Buzz’s Ma would swear on a stack of Bibles that she knew
Elvis Presley for real. Perhaps it would take a sarsaparilla or two but
soon she’d been tellin’ everyone how she and Elvis were as close as anyone
could be.
Sometimes during one of her stories she’d just stop, look
far away as if she was remembering something, have a chuckle to herself and
then continue with the story.
I’d have given a
week’s wages to know what she was thinking right there and then.
If you’ve been reading these little stories about me and
Buzz, well you won’t need to walk too far to get to where I’m going with this
one: yep, with all the talk Buzz decided that he was the love child of Elvis
and his Ma.
“It makes sense. What with my good looks and talent and all.
It’s the only explanation.”
Now I ain’t gonna rain on Buzz’s story and say he ain’t
Elvis’ kid because nothin’ would surprise
me about Buzz and his family, all I’m sayin’ is that you gotta take
things like that - real careful, otherwise you get in a whole heap of trouble.
Even when I was walking along Main Street with him, he’d
just stop, sneer then give out a ‘Uh-huh’
Elvis style followed by a ‘Thank you,
you’ve been a wonderful audience, you really have’, which was followed by
another sneer. Then he would just continue talking as if the last two minutes
hadn’t happened.
Buzz decided that he would make some money from his
birthright by touring the county as ‘The Son of Elvis’ . Two things were real
wrong with this – for a start, Buzz can’t sing ,note a note, not even if a Colt
45 was pointed at where his brain is supposed to live, and the other thing is,
no one in the county wanted to annoy Elvis’ family (or more accurately get
sued).
One day, he asked if I would be his Colonel Tom Parker and
manage him.
“For what?”
“For pee-forming,” he said, as if it was the most natural
thing in the world for him. “People need to know that there is a new, younger
Elvis out there.”
“You?”
“Me”
Now I swear, I didn’t say I would and I didn’t say I wouldn’t
- but some people take sayin’ nothin’ as
if you’ve said you would. Next thing I know Buzz is tellin’ everyone in town
that I’m his new hotshot manager and that I’m gonna make him a rock n’ roll star.
“Only a matter of time,” he’d say. “What with your brains
and my good looks and talent, not to mention my daddy being....”
He’d learned to shut up about Elvis, just in case they took
Buzz off to jail. Okay maybe it was me that said he’d go to prison if he kept
claimin’ he was the son of Elvis but sometimes, I swear you gotta be cruel to
be kind.
Still, it didn’t really stop Buzz. He’d sit talking to
strangers and say to them that he couldn’t really tell them who his daddy was,
then he’d put his fingers to his lips , say ‘shh’, sneer, and then he’d do that
awful Elvis impersonation.
I ain’t too sure that folks knew it was Elvis he was trying
to impersonate, ‘cause I remember a couple walking away from Buzz and under his
breath the man told his wife that Buzz was claiming to be the son of Bugs
Bunny. Now that might not be too far from the truth, I tell ya.
At weekends, Buzz used to work as a bag boy at Winslow’s
Grocery Store, the one that stands at the bottom of Creek Lane. He didn’t bag
up like any normal person, oh no, what Buzz used to do was put everything in
the bag while he stood in an Elvis pose: one knee bent , foot up with his toes
touching the floor, and everything was placed in the bag with a full swing of
the arm.
When he’d finished,
he’d say ‘I thank you, my name is Buzz Presley and I’ll be here all week’. It
used to scare some folks while it made others smile. Mrs Dalton gave him ten
bucks ‘cause she thought he was touched. Her generation thought that a lot of
people were touched. Hey, they might be right.
To be real honest, Mr Winslow was real pleased with Buzz and
his packing ‘cause of the amount of extra folks that came for their groceries
to his store. They all wanted their bags packed by the ‘crazy guy’. Annie Black who had packed bags at the store
since the war used to spend her time just
watching everyone queue up to get Buzz to do the packing. Mr Winslow let her go
the second week in February.
Just before Easter, I heard tell from the Reverend about
some Elvis show that was taking place
two counties over.
“You know, I don’t approve of rock and rolly music,” said
the Reverend. He always called it ‘rock and rolly’. “But it would be right and
good if someone from this county went over there and whipped their asses.”
I was thinking that Reverends shouldn’t really talk like
that but he did have a point. I just wasn’t sure if Buzz was the man to do it –
that’s all.
“Where do I sign?” Asked Buzz when I told him.
“Don’t worry Buzz, I’ll take care of that, but what are you
gonna sing?” I asked.
“Why, a song that my Daddy wrote for me,” said Buzz then
went into a song that may or may not have been an Elvis song (or even just a
song).
I filled out the form for him on account of the fact that
Buzz was in hospital with something or other when Mrs Telford was teaching us
all about writing and stuff.
“Name?”
“Buzz Presley”
I tried to talk him out of it, but he wasn’t having it and
anyhoo maybe they wouldn’t put two and two together and make five, like Buzz
had.
“Change that, I want Buzz Aaron Presley.”
“You can’t.”
“Can too.”
So that was what I put down on the entry form and just kept
my fingers crossed that we wouldn’t get into trouble.
Me and Buzz hitched over to Ridge County with Buzz dressed
as Elvis (like if Elvis had fallen out of an aeroplane). The last bus we caught
from Hollington was almost full of Elvis impersonators and their carers.
Buzz loved it, he was jumping from seat to seat, talkin’ and
singin’ (kinda) with other hopefuls and some had stories to tell about Elvis.
One or two had seen him drive past them, others had heard him singin’ but
mostly these folks on the bus were just out for a good time and they didn’t
care who knew about it.
When we got into town there must have been about a couple of
hundred Elvises, I kid you not: big ones, fat ones, skinny ones, girls dressed (and
ladies) as the King. They way I looked at it, what harm were any of them
doing?
The following day the contest started at noon and it sure was
a long time of Elvis this and Elvis that - all dressed with the best of
clothes. Then Buzz came up onstage, and the announcer said that this singer was
all the way from Duchess County and his name was Buzz Aaron Presley.
That would have been okay if Buzz had mimed to the record,
like we practiced, but he decided to do an introduction – how many times can
you say to someone that there should be no introduction? – Anyway he told the
crowd exactly what I knew he was gonna
say.
“I am the truly begotten son of Elvis Aaron Presley.”
Yep, I kid you not, that’s the way he said it alright, ‘the
truly begotten son’ – what the h..., did that mean? There was a silence in the
crowd as everyone’s jaws fell. Man, you could have heard a prison break twenty
miles away. Then some kid at the back of the crowd shouted ‘I’m his son, too.’
“No you ain’t,” shouts Buzz.
“Sure am,” hollers back this kid.
“My Ma was real close to Elvis,” shouts Buzz.
“Well my Ma was Elvis.”
That’s what the weird kid at the back shouted. Everyone
turned to look at him, then someone shouted ‘get him’ and the folks started
chasing him. I took this opportunity to grab Buzz off the stage and force him
to head for the bus station.
When we got back, Buzz Ma apologised and said she’d made a
mistake it wasn’t Elvis Presley that she had been close to but Bob Hope.
Right there and then I could see a little light going on in
Buzz’s head.
bobby stevenson 2013
thoughtcontrol ltd
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