I was 12 when Elvis died. We were vacationing in our house in the Pocono Mountains when we heard it on the radio. No big deal. I was 12. All I knew of Elvis was what the always-cruel media said about him in those days; that he was a washed-up superstar, overweight, addicted to pills, another Sad Story. I didn't know about Elvis. I didn't know what he'd done. I'd heard his music in the general radio-atmosphere but didn't connect it to him. I didn't know he was much, much more than what the media portrayed in his last days.
Until my daughter fell in love with him.
Sarah was 8 years old when she saw the movie, "Lilo and Stitch," and her favorite song from the movie was "Burnin' Love." I thought it was cute. She tried the Elvis moves and put her whole 8 year old body into singing, "hunk-a, hunk-a Burnin' love,..." So I bought her a CD of his songs. She played it until it wouldn't play anymore, till it was skipping in places. But she played it anyway.
She was 13 when we decided to stop at Graceland on the way home from a Christmas trip to Mississippi. And that was it. She was enamored by the 70's-style rooms, imagining him in them, by the endless frames of gold records, by the jumpsuits on display that she'd seen him actually wear in videos on youtube. She wept at his grave, feeling silly. We listened to his Story, the good and the bad. He was everywhere. We were inundated with his music, and for the first time I really heard it. I felt the power. I, too, was enamored with the power that was in him when the music began. No wonder mothers and preachers thought he was possessed-- he was! But it wasn't evil. He was possessed by Music, and he had a gift that had a power all its own, and no one could understand it or contain it. That kind of power scares us. It made women sob and collapse. It made holy people tremble. But it was FUN. It was music that came from some mysterious place deep inside of a man with a lot of Soul. It took him over, and the world didn't know how to deal with it. And yeah, Elvis didn't know how to deal with it either. That kind of gift and spirit can burn a person up in this crazy world. Especially when we try to contain it, market it, and exploit it.
I love Elvis! And my daughter wants to live in Memphis, anywhere near that place that seems to contain a Spirit that could not be held back, a Spirit that evoked music that made people DANCE....
Joseph Hall is a 20-something guy most recently from Lincoln, Nebraska. I'm not much into impersonators; people who make money being someone else who makes a lot of money. But the first time I saw Joseph Hall perform in Holdrege, Nebraska, my eyes filled with tears in the first few minutes he was on stage. My head went a little numb. It was eerie. If I hadn't been in the balcony, I'd have been down at the stage, reaching for a scarf, hoping for a kiss. I was swept up by the music....
Sarah was skeptical. She didn't want to see anyone mock her beloved. She'd seen images of Elvis impersonators in Vegas-- fat, slimy men with exaagerated hair and sideburns who couldn't sing. I assured her when I got home from the concert that this guy was amazing. That it truly seemed like the guy was channeling Elvis' spirit. It was a tribute. And shoot, when Joseph is on stage, you get the very eerie feeling that Elvis is back in the building.
When I took Sarah to a concert, Joseph started with "How Great Thou Art," one of Sarah's favorite hymns, especially as done by Elvis. I was nervous. Elvis is very precious to her; what would happen? How would she feel? I turned around while he was still singing, and Sarah had long, black streaks of mascara down her face and she was crying. What had I done? Oh God, I thought, she's going to need therapy. But she laughed at my expression, still choking on her tears, and said, "It's ok, Mom. I'm happy."
His fans are crazy, I gotta say. A lot of 60 and 70 year old women who were once those screaming, sobbing teenagers at the feet of the real Elvis, I imagine, are now screaming at Joseph. They're also diving for cologne and sweat-wiped scarves and for flying teddy bears, sometimes grabbing them out of the hands of little girls. They wear Joseph Hall Fan Club buttons and T-shirts, scrambling near the stage for that kiss on the cheek, "I Love Joseph" buttons flashing neon on their breasts. They've been to Branson, at his new theatre. They've collected all of his souveneir mugs, T-shirts, and have tote bags decorated with various pictures of Joseph from all the concerts they've attended. Larry went with us to that first concert, but the absurdity of Joseph's more fanatical fans disturbed him, and he now allows this to be strictly a mother-daughter thing.
We go now, whenever we can, whenever Joseph plays in Grand Island. My daughter is 16, struggling to find her way in high school and the crazy batteground of adolesence. It's hard, sometimes. She's not into sports, she's not interested in the latest fashion or "New Moon" movie. She devours books, writes pages and pages of short stories and poetry, and is passionate about life-- and often gets disappointed with the world and people. Elvis' music gives her joy, hope and a chance to be silly and let loose. She knows his story. She's awed by the power of his gift, and aches at the pains he suffered, the demons he battled. She gets indignant whenever his memory is mocked, his legacy lessened. Elvis gives her a reason to dance.
So I'm personally grateful to Joseph Hall for the gift he gives my daughter. He brings Elvis alive for her for a couple of hours. He channels his spirit, and allows the music to bring the dead alive again for a little while. She knows the difference. She knows that Elvis is off in eternity rockin' with Jesus and Johnny Cash, but sometimes time and eternity intersect as they often do, and it seems like Elvis sends a little of his spirit to help a boy named Joseph. Help him bring a little joy into the heart of a teenager struggling to find the light amidst a dark world, and to hear the music against the din of peer pressure and teenage yearnings.
It's give and take, this life. Sarah wrote Joseph and let him know that what he's doing matters, that it blesses her, gifts her, that he is honoring the King of Rock 'n Roll. Apparently Joseph needed to hear that, and he let her know that she inspired him with her letter, that she made a difference to him too. Great God Almighty, isn't that what it's all about? Thank you, Joseph. Thank you, Elvis. Both of you, thank you for giving my daughter hope. Thank you very much.
Until my daughter fell in love with him.
Sarah was 8 years old when she saw the movie, "Lilo and Stitch," and her favorite song from the movie was "Burnin' Love." I thought it was cute. She tried the Elvis moves and put her whole 8 year old body into singing, "hunk-a, hunk-a Burnin' love,..." So I bought her a CD of his songs. She played it until it wouldn't play anymore, till it was skipping in places. But she played it anyway.
She was 13 when we decided to stop at Graceland on the way home from a Christmas trip to Mississippi. And that was it. She was enamored by the 70's-style rooms, imagining him in them, by the endless frames of gold records, by the jumpsuits on display that she'd seen him actually wear in videos on youtube. She wept at his grave, feeling silly. We listened to his Story, the good and the bad. He was everywhere. We were inundated with his music, and for the first time I really heard it. I felt the power. I, too, was enamored with the power that was in him when the music began. No wonder mothers and preachers thought he was possessed-- he was! But it wasn't evil. He was possessed by Music, and he had a gift that had a power all its own, and no one could understand it or contain it. That kind of power scares us. It made women sob and collapse. It made holy people tremble. But it was FUN. It was music that came from some mysterious place deep inside of a man with a lot of Soul. It took him over, and the world didn't know how to deal with it. And yeah, Elvis didn't know how to deal with it either. That kind of gift and spirit can burn a person up in this crazy world. Especially when we try to contain it, market it, and exploit it.
I love Elvis! And my daughter wants to live in Memphis, anywhere near that place that seems to contain a Spirit that could not be held back, a Spirit that evoked music that made people DANCE....
Joseph Hall is a 20-something guy most recently from Lincoln, Nebraska. I'm not much into impersonators; people who make money being someone else who makes a lot of money. But the first time I saw Joseph Hall perform in Holdrege, Nebraska, my eyes filled with tears in the first few minutes he was on stage. My head went a little numb. It was eerie. If I hadn't been in the balcony, I'd have been down at the stage, reaching for a scarf, hoping for a kiss. I was swept up by the music....
Sarah was skeptical. She didn't want to see anyone mock her beloved. She'd seen images of Elvis impersonators in Vegas-- fat, slimy men with exaagerated hair and sideburns who couldn't sing. I assured her when I got home from the concert that this guy was amazing. That it truly seemed like the guy was channeling Elvis' spirit. It was a tribute. And shoot, when Joseph is on stage, you get the very eerie feeling that Elvis is back in the building.
When I took Sarah to a concert, Joseph started with "How Great Thou Art," one of Sarah's favorite hymns, especially as done by Elvis. I was nervous. Elvis is very precious to her; what would happen? How would she feel? I turned around while he was still singing, and Sarah had long, black streaks of mascara down her face and she was crying. What had I done? Oh God, I thought, she's going to need therapy. But she laughed at my expression, still choking on her tears, and said, "It's ok, Mom. I'm happy."
His fans are crazy, I gotta say. A lot of 60 and 70 year old women who were once those screaming, sobbing teenagers at the feet of the real Elvis, I imagine, are now screaming at Joseph. They're also diving for cologne and sweat-wiped scarves and for flying teddy bears, sometimes grabbing them out of the hands of little girls. They wear Joseph Hall Fan Club buttons and T-shirts, scrambling near the stage for that kiss on the cheek, "I Love Joseph" buttons flashing neon on their breasts. They've been to Branson, at his new theatre. They've collected all of his souveneir mugs, T-shirts, and have tote bags decorated with various pictures of Joseph from all the concerts they've attended. Larry went with us to that first concert, but the absurdity of Joseph's more fanatical fans disturbed him, and he now allows this to be strictly a mother-daughter thing.
We go now, whenever we can, whenever Joseph plays in Grand Island. My daughter is 16, struggling to find her way in high school and the crazy batteground of adolesence. It's hard, sometimes. She's not into sports, she's not interested in the latest fashion or "New Moon" movie. She devours books, writes pages and pages of short stories and poetry, and is passionate about life-- and often gets disappointed with the world and people. Elvis' music gives her joy, hope and a chance to be silly and let loose. She knows his story. She's awed by the power of his gift, and aches at the pains he suffered, the demons he battled. She gets indignant whenever his memory is mocked, his legacy lessened. Elvis gives her a reason to dance.
So I'm personally grateful to Joseph Hall for the gift he gives my daughter. He brings Elvis alive for her for a couple of hours. He channels his spirit, and allows the music to bring the dead alive again for a little while. She knows the difference. She knows that Elvis is off in eternity rockin' with Jesus and Johnny Cash, but sometimes time and eternity intersect as they often do, and it seems like Elvis sends a little of his spirit to help a boy named Joseph. Help him bring a little joy into the heart of a teenager struggling to find the light amidst a dark world, and to hear the music against the din of peer pressure and teenage yearnings.
It's give and take, this life. Sarah wrote Joseph and let him know that what he's doing matters, that it blesses her, gifts her, that he is honoring the King of Rock 'n Roll. Apparently Joseph needed to hear that, and he let her know that she inspired him with her letter, that she made a difference to him too. Great God Almighty, isn't that what it's all about? Thank you, Joseph. Thank you, Elvis. Both of you, thank you for giving my daughter hope. Thank you very much.
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