Personal Testimony:
I don't remember the day Elvis died, but I remember the funeral quite vividly. My parents took me and my older brother to their friends' place: a showcase of upscale '70s interior design. Sometimes we kids would sneak into the master bedroom just to gawk--they had a round bed and the entire room was upholstered in red plush velvet: walls, drapes, bedspread, pillows. Scarlet shag carpeting you could lose a tennis ball in. Obviously, these people were Elvis fans. And this was the cocktail wake.

The funeral flashed across the TV in the rec room--olive shag wall-to-wall, fieldstone fireplace, entertainment center, dart board, wet bar. The grownups sat around the bar, mostly ignoring the TV in favor of their drinks, not saying much. Except Kris, the lady of the house, who sported a frosted-blonde Priscilla pompadour and worshipped the King. She was intermittently hysterical, at one point shrieking at some overzealous mourners on the tube to "get away from Elvis!" We children squabbled over the sit n' spin, plonked in front of the TV--we didn't care what was on, we were just obeying our natural juvenile compulsion to be as close to the cathode rays as possible. None of us could make any sense of what was happening; I kept feeling that if Elvis was so important, somebody would've introduced me to him....

How can we best pay homage to the one true King in these few remaining years before the official religion kicks all the way in and the annual Graceland picnic 'n' wake goes global? Well, the ideal way is to toss down a few Percodans, knock 'em back with Scotch, and wander the Vegas strip in a haze until a decent buffet is found, but that'd involve flying in a plane that's not your private jet--something E would never do--and you'd only be copying how I celebrated his last birthday (really, it's true). But our fair city offers a few sufficiently regal ways to while away your Sunday. First, eat right and eat a lot--if the legendary peanut butter 'n' 'nanner sandwich is a bit sticky for your taste, there's biscuits 'n' gravy, macaroni 'n' cheese, meatloaf, grits, mashed potatoes, and bacon (Elvis' favorite snack, to be eaten four pounds at a time). The appropriately named Mama's or Junior's should be able to help you out with all the fixins--or you can just Krispy Kreme it. However, some sorrows cannot be stuffed--they must be drowned. While not a drinker, Elvis would have approved of Candy Bar's retro space-age brightness or maybe the solid jukebox of the International. Then, of course, you could always do it Gladys style and sit on your porch drinking a Schlitz tall boy out of a paper sack. The second round of Disembodied Elvis concerts comes to Radio City Music Hall later this month or, for something a little more 1956, try rockabilly Saturdays at the Rodeo Bar. If you can keep the faith until September, El Vez, the mighty Chicano Elvis, will be in town. Finally, there's always lots of Elvis on television around this time--just make sure to keep that .38 handy in case Robert Goulet should pop up. Unfortunately, I don't know of a pharmacist who indiscriminately hands out Dilaudid prescriptions but, if I did, I wouldn't share him with you anyway.

If you require further spiritual guidance in this troubling time, please consult the 24-Hour Church of Elvis, the First Presleyterian Church of Elvis the Divine, the Oracle of the Plywood Elvis, or your Gospel of Elvis handbook.

Closing Guest Testimony:
I was at an afternoon party at my mom's friends house near the waterfront in Philadelphia when Elvis died. Everyone was drinking wine. I was six. My seven-year-old brother was being goaded into serving wine like a French waiter to the adults. I was looking at a newspaper. Arthur, the host, walked with me out into the courtyard. He put his hand on my shoulder and told me, "The King of Rock and Roll is dead."

I remember wondering who would become the next king. I also felt a bit dumb not knowing that we even had a king. Notice I said "we"--I assumed that the king of rock and roll was my king, too, which I guess comes from the fact that all of my mom's friends were bohemian rocker types.

The succession-to-the-throne thing was never resolved. It was years before I ever understood who Elvis really was, but I always knew that rock and roll had no king....
--Christopher Fahey

If you're still unsatisfied and hungerin' for more, check out our Nashville office's exhaustive look into the phenomenon of The King. More death day memories, along with Elvis impersonators, Elvis' tailor, Elvis menus, a date with Elvis, what he might look like today, and more.