ELVIS - IN THE NEWS

Elvis is in the news this week, which might mean sales of Caught In A Trap, my book about his kidnapping in 1975, finally reach three figures. 

        Firstly, there is a new biopic about him out which stars Austin Butler as Elvis and Tom Hanks as Col Tom Parker, which I will go and see when it opens in Guildford later his month; and secondly, reports have surfaced that those who control his estate are clamping down on Elvis-styled weddings in Las Vegas, which is the thin end of the wedge for romantically inclined couples eager to tie the knot to the strains of ‘Love Me Tender’.

        The Authentic Brands Group, which control Elvis’ name and image, among others, has sent cease-and-desist letters to several Vegas chapels that offer Elvis-themed ceremonies, the inference being that if they don’t comply they’ll feel the weight of ABG’s high powered lawyers and very deep pockets, a chilling prospect indeed. 

        In their letter, AGB state that while they have no intention of shutting down the Elvis chapels they are, “seeking to partner with each of these small businesses to ensure that their use of Elvis’ name, image and likeness are officially licensed and authorized by the estate, so they can continue their operations.” 

        In other words, they want a slice of the action. This is a bit rich, especially as a glance at the internet reveals there seems to be more Elvis-style wedding venues in Vegas than actual religious settings, and what’s more they’ve been in business for years. So why now? 

        Leaving The Building: The Lucrative Afterlife of Music Estates by Eamonn Forde, the bible of death branding, gives details of earnings by musical estates from the years 2001 to 2020. In seven of those years Elvis tops the charts, comes second eight times and is never out of the top five, with total earnings during this period of $894 million. But they evidently don’t feel this is enough. 

        Now I’m not planning to remarry in a Vegas Elvis chapel or anywhere else for that matter, but if these places do yield to AGB and cough up whatever fees can be negotiated, it’ll no doubt be passed on to the bride and groom, making weddings that bit more expensive due to the premium ABG will collect. 

        Furthermore, AGB’s letter states that they are seeking to shut down unauthorised use of “Presley’s name, likeness, voice image, and other elements of Elvis Presley’s persona in advertisements, merchandise and otherwise,” the inference being that AGB control all this.

        So maybe I ought to have been worried by writing Caught In A Trap. As it happened, the book included snatches of lyrics from six songs associated with Elvis (‘Love Me Tender’, ‘Blue Suede Shoes’, ‘Suspicious Minds’, ‘One Night’, ‘Always On My Mind’ and ‘Peace In The Valley’) and in 2016, when I’d finished writing it, I played by the rules and wrote to the publishers of these songs seeking permission to use the lyrics. Only one, ‘Love Me Tender’, was controlled by the Elvis estate but they didn’t even bother to reply to my letter. The rest, barring ‘Peace In The Valley’ which was out of copyright, asked for small sums – £25 I think – to clear their use.

        I have read that the new film has been ‘authorised’ by AGB but this does not augur well for it in my opinion. I really hope it isn’t a whitewash but I fear the worst. 

        Finally, since shamelessness is no stranger to the world of Elvis these days, here’s a plug for my book: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Caught-Trap-Kidnapping-Chris-Charlesworth

CAUGHT IN A TRAP: The Kidnapping of ELVIS – Extract 3

This is the third and final extract from my novel CAUGHT IN A TRAP: The Kidnapping Of ELVIS, which is published tomorrow, August 16, the 40th anniversary of Elvis' death.

The Stockholm Syndrome has set in. Elvis Presley has bonded with his kidnappers. A ransom note has been delivered to Graceland. At the cabin in the Kentucky Hills where he is held captive, Elvis and his three captors – Delmore Pandel, his wife Sandra and their friend Roy Kruger – have time to kill. It is time for an experiment.

Before they slept they checked on Elvis in the locked bedroom. He was sleeping soundly. The following day, after breakfast, all four of them, Elvis, Del, Sandra and Roy, squeezed into the truck and drove into the Daniel Boone National Park, stopping at a gas station on the outskirts of Montecello to buy food for a picnic lunch. Elvis was in a buoyant mood and had to be persuaded to stay in the truck with Roy while Del and Sandra went inside to pick up the provisions, and when they returned he pleaded with them to be able to step outside.

        “I just want to be able to be normal in the midst of ordinary people,” he said. “That’s something I never had, not since I was famous anyway. Let me use the bathroom. I won’t try anything.”

        Del and Roy looked at one another. “Should we let him?” asked Del.

        “Yes,” said Sandra. “I trust him.”

        “OK, but you gotta wear this hat,” said Roy, handing Elvis a floppy hat in green camouflage material that he wore while out shooting. Elvis reluctantly placed it on his head. 

        Elvis Presley’s public appearances were almost always pre-planned, tightly choreographed and reported in the press, no matter how brief. On such occasions Elvis made sure he looked the part, dressing up in his capes, buckles and belts, the way he and his fans thought he ought to look. He usually wore outsize sunglasses. Elvis would no sooner slip out of the house in everyday clothes to pick up a quart of milk than the Queen of England would be seen in her nightdress.

During pre-production meetings in Los Angeles for the Singer special in May of 1968 its producer Steve Binder had suggested he and Elvis step out of his office on Sunset Boulevard and mingle with passers-by. Elvis was appalled by the suggestion, fearing that he would be mobbed on the street and some sort of disturbance ensue. He was therefore deeply humbled when no one recognised him. “We were just four guys standing in front of this building,” said Bones Howe, Binder’s audio engineer said afterwards.

It was quite another thing, however, for Elvis to use the bathroom in a roadside gas station without a security detail checking out the building first, making sure no one else was inside and waiting outside while he relieved himself. However, Elvis had been a captive now for five nights and, although he’d been given a change of clothing – the overalls and t-shirt he loathed so much – he hadn’t had a shave in all that time, nor been able to wash properly and re-dye his hair as was his custom. As a result Elvis’ natural brown colour was just starting to show at the roots and, as each day passed, his stubble had continued to grow but it wasn’t black like the dyed hair on his head, more salt and peppery. The camouflage hat only added to the obvious reality that he no longer resembled anything like the Elvis Presley that the world would recognise.

“OK,” said Roy. “But I’m coming with you.”

Elvis stepped down from the truck and walked across the forecourt to the bathroom. The only other customer, a young man dressed in a check shirt and similar overalls to those Elvis wore, was filling up a station wagon, and as they approached the bathroom a middle-aged woman pulled up in a sedan, got out and walked towards the shop. Neither gave Elvis and Roy a second glance. 

Inside the bathroom was another man, splashing water on his face at the basin. He turned and stepped aside as Elvis passed close by him, glancing at Elvis but showing no signs of recognition. When they had finished Elvis and Roy walked back to the truck, passing close to the woman from the sedan who was lingering by a newspaper stand close to the entrance to the shop. She ignored them.

Back in the truck Elvis appeared overjoyed. “You have no idea what that felt like for me,” he said. “That’s the first time in 20 years I’ve been able to walk around outside in public and not be recognised. Now I know what it’s like not to be Elvis Presley.”

Emboldened by the success of their experiment at the gas station, the quartet drove on into the National Park, eventually stopping at a picnic area and eating lunch. Although the area was far from crowded, a handful of other groups of picnickers settled nearby, among them a family of four: father, mother and two boys below the age of 10. After their meal the boys began to throw a football to one another and when one boy failed to catch the ball it rolled to where the group was sat. Elvis glanced at the others. Roy nodded. Elvis picked up the ball, stood up and threw it back to the boy. 

“Thanks mister,” he shouted from about 10 yards away. The father of the boys waved in acknowledgement and Elvis waved back. He smiled and sat down. The King of Rock’n’Roll was beginning to enjoy normality.

In the afternoon the four of them continued their drive through the National Park, stopping now and then and getting out of the truck to admire the scenery. At one particular spot they mingled with a coach party. Elvis again went unrecognised. Driving back to the cabin in the early evening they passed a roadside diner and Elvis suggested they stop to eat. “I can’t remember what it was like to go into a restaurant and be served, just like a normal person, no one making a fuss,” he said. 

There were only three other vehicles parked outside, and it was safe to assume one of them belonged to the staff. Roy parked the truck and sent Sandra inside to check on how crowded it was.

“There’s only two tables occupied,” she reported back. “A young couple on one and an old guy on the other.”

“OK,” said Del. “I’m sick of eating in the cabin anyway.”

“Me, too,” said Elvis. “But that’s not to say I don’t like your cooking Miss Sandra,” he added hurriedly.

Sandra smiled at Elvis, and Elvis grinned back. It seemed like any natural exchange between old friends. 

“You sit facing the wall Elvis,” said Roy. “If anything happens we’re out of here quick.”

The four of them ate burgers and fries washed down with coke. No one paid them the slightest notice. Elvis said little throughout the meal, relishing his anonymity. It never even occurred to him to go up to the counter and identify himself, not that the waitress would have recognised him anyway. As they walked back to the truck he asked, “Do y’all trust me now?”

“I guess so,” said Roy. “But I still had this with me, just in case.” He opened his jacket to reveal the .38 stuffed into his belt. 

Elvis winced. “You didn’t need that,” he said. “I gave you my word.” 

Sandra thought she detected a touch of hurt in his voice. “I believe you,” she said.  

Back at the cabin Elvis joined Roy, Del and Sandra on the porch before they turned in for the night. Roy and Del were drinking beer, Elvis and Sandra coke. “Did you guys serve in the army?” Elvis asked them.

Roy and Del nodded.

“Vietnam?”

“Yea,” said Roy. “But we don’t talk about it.”

“They don’t like to,” said Sandra. “Even I can’t get them to tell me anything about what they did there.”

“Why not?” asked Elvis.

“The way the Americans treated the Vietcong,” said Del. “It wasn’t good.”

They lapsed into silence. Then Roy spoke. “I’ll tell y’all one story. We took a prisoner once, me and Del. A stray Vietcong man we found in the jungle. We ought to have killed him but we didn’t. We couldn’t. Not in cold blood. He wasn’t a soldier, just a simple man, a farmer maybe. So we tied him up and took him with us, back to where we thought our camp was located. But we got lost in the jungle, didn’t know where we were, lost our sense of direction. It was night, there were no lights, nothing, just a torch that I had.”

Elvis nodded. “So what happened?”

“The Vietcong guy sensed that we were lost and he showed us the way,” said Del, picking up the story. “He couldn’t speak no English and we couldn’t understand him but he led us out of the jungle even though he was our prisoner. And when we got near the camp he pleaded with us to let him go because he knew that if we took him into the camp he’d be shot.”

“Did you let him go?” asked Elvis.

“Yea,” said Del. “He’d saved us. We thought maybe he had a wife and kids. He could have led us back to where his people were, and we’d have been captured or killed.”

“He ran off back into the jungle as fast his legs could carry him,” said Roy. “The thing is… we trusted him and he trusted us. We repaid his trust.”

“Just like today,” said Elvis. “You trusted me, and I repaid it. I can’t lead a normal life, and never will, even after you let me go. But you showed me what it was like. Millions of men dream of being Elvis Presley, and I dream sometimes of being one of those millions. Today a little piece of that dream came true for me. Because of the same trust you shared with that Vietcong guy in the jungle.”

CAUGHT IN A TRAP: THE KIDNAPPING OF ELVIS

Last October I announced that I had written a novel, a mixture of fact and fiction that purported to reveal the truth about the 1975 kidnapping of Elvis Presley, and that I would be publishing it privately as an e-book, available in time for Christmas. It didn’t happen because I was persuaded by some friends who had read it that this was the wrong approach, and that I should seek a ‘proper’ publisher that would put it out as a ‘proper’ book, ie one with a cover and printed pages. It was, one friend told me, ‘a bold literary conceit’. I rather liked that.

To this end, in the early months of this year I approached several publishers, both in the UK and USA, only to be told that they only read manuscripts sent in from literary agents. So I approached several agents, all of whom I had dealt with as Editor-in-Chief at Omnibus Press, a position I held for 33 years until the beginning of last year. None wanted me as a client. I was told by those that had the courtesy to respond that they weren’t seeking any more authors right now or that my Elvis book wasn’t the kind of thing in which they were interested. The vast majority simply didn’t even bother to get back to me at all, quite a contrast with the reaction I used to get when I ran Omnibus. It also occurred to me that if someone with my track record in music journalism was unable to get anyone to even read my work, let alone publish it, then what hope for anyone without my background? If that sounds like sour grapes, then so be it, but at Omnibus I always made a point of acknowledging unsolicited proposals and, although the vast majority were turned down, in most cases I tried to offer some guidance to would-be authors. It was a matter of civility.

Chastened by the absence of interest from the book publishing world of which I was once a member, by the end of March I was resigned to going back to Plan A, the e-book route, and had even made inquiries with a company called Matador that prints your books for you and tries to sell them – but at some cost to their author. I wasn’t enthusiastic about this and was also keenly aware that the optimum time for publishing my book was August 16 this year, the 40^th anniversary of Elvis’ death, when the King’s profile might just go up a notch or two.

Then a miracle happened. My friend Neil Cossar, whose company Absolute PR had at one time handled the Omnibus publicity and promotion, read the book and brought it to the attention of another of his clients, Red Planet Publishing, which publishes quality rock books. Their MD read my book in one sitting, couldn’t put it down he said, and made me an offer. I had lift-off at last.

So, it gives me great pleasure to announce that the book will be published in time for August 16, now re-titled Caught In A Trap: The Kidnapping Of Elvis. (ISBN: 978 1 9113 4658 6, extent: 304 pp, dimensions: 198 x 129mm, paperback, price: £8.99 or $15.95.) A front cover is being designed as I write and an advance information sheet for the book trade reads as follows:

Caught In A Trap draws back the veil of secrecy on the most dramatic event in the life of Elvis Presley. In October of 1975 Elvis was abducted and spirited away to a cabin in the Kentucky mountains where he was made to sing for his supper. After a week in captivity a ransom was paid to ensure his release, a bizarre episode that was hushed up on orders from the White House, no less.

       This psychological thriller not only reveals the dramatic details of how Elvis was snatched but also delves into the innermost thoughts of the King of Rock’n’Roll. How does Elvis react when he is treated like an ordinary person, told to sweep floors and chop wood? How does he interact with his kidnappers? Will his songs grant him his freedom? And how do those close him, among them ex-wife Priscilla and manager Colonel Tom Parker, respond to the crisis?

       Caught In A Trap is so believable you’ll be asking yourself why it has taken so long for the real story to get out.

Last year I posted a couple of extracts from the book on Just Backdated, together with news about it, under its working title Elvis Kidnapped, but since that has since been changed these can now be found here under Caught In A Trap. The book has been revised quite a bit since then. I will post another extract closer to the publication date.

ELVIS KIDNAPPED – Latest News!

My plans to self-publish my novel Elvis Kidnapped as an e-book at the end of November have been postponed because friends whose advice I respect have persuaded me to seek a ‘real’ publisher instead.

To this end the manuscript has gone out to five literary agents and a couple of contacts I have at big mainstream publishers. It may be that this will come to nothing, in which case I’ll go back to my original plan, but since Elvis Kidnapped has been taking up space on my hard drive for a long time now, a few more weeks won’t make much difference.

So, sorry to disappoint anyone who read the extracts I posted on this blog and was looking forward to it. One way or another it’ll happen in 2017 which, of course, will see the 40^th anniversary of Elvis heading up the great Heartbreak Hotel in the sky.

ELVIS KIDNAPPED - Extract 3

The Stockholm Syndrome has set in. Elvis Presley has bonded with his kidnappers. A ransom note has been delivered to Graceland and at the cabin in the Kentucky Hills where he is held captive, Elvis and his three captors – Delmore, his wife Sandra and their friend Roy – have time to kill. It is time for an experiment.

Before they slept they checked on Elvis in the locked bedroom. He was sleeping soundly. The following day, after breakfast, all four of them, Elvis, Roy, Del and Sandra, squeezed into the truck and drove into the Daniel Boone National Park, stopping at a gas station on the outskirts of Montecello to buy food for a picnic lunch. Elvis was in a buoyant mood and had to be persuaded to stay in the truck with Roy while Del and Sandra went inside to pick up the provisions, and when they returned he pleaded with them to be able to step outside.

        “I just want to be able to be normal in the midst of ordinary people,” he said. “That’s something I never had, not since I was famous anyway. Let me use the bathroom. I won’t try anything.”

        Del and Roy looked at one another. “Should we let him?” asked Del.

        “Yes,” said Sandra. “I trust him.”

        “OK, but you gotta wear this hat,” said Roy, handing Elvis a floppy hat in green camouflage material that he wore while out shooting. Elvis reluctantly placed it on his head.

        Public appearances by Elvis Presley were almost always pre-planned, tightly choreographed and reported in the press, no matter how brief. On such occasions Elvis made sure he looked the part, dressing up in his capes, buckles and belts, the way he and his fans thought he ought to look. He usually wore outsize sunglasses. Elvis would no sooner slip out of the house in everyday clothes to pick up a pint of milk than the Queen of England would be seen in her nightdress.

During pre-production meetings in Los Angeles for the Singer special in May of 1968 its producer Steve Binder had suggested he and Elvis step out of his office on Sunset Boulevard and mingle with passers-by. Elvis was appalled by the suggestion, fearing that he would be mobbed on the street and some sort of disturbance ensue. He was therefore deeply humbled when no one recognised him. “We were just four guys standing in front of this building,” said Bones Howe, Binder’s audio engineer said afterwards.

It was quite another thing, however, for Elvis to use the bathroom in a roadside gas station without a security detail checking out the building first, making sure no one else was inside and waiting outside while he relieved himself. However, Elvis had been a captive now for five nights and, although he’d been given a change of clothing, the overalls and t-shirt he loathed so much, he hadn’t had a shave in all that time, nor been able to wash properly and re-dye his hair as was his custom. As a result Elvis’ natural brown colour was just starting to show at the roots and, as each day passed, his stubble had continued to grow but it wasn’t black like the dyed hair on his head, more salt and peppery. The camouflage hat only added to the obvious reality that he no longer resembled anything like the Elvis Presley that the world would recognise.

“OK,” said Roy. “But I’m coming with you.”

Elvis stepped down from the truck and walked across the forecourt to the bathroom. The only other customer, a young man dressed in a check shirt and similar overalls to those Elvis wore, was filling up a station wagon, and as they approached the bathroom a middle-aged woman pulled up in a sedan, got out and walked towards the shop. Neither gave Elvis and Roy a second glance.

Inside the bathroom was another man, splashing water on his face at the basin. He turned and stepped aside as Elvis passed close by him, glancing at Elvis but showing no signs of recognition. When they had finished Elvis and Roy walked back to the truck, passing close to the woman from the sedan who was lingering by a newspaper stand close to the entrance to the shop. She ignored them.

Back in the truck Elvis appeared overjoyed. “You have no idea what that felt like for me,” he said. “That’s the first time in 20 years I’ve been able to walk around outside in public and not be recognised. Now I know what it’s like not to be Elvis Presley.”

Emboldened by the success of their experiment at the gas station, the quartet drove on into the National Park, eventually stopping at a picnic area and eating lunch. Although the area was far from crowded, a handful of other groups of picnickers settled nearby, among them a family of four, father, mother and two boys below the age of 10. After their meal the boys began to throw a football to one another and when one boy failed to catch the ball it rolled to where Elvis, Roy, Del and Sandra were sat. Elvis glanced at the others. Roy nodded. Elvis picked up the ball, stood up and threw it back to the boy.

“Thanks mister,” he shouted from about 10 yards away. The father of the boys waved in acknowledgement and Elvis waved back. He smiled and sat down. Elvis was beginning to enjoy normality.

In the afternoon the four of them continued their drive through the National Park, stopping now and then and getting out of the truck to admire the scenery. At one particular spot they mingled with a coach party. Elvis again went unrecognised. Driving back to the cabin in the early evening they passed a roadside diner and Elvis suggested they stop to eat. “I can’t remember what it was like to go into a restaurant and be served, just like a normal person, no one making a fuss,” he said.

There were only three other vehicles parked outside, and it was safe to assume one of them belonged to the staff. Roy parked the truck and sent Sandra inside to check on how crowded it was.

“There’s only two tables occupied,” she reported back. “A young couple on one and an old guy on the other.”

“OK,” said Del. “I’m sick of eating in the cabin anyway.”

“Me, too,” said Elvis. “But that’s not to say I don’t like your cooking Miss Sandra,” he added hurriedly.

Sandra smiled at Elvis, and Elvis grinned back. It seemed like any natural exchange between old friends.

“You sit facing the wall Elvis,” said Roy. “If anything happens we’re out of here quick.”

The four of them ate burgers and fries washed down with coke. No one paid them the slightest notice. Elvis said little throughout the meal, relishing his anonymity. It never even occurred to him to go up to the counter and identify himself, not that the waitress would have recognised him anyway. As they walked back to the truck he asked, “Do y’all trust me now?”

“I guess so,” said Roy. “But I still had this with me, just in case.” He opened his jacket to reveal the .38 stuffed into his belt.

Elvis winced. “You didn’t need that,” he said. “I gave you my word.”

Sandra thought she detected a touch of hurt in his voice. “I believe

you,” she said. 

Back at the cabin Elvis joined Roy, Del and Sandra on the porch before they turned in for the night. Roy and Del were drinking beer, Elvis and Sandra coke. “Did you guys serve in the army?” Elvis asked them.

Roy and Del nodded.

“Vietnam?”

“Yea,” said Roy. “But we don’t talk about it.”

“They don’t like to,” said Sandra. “Even I can’t get them to tell me anything about what they did there.”

“Why not?” asked Elvis.

“The way the Americans treated the Vietcong,” said Del. “It wasn’t good.”

They lapsed into silence. Then Roy spoke. “I’ll tell y’all one story. We took a prisoner once, me and Del. A stray Vietcong man we found in the jungle. We ought to have killed him but we didn’t. We couldn’t. Not in cold blood. He wasn’t a soldier, just a simple man, a farmer maybe. So we tied him up and took him with us, back to where we thought our camp was located. But we got lost in the jungle, didn’t know where we were, lost our sense of direction. It was night, there were no lights, nothing, just a torch that I had.”

Elvis nodded. “So what happened?”

“The Vietcong guy sensed that we were lost and he showed us the way,” said Del, picking up the story. “He couldn’t speak no English and we couldn’t understand him but he led us out of the jungle even though he was our prisoner. And when we got near the camp he pleaded with us to let him go because he knew that if we took him into the camp he’d be shot.”

“Did you let him go?” asked Elvis.

“Yea,” said Del. “He’d saved us. We thought maybe he had a wife and kids. He could have led us back to where his people were, and we’d have been captured or killed.”

“He ran off back into the jungle as fast his legs could carry him,” said Roy. “The thing is… we trusted him and he trusted us. We repaid his trust.”

“Just like today,” said Elvis. “You trusted me, and I repaid it. I can’t lead a normal life, and never will, even after you let me go. But you showed me what it was like. Millions of men dream of being Elvis Presley, and I dream sometimes of being one of those millions. Today a little piece of that dream came true for me. Because of the same trust you shared with that Vietcong guy in the jungle.”

ELVIS KIDNAPPED - Extract 2

Elvis has disappeared, presumed kidnapped, though no word has been heard from his abductors. Graceland is in a flap. Priscilla Presley arrives from California and summons a police detective who, mindful of Elvis’ wellbeing, advises secrecy. She concurs but Colonel Tom Parker, Elvis’ manager, is keen to exploit the situation’s commercial potential and thinks otherwise. He flies to New York to brief the boss of RCA Records, knowing that the course of action he prefers will get a sympathetic hearing…

As the President of RCA Records, Rocco Laginestra presided over the affairs of one of the biggest and oldest established major record labels in the world. From his office high up above Sixth Avenue in Manhattan, he could make or break the careers of those artists signed to the label but deep inside he was acutely aware that the fortunes of RCA were nowhere near as propitious as those of his main rivals, Columbia and the WEA conglomerate. The principal reason for this was the innate conservatism that had prevented the company from embracing rock music with the enthusiasm and know-how of their rivals. As a result RCA was slipping and its owners, NBC, were on Rocco’s back to do something about it.

        In England the company was unusually excited about their glam-rock star David Bowie but Rocky couldn’t see this fey British boy, who admitted he was a faggot, capturing America with the ease with which he’d captured Europe. And Bowie’s manager, Tony Defries, was squandering a fortune of RCA’s money on tour support and funding his huge and flamboyant entourage. In Rocco’s opinion John Denver, the guitar-playing hick from Colorado who sang songs about the Rocky Mountains, was a much safer bet. His albums were shipping gold right now, which was more than could be said for Bowie. Then there was Elvis.

        In what was without doubt the boldest move in the company’s history, RCA had signed Elvis Presley to an exclusive and indefinite recording contract for $35,000 way back in 1955. At the time this seemed like an awful lot of money but the investment was unquestionably the shrewdest move RCA had ever made. Elvis proved to be far and away the biggest selling recording artist that emerged in the first phase of the rock’n’roll era, which made him the biggest selling singer in the world, and throughout most of the Sixties – despite intense competition from The Beatles and their successors – he remained a top seller. Then, just as sales were starting to dip in the second half of the decade, Elvis re-emerged after the 1968 Singer TV special and began a new career as a Las Vegas performer, the hottest ticket in town. Naturally, his new-found success on stage translated into record sales and for the next few years Elvis was rarely out of the Top 100 on the Billboard listings.

        In 1972, when sales of Elvis’ Records began to dip again, RCA and Colonel Parker reached an agreement that from Elvis’ point of view was a betrayal of monumental proportions. After a bit of horse-trading, the Colonel consented to a deal in which he and Elvis would relinquish all future royalties on Elvis’ back catalogue sales up to that point in exchange for $5 million dollars in cash that was split 50/50 between Parker and Elvis. Naturally Elvis paid tax on his share – leaving him with just over $1 million for his life’s work. From RCA’s point of view, this deal was as sweet as they come – they now owned Elvis’ back catalogue outright – and for Parker the deal provided a handsome nest egg for his eventual retirement.

        Laginestra and Colonel Parker enjoyed what could best be described as a relationship based on mutual respect, though a shade more respect went in the Colonel’s direction. Laginestra was wary of the Colonel’s ways but also well aware that his and Elvis’ fortunes were tied up with RCA for the duration. There was no way that any other record company could poach Elvis. He was – and would always remain – the jewel in RCA’s crown.

Colonel Parker’s flight had arrived in New York shortly after nine o’clock the previous evening and an RCA car was waiting to take Elvis’ portly manager straight to the suite he had booked at the New York Hilton. Tired after being aroused early in the morning in Palm Springs and the events in Memphis, he went straight to his room, undressed, climbed into bed and was soon asleep. The following morning he breakfasted on bacon, sausages, eggs, fried potatoes and toast, all of it washed down with sweet black coffee. By 10 am he was on his way to RCA’s offices on Sixth Avenue, sitting in the back of a black limousine smoking his first cigar of the day.

        On a previous visit to RCA’s offices in New York Parker had famously become trapped in the lift doors that refused to open sufficiently to allow him to leave. When he’d stabbed the button to open them he’d become trapped, with half his immense bulk inside the lift and half outside while the doors repeatedly slammed against him. Some saw this strange incident as an augury, a sign that the RCA behemoth was somehow avenging Parker’s shifty greed, but no such unbecoming calamity befall Parker on this visit.

        Rocco Laginestra ushered Colonel Parker into his office and dismissed his secretary. It was most unusual for Parker to come to New York for a meeting at such short notice and he was eager to learn the reason. The two men sat opposite each other across a coffee table strewn with music trade magazines. Parker relit his trademark cigar and settled back into the armchair. There was little need for pleasantries.

        “Are you sure we can’t be overheard?” asked the Colonel.

        “Quite sure,” replied the company man warily.

        “Very well... first I must have your word that everything I am about to tell you is in the utmost secrecy, that for the time being you will not repeat any of this to anyone, no one at the company, not your wife, not your mistress, no one.”

        Laginestra winced. How did the Colonel know he had a mistress? “Very well,” he replied. “You have my word.”

        “Well then,” said Parker, lowering his voice for effect, “Elvis has been kidnapped.”

        “What?” Laginestra’s voice registered the same shock and disbelief that had afflicted Lieutenant Shriver the previous day.

        “You heard me... kidnapped, abducted, whatever you want to call it.”

        “You’re joking.”

        “No. I am being absolutely serious. Elvis was kidnapped two nights ago while riding his motorbike. The man who was with him was knocked unconscious and didn’t see the kidnappers. Eventually he came to and returned to Graceland with the news. We haven’t heard a word since from whoever took him, or from Elvis of course. We have no idea where he is.”

        “How could this happen?”

        “That’s what I wanted to know... lax security, stupidity.”

        “How many people know?”
        Colonel Parker went on to tell the RCA president everything he knew, including the visit of the police lieutenant to Graceland, the presence of Priscilla and how they were attempting to keep a lid on the story.

        “If the press got hold of this....” began Laginestra.

        “Exactly,” interrupted the Colonel, cutting him off to allow his imagination to run wild.

        When Laginestra had fully absorbed what the Colonel had come to tell him, the pair discussed the situation at length. Like Parker, Laginestra was quick to realise that if the news were to be made public, then sales of Elvis’ records would skyrocket overnight. Neither wanted to be the first to mention this. Eventually the RCA man broached the subject. “What, if, let’s say, the news were to leak out or Elvis were to... er, come to some harm... heaven forbid.”

        “Heaven forbid... that would be terrible,” replied the Colonel.

        “Terrible.”

        “Maybe it might not be a bad idea to press up some extra Elvis records... er, just in case… a precaution…. To cater for potential demand in the event…”

        The RCA man considered the suggestion. “Well, maybe we could do just that. It might arouse some suspicion at the pressing plant but no harm in taking sensible precautions. Staff might assume that we stockpiling records in the event that Elvis doesn’t recover from his present illness.”

        “Yes, that would explain it. No harm in pressing them up at all... sound commercial sense.”

        “And if, er, for some reason or another, news of the kidnapping were to become public, then there might be a demand for more records too.”

        “Yes, but the police have strictly forbidden it... and Priscilla... you know,” said the Colonel.

        “Of course...”

        “But if it were to leak out accidentally...” said the Colonel, an idea forming in his mind.

        “It won’t come from me,” said Laginestra hurriedly.

        “No. But if something like that does happen, I would expect to be able to renegotiate our previous royalty agreements.”

        “I think we could come to some arrangement there,” said Laginestra, who had already anticipated such a request. “Let’s wait until things play out.”

        “Yes,” said Parker. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”

        Their meeting over, the two men rose from their seats and shook hands. Laginestra’s secretary showed Parker out and escorted him to the elevator.

        When Parker left RCA’s offices he went back to his hotel and called Graceland, only to learn from Lamar Fike that no one had been in touch with regard to his missing client. Then he took a cab to La Guardia Aiport and flew back to Memphis where he checked into a Holiday Inn near the centre of town. He didn’t want to stay at Graceland where Priscilla and Linda and everyone else would nag him for results – but he needed to be close to the action. When he got to his room he called Lamar Fike at Graceland again to tell him where he was and settled down to get some rest. It had been another long day.

ELVIS KIDNAPPED - Extract 1

This is the first of three extracts from my novel Elvis Kidnapped that I will be posting over the next two weeks in advance of the book’s publication via Amazon kindle, hopefully around the beginning of next month.

It is September 1975 and Elvis has been hospitalised after a season of shows in Las Vegas that was curtailed due to ill health. He is convalescing at the Baptist Memorial Hospital in Memphis…

Elvis Presley bored easily. Like many others upon whom Dame Fortune had showered fame and riches, the mundane was anathema to contentment and Elvis needed a constant charge to keep him amused. It could be any of many things: music, movies, pretty girls, fast cars, motor bikes, funfairs, travel, practical jokes, vandalism, food, sport, drugs or – his current favourite – impulsive gestures of unexpected random generosity. Hospital was boring and Elvis, as soon as he was feeling better than he did in Vegas, wanted out.

        When he was first admitted to the hospital immediately after his return from Vegas, huge sheets of aluminium foil were affixed to the windows of his room to keep out the sunlight. This enabled Elvis to maintain his Dracula-like routine of sleeping during daylight hours and coming alive at night, and the hospital was quite willing to bend their rules for such a famous patient.

        The official word was that Elvis was under treatment for ‘exhaustion’, but the truth was far more serious. Elvis’ liver was malfunctioning due to a grossly enlarged colon and he was suffering regular and painful intestinal spasms. His constant use of ‘medication’ ­– powerful, numbing pain killers during periods when he was awake and sleeping pills when he chose to sleep – and a junk food diet had upset his metabolic system, causing his weight to fluctuate wildly and putting additional pressure on his heart.

        Elvis briefly considered an intestinal by-pass operation but ruled that out when it was explained to him that henceforth he would have to adhere to a strict, frugal diet. Girlfriend Linda Thompson visited his private ward regularly and the pair would watch afternoon game shows on television together, and tune in to the hospital’s internal TV system, so they could check out the action in the public wards. Ever a snoop, this eased Elvis’ boredom for a while. So, after he’d been bedridden for two days, did a surprise phone call from the man who was once the highest in the land.

“Yeah,” said Elvis when his bedside phone rang unexpectedly. The line was silent for a few seconds. Then a voice he didn’t recognise came on the line.

        “Is that Mr Elvis Presley?”

        “Yeah,” said Elvis curiously. All calls to his bedside were supposed to have been screened by the hospital switchboard. “Who’s that?”

        “This is Ron Zeigler, the secretary to Richard Nixon, the former President of the United States. One moment please.”

        The one and only time Elvis had met Nixon was at the White House in 1970. Earlier this year he had phoned him when Nixon was himself hospitalised. Now, it seemed, the ex-President was returning the courtesy. The hot line crackled.

        “Hello Elvis, it’s Richard Nixon here. I’m speaking from my home in California. I just wanted to call to say how sorry I was to hear that you were unwell, and that I hope most sincerely that you’ll be feeling much better soon.”

        Caught off his guard, Elvis was momentarily speechless. “Thank you sir... er, Mr President, sir,” was all he could mumble in reply.

        From the library of his San Clemente home, Richard Nixon tried to sound chatty. “What’s the problem, Elvis?” he asked.

        “Er, just fatigue sir,” replied Elvis. “I just been working too hard I guess. A bit of a stomach problem too, so the doctors tell me. But I’m feeling better every day sir. I should be outta’ here real soon.”

        “That’s good,” said Nixon. “Well just you look after yourself now. You’re an important man in this country, our country.”

        “Thank you sir.” Elvis felt deeply flattered. He admired the former President, any President, very much. Emboldened by Nixon’s bonhomie, he decided to share some thoughts on current affairs. “I think you did a fine job up there in the Capitol, Mr President, sir, and I want to say that you had my full support in that Watergate business I kept seeing on television. I know you’re an honest man, Mr President, sir, and you had our country’s best interests at heart. I think that those people who were trying to harm you were, er, unpatriotic citizens who didn’t deserve a President like you, sir, er Mr President.”

        Nixon coughed discretely. Elvis’ grasp of the Watergate situation was evidently untainted by political reality. He decided to bring the conversation to an end.

        “Thank you very much, Elvis. I am confident that my position in history is secure,” he said, sounding far more confident than he really felt. “I gotta go now... State business, you know. Bye and best wishes Elvis.”

        “Of course. Thank you for calling, sir.” Elvis hung up and a swell of pride surged through his huge body. Goddam it, the former President himself calling to wish him well. Wait till he told the boys about that.

        Later the same day Elvis took a similar call from Frank Sinatra who also wished him well but his buoyant mood didn’t last. After a few days in the hospital he was itching to get back to his toys at Graceland, so much so that the hospital staff had little choice but to discharge him earlier than they planned.
        Linda visited Elvis every day and there was a sack of get well cards waiting to be opened at the foot of his bed. But Elvis was still bored.

       

ELVIS KIDNAPPED

For much of this year I have been working on an 80,000-word novel about Elvis Presley being kidnapped. This is a project that’s been floating around on my hard drive for ages, and only this summer did I find the time to give it the attention it deserved and finally complete it. Of course, it’s an ambitious, slightly far-fetched undertaking that might fly away in the lightness of its irrational caprice, but it’s kept me off the streets and been fun to write. Aside from the thriller aspect of Elvis being snatched, I’ve tried to imagine how Elvis would act in these circumstances and how he would relate to his kidnappers once the ‘Stockholm Syndrome’ kicks in, which it does.

I never saw Elvis perform but his music has thrilled me since I first heard it. Beginning with ‘Heartbreak Hotel’, it’s to blame for my life-long love of rock’n’roll music. Elvis’ life, the triumphs and the disasters, the magic and the missteps, has always fascinated me. As a boy of 12 I cut out photographs of Elvis from magazines and stuck them on my bedroom wall. I bought or was given 10 of the first twelve LP records he released (stopping after Blue Hawaii), four EPs, and about a dozen singles. I joined his UK Fan Club and at Christmas received a card from ‘Elvis and The Colonel’. In 1973, as Melody Maker’s US editor temporarily stationed in Los Angeles, I read Elvis: A Biography by Jerry Hopkins, the first serious account of his life, which prompted me to write to Colonel Tom Parker requesting an interview with Elvis. I never received a reply.

In 1977, a month before Elvis died there, I had my photo taken outside the gates of Graceland in Memphis. I actually had a ticket to see him at Nassau Coliseum on Long Island on the tour that was due to take place that Fall. In 1980, as the employee of RCA Records charged with handling PR for his estate, I stood on stage at an Elvis Fan Club convention in Leicester, made a speech and accepted an award on the company’s behalf. Reginald Bosanquet, unsober, was the guest speaker. Oddly, Colonel Parker died a few days before my own father, in January of 1997, and I remember reading obits at the nursing home where dad breathed his last. I’ve since read about 20 further books on Elvis, written a brief one myself (to accompany a cassette of his hits), and edited and/or been responsible for the publication of six more.

It’s my intention to publish Elvis Kidnapped privately, as an e-book, towards the end of this month, all assuming I can get clearances for a few lyrics that appear in the text, and between now and then I’ll post three extracts on Just Backdated. For starters, here’s the back cover blurb, as we call it in the trade.

ELVIS KIDNAPPED draws back the veil of secrecy on the most dramatic event in the life of Elvis Presley. In October of 1975 Elvis was abducted and spirited away to a cabin in the Kentucky mountains where he was made to sing for his supper. After a week in captivity a ransom was paid to ensure his release, a bizarre episode that was hushed up on orders from the White House.

An intriguing blend of fact and fiction, ELVIS KIDNAPPED is a psychological thriller that not only tells the dramatic tale of how Elvis was snatched but delves into the innermost thoughts of the King of Rock’n’Roll. How does Elvis react when he is treated like an ordinary person, told to sweep floors and chop wood? How does he interact with his kidnappers? Will his songs grant him his freedom? And how do those close to him, among them ex-wife Priscilla and manager Colonel Tom Parker, respond to the crisis?

“With all of his needs catered for by others, Elvis Presley was the very opposite of self-sufficient; simultaneously the neediest man that Priscilla would ever encounter yet at the same time in need of nothing. Elvis was a paradox, reared on a diet that had left him as helpless as a child when he wasn’t surrounded by his courtiers… whoever had kidnapped him, thought Priscilla, would soon realise what a handful he could be.”

ELVIS KIDNAPPED – Did it really happen? The only way to find out is to read the book.