Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1959)

Okay ! We April Fooled you , on page 38. Notv here’s a true story about Elvis. He teas one of the nicest guys I ever knew , but El teas always getting in trouble . . . ELVIS WAS MY BUDDY IN THE ARMY by MARV SCHNUR, formerly of the Second Armored Division I guess we were all pretty curious to find out what it would be like having Elvis on base — whether he’d have a private room, whether he’d arrive in a chauffeur-driven Cadillac, whether he’d be greeted by the divisional commander and have special privileges. And I guess if we’d been told the President himself were arriving, it couldn’t have created a greater stir among the fellas. Oh — sure, to have these sort of privileges did seem far-fetched, but we’d all heard so many outlandish stories about what happened to celebrities when they became soldiers that we were expecting just about anything. And in many ways we weren’t disappointed I remember the day he arrived. I’d been working in one of the offices when suddenly I heard a lot of screaming and shouting. I looked out of the window and sure enough, there was Elvis. At that point I couldn’t actually see him. but by the hollering of the teenagers who were jumping up and down by the bus as it rolled past them into the base, I knew it could hardly be anyone else— and we all knew to expect him that day. There were cameras, radio and TV announcers, newsreels, and I guess all of us would have liked to have stood around watching if we hadn’t felt it was rather stupid to stare awestruck at a guy who, after all, was just another trooper. No Cadillac, that was evident, or an official reception, but we were all curious to know what his duties would be and some fellas, who hadn’t been too lucky themselves when they first arrived, took a sour grapes attitude even in the fun. “He won’t get KP,” said one. “Doubt if they’ll even let him get his uniform dirty in case Uncle Sam’s army won’t look neat and tidy,” grumbled another. “Cut it out,” I told them. “At least give him a chance.” Elvis looked a little bewildered as he got down from the bus and was ushered past us with the rest of his company. He was in the Second Armored Division, like me, and I’d been told he was going to be a truck driver with us. He seemed a nice enough guy and certainly not out to make a show of himself, you could tell that by watching him even for a few minutes. When he got down from that bus he could have easily taken advantage of the situation to draw attention, but instead, he fell into line like the rest. Those first few weeks I didn’t see much of Elvis as he’d been assigned to another part of base and was out on exercises most of the time Yes, they were letting him make full use of his Uncle Sam suit. Then one day, I’m pretty sure it was a Sunday morning, I’d gone to the snack bar to get some coffee when I noticed a large line-up at one of the tables — almost halfway across the room, in fact. I didn’t know at first who it was and then a buddy of mine said, “Say — isn’t that Elvis?” But the boys at our table weren’t really taking much notice of him. They’d been the ones who’d taken the stand that he was just another GI like anyone else. We must have sat around laughing and joking until almost eleven o’clock — it had been about nine-thirty when we'd first come in — and all that time Elvis was writing out autographs on napkins and pieces of paper guys were handing him, writing without a break. I think they were asking out of curiosity more than anything else. I must admit I was curious to meet Elvis and had been admiring his patience through all the fuss. I had a niece back home who’d been asking me for weeks to get Elvis’ autograph for her so I figured this was as good a moment as any — though I felt pretty stupid asking for it. I fumbled in my pockets and found a calling card which seemed pretty suitable and, stubbing out a cigarette, I got up from the table and walked across the room towards Elvis. He had his head bent over and was writing away a mile a minute. I said, “Gee — you’ve a lot of patience,” and he grinned and said, “It’s something for their sisters back home. If it makes them happy, why not?” I put my calling card on the table. “Like me to say anything special on it?” he asked. “No — just write your name. I think that’s all she wants,” I said. Then I thought for a moment and added, “Oh — you might just say ‘To Linda.’ ” “OK,” he said and flourished his signature across the card. As I walked over to my table I looked back and noticed that he was writing so fast that the ink from his ballpoint pen kept drying up and he had to keep shaking it to keep the ink going. From time to time, he would stop and stretch his arm and then continue with the autographs. “I don’t envy a guy who spends his Sundays that way,” I told the boys when I got back to the table. “Well — it’s better than shining boots,” quipped one whose boots never seemed clean no matter how many times he polished them. And we all got up and left Elvis alone. F»IN-UP» Coated elastic band WON’T TANGLE OR TEAR! No more ugly rubber bands to pinch, pull or twist your hair! Pony Pin-Up coated elastic band slips on and off easily and painlessly . . . fastens securely . . . holds and molds contour of your pony tail. For all ages ! Six smart styles— plain or ornamented. Prices start at 4 for 29<f at variety, drug, food, department store or beauty shop. 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