Elvis Presley (1935-1977): Echoes of Love

STEVE ALLEN: In 1956, the summer replacement for the Jackie Gleason Show was a musical show that the Dorsey brothers did. I watched it a couple of times because I liked big-band music, but it wasn't a very popular show in terms of ratings. And therefore the world really didn't notice that one of the guests one night was Elvis, totally unknown at that time. But I happened to catch it just by accident, and I immediately saw a quality of strangeness about him. I was just then starting my Sunday-night comedy series for NBC (which ran opposite the Ed Sullivan Show), and I instructed my people to book him.

His style of performing, his physical style, began to create a controversy in the minds of some people. By the time he did the show, we did all the shows live then, there was a great deal of tension. It was our second week on the air, and we got a much higher rating than Ed Sullivan. Actually, it was Presley that got the higher rating.

When I was trying to think about how we might introduce Elvis, the most noteworthy thing about him in the public's mind at that time was all the controversy about his wiggling his hips, which used to alarm old ladies. So naturally we had to work with that. Eventually we got the idea of having him sing one of his hits at the moment, "Hound Dog." But we set the stage as we would have if, say, we had had Charles Laughton on, reading Shakespeare. We had Greek columns, a very dignified, open-space sort of look, as if we were in ancient Athens or something. We had a sky in the background, and we got a basset hound and we set it on top of a small green column. Then we put Elvis in tails....

MICK FLEETWOOD: I was a real little toddler when I first heard "Hound Dog." I learned to play drums listening to him — beating on tin cans to his records. I'm sure his immeasurable effect on culture and music was even greater in England than in the States. People there are still really, really fanatical about Elvis. The news came over like a ton of bricks. I was driving back from the mountains and I had the radio on. They were playing an Elvis medley and I thought, "Great." And then they came back with the news.

CARL PERKINS: I first met Elvis in 1954 in a little town called Bethel Springs, Tennessee, south of Jackson. I had heard "That's All Right, Mama," and I was playing a club there and heard he was playing at the schoolhouse down there, so we took off and went down to catch his show.

He was very much the same as the last time I saw him and the first time I saw him. I last played with him July 4th, 1976, for the Bicentennial in Memphis. He didn't hardly move as much as he used to — I think it was the overweight problem. But he turned the crowd on, just the same. He never changed; he just polished what he started with. But he always had it.

Elvis took life back in those days like everybody wants to be happy all the time, and he never seemed to be depressed. We'd stop at gas stations to fill our old cars with gas or buy whatever amount we could afford, and he'd just pile out of his car and shoot you with a water pistol or jump over the hood of his car. He was full of life — this boy, he made you feel good around him.

Even back then, when people would laugh at his sideburns and his pink coat and call him sissy — he had a pretty hard road to go. In some areas, motorcycle gangs would come to the shows. They would come to get Elvis, but he never worried about it. He went right out and did his thing and before the show was over, they were standing in line to get his autograph, too.

ROY ORBISON: I last saw him last December in Las Vegas. Had a fantastic visit, oh, almost two hours, from the time he came off to the time he went back on. We talked about the early days and the recent days. We talked about the people we admired — each other — and people who tried to really perform, from the heart, with soul, as opposed to trying to make commercial records.

I hope people remember the impact — it's not only historical fact, but it's definitely lingering fact.