I was a summer missionary serving on a Youth Revival Team in Georgia during the summer of 1977. The week of August 16 we were in our last church, First Baptist Marietta.
August 16 was on a Wednesday. Our last service was that evening, and Mama and Daddy had already brought my then-car, a 1969 fire-engine red Impala hardtop, to Marietta so I could drive straight home later that night.
I got back to the home where we were staying mid-afternoon and was greeted by Fred Pitts (we called him "Fred-O" because his middle name was Olin, which has no bearing on this story whatsoever). His exact words were "I've got some bad news...".
I thought a family member had died. And they had...almost.
Fred-O simply said, "The King is dead."
Funny how you remember things--where you were when some fateful event happened, for instance.
I was riding home from Gordon Grammar School with Mrs. House on November 22, 1963. I was working for Daddy at his service station on May 5, 1979.
And I was in Marietta, Georgia, on August 16, 1977.
I was an Elvis fan when it wasn't cool to be an Elvis fan. When he made all those movies, I was there. When he "came back" in 1968, I was there.
And in August 1977 I was still there. And in August 2011...I still am.
Unabashedly, unashamedly, undeniably an Elvis fan.
The King is dead. Long live the King.