1950s: We came of age on the swivel of his hips and that sexy sneer that was supposed to break down all our defenses of remaining pure and innocent. Speaking from the pulpits were the religious zealots warning parents not to allow their young impressionable daughters to tune in to the Ed Sullivan Show. I could clearly see why. Ed Sullivan was a terribly unattractive man and the way he moved his mouth, it was enough to scare any young girl. But that wasn’t it. He was introducing a young performer whose nickname was Elvis ‘the pelvis,’ and this ‘devil’s advocate’ was in danger of corrupting our morals. Back then parents believed everything the priests preached, so there would be no 13 inch black and white screen for me that evening. I tell ya, if anybody ever tells you ‘those were the good ole days,’ they weren’t for Elvis fans forbidden to see his gyrations. Come Monday morning the news reported that the cameras only showed the singer from the waist up and mom and dad looked so remorseful you would have thought somebody had died.
“Will you ever forgive us?” mom tearfully sniffed.
“No, absolutely not, never,” I quickly replied.
“How can we ever make it up to you?” she tenderly asked.
I sensed that I had my mother right where I wanted her and for a 13-year-old. That was a very heady feeling.
“You can’t. Some things can never be undone.”
Unfortunately my dramatic snippy attitude dissolved my dad’s remorse — in a hurry. I didn’t have him where I wanted him. “You better change your tone, young lady, or that Elvis character will never be allowed in this house.”
Dad spoke as if the most popular person in the world would personally enter into my life. Well…
1972: My parents eventually became an Elvis fan too, believing that he wasn’t a threat to anyone, enjoying his beautiful mellow voice, and recognizing a shy, humble streak in his demeanor.
A giddy girl transfers into a woman when marriage, pregnancy and responsibilities knock her off her feet. She regresses for a moment when her parents present her with an Elvis live-in-concert tickets in their attempt to make retribution for not allowing her, 25 years ago, to see a certain Ed Sullivan Show. They didn’t realize that the orange section was the worst in the house, so far up, my ears began popping and, being nine months pregnant, I couldn’t handle my fear of heights, so I began stumbling down closer to land. A policeman spotted my bloated belly, grabbed a folding chair, and there I was, so close to the stage, to the star, to a dream.
“Remember, no jumping, screaming or fainting,” he warned.
You’d have to be comatose not to have felt the excitement and electricity in the air when Elvis appeared. It was thrilling when he sang but, for him, a little on the thirsty side because he gestured for a glass of water and, after taking a few sips, he unexpectedly flung the water over his shoulder and wham, right smack in my face. It was just a few sprinkles, but enough to straighten my curled eyelashes. For a fleeting second, our eyes met and I’d like to believe the gaze lasted longer than it did. And to think, my parents worried about ‘from the waist down.’ Trust me, it’s all in the eyes.
Karen White-Walker is a Wilson resident. Her column appears every Tuesday.
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