Elvis left the building many years ago. Just as well really as it would have probably been a little awkward to catch him hanging out in the Jungle Room. Especially as he didn’t call it the Jungle Room, that term stuck after it was opened to the gawking public.
Lena and I jostled shoulder to shoulder with busloads of other visitors, constantly snapping photos of the little intricacies of the King’s life. Graceland is the smallest mansion I’ve ever seen. The life-size nativity scene for Christmas dwarfed our first glance from the driveway up to the front door. The public is not allowed upstairs so we got to make the most of the ground floor, basement and external buildings and gardens.
Hooked up to our headphone audio tour, everyone shuffled room to room, synchronising occasionally as the commentary fell into step. Pianos, big white lounges, elaborate dining settings, lovely portraits, shocking carpet designs and still an atmosphere of reverence. I definitely got the feeling that Elvis was a loving husband and father, generous son and good friend who loved to laugh. The green shag carpet on the floors, walls and ceilings in the Jungle room are true, however I was more confused by the decor of the pool room – pleated thick fabric fanning out from the centre of the ceiling like a circus big top about to drop.
The car collection is amazingly drool-worthy, featuring white ones and pink ones and purple ones and two-wheeled ones and shiny black ones with soft red insides. My poor little Elmer the Echo will have to keep dreaming.
Outside are the planes and if anyone would like to give me a house on wings with pilot that I can take anywhere at anytime, I’ll call it Lisa-Marie as well if I have to. A full size bed, 24ct gold-plated belt buckles, flower arrangements on the large dining table and fully-stocked bar (even though Elvis didn’t drink) are more than enough for a long haul flight.
Of course the abundance of merchandise shops between attractions carry everything you could imagine can be emblazoned with his name and face and then subsequently over-priced. I eyed off a lovely pair of fluffy pink slippers with Elvis spelled in diamonties. I need that US$25 for beers in Playa del Carmen.
I always knew Elvis as a dead singer, way before my time, who did cheesy movies, had a good smile and wore ridiculous gold lame suit jackets. After visiting Graceland and seeing all the exhibits detailing the effort and work he put in, how he provided for his family and suffered from low self-confidence and the absolutely astounding number of industry awards on the walls in several rooms…I like the guy. I’m not about to run around in a sparkly jumpsuit polishing my impersonation skills or run an Elvis movie marathon…but I do. I like the guy. And I’m sorry he “left the building” early. Just like so many shiny stars.