Growing up in the house I did, the name Elvis (Presley, that is) was spoken with something akin to reverence. Although she was born the same year he was, my mother might as well have been one of those crying, hysterical groupies who screamed and fainted as he crooned and gyrated and threw them sweaty scarves. She was just a little more restrained, being a married lady with a child or two by the time he hit it really big. While there are those my age — and hers — who would disagree as to the degree of his talent, I remain a fan to this day.
I was only 14 when Elvis passed away, which happened just a couple of weeks after my maternal grandmother’s death. My cousin Janna came from Houston to spend some time with us after Mamaw passed. Janna and I were on the floor playing cards in a bedroom of our grandparents’ house when we heard the news come over the airwaves on KELD in El Dorado. It felt like a nightmare.
In the space of the next four years, I lost my remaining two grandparents. My Papaw, Bigboy Hines, was nearly as much an Elvis fan as my mother was. Of course, he liked the ones he called Gentleman Jim Reeves and Crying Bill Anderson nearly as much.
After graduating from SAU, I went to Austin, Texas, to pursue a master’s degree in music performance — a plan I abandoned shortly thereafter. My mother’s first cousin, Steve Sample, lived in Austin, too, and was a great support to me while I was there. He called me one day in the spring of 1984, saying that he and his girlfriend had extra tickets to see Roy Orbison at Sixth Street Live. Steve wanted to know if I’d go with them. I had seen Leon Redbone and a few other musical greats there, but what came out of my mouth at the time astounds me now.
I said, “Roy Who?” (Hey, I was 21.)
In hindsight, it seems to me that poor Roy Orbison got short shrift in the musical talent contest. His vocal range and ability were stunning, but he wasn’t much of a looker. Elvis was gorgeous. And there ya go. Too often, looks win out. That’s the Hollywood factor.
Steve and his girlfriend, Rojean (ever known anyone laden with that moniker?), met me at Jorge’s Mexican restaurant on Sixth Street for dinner before the concert. I liked Rojean right off the bat, especially when she told me that her cat’s name was Faux Pas. Being a Francophile, I was in stitches. I always enjoyed spending time with my cousin Steve, and Rojean was cool. What the concert had in store for me, I could only guess. There was no internet at the time, so I couldn’t google Roy Orbison to see what the fuss was about.
Of course, I’d heard some renditions of “Crying” and (maybe) some other Orbison hits, but I’m not sure I’d ever heard his name. He didn’t have much of a manager for most of his career, but he was wildly popular in Europe.
After dinner, we made our way to Sixth Street Live for the concert. There was no reserved seating. We were sitting at tables and on barstools in that intimate venue. Orbison’s plane came in late, so we waited and waited … and waited … for nearly 45 minutes.
When Orbison finally hit the stage, he hit it with a vengeance. Well, a most restrained vengeance. He barely moved. He didn’t gyrate. His voice and vibrato were the ultimate weapons. When he opened his mouth to sing, I was blown away. I don’t throw that phrase around lightly. He was wearing sunglasses and explained that he had to wear them because his eyesight was poor and the bright lights hurt his eyes (I’ve read since that it was actually because he suffered from stage fright). But that voice! There was a reason some critics referred to him as “the Caruso of Rock.”
Orbison’s set was short — we assumed it was short because his plane came in late — so Rojean and I hid in the bathroom (poor Steve was embarrassed half to death) so we could see his second set. It wasn’t one minute longer than the first, but I’ll always be glad I did what I did to see the second. Only four years and a few months later, Orbison was dead at the age of 52.
Lately I’ve read two novels in a trilogy (third to come) by El Dorado native Josephine Rascoe Keenan that mention Elvis Presley’s beginnings and his connection to El Dorado. Her books, In Those Bright First Days of Elvis and In Those Dazzling Days of Elvis, held me spellbound. I have some relatives who still remember hanging out with The King in El Dorado and at Calion Lake, just north of El Dorado.
Since hearing him in Austin, I’ve collected numerous CDs of his music, and I just noticed that there are several Roy Orbison biographies available on amazon.com. I feel another book purchase coming on.