I watched Elvis perform, real time seemed suspended. He’d been onstage for well over an hour when the band started to play “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” With a start, I suddenly remembered Dean’s warning about being in the limo before the song ended.
I stood up and prepared to leave. Suddenly, the word “Stay!” resounded through the speakers.
I glanced over my shoulder and saw Elvis momentarily point at me while continuing to sing. I couldn’t believe that he was immediately aware that I was leaving!
I sat back in my chair, embarrassed, wondering if anyone else had picked up on this. I could only hope the dim lighting in my corner of the stage had made it impossible for anyone in the audience to notice me.
I grew increasingly nervous as the seconds ticked by, worried about how I’d make it to the car in time. Finally, when I saw Elvis walking to the opposite side of the stage, I jumped up and ran off, still a little fearful that he’d notice I was gone. The last thing I wanted him to think was that I didn’t want to hear his closing number or appreciate the effort he’d gone to in order to bring me here.
The limousine was waiting at the end of an underground ramp, its engine running, its doors open. Someone led me there, and not a moment too soon, for suddenly Elvis came rushing toward the limo, surrounded by members of his entourage.
He hurriedly climbed into the car, drenched in sweat, with a towel draped around his neck. His bodyguards, Dr. Nichopoulos, Joe Esposito, and a few others quickly joined us.
“Good show, good show,” Joe congratulated him as Elvis leaned back in the seat, wiping his face with the towel.
Others began complimenting Elvis as well. I finally jumped in. “You were wonderful,” I said.
As the limousine slowly began moving forward, Elvis leaned toward me and softly asked, �
�Did you see the very end of the show?”
“No,” I admitted. “I was told to be in the car before the last song finished.”
I saw a flash of annoyance darken his face. “Be sure Ginger remains seated until the very end of the next show,” he announced to everyone in the limo.
I felt a smile tug at the corners of my mouth. I was going to see another one of his shows!
Fans mobbed the limo as our car emerged from the building. It was a scary feeling to be surrounded like that, with some fans even trying to climb on top of the limo.
I took hold of Elvis’s hand. Elvis, however, seemed calm. He was clearly accustomed to this sort of thing. He waved to his fans and joked with me about buying a plastic arm with a hand attached so it would look like he was still waving, while resting his own.
I couldn’t help but think about the early Beatles movie A Hard Day’s Night and the shots in that film of their fans chasing after them. Wait a minute, I thought. Elvis must have experienced that long before they did! I didn’t see how anyone could ever completely get used to this kind of attention.
Back at the hotel, Elvis went into his bedroom with his aides and Dr. Nichopoulos. I went into mine. After the men left, Elvis asked for me and ordered room service.
I walked into Elvis’s bedroom and was surprised to see him already dressed in pajamas and a robe. I couldn’t blame him for wanting to get out of his stage suit and into more comfortable clothing, but I was still surprised by the pajamas. It wasn’t that late at night.
Various other members of his staff entered the room and our food was soon brought to us. While we ate, Elvis began scrutinizing his performance. I saw how important a top-quality show was to him as he went over everything: the band, the lighting, the sound, and the audience experience. He didn’t want to disappoint his fans in any way.
As we sat there and talked about the show, it dawned on me that I had entered Elvis’s suite at around the same time the previous night. Elvis had been dressed in his robe then, too, and surrounded by these men. Had he finished a show last night? And, if so, why wasn’t I invited?
(It wouldn’t be until after Elvis’s death that I would learn the real reason I had been left sitting in my hotel room for a day: Linda Thompson had been in the hotel and Elvis was ushering her out with one hand and me in with the other. What Elvis wanted, Elvis got. For many around him, this was “taking care of business.”)
• • •
After the guys left, Elvis told me that his tour would finish the following evening in Anaheim, California. “You’ll stay, won’t you?” he asked.
“Of course,” I said, thrilled by the invitation to see another of his performances.
Once we’d settled that, Elvis picked out a book to read. After entertaining thousands of his fans, he seemed to need a way to focus his thoughts and turn everything off—a feat I imagined couldn’t be easy, especially for a man who loved performing as much as Elvis did.
We read together for a long time. Elvis always put intense philosophical thought into interpreting what he felt various authors were trying to say in their books. This exercise was helpful to me because the books themselves weren’t easy to understand right away. I felt like I was in the presence of an interesting teacher.
I began to get sleepy after a time, but I did my best to stay focused, feeling it was important to Elvis. Around dawn, an aide brought in a small yellow packet and left it on the night table. Elvis swallowed its contents with water from a nearby ice-filled jug.
I was instantly alert and curious. “What’s that for?”
“Something to help me sleep,” Elvis said.
He had been deeply absorbed, even energized by the different books we’d been looking over, so I didn’t think twice about him needing to take something to help him sleep. Although it was morning by now, I told him good night. Once again, he walked me to my room like a gentleman.
For some reason, I didn’t sleep long—probably because of the combination of jet lag and the strange reverse schedule Elvis kept, turning day into night and night into day. When I got up around 1 P.M., it was quiet in the rest of the suite.
I figured Elvis was still asleep because we’d been up so late. I hadn’t really eaten much dinner and now I was hungry. I felt more comfortable about ordering room service, so I did, eating alone in my room as I contemplated this intriguing new world I was inhabiting. There was Elvis’s lifestyle and dynamic personality to think about, along with his music, his religious studies, and the many people who seemed to surround him 24/7.
It was intense, exhilarating, and exhausting as I tried to process everything and understand where I was in all of this. I didn’t yet think of myself as “the one,” though Elvis seemed to be doing his best to make me feel like I was special to him. If he wanted our relationship to go further, I decided I was ready.
Finally, around 4 P.M., someone knocked on my bedroom door. I opened it to find Elvis standing there in his pajamas and robe—a sight I was beginning to think of as normal. “I’m going to order us food,” he said. When I confessed that I’d already eaten, it seemed to bother him. “From now on, I’d like us to eat together,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized. I had no idea Elvis would be sensitive about that. At the same time, I was pleased that he’d said “from now on,” which indicated he was certainly seeing a future for our relationship. I wanted to fit in however I could.
On tour with him later, whenever I happened to be in my room when breakfast was brought in, Elvis would knock on my door, take my hand, and lead me to the coffee table or his bed so we could eat together.
• • •
Before long, Elvis’s food was brought up to him and we sat together in the living room while he ate. He told me he was going to perform in Las Vegas right after this tour and asked if I would like to go with him. “I’ll be there for ten days,” he said.
I loved watching his shows and was excited by the prospect of spending more time with him. I was concerned, though. I’d only brought enough clothes for what I thought would be a short visit. Could I really go from California to Las Vegas with him? And what about my job? How could I just not show up for ten days?
As I was thinking about the logistics, the men in Elvis’s entourage began showing up one by one. What was quickly becoming a familiar scenario ensued: Elvis joked around and smoked while everyone laughed along with him. After Elvis’s death, I would learn more of the personal history Elvis had with some of these men, who unbeknownst to me at the time, had been dubbed the “Memphis Mafia” by the media.
I left the living room to place a call to Memphis, letting my parents know I wouldn’t be coming home for a while. It was unusual for me to be away from home for so long, and it felt good to hear their familiar voices.
At the end of our conversation, my mother mentioned that she had spoken to her father, my grandfather, whom I was close to, about me traveling with Elvis. Being eighty-five and old-fashioned, my grandfather had expressed concern as to whether this was proper. “Tell Elvis she’s my girl,” my grandfather had said.
I understood how someone from his generation might have concerns about what I was doing. I figured my parents did as well because I seemed to be moving headlong into an uncertain future. I had my own fears; I didn’t want to fall in love only to get my heart broken. On the other hand, Elvis’s magnetism was pulling me closer and closer to him by the day.
I asked my mother to call the shop where I worked. “Please explain what’s happening,” I told her, wondering whether I’d still have a job when I came back from Las Vegas.
I couldn’t worry about that right then, though. My focus now was on being with Elvis. I wanted to do that more than anything in the world. The rest of my life could wait.
• • •
As we prepared to leave for Anaheim, I began to pack. I knew I was totally unprepared for Las Vegas,
but what could I do?
I closed my suitcase and walked into the living room, thinking I’d just have to manage with the clothes I had. Elvis soon joined me, having changed into his casual navy blue jumpsuit.
During the ride to the airport, Elvis fell into what I was starting to see was one of his frequent habits: He propped his right foot on top of his left knee and began to nervously shake it. I was tickled to notice he hadn’t really changed clothes at all, for the edge of his pajama bottom was sticking out from beneath the pant leg of his jumpsuit.
A huge passenger jet waited for us at the airport. Until then, I’d had no idea Elvis owned another plane. His daughter’s name, Lisa Marie, was written in blue on the upper front of the aircraft. High upon the tail was a picture of the American flag, and below that appeared the letters TCB in gold above a gold lightning bolt.
As we walked up the stairway to the door of the plane, Elvis told me he had picked out the color scheme himself. “The first time I showed it to my daughter, Lisa, she just yawned,” he said with a grin.
A flight attendant greeted us. I also met the rest of the crew and the pilot, Captain Elwood David. I thought the captain’s name was a cool coincidence, since my father’s middle name was Elwood and this was the only other time I had heard it.
The JetStar had certainly impressed me, but the Lisa Marie was magnificent. The main compartment of the plane was furnished like a living room, with two suede couches—one green, one brown—leather chairs, leather-topped tables, and even television sets. As I followed Elvis deeper into the plane, we passed a large conference table surrounded by tan leather chairs and entered a sitting room furnished with blue suede chairs.
Finally, we entered a bedroom. Decorated in blue, it had everything you could want: a queen-size bed, a reading chair, and even a dressing area with a half bath and blue washbasin. I stayed in the bedroom with Elvis while the others took seats up front. During the short flight, Elvis proudly continued telling me about the plane’s various special features.
