Each individual strand of hair was coaxed, groomed and styled to the youth’s satisfaction. He examined his reflection in the mirror, gave a crooked grin and turned to go. He didn’t hear them coming in. He didn’t sense the air of menace. His way was blocked by his worst enemies, three College bullies, all brawn and no brain, crew cuts trimmed to within a whisper of their scalps, matching College jackets like a singing trio en route to their next gig. They stood swaggering, hands menacingly placed on hips, hatred and jealousy transforming their countenance into hideous masks.

“Hey, pretty boy, need some more oil for your girlie locks? Maybe we should shear him. What’d you think, boys?”

The young man showed no fear, standing firm and fit to fight but knowing he was useless against inbred hostility. Backed against the wall he braced himself for the inevitable pain and humiliation, no stranger to either.

A figure of ridicule in his high school, he was shunned for his individuality, mocked for his non-conformity, his fashion sense and novel hairstyle jeered at continuously. His birth an unexpected surprise for his parents, born the second twin, the one who survived. Plunged into poverty, his only release was music played on the battered guitar given to him as a Christmas gift. He had asked for a bike. Little did his parents know that the cheapest option would change their lives completely

The bicycle was forgotten as the mysteries of the guitar revealed themselves and music filled the shy young boy’s soul. He thrived on the solid sounds and the rocking rhythm of the Negro spirituals, people like himself who were different and punished for it.

But disappointment continued to dampen the youth’s singing ambition,his every attempt thwarted by ignorant people, once being told to “go back to driving a truck.” But his determination was stronger than the taunts and harsh comments because he sensed a different life awaiting him. These thoughts tumbled through his head as he lay prone on the bathroom floor, suffering the cruel ministrations of the College jocks.

“That’s enough.”

The sweet, sweet voice of the football coach penetrated his pain. He was saved. He heard the angry words of the coach, the slamming of the door, then blessed silence.

“Do you need a hand up, son? Take your time, they’ll not be bothering you again, believe me. C’mon, Elvis, your audience is patiently waiting. Show those goons what you can do, win the talent show!”

And he did! Plus many more as the King of Rock n’ Roll, The Missisipi Flash, The Hillbilly Cat. Despite the fame, fortune and fans Elvis would always remain the shy, country boy loner.