August 16, 1977.

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.