King for a day

If you are old enough, and I am, you probably remember where you were and what you were doing the day you heard Elvis died.

I was living in a garage apartment in Columbus, Ga. I was fixing my lunch when the news came across the TV screen.

That was 29 years ago today. In many ways, I’m convinced Elvis never really died. He certainly has lived on in the eyes of his fans. A number of them will make their annual pilgramage to Graceland today to honor the King.

Radio stations will play “Love Me Tender,’’ “Burning Love” and “American Trilogy.’’ The man truly was an American icon. Fans would do anything just to get a piece of him. (Read my column today at www.macon.com )

I'm sure you've also noticed the above photograph of Elvis in concert on the stage of the Grand Opera House in Macon.

No, wait a minute.

That’s not Elvis.

That’s …. er, …. gulp! … me!!!

Yep, that’s Ed the Pelvis.

In June 2001, the good folks at the Macon Rescue Mission asked me to participate in an event called “Evening With the Celebrities’’ as a fund-raiser for the mission.

I said I would be more than glad to do it, but I was unaware of the part they had picked out for me.

"We think you would make a very nice Elvis,'' they said, twisting my arm around the phone cord.

I was somewhat stunned.

“I can honestly say I’ve never been mistaken for Elvis,’’ I told them. “I don’t resemble him. I don’t sound like him. I can't shake my hips without knowing I have a good chiropractor ready on the speed dial.’’

But they insisted.

“Me?’’ I stammered. “Blond hair? Wire-rim glasses? So thin that when you look at me sideways disappear? A singing voice that has been outlawed in several states?’’

Whythankyouverymuch.

Yes, I agreed to do it. I went right out there on stage in front of 700 people and lip-synched to “(You Ain’t Nothin’ But A) Hound Dog.’’

Believe me, that was the best makeup job in the history of Macon theater. They rented an Elvis outfit from a costume company in Atlanta. I slipped on the gold jumpsuit with sequins and a scarf and tried not to think about how many Elvis impersonators might have sweated in those threads before me.

There was so much publicity before the event that the saved my routine for last. I guess that was to build anticipation. Then they started playing “Also Sprach Zarathustra,” the theme from “2001: A Space Odyssey.’’ That was a hallmark of Elvis’ stage entrances.

The lights went off inside the Grand, and spotlights started racing around trying to find me. Actually, I was hiding behind the box seats to the left of the stage.

I opened one of the curtains where a group of ladies were sitting. I leaned over and kissed a woman on the cheek. It was totally spontaneous. I'll never forget the surprised look on her face.

I rushed to the front of the theater, then strolled down the main aisle to the front, raising my arms and waving at my adoring fans.

They had planted two wild women on the front row who attacked me as I tried to walk up the steps. One grabbed my leg. It was great.

The song was amazing. I tried out every Elvis Presley move I had, and I'm sure that was not a pretty sight. My youngest son, Jake, who was 7 at the time, rushed up on stage and sang the last verse with me.

You ain't nothin' but a hound dog, cryin' all the time.You ain't nothin' but a hound dog, cryin' all the time.Well, you ain't never caught a rabbit and you ain't no friend of mine.

It was so much fun, the folks at the Rescue Mission asked me back as Elvis when they did the celebrity night again the next year. I took an old pair of tennis shoes and spray-painted them blue and sang “Blue Suede Shoes.’’

I had asked one of the stage managers at the Grand if I could make my entrance through the same trap door Harry Houdini once used in a performance at the Grand. He told me it was no longer operating. But he took me under the stage and I came up through the orchestra pit, which was also pretty cool.

I won’t ever forget those two summers of Elvis. It’s amazing how many people around town still remember it.

In fact, I met a lady not long ago who told me: “I was there the night you were Elvis.’’