On August 15, 1977, I was 19 years old. I had completed my freshman year of college and was a couple of weeks away from the start of my sophomore session. My family and I had spent a week or so in the Colorado Mountains, kamping in KOA fashion (you see, not roughing it in the outdoors is a family tradition).

We had begun what struck me as a rather tedious drive home to Oklahoma City. My older brother was behind the wheel (it was a two-car caravan, Dad drove the vehicle that pulled the trailer). Leaving the beauty of the mountains behind, we made our way through the flatness and monotony of eastern Colorado and on into the Texas panhandle.

We weren't in the car very long when we got the news from a rather distraught small town deejay: Elvis Presley had died. For the remaining hours we were to spend on the road that day, we were to hear talk of little else. As we traveled from town to little town, from one small town radio station to the next, the news of the King's passing continued to be shared. Deejays played his music and callers were put on the air to share their grief, their recollections of Elvis, their appraisals of his life and career.

I had no great respect for Elvis in those days. I thought he was rather comical - those ridiculous spangled and fringed jump suits he wore, his paunchy body trying to carry him through the same Vegasy rock 'n' roll moves he'd done for years. Still, I felt that odd feeling of loss one feels when a cultural icon had passed. When we lose a movie star, musician or stage performer, one becomes aware of the legacy they leave behind, even if they weren't one of our personal favorites.

In the case of Elvis' death, I was struck by the depth of feeling for the man, the grief at his passing. The people speaking on the radio clearly had a great deal of affection for him and were now openly grieving his loss. Somehow, it gave me a degree of newfound for Elvis. Anyone who can inspire that much loyalty and love, it seems to me, has done something right.

I recalled that day, exactly 15 years ago today, as I drove the farmlands of Iowa on the way to see my friend, Kelly Peterson and her family. I was to spend time playing with her adorable daughter, Katie. I chatted with her husband, Kirk. We were to feast that evening on grilled pork chops and Iowa corn. But that afternoon, as I motored along listening to a 15th anniversary tribute to the King, I thought about Elvis.

Continue on the American Odyssey.
Return to BRETTnews.
Email us at: mailroom@brettnews.com.