Month: January 2023

At our high school one of the rites of passage into maturity was attending the Prom. This springtime dance was sponsored by the Junior Class and attended by both classes of the eleventh and twelfth grade. Its original purpose was to honor the Senior Class and say goodbye. By the time I was old enough to participate, its purpose had been smothered in the changes taking over our culture of the mid-sixties. It now had become a fashion show and an excuse to stay out most of the night going to endless parties.

Unless you lived in my house. Being the oldest child rarely had its advantages and this certainly was one of those times. My parents were 20 years older than me, but sometimes it seemed as if they were much older. They had been raised in the depression and were in high school during World War II so it was not possible for them to grasp my need to spend $50 on a tuxedo rental that was the premier fashion statement of the day for young men. My Mom had actually ridden a horse to her Prom so accoutrements were going to be at a minimum for this buckaroo. At a young age I had seized on the idea of a perfect appearance, hair, clothes, cologne, and shoes. It was important to me to look like I had a plan, when I left the house. Unfortunately, my folks who didn’t mind that I looked nice, were not going to finance my foray into sartorial splendor. At the beginning of the school year, I was given two pairs of shoes, Sunday good shoes and everyday other shoes. I didn’t mention to them that there was such a thing as rental dress shoes. They simply would not get the necessity. So here I was at the crossroads of want and need. My parents would supply the need I would have to finance the want.

My job at the local Pizza King paid $1.10 an hour and I could work as much as I wanted however it was spring and I was on the high school track team that required after school practices and meets. While, pondering my appearance dilemma, another monetary requirement dropped into this budgetary crisis. I was expected to purchase a corsage and it had to match her dress. When casually bringing up my latest challenge at the supper table one evening, my Dad issued his proclamation on my growing affordability concerns. “We will cover the cost of a Suit Jacket and you can wear a pair of your good slacks and make use of your Sunday shoes.” Are you kidding me? I didn’t want to look regular, I wanted to look cool! I looked at my Mom, who was generally my backup, to get what I wanted. She just smiled and gave me some more mashed potatoes. I was sunk. My chances of obtaining cool were slim and none and slim just left town.

Most of my buddies were suffering the same kind of misunderstandings with their parents. No one seemed to understand. Just because the Depression was in the rearview mirror didn’t mean the old habits of fiscal restraint were disappearing any time soon. It was time to take stock of my assets. Six bucks in my savings account, my brother owed me one dollar, and I had a paycheck coming for $15. It was time to have a serious discussion with my girlfriend as to our circumstance. She was sympathetic and assured me that she would go with me no matter what I looked like. Then, as an afterthought, she reminded me that my jacket needed to match her outfit.

As was the fashion of the day, most guys did not want to be the first guy at the Tuxedo shop and also did not want to be caught dead with their parents helping them pick out their evening wear. It was ok if they footed the bill, but way below cool if they got to insert their opinion. As it turned out, most of the guys showed up on a Saturday three weeks before the dance, at the same time. Through the chaos I was able to reserve a medium cool dark maroon jacket that would go with my Sunday black pants and shoes. While I was there, I realized that I was in the same boat as my buddies. As my Grandpa used to say “all hat and no cattle.” Big dreams and little money.

The Prom was a wonderful experience and most of the suit jackets came off after the first two or three dances anyway. My girlfriend said I looked splendid, which was not as good as cool but not far away. The memories made that night have lasted a lifetime, when each one of my four sons came to me with the need to be cool for Prom, I sat them down and recounted my first Prom story. Then I handed them my charge card. I always was a soft touch when it came to wanting to be cool.

Lisa Marie Presley died yesterday. She was born in 1968 and was 54 years old.  My daughter Cherish was born in 1968 and is 54.

I was 18 when my daughter came into the world. She entered into life in an unassuming way. Her Mom went into labor around 8:00 in the morning. Cherish was born around noon and I was home eating supper by 5:00. To say her birth had a profound impact on my life would underestimate the gravity of the times.

1968 became a pivotal year in America as a whole. President Johnson began the year thinking he would run for his third term in office and was defeated in his own early primary elections subsequently withdrawing his name from nomination by summer. Martin Luther King was assassinated in April and Bobby Kennedy in June. The Tet offensive in Vietnam in February showed the American army that the war was far from won.   Closer to home I dropped out of college to support my family which inadvertently made me eligible for the draft. Long hair on men and unkempt appearance ruled the fashion scene. The world as I knew it growing up, had ceased to exist. The idyllic lifestyle that I come to expect as a birthright was disappearing. Psychedelic drugs were being used in many social settings and the connections between parents and children were being broken with reckless abandon.

It was into this world that Elvis Presley and I brought babies. Pricilla said that upon Elvis’ first sight of Lisa Marie he gushed “I can’t believe I was a part of making something this beautiful.” I couldn’t have said that any better, Mr. Presley. That was exactly how I felt.  There is something special about your firstborn child. Some inexplicable bond that will always be there. So here we were, Elvis and I with our firstborn children and they were daughters to boot. He had fame and fortune but was short on family in that his mother had passed away and he had no siblings. I didn’t have fame or fortune, but I had family. Cherish was the first grandchild that had leafed out on our branch of the family tree, and my mother was thrilled. She had just recently had her own first daughter in 1964. Into this nest of love Cherish fell. It would be this way for the rest of my mom’s life. There was always something special about this first grandbaby.

The times were the problem. It was 1968 and the world had gone haywire. The “Summer of Love ” in 1967 had spawned a summer of drug use in 1968. Richard Nixon had been elected President and began his role of deceit and duplicity in our government. The Vietnam War was increasingly eating our male youth. Even my church, the Evangelical United Brethren, was absorbed by the much larger United Methodist denomination and our doctrine began to be altered. It seemed that everywhere I turned, change was on the march. From my smalltown view, all of this change was unsettling. I had already pushed my philosophical view of life to the edge of understanding. I wanted what everyone wants for their children, security, prosperity and happiness. How was this to be?

Two days before Cherish turned one, I left for the U.S Army having been snagged by the draft laws in our country at the time.  I was heartbroken, I had no control over my daughter’s life. My hopes and dreams and aspirations had disappeared into a blur of discipline and protocol. I knew I was going to Vietnam and was incapable of effecting any other outcome. By December I was on the other side of the world from my daughter and my family. I wrote to her as often as possible but was not there to watch her grow. In the meantime, my Mom & Dad absorbed my family into theirs. Cherish was safe and in a loving safe environment.

I made it back home in time for Cherish’s second birthday. We bought a pizza, put two candles on it, and sang “Happy Birthday” to her. We then loaded her up in the back of a VW and headed for Seatle Washington, my next duty assignment. For the next several years it was my habit to brush her hair and sing to her before she went to bed at night. I was content to watch this beautiful child embrace life.

Elvis died when Lisa Marie was 9 years old. One of life’s mysteries, why some people get to watch their children grow up and some don’t. Now Lisa Marie is gone. It appears that her life was an emotional roller coaster. Maybe she and her Dad can now have the life they always longed for.

As for Cherish and I, we are still bumping down the road of life. She is still as beautiful as the first time I saw her. She has assumed the role of Grandmother Extraordinaire in her family. She has a very deep spiritual compass and enjoys a loving and secure environment. She is everything I hoped she would become.

Thank you, God, for letting me hang around to be a part of her life!