Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1959)

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FOTO PLUS CO. • BOX 10 • NEW YORK 1, N. Y. Foot Relief Quick-Acting, Extra Soft, Cushioning Foot Plaster To speedily relieve painful corns, sore toes, callouses, bunions, tender spots, burning on bottom of feet — use Dr. Scholl’s Kurotex. You cut this soothing, cushioning, flesh color, superior moleskin to any size or shape and apply. At Drug, Shoe, Department, 510c! stores. D-rScholls KUROTI I was on guard duty, a few days later, when I next saw Elvis. I happened to be talking with the officer of the day, who’d come up to give me some orders, when we heard a lot of commotion. We turned to look along the road. A battalion was returning from training exercises, and at the back of the long file of men we could hear screaming and shouting. “Must be Elvis,” I said to the officer. We’d already all become quite used to the fuss caused anytime Elvis was around — particularly outside of camp where the teenagers could get near to him. Sure enough, up the road, looking hot and dusty from a day in the fields, came a tired, dishevelled Elvis. Kids were screaming, “There’s Elvis with a rifle!” And others, “There’s Elvis with a pack!” If I’d been Elvis I think I might have been a little mad. Because you feel kinda grouchy after a tough day. But he marched coolly along in line, hardly even turning his head. Then, as he passed us by, I heard him say to one of the M.P.’s walking by his side, “Gee — I’m glad to be back in base.” “You know,” the officer of the day remarked to me as Elvis disappeared into the barracks, “he’s really a good soldier. I was out with him on rifle practice the other day and he sure was a good marksman—better than average I’d say. And I sure was surprised to hear a barracks buddy of his say he acted ‘just like a man who’d inherited a million’ when they gave him his ‘Hell on Wheels’ insignia. Seemed kind of strange coming from a celebrity.” “Maybe he’s afraid they might resent him,” I suggested. “So he tries to be especially humble.” “Maybe . . the officer looked thoughtfully out into the dusk, shrugged his shoulders, gave me a friendly slap on the back, and then walked off. There was an odd mixture of resentment and real sincere gratitude when the word got around that Elvis was giving several thousand dollars for the re-furnishing of the day room. The day room is the company’s recreation room where they can relax, maybe play a game of pool or watch TV. I was pleased — particularly because I’d heard that among the new furniture was going to be a twenty-one-inch TV set. And the old set was always going wrong at just the worst moments! Well, when the day finally arrived for its completion, I think we were all delighted. There was a new coat of paint, re -upholstered sofas and comfortable armchairs; a new pool and ping-pong table and — yes, the twenty-one-inch TV. “How can you get mad with a fella who does a thing like that?” I remember remarking to one of my buddies. “Yeah — and he certainly does bring some new life to the camp,” he admitted. But the ieal excitement was still to come . . . the time when we all went into town and Elvis got caught speeding on the way back . . . and then the time when he had the new NCO’s club in an uproar. That time in town, Elvis, myself, and a few other fellows, had gotten passes and Elvis had his new, brilliant red Lincoln convertible with him. We got separated, however, when we reached the town as I and another guy decided to stop for a soda while Elvis and two of his buddies drove on to somewhere else. Well, from what I gathered from Elvis and the others the next day, it all happened when they decided to return to base. In great spirits they had tumbled into the car and gotten into a race with another auto. Elvis had put his foot down on the gas and really drove, until they all heard the sound of sirens. That meant two Saturdays of driving school for Elvis. Driving school was the regulation base punishment for anyone who had a driving violation, whether on or off duty. And I guess it wasn’t a too good a thing to happen to someone whose actual job it was to drive for the Army. Anyway, Elvis went along to the school and had his lessons. But I wondered if they’d had any effect, because I remember something red flashing past me at very high speed on the road out of our camp some weeks later — and it looked very much like a Lincoln convertible. The trouble at the NCO’s club was around the same time. Everyone wanted to get in there and I was fortunate because my rank was a Specialist Four and that entitled me to belong. But Elvis was still a private. Anyway, one particular Saturday we’d all heard that a band was coming down to play and that Elvis used to sing with them. He was very eager to see the boys in the band and somehow we managed to get the permission for him to get into the club that night. On Saturdays there was usually a dance for the officers and their wives or girlfriends, and each week we hired a different band. I was already in the club — long before Elvis arrived. I was sitting in the dining room section, just near the door, having a bite to eat with a few buddies. Then suddenly the door swung open and Elvis came in. He was with some other friends and we all said “Hi” and then they went through into the bar where the band was playing. He told us he was anxious to speak with the boys of the band as it had been a long time since they’d met. We went on eating. Then about five minutes later we heard some screaming. It didn’t seem like the usual laughing or joking that comes from the bar. We got up and went through to the next room. Well, I don’t know which one of us was more surprised. It was as though the place had been raided. Chairs and tables were upside down, people were on the floor. The women were yelling and some were even crying. Someone pushed me to one side. I looked around. It was the head of the club room — and he was hanging onto Elvis’ arm, dragging him out, screaming, “Get out of the way!” I noticed Elvis’ tie had been knocked to one side, that his sleeve was torn, and his usual calm expression had changed to one of fury. Then someone else tapped me on the arm. I turned around. It was one of Elvis’ buddies. “What happened?” I yelled, above the noise. “It’s the girls,” he screamed back. “When they found out Elvis was here they made straight for him, practically tearing off his clothes trying to get his autograph. The manager had to ask him to leave — but he couldn’t get away and in the end they had to escort him out.” Well, after that, there was only one topic of conversation in the bar that night . . . I guess, though, in the main, we were all pleased to have him on base. I know it made my last weeks there far more interesting. And as I packed my bags and said goodbye to my buddies, I couldn’t help thinking about Elvis — about how I’d miss all the fun I’d had being at the same camp with him. And as I passed his bright red convertible on the way to collect my own car from the lot, I couldn’t resist stopping to give one of the wheels a friendly kick before driving off for the last time. I kinda missed having him around when I got to my new base. The End IF YOU haven’t SEEN ELVIS ROCK IN M-G-M’s “JAILHOUSE ROCK” YET, YOU MAY BE LUCKY ENOUGH TO CATCH IT IN YOUR NEIGHBORHOOD. 98