make sure the boys get your
Seville back running like a top. Meanwhile, I had that pretty little coupe out
there washed and waxed for you this morning. That’ll keep you running while we’ve
got yours in the shop.”
He handed me the
keys as I looked out to see a shiny red clone of my baby. “Thanks, Burt. I
appreciate it.”
As he waited for
me to sign the form at the desk, he talked about my dad and how much they all
missed him. “But no one misses him more than Elvis. Fact is, he was in here
just this morning and asked how ol’ Cadillac Jack was doing down in Birmingham.”
I looked up. “ Elvis asked about my dad?”
“Oh sure. Always
does. Elvis loves yo’ daddy. He still buys his cars from us, but he always lets
us know he wishes Jack was still here.”
“Wow. What do
you know,” I mused, signing my name and handing the form to the clerk behind
the desk.
Burt escorted me
to the loaner, its shiny red coat glistening despite the long afternoon shadows.
“Yeah, ol’ Elvis likes his Caddies. Bought six today.”
“Six?!”
“Oh, that’s
nothing. Sometimes he orders ’em by the dozen.” He opened the driver’s door for
me.
“I guess I
shouldn’t be that surprised. Dad said he used to come in and buy several at a
time. He said sometimes they were for complete strangers. He just enjoyed
giving them to folks.”
The wind whipped
under Burt’s sad toupee and he quickly patted it back into place. “It’s true.
Waitresses, movie theater cashiers, lawn guys—you name it. He just has a ball
surprising folks. Though this time, these were what he calls his ‘guilt cars’ . . .
Elvis can’t stand knowing somebody’s upset with him or disappointed in him. So
if he gets sideways with anyone, even over something trivial, he has to make it
right. Buys ’em a Cadillac. Can you imagine?”
I slipped into
the car. “No, I can’t. I wonder if people take advantage of him just to see if
he’ll give them a Cadillac.”
“Oh sure.
Happens all the time. He’s just too blind to see it. But he’s a good guy. Has
his faults like everyone else, but a good man. You ever meet him?”
“Dad tells me I
did, but I don’t remember it.”
“That’s a real
shame. You’d love the guy. We all do.”
I bet. I couldn’t
imagine what the commission on those six Caddies had been, let alone a dozen.
Love indeed.
“Thanks, Burt.
Let me know when my car is ready.”
I drove off with
thoughts of Elvis swimming in my head. I remembered the story Dad often told me
of the night Elvis called, asking him to give a private showing for some of his
“Memphis Mafia”—his entourage of friends and bodyguards. He wanted to let them
each pick out their own cars for Christmas and special order all the extras
they wanted on them. Dad thought it would be fun for Jimmy and me to meet “the
King” so he let us tag along. Mom was home sick and none too happy about our
little outing, especially since it was at midnight. But Dad convinced her it
was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. And since Elvis was a night owl, midnight
it would have to be.
I wish I
remembered it, but he says I was only four at the time, so my little brain
cells apparently weren’t yet cranking out the memory field at the time. He said
it was like one big party, all these grown men acting like kids in a candy
store. Dad was busy, of course, so he said Jimmy and I just kind of hung around
and watched. Then later, when Elvis was in Dad’s office signing some papers, he
said I walked in and backed along the wall never taking my eyes off Elvis. Dad
said Elvis immediately took to me.
“Well, who have
we here? Jack, is this little angel yours?”
“Elvis, meet Rayce.
Rayce, can you say hello to Mr. Presley?”
He tells me I
just stood there with eyes wide open, chewing on my pinky.
“C’mon over here
and let me take a good look at you, sweetheart,” Elvis said.
Dad said I
slowly approached him, twisting one foot back and forth and back and
Seville back running like a top. Meanwhile, I had that pretty little coupe out
there washed and waxed for you this morning. That’ll keep you running while we’ve
got yours in the shop.”
He handed me the
keys as I looked out to see a shiny red clone of my baby. “Thanks, Burt. I
appreciate it.”
As he waited for
me to sign the form at the desk, he talked about my dad and how much they all
missed him. “But no one misses him more than Elvis. Fact is, he was in here
just this morning and asked how ol’ Cadillac Jack was doing down in Birmingham.”
I looked up. “ Elvis asked about my dad?”
“Oh sure. Always
does. Elvis loves yo’ daddy. He still buys his cars from us, but he always lets
us know he wishes Jack was still here.”
“Wow. What do
you know,” I mused, signing my name and handing the form to the clerk behind
the desk.
Burt escorted me
to the loaner, its shiny red coat glistening despite the long afternoon shadows.
“Yeah, ol’ Elvis likes his Caddies. Bought six today.”
“Six?!”
“Oh, that’s
nothing. Sometimes he orders ’em by the dozen.” He opened the driver’s door for
me.
“I guess I
shouldn’t be that surprised. Dad said he used to come in and buy several at a
time. He said sometimes they were for complete strangers. He just enjoyed
giving them to folks.”
The wind whipped
under Burt’s sad toupee and he quickly patted it back into place. “It’s true.
Waitresses, movie theater cashiers, lawn guys—you name it. He just has a ball
surprising folks. Though this time, these were what he calls his ‘guilt cars’ . . .
Elvis can’t stand knowing somebody’s upset with him or disappointed in him. So
if he gets sideways with anyone, even over something trivial, he has to make it
right. Buys ’em a Cadillac. Can you imagine?”
I slipped into
the car. “No, I can’t. I wonder if people take advantage of him just to see if
he’ll give them a Cadillac.”
“Oh sure.
Happens all the time. He’s just too blind to see it. But he’s a good guy. Has
his faults like everyone else, but a good man. You ever meet him?”
“Dad tells me I
did, but I don’t remember it.”
“That’s a real
shame. You’d love the guy. We all do.”
I bet. I couldn’t
imagine what the commission on those six Caddies had been, let alone a dozen.
Love indeed.
“Thanks, Burt.
Let me know when my car is ready.”
I drove off with
thoughts of Elvis swimming in my head. I remembered the story Dad often told me
of the night Elvis called, asking him to give a private showing for some of his
“Memphis Mafia”—his entourage of friends and bodyguards. He wanted to let them
each pick out their own cars for Christmas and special order all the extras
they wanted on them. Dad thought it would be fun for Jimmy and me to meet “the
King” so he let us tag along. Mom was home sick and none too happy about our
little outing, especially since it was at midnight. But Dad convinced her it
was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. And since Elvis was a night owl, midnight
it would have to be.
I wish I
remembered it, but he says I was only four at the time, so my little brain
cells apparently weren’t yet cranking out the memory field at the time. He said
it was like one big party, all these grown men acting like kids in a candy
store. Dad was busy, of course, so he said Jimmy and I just kind of hung around
and watched. Then later, when Elvis was in Dad’s office signing some papers, he
said I walked in and backed along the wall never taking my eyes off Elvis. Dad
said Elvis immediately took to me.
“Well, who have
we here? Jack, is this little angel yours?”
“Elvis, meet Rayce.
Rayce, can you say hello to Mr. Presley?”
He tells me I
just stood there with eyes wide open, chewing on my pinky.
“C’mon over here
and let me take a good look at you, sweetheart,” Elvis said.
Dad said I
slowly approached him, twisting one foot back and forth and back and
Similar Books
