Goin' to Graceland...

When a person dabbles in the professional music scene, and another person, to whom the first person is amorously connected, used to own a club and be a sound man, and when a person’s two children show distinct musical talent at, say, the drums and the guitar, then a person, if happening to pass through Memphis, really ought to go to Graceland. Don’t you agree?

So, when we awoke at about 8:30, having slept later than usual because of our late-night hailstorm adventure, we got up, had some free Ramada Limited breakfast
(hardboiled eggs, biscuits with sausage gravy, cheese Danish, peanut butter English muffin, banana, coffee, milk, juice—I’m including everyone here, not just me), and piled into the car to begin our Elvis odyssey.

I guess it wasn’t really an Odyssey. Graceland is expensive—significantly higher than the hotel brochure said it would be ($27.00 per adult, $16 per child), and that was for the bare-bones tour without the car museum and Lisa Marie’s plane. You buy your ticket and then you have to wait for about 40 minutes. At least, that’s how long we had to wait. They told us it would be 40 minutes before they called our group. Of course, that gave us plenty of time to browse the many Elvis shops and restaurants, all hoping to get us to spend our hard-earned cash on Elvis paraphernalia. Angus did buy something to drink, and I had some coffee, but otherwise we were remarkably restrained. It was interesting enough to walk around and look at everything—the sequined suit replicas, the 1950s-style diner, the restaurant with the table built into a car…all kitschy of course, but fun, too, and Elvis music playing all the while.



When they did call our group, we got in line and they handed us little radios to hang around our necks, with headphones, for the audio tour. Mine was in Spanish but an efficient employee quickly switched it back to English. We all pushed buttons, even though we weren’t really supposed to yet. Then we had to endure the whole “we have to take your picture but you don’t have to buy it” routine that has become a staple in amusement parks (“Here’s you screaming your lungs out on the roller coaster, two 5x7s and a key chain fob for just $29.99!”). But the woman lining us up and the photographer were good-humored folks, joking with us and obviously enjoying their jobs. And that’s always a pleasure to see, in my opinion: happy people.


At last it was our turn to board the small bus that would take us across the street to The Mansion. We were surprised at how small, even modest, the mansion was. It wasn’t a pretentious display of wealth, like you might expect. I didn’t know much about Elvis before (admittedly) but he was a kind, generous, giving person and the tour gave me a new appreciation for who he was and what he accomplished, always with gratitude and yes, grace.

We were instructed to begin our audio tour and walked through the mansion, as the tour kindly suggested, in order and with an ongoing narrative, including lots of sound bites from Priscilla and Lisa Marie. It was actually very interesting.

We started in the living room, with the 15 foot white sofa.


We peeked into Elvis’s parent’s room. As you probably know, Elvis was born in a tiny house into a very poor life, and he wanted more than anything to be sure his parents, who had given him such a solid upbringing, would be comfortable.

The dining room was beautiful in a 1960s sort of way, with lots of blue and silver.

The mod 1970s style kitchen was, according to Lisa Marie, the hub of the house, with people coming and going and eating at all hours and always somewhere there to cook.


Downstairs, Elvis had a pool room covered in fabric with a pleated fabric ceiling, and a jungle room with amazing furniture featuring thick arms and backs of carved wood. A rounded chair was Lisa Marie’s favorite, and Elvis recorded a few songs down here.




Outside was a carport where Elvis kept his cars and go-karts, as well as a big pasture for horses. They still keep horses there. Lisa Marie said Elvis and his friends liked to jump into the go-karts or onto the horses and ride all around the yard, and sometimes out into the road, and they never got stopped by the police. Lisa Marie’s swing set still stands outside, too.


Later, Elvis built an outbuilding with an indoor racquetball court, the office where a small staff managed his affairs, a small brick shooting range, and a mod seating area where Elvis played the piano and hung out with friends the day he died.





The racquetball court, with its high ceiling, now houses floor-to-ceiling gold records and other memorabilia, plus a television with a video showing Elvis singing “How Great Thou Art” in a stadium. Another building, the Trophy Building, has all his awards, commendations, more gold and platinum records, and memorabilia from his movie career and subsequent return to rock’n’roll. Also his and Priscilla’s wedding outfits, and Lisa Maria’s toy box, a white quilted toy box with circus animals that is the exact same toy box my sisters and I had growing up in the late ‘60s and early ‘70s! I thought that was pretty cool.





Finally, the tour brought us to the Meditation Garden, where Elvis, his parents, and his grandmother are buried, along with the tiny grave of Elvis’s twin brother, who died at birth. Filled with flowers and mementos sent by fans from all over the world (including the strange framed photo of...some guy?), the garden has a fountain, flowers, and an eternal flame at the head of Elvis’s grave. Priscilla said that when she heard Elvis had died, her first thought was, “But how can the world possibly go on without Elvis Presley in it?”




Kitschy? Expensive? Sure, but I felt like it was worth the trip, and the long delay before hitting the road. I guess I would have to say that I now consider myself an Elvis fan. The kids never seemed bored, either, so I’m glad they got to see it. I hope they have a new appreciate for The King, too. Thank you. Thank you very much.

We got back on the road by 1:00 p.m. With such a late start, we decided we’d better move along quickly and not spend too much time at any more stops. We had a quick drive-through lunch at Popeye’s Chicken and Biscuits because, in the face of pleas for Wendy’s or Burger King, I decided we had to go somewhere that we couldn’t go in Iowa. Popeye’s is a southern institution, so that seemed appropriate. We had chicken po’boys—strips of fried chicken on hoagie buns with spicy coating and coleslaw. I had red beans and rice as a side. It was remarkably satisfying.

We drove and drove and quickly as we could, stopping occasionally for the usual reasons: gas, bathroom breaks. The interstate in Memphis looks to me like the street in front of someone’s house—small and unintimidating. I had envisioned Memphis is bigger. When we crossed into Mississippi, first we saw lots of swampland and the boys looked for alligators. Then the landscape changed—wide open fields and beautiful stands of pine with the sun shining into the middle, lighting up the forests from within. Angus kept remarking, “I like it here!” So did I. The day, sunny and clear, was perfect for driving and the views were understated but serene and beautiful. During one of our stops for gas, we got out of the car and it was…warm! I mean, really warm. Warm like the south, like summer. I couldn’t help throwing my arms out to worship the sun.





Jackson wasn’t very big but Mobile’s sparkling skyline just after sunset was impressive. So was the dramatically dipping underground tunnel we drove through on our way through town.



Then we had to find the beach. We didn’t have very specific instructions so after following where I thought we were supposed to go, and after lots of arguing with Ben about where we were supposed to go, and several calls to Ann, we finally found the condo: Emerald key, in Orange Beach. The boys leapt out of the car and Angus immediately began skateboarding around the parking lot. The boys grabbed a dolly and we brought all our suitcases upstairs, then went down to the beach to see the Gulf of Mexico in the dark. The waves, surprisingly large for the Gulf, crashed on the shore and the boys ran wildly around the beach and in and out of the surf, giddy to be out of the car and able to run free like that.
We’re here!

Spring Break Begins

We start every vacation with a trip to the World's Largest Truckstop in Walcott,Iowa. And that applies to this trip, too, because it's...Spring Break!

And Emmett has influenza. This is not an ideal beginning to our spring break vacation to Orange Beach, Alabama. We got the influenza diagnosis the day before, via a nasal swab test. With our fingers crossed that we don’t all catch it, and the doctor’s approval that he could ride in the car as long as he got lots of rest and fluids, we piled into the car on Friday and pulled out of the driveway around 11:00 a.m. Our goal tonight: Memphis. But first, Walcott, Iowa, where the World's Largest Truckstop lives.







We know this place well, although we usually just eat and shop a little (Emmett got his coonskin cap here). For truckers, it has not only showers, TV lounges, restaurants, truck washes, and lots of retail, but a movie theater, a barber, and a dentist.

We got some lunch—the kids had Wendy’s and we settled for Taco Bell since there wasn’t time to eat in the “real” restaurant—and then continued on our way, sailing uneventfully over the Mississippi River and into Illinois. I had considered various routes, including the Great River Road, but finally decided the Interstates would be faster. In retrospect, I’m not sure they were.

By the time we reached the Spoon River Rest Stop in Illinois, we were ready to stop again so we wandered around the wooden bridges and I took the camera up a flight of steps built into a hill and found this wooden watchtower. I didn’t climb it but plan to climb it someday. Angus would have climbed it if he’d been there, but he was busy skateboarding along the sidewalks.










Ben gave Emmett another dose of children’s Motrin and we continued on towards St. Louis, but I somehow got off on the wrong road and we ended looping around and going through the city twice. But that was serendipitous because the second time through, we stopped across from the arch, crossed the street, and the kids ran around the grassy lawn and stared at the arch from beneath. It’s dizzying and spectacular up close—or from afar, for that matter, especially at sunset, the sun glinting on the metal.
















On the way back across the road to our car, the kids and I leaned over the overpass to watch the cars on Interstate 55 whizzing by beneath us. Angus and Emmett made the universal trucker sign for “honk your horn” to several semis passing below, and two of them obliged with a satisfying beeeeeep as they roared under our feet. Angus said, “I love it when they do that!”

On the way up the hill, we passed a fire hydrant—bright red with a yellow painted cap. We looked at Emmett—dressed head to toe in a bright red sweatsuit. With his blonde hair, he looked just like the fire hydrant.
We drove a little farther and stopped at Bill Gianino’s for dinner. This little Italian spot in a strip mall south of the city met our need for local St. Louis-style Italian food. We started with some mediocre white bread, much improved with a drizzle of olive oil which stays on the table, and beverages (Sprite for kids, beer for us—when I asked if they had any microbrews, the waitress looked at me like, “Um, do you know where you are?” Right, it’s Anheuser-Busch country. I forgot. We ordered Heinekens.) We tried an appetizer of toasted ravioli, a St. Louis specialty we’d never had before. It’s basically deep-fat-fried ravioli filled with meat paste. Mild but satisfying, dipped in marinara. Everyone liked it except Emmett, who only tried it on the promise of dessert.


The chopped salads were huge and rich with cheese and oil. They were good but too big. Ben ordered veal piccata--lemony and rich. Angus ordered another appetizer portion of toasted ravioli, Emmett ordered a pepperoni pizza, and I ordered the special, seafood ravioli. I was a little disappointed that the seafood wasn't in the ravioli but in the sauce. The ravioli tasted kind of processed, but the sauce had creme, tomato, and a lot of chunky crab and gulf shrimp. I hardly had room for any of it, but the sauce was filled with cream and lots of chunky crab and shrimp. Emmett’s pizza was the classic St. Louis-style thin crust and he liked it but it looked pretty greasy. Ben’s side of penne with garlic cream sauce was under seasoned. I didn’t taste any garlic or salt.

We took pictures of all the food, but it wasn't photogenic food, so I'll spare you.

By this time, we realized we were way behind schedule, and way too full for dessert, so Emmett grudgingly accepted a rain check (he had been trying to decide between fried ice cream and triple chocolate cake, but even he had to admit he was really very full). All the stopping and misdirection had taken its toll, and our route was turning out to be a lot longer than I thought. Maybe we should have taken the highways after all, although we were never stuck in traffic on the interstate so I’m still not sure why it took so long.

We stopped twice more—once at a rest stop and once to fill up with more gas and coffee. Shortly after we entered Arkansas, we noticed grass...green grass!. It was starting to feel like spring.

We finally arrived in West Memphis, Arkansas, at around midnight. Exhausted, we checked into our two rooms, the kids kitty-corner from us, but as we were all unwinding, it started to rain, and then suddenly, big chunks of hail began pounding the parking lot and the cars. This was some big hail. It surprised us all. The kids, giddy with energy after a long day of sitting but also too tired to be awake, started laughing and shrieking and running in and out of the hail.



When the hail stopped and the kids didn’t, a woman opened her door and yelled, “Tell them to SHUT UP!” Like magic, the kids disappeared into their rooms, then called my phone. “Was she talking to us?” That’s all it took to settle them down. Before long, we all fell asleep, glad to know we were at least a little over half way there.

Tomorrow, we can’t possibly hit the road until we’ve had a look at Graceland.