Joel Frey

More on Elvis

On August 1, 1969, Jerry Schilling was in Las Vegas to see his best friend Elvis Presley perform on the second night of his new engagement at the Strip's latest playground, the International Hotel. I've often thought that if there was a single evening of entertainment that I could board a time machine and travel back to witness, one of those rocking live performances would be #1 on my list. Should, however, time travel not become a reality in our lifetime, there's a documentary, "Elvis: That's the Way It Is" that captured the mania of that historic run of shows. Here's "Polk Salad Annie" from one of those shows in 1970 to give you a glimpse of the King in his absolute prime. Watching now, it's hard to fathom that a mere seven years later, he'd leave this world at age 42.

Jerry's recounting of that night in the Nevada desert 46 years ago was just one of many Elvis stories that make his memoir an authentic piece of Americana. Another one that I found fascinating given our jet-set age: early in his movie career Elvis and the Memphis Mafia drove in a caravan back and forth from Memphis to L.A. before and after production. Navigating one of those road trips was Jerry's first assignment after Elvis asked him to join his crew in 1964. Can anyone imagine a modern-day celebrity even contemplating such a scenario in 2015?

Shrewdly, Jerry debuted Me and a Guy Named Elvis in August, during the annual Elvis Week celebration in Memphis which culminates on the 16th - the anniversary of his death - with the Candlelight Vigil at Graceland. In the afterword, Jerry wrote about launch events and parties that took place that week and weeks following in 2006, including soirees in New York, Las Vegas and Hollywood that my old friends at the Memphis Convention & Visitors Bureau played an integral role in planning and executing. I recalled again my own time at the MCVB, knowing that had I still worked there I likely would have helped coordinate those events and probably would have had the amazing opportunity to attend too.

Should you find yourself in Memphis in two weeks or any other year in mid-August, I highly recommend spending time on Elvis Presley Blvd. While the vigil is an all day/all night test of one's stamina, there are plenty of other activities - formal and informal - to give you a taste of the indelible mark Elvis left. In my next post, I'll share the experience of the vigil I attended in 2000, a few weeks before I moved to Texas.

 

Memphis State of Mind

 
Earlier this month, I took advantage of Southwest's new non-stop service to Memphis from Love Field* to spend a few days with my parents. Even though it has been almost 15 years since I moved to Texas, the Bluff City will forever be my answer to "Joel, where are you from?"

My admiration for Memphis was cultivated over a two-and-a-half year period working in public relations for the Memphis Convention & Visitors Bureau, a non-profit agency responsible for marketing the attributes of the city to tourists, travel agents and meeting planners. No 30-month stretch of my career as a PR Man has proven more flat-out fun and whenever I visit Mom and Dad there are a few must stops.**

One of those haunts is Charlie Vergos' Rendezvous, arguably the most heralded place to throw down a rack of ribs in the United States of America. Playing tour guide to media types from all corners of the globe in the late 90s, dinner at Rendezvous was usually the first stop of whirlwind tours I led or co-hosted bathed in blues, brews, and 'cue.

Rendezvous is open for lunch only on Friday and Saturday and dining there at that hour is a sometimes overlooked remedy to hourlong waits during evening hours - especially on weekends. The three of us made our way down the steep staircase to the basement hostess stand shortly before Noon and were seated promptly. We shared a sausage and cheese plate, a full order of ribs and were each treated to a complimentary bowl of red beans and rice. While Mom and Dad sipped on tea, I paired the meal with a local beer and it was, as usual, a classic Memphis experience, one that I've grown to savor even more over the years.

Rendezvous is mere steps away from the Peabody Hotel and, in my humble opinion, there is no better spot in Memphis to sip a cocktail, engage in casual conversation with old/new friends and people watch than its lobby bar. Regardless of the hour, the buzz is palpable  and it always feels like an interesting character*** or set of characters**** might appear at any moment. Following our lunch, we paid homage to the five mallards that swim in the fountain everyday from 11:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. and strolled through the gift shop where I came across a collection of books about the King of Rock 'n' Roll. One quickly stood out: Me and a Guy Named Elvis by Jerry Schilling.

While MCVB-sponsored meals at Rendezvous and drinks at the Peabody were undeniable perks, the best part about working in the offices of 47 Union Ave. were the brushes I had with people like Jerry Schilling. I came to know Jerry when he was named head of the Memphis Music Commission in 2000. Little did I know, Jerry was a member of the famed Memphis Mafia, the group of men who worked alongside Elvis as trusted confidants, gatekeepers and security guards. Jerry's most documented jaunt with Elvis was an impromptu call on the White House in Dec. 1970 which resulted in them holding court with President Richard Nixon and his staff.

While I didn't work directly with Jerry, I did get to know him a bit over drinks at our favorite watering hole, Sleep Out Louie's. On one of those occasions, I sat at a table with him and another colleague, Lawrie, for an hour or so and recall how affable he was, undeniably proud to share with us several anecdotes about his days and nights as Elvis' right hand man. Before I moved to Dallas, Jerry autographed my copy of Peter Gurlanick's Careless Love, the second volume of the definitive Elvis biography, a project that he was extensively interviewed for and was a central figure throughout the text.  

I may save a few reflections on Jerry's memoir for another post, but I'm roughly three-quarters of the way through and have thoroughly enjoyed it. I'm not sure how I missed its debut in 2006 or learning of it since, but thankfully I ran across it at the Peabody and was reminded, yet again, why Memphis is the coolest place on Earth.

_________

*Southwest's non-stop service from Dallas to Memphis was an answered prayer! Nephew Lucas's favorite airline has quickly become my own as well. I'm even a fan of the new Hello! ad campaign

**A run around Bartlett Park, a walk down Beale St., a steak at Folk's Folly

***Like the time I ran into Boyd Tinsley, the violinist from the Dave Matthews Band

****Like the time I saw NBA coach Phil Jackson and half of the L.A. Lakers 

 

Hobby Shops & Historical Markers

One of the pros of moving to D/FW is living in closer proximity to my parents in Memphis, TN. Mom and Dad have made the eight hour drive west on I-40/30 twice in the last seven months - once in the summer when Dad's boyhood baseball team, the Detroit Tigers played the Texas Rangers in Arlington and then again two weeks ago for Thanksgiving.

As long as there is a newspaper to read, strong coffee, sweet nibbles, salty snacks, adult beverages at the requisite hour, hearty meals, Lutheran worship/fellowship and grocery shopping, my parents are low maintenance house guests. For example, over Thanksgiving they were perfectly content on Friday afternoon with a Trader Joe's/Specks daily double in Fort Worth followed by a Mexican dinner with extended family in Allen ending with a nightcap and a rousing game of dominoes around the dinner table.

On occasion though Dad will make a special request involving a visit to an aviation museum, a hobby shop and/or a historical marker. None of these populated the most recent agenda, but in August he did inquire about a hobby shop that he had researched on-line in advance of their trip, M.A.L. Hobby Shop on Lee St. in Irving.

As we got closer to our destination, I realized that we were traveling to old-school Irving, far removed from the neighborhoods of Valley Ranch and Las Colinas that are more frequently associated with the city today. After turning on Lee St. and getting my first glance at M.A.L., it dawned on me that we had hit the trifecta: a hobby shop/museum with its own historical marker!

The first fact that the marker points out is that M.A.L. (Model Aircraft Laboratories) has been in business since 1948, a year before my father was born. Upon venturing inside, we most likely inhaled 60+ years of dust. Ventilation issues notwithstanding, it was impossible not to be charmed by the unkemptness of the shop and the quirkiness of its proprietor, Mr. Edgar Seay, Jr. 

Dad and Ed hit it off immediately. As I thumbed through a few postcards and surveyed other pieces of random merchandise, the two hobbyists discussed a variety of model shows and conventions they had attended over the years. Dad also quizzed Ed on a couple of kits that he was on the hunt for. Unfortunately, they were not in Ed's inventory, but Dad did find a couple of items worth bringing home and bought me a few of the postcards, including one that Ed had photographed himself of a Braniff International Airways McDonnell Douglas DC-8-62 near D/FW Airport on October 29, 1973, not quite six months before I was born. He was even gracious enough to autograph it for me.

After hanging out with Ed for a bit longer, we said so long and headed home. It was easily the most memorable - and historical - visit to a hobby shop I had ever made.

Missing the news cycle

As a PR professional, my cohorts and I are constantly assessing the "news cycle." As it ebbs and flows from important and not-s0-important happenings and events, it factors into our discussions and planning everyday. Weather, politics, war, terrorism, and the economy are just a few of the topics that we compete against in our never-ending efforts to get journalists, news producers, bloggers and social media mavens to consider Travelocity for inclusion in a story, segment, post or Tweet.

As you read the rest of this, note that I've decidedly missed the news cycle on the 10th anniversary of 9/11. My plan was to follow the status quo and share my observations on that Sunday, but other priorities at work, home and church won out. Now, 10 days later,  the seasons are set to change and we have moved on to more pressing matters: taxing millionaires, airshow safety, the 2012 election, conference realignment and the latest iteration of everyone's favorite social network, to name a few. Though in the grand scheme, we likely won't reflect upon any of these topics 10 years from now.

As Sept. 11, 2011 came and went, I was surprised by own memories that surfaced. For example,  I vividly recalled the tennis match I played the evening before the tragedy. It was a long three setter against a guy named Sam who I had never beaten. We played to a third set tiebreak and I had a match point, but couldn't cash it in. When I woke up on 9/11/01, my defeat was the first thought that popped into my head.

I remembered the fall boots my colleague Judy Haveson wore to work and how she paced nervously up and down the hallway as the tragedy unfolded, anxiety covering her face. She was only days away from moving from Texas to New York and, suddenly, all of her plans were in doubt. But a month later, as the nation healed, Judy was in the stands at Yankee Stadium cheering on the Bronx Bombers as they valiantly tried to win the World Series. Today, she's still a proud New Yorker and mother to Jack, her own little Yankee fan. I thought about Pastor John Koelpin and the special service I attended at Calvary Lutheran Church. For a few weeks after the towers collapsed, worship and prayer were in vogue. Then, predictably, our post modern sensibilites awoke from their slumber and carried on as before. 

I remembered the first flight I took post 9/11, an hourlong hop from Dallas to Memphis on American Airlines. Not only was I nervous, I found myself sizing up my fellow passengers before we boarded.  After safely arriving to my hometown and having breakfast with my parents, I drove to Oxford, MS and cheered on Middle Tennessee State, my alma mater, as they took the field against the University of Mississippi, led by their All-American quarterback, Eli Manning. Fast forward to the present and he is the quarterback for the New York Giants and commercial airlines have taken me to countless places near and far, including LaGuardia, Newark and JFK.

Thanks for indulging my utter disregard for the 9/11 news cycle. I look forward to writing about more subjects that were yesterday's news as soon as the opportunity presents itself. If you have any thoughts, please share.  Cheers, ya'll.

 

 

1/28/86

Where were you on January 28, 1986? I was a sixth grader attending A.A. Songy Middle School in Luling, La. Shortly after lunch, I was sitting in a portable classroom getting ready for a French lesson when our teacher told us about the Space Shuttle Challenger exploding. As was the case for millions of Americans that day, time froze for a minute or two. Once the harrowing fact she shared sunk in a few of us wondered out loud, "Wasn't the teacher on board?" Eventually, a TV was rolled into the library and we saw the tragedy unfold for the first time before boarding the yellow bus home.

Later that evening, my mom, dad, sister and I gathered in our living room on Bernice Drive and sought reassurance from President Reagan. We watched the countless replays of the disaster over and over and over again. Twenty-five years later, those images - the fireball, the solid rocket boosters flailing away, the horrified crowd in the bleachers below - still resonate, along with the fateful quote "obviously, we have a major malfunction." At some point, way past our regular 9:00 p.m. bedtime, Dad turned the TV off and my sister and I headed upstairs and got ready for bed, knowing that we'd never forget this day.

The next morning, my classmates and I huddled around our science teacher, Mrs. Walker. The floor was open and our inquisitive eleven-year-old minds were fully in motion. "Would the Space Shuttle ever launch again?" "Did the astronauts die right away?" "Will they let another teacher go into space?" were a sampling of the questions that crossed our lips. Mrs. Walker didn't have many concrete answers, but it was reassuring to have her guide us through such a seminal moment.

Those are my Challenger memories. What are yours?