Night of the Elvis

A small Arkansas town, 1958

I walked to town that evening and stopped by Grissom’s furniture store to watch TV for a while. Twenty or so people sat on the hoods of their cars, watching “Playhouse Ninety” through the store’s plate glass window. Everybody wanted a TV, but few could afford one. I found an open space  on a Buick fender and squeezed in.

I hadn’t been there long when someone said, “Hey, they’re lining up!”

So much for Playhouse Ninety–we all darted across the street to the movie theater and got in line. There were no movies shown on Tuesdays, but this particular evening, they were having something else–something special. The ticket lady, Irene, only charged me a dime, so there was just enough of my quarter left to buy a small Coke and popcorn. Plenty of good seating was available, so I grabbed one right in the middle.

The lights were on in the normally dark theater, and they seemed very bright. Both young and old poured in, which I thought was strange. Even old Mr. Norman was there, the WWI veteran who used his helmet as a corn-feeder for his chickens. And girls! Oh, let me tell you, my eleven-year-old heart thumped like a drum at all those young ladies!

The curtain moved. Someone was back there. The theater hushed and all eyes turned toward the stage. Someone walked out–oh, it’s Bud Wilkinson, the car salesman. What’s he doing up there?

“Uh… hello, ladies and gentlemen. I want to welcome you here this evening for some good, old-timey music and, uh… well, there might be some of that other stuff.”

What did he mean, other stuff?

“First up is Bud Canada and his Lonesome Strangers!”

Wha… who?

A fellow in cowboy boots and big hat walked out with a guitar around his neck, followed by a woman with a banjo and some guy with another guitar. I only knew Bud as the barber who liked to cut my hair too short.

Bud said, “Folks, this here’s my wife Beulah on the banjo, and over there’s cousin Frank. We’re gonna play Don’t let your deal go down.”

They all lit into it, fumbling at first, but getting straightened out fairly quick. It was the kind of music my parents liked. Not really my taste, but it was the first time I’d ever heard live music outside of church. Not too bad, I thought.

When Bud finished, there were big applause, and then Mrs. Blanchard and her two daughters came out. They sang some kind of church song, but I couldn’t pay much attention to the music because of Katie Blanchard’s jiggly parts. Boy, I tell you–I really liked it when she got all bouncy.

When they finished, some old guys came out and sang a whiney song about trains, or something like that. I didn’t enjoy it much, and really just wanted to see Mrs. Blanchard and her daughters again. After that, Two skinny women with their hair in buns sang another church song. I guess somebody liked them, ’cause they clapped.

Finally, Bud came out on stage again and said, “Well, folks, I hope you’ve enjoyed all this good singin’. We’ve got one more for you and, uh… I guess some of you might like him. Here he is, Wayne Shiggley, doin’ Blue Suede Shoes!“

I’d never seen anything like it. Wayne ran out on the stage, started jumping around and banging on his guitar. He was like a cherry bomb going off after a bunch of penny firecrackers. His hair was combed back in a ducktail, he wore jeans, a white tee shirt, penny loafers and bobby socks. He didn’t just look like Elvis–he moved like Elvis and sang like him, too. All the girls in the theater squealed and squirmed around in their seats.  Most of the older folks walked out. My eyes bugged and mouth hung open. I reeled at all the wild commotion. When Wayne finished his song, I knew something big had just happened. He stood up there, breathless, sweaty, and smiling. Some thought they’d seen the devil, but those girls saw Elvis, or someone close enough, and they loved him!

The next day, I smeared my hair full of Three Roses hair oil and primped in the mirror. I didn’t have the guitar or the wiggle, but I damned sure had the hair. Oil dripping from my earlobes, I  stared in the mirror and began work on the next phase of my transformation–the curled lip.