IF I CAN DREAM by ELVIS PRESLEY. Story by Violet St Clair.

Memphis, Tennessee. November, 2012.

Well, since my baby left me

Well, I found a new place to dwell

Well, it’s down at the end of Lonely Street

At Heartbreak Hotel

And in 2012, that’s where we all were, at the Heartbreak Hotel, Memphis, Tenn. What had started as an evening of banter over drinks on the patio had evolved into airline tickets and hotel reservations for four friends — three Elvis hounds and one outlier. I was the outlier, more of a Beatles girl than a devotee of Elvis.  But we were soon swept up in the excitement of an all-girls, five-day getaway in the land of the blues, rock ’n’ roll and the King. Five days of freedom, a short reprieve from marking report cards and drab November weather. We were all shook up.

Memphis loves Elvis. His presence is everywhere — statues, posters, street names and shops. Larger than life murals and mosaics of the Mythic Man flirt with your eye. Everyone knows someone who knew Elvis, and all speak intimately of the King, sharing favourite movies, songs, and outfits. Memphis holds him dear, but I was raised on John, Paul, George, and Ringo, so my feelings were still a bit ambivalent.

Elvis Presley Boulevard was our first destination. With Christmas on the horizon, we all had American money to burn, and shops were diligently scoured for treasures and swag. Every store had Elvis on repeat; if he sang it, it was playing somewhere.  And outside in the Tennessee sunshine his voice wafted from Elvis Radio, where tourists were invited to come in and tell the world where they had travelled from to visit: Norway, Australia, Germany, South Africa. So, while we shopped, we bopped, we sang, we hummed and the cash registers kept rolling out the receipts.  Entering a 1950s style eatery, I glanced down at my full shopping bags and mused, perhaps I am an Elvis girl after all.

The Heartbreak Hotel was a real gem, with kitschy Elvis memorabilia, framed photographs of all sizes and a pink plush telephone so fluffy I expected it to purr. His movies and specials played non-stop in the restaurant and that’s where we ended up most evenings for drinks and late-night chats.  Always the restless one, I usually stayed a bit longer, savouring the peace and watching the images roll by from his movies and TV appearances on the old TV hooked onto the wall.

His 1968 Comeback Special was nearing the end.  Could he sing?  Sure, I couldn’t argue with that.  But essentially, he was still a 1950s hip-swinger, be-bop singer to me whose message was negligible.  And then his name came on in red lights and he appeared out of the darkness in a white suit, perhaps a little too suave.

“If I Could Dream”. The opening chords began slowly, the words reminded me of another King, another Dream. He put his heart and soul into a song that we could well use today. In a late-night diner moment, with a half-dozen diehards, the sun set on my ambivalence and I made my peace with an artist that I had perhaps under appreciated.

Was I a fan now? It was probably too late for that. The roots of the Fab Four were simply too deep over too many decades. They would always be the first. But those five days in November had opened the door.

Many years later, the Heartbreak Hotel is gone. But we are still together, three fans and an admirer.

Stereo Story #816

More Elvis stories, and poems.