The thundering beat of the signature tune echoed round the cavernous arena heralding the long awaited arrival of the star attraction. A wave of excitement gripped the crowd and the effect was instantaneous. Silence descended like a gossamer veil, hypnotising them, capturing the essence of anticipatory pleasure emanating in waves from this adoring audience. He was coming. Female hearts beat faster, their breath panting and ragged, limbs melting and flowing in surrender to the stage. Their male escorts would reap the benefits of this night, recipients of the ladies unrequited lust for the entertainer. Lights dimmed, the hall illuminated only by the intermittent shafts of coloured lasers pulsing around the raised platform, in complete coordination with the bouncing beat of the music. The tempo quickened, became bolder, louder, more vibrant, a fitting tribute to the magnificent figure standing centre stage as the curtains slowly lifted. Tall, stately, broad back turned to the crowd, dark head bowed, heightened by the blinding whiteness of the tight fitting jumpsuit he wore. A unified gasp of awe from the spectators, a moment of idolising silence then tumultuous applause as the band broke into “Hound Dog” and he swung round like lightening, all song and sexy, swivelling hips. He was incredible, intoxicating, holding his worshippers in the palm of his hand. The energetic rock n’ roll beat drew them to their feet, instilled their bodies with the dancing rhythm and pierced their souls with pleasurable paganism.

Slow, tender love songs directed at each and every woman in the room, dark smouldering eyes giving the impression you were the only one, left them weak at the knees, screaming his name , offering all that they possessed, despite their escorts objections.

I sighed and snuggled deeper into the deliciously warm nest of my duvet, revelling in the vivid dream of my hero but regretting sadly the fact that it was a dream, only a dream. I didn’t see him perform live, I didn’t get the chance to sit at one of his concerts, soak up the atmosphere and watch in silent adoration as he held court above me, singing only to me or so I could believe. But still he will always be an integral part of my life.

 

IF I CAN DREAM

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 danger. 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.

“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 and 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 all of 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. The loner, the outcast, the extra became an extra special person to millions.

 

 

They seek him here!

They seek him there!

They seek that singer everywhere!

 

He’s been seen in New Delhi, Amsterdam and Hong Kong

Heard in Los Angeles singing his song

Sighted in London having lunch with the Queen

There aren’t many places that he hasn’t been

 

Appeared in New York at the last SuperBowl

In Phantom of the Opera had a supporting role

Folks in Berlin tend to recall

How he sang “Wooden Heart” as the bricks started to fall

 

Flew over to Calais on his way to Boulogne

He’s now taken to fishing on the Banks of the Boyne

Elvis, Oh Elvis I’m your biggest fan

Please come to Antrim if you possibly can

I know you can make it, my heart wants you here

I’ll  be waiting, my Darling, for you to appear.