That Look

I can tell you exactly where I was on August 16, 1977. I was only 8 years old that summer, and I don't remember much else about it, but I doubt if I'll ever forget the day I learned that The King was gone.

I was with my family, and we were gathered around a pine picnic table, in a cabin on a tiny, rocky island in Georgian Bay. We were all whiling away a rainy day. My mom and dad were playing cribbage, as I recall, and my sister and I were doing a jigsaw puzzle. I even remember the picture on the puzzle: an English fighting ship under full sail. Outside it was grey and wet; inside, we had a woodstove and a radio.

My parents were in the generation that came of age in the fifties, definitely not the sixties, and maddeningly, they already preferred old time music to rock & roll by the time they reached their thirties. Even at age 8 I knew the difficult truth: my parents were not cool. They listened to CHAY FM, a sickly parade of sweet strings and saccharin crooners from their parents' youth. That summed it up.

And so it was CHAY FM we were all listening to when the big news broke. I recall now one of those classic "we interrupt this broadcast..." bulletins, although I can't swear that actually happened. I don't remember the announcer's name, or his voice. I only remember the look that passed between my parents when we heard that Elvis Presley was dead.

I still can't describe that look. I've talked to my parents about it, and they don't even remember it. But it seems to me now that the world stopped then, for a moment, when the King of Rock & Roll died, and that look was the one bit of evidence that tied my mom and dad to their generation.

It turned out, my dad had actually seen Elvis in concert, at Maple Leaf Gardens. My dad was THERE! I was ecstatic when I discovered that. He and his buddy took a couple of girls, he said, and they spent most of the concert laughing at how crazy the girls got for Elvis. They screamed their heads off.

It turned out, my mom liked some of Elvis' sprititual music. The Christmas stuff. At least, I think she did. Truth was, she preferred Pat Boone. She never understood why people preferred Elvis to Pat Boone.

Suffice it to say that neither of my parents mourned Elvis, really. There was just that look... the surprise, the instant measure of time passing, the grim confirmation that a life had gone publicly awry. And they moved on after the moment.

I didn't understand how it could stop with that look. I mourned Elvis, along with the world. To my eight-year-old eyes and ears, he really was a king, and he was The King of the most awesome kingdom ever: Rock & Roll. The King of Rock & Roll was rich, and flamboyantly dressed, and presided over a castle. He had been born a poor boy, but he'd turned into a handsome prince, and then a majestic king.

True, he did a lot of dumb things, and made a mess of his life by the end. But for a king, he really was a man of the people, who loved his mom & dad, his God, and his good times. And he could sing...

I remember asking my dad once about one of those classic Elvis posters. The picture is a profile shot, from the Hawaii concert, I think, and it clearly shows tears streaking down the cheeks of the King of Rock & Roll. Why is Elvis crying, I asked? My dad said, "He's sweating. It's hot under the lights." I said, no, he's really crying. Why? And my dad shrugged, and said, "Well, I guess he just gets caught up in the music."

Thirty years later, it seems a lot of people are still caught up in the music. It's understandable, but it's hard sometimes to find a path between the fanatic fans, and the ironic observers. Amid all the memories, I'm grateful at least that the songs go on. There's something soothing about the songs that were a hit when your parents were young...

Which is to say, I'm not cool anymore. It's starting to look like I never was. My parents, on the other hand, are so cool now, it looks like they always were.

One of these days I'm planning to make a big trip down to Graceland. It's a long way from a little cabin on Georgian Bay, but I want to see the castle where the King of Rock & Roll was laid to rest.

I think I'm starting to understand that look.