August 16, 1977

I don't remember much about August 16, 1977. I don't remember what day of the week it fell on, if it was a sunny day or a day of rain, where I went or what I was doing that day. I was only four years old, but I do remember August 16, 1977 as the day my muse died, the day Elvis Presley died. Now, I didn't know what a 'muse' was, but what I did know was that this man stirred something down inside my little heart. Something that inspired me, that could console me, and something that filled me with joy. His chiseled features, his long flowing hair, eyes like pools of water, he was simply beautiful. His charm and outgoing personality were like a magnet drawing you towards him and I was totally in love with him, as far as I could comprehend the concept of love. Elvis was a big deal in our home, we had 8 track tapes of his music, my brother had a poster from the Hawaiian concert on his wall, we watched all his movies anytime and everytime they were on the television. We all loved Elvis.


I remember the outpouring of grief. The constant re-telling of his tragic death on the television and airplay of his old interviews,concerts, and movies. Seeing lines of people standing on the roadside as his funeral procession came their way. Women shrieking, tearing their hair, such grief I could not comprehend at my tender age.

Elvis meant many things to many people, and for me he was an inspiration and encouragement to express myself musically. Thank you Elvis for what you have meant to me and to the world and thanks be to God for sending this world such a blessing.

Rest in peace, E.