When we were little girls, my sister and I spent our Sunday afternoons lying on the floor in front of the radio. This wasn't some small transistor type thing, or even one the size of my Bose that sits here on my desk, smaller than a breadbox. No, this radio was a piece of furniture. Huge. Something like this:
Every Sunday they had a call-in competition.People would vote for their favorite artist, then the station would play records by the winner all the rest of the afternoon. The winner was always Elvis. Pat Boone made it a decent race some of the time, but the King was always, well, The King.
I was a little too young for Elvis. But my sister....I think she still loves him. When she got married in 1969, she chose August 16. By coincidence, it happened to be the wedding anniversary of both sets of our grandparents. That's not why she chose it, although it makes a touching story. No, her date was mostly dictated by the United States Air Force.
Fast forward to 1977. We were preparing for my wedding which would take place in early September. I remember being at my mother's house with my sister when we heard about Elvis. "But it's my anniversary!" she lamented. Well, she can drink a toast to The King when her husband takes her out for dinner.
Or, she could hold with the philosophy of another friend of mine who wears a button which reads, "Elvis isn't dead till I say he's dead!"
Long Live The King.
Susan
Thursday, August 16, 2007
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