Memphis The Mansion Music Made

By J.D. Reed

Down at the end of lonely street, rush hour begins early and preparations are under way to handle the traffic. Gardeners spruce up the lavish Christmas decorations, guards sip coffee, and guides tug at their jackets as the first visitors ascend the curving drive. Ready, Teddy -- it's show time at Graceland, and Elvis Presley, who knew how to stage a stunner, would have loved every lucrative, down-home, star-spangled minute of it.

A decade ago, it was easy to name America's best-known historic homes. They were Monticello and Mount Vernon. But since it opened to the public in 1982, Elvis' place in suburban Whitehaven, a 30-minute drive from downtown Memphis, has attracted more than 3 million visitors. That figure makes it one of the top house attractions in the U.S. This year alone, some 640,000 people will visit Graceland, and in the process they will spend more than $10 million on tickets, food and souvenirs.

The crowds should come as no surprise. After all, with a shake of the hips and a curl of the lip, Elvis declared a generation's independence. He became history's most recognized entertainer, selling more than 1 billion recordings. Says Karen Pritchett, 26, a cousin of Elvis' who grew up on the estate and is one of some 40 Graceland guides: "These are the roots of rock 'n' roll, right here."

Elvis had a sweet tooth for the mainstream, and the tour of his home appropriately departs from Elvis Presley Boulevard, a four-lane highway lined with Golden Arches and auto dealerships. Across the street from Graceland, a visitor can buy a $12.95 ticket to see Elvis' home, racquetball court, airplanes, horses, cats, cars and, of course, his grave.

Most Graceland visitors are not crackpots who claim that Elvis is really alive and hiding out in Grand Rapids, Mich. They are simply vacationers, many of them on their way to Florida, whom Graceland communications manager Todd Morgan characterizes as "Mom and Dad and the kids stopping off in their RVs."

Aside from Mickey Mouse, Elvis may be the most mementoed American in history. His likeness pouts from place mats, clocks and refrigerator magnets in souvenir shops near the ticket booths. Near by, folks can make a videotape of themselves singing along to one of 35 Elvis tunes or enjoy biscuits and gravy, one of his favorite dishes, at the Heartbreak Hotel restaurant. The commercialism is confined to one side of the street, says Jack Soden, executive director of Graceland, a business run by the singer's estate, because "we want you to see Graceland as if Elvis himself had invited you over."

Although Elvis died eleven years ago, Graceland remains an active family affair. The 22-year-old singer bought the 13.8-acre estate from a Memphis physician for about $100,000 in 1957. From the first, it was a lively home base for the Presley clan. Elvis rode his horse down to the gates to chat with fans and had fireworks fights with his buddies and relatives on the lawn. Today, whether they knew him or not, everyone on Graceland's staff, which grows to 450 during the summer season, refers to the singer by his first name. Elvis' septuagenarian uncle, Vester Presley, who once manned the gates, promotes his Southern cookbook in the record store called EP's LPs, and the aroma of down-home dinners still drifts through the house. The King's aunt Delta Biggs, 68, inhabits a downstairs suite and cooks for the night cleaning crew.

At first glance, the 23-room neoclassical house seems a picture-book fantasy of wealth -- staid sweeps of off-white and gilt reflected in blue mirrors. But a closer look reveals some worn furniture that speaks of layaway plans and discount shops, pieces hauled over from the Presleys' prestardom house.

The decor provokes differing views. For Louisiana State University medical student Chris Gegg, 23, who drove all night from New Orleans with two friends, Graceland is "incredible." But like many visitors, Russell and Betty Hines, a retired farm couple from Atlantic, Iowa, are a little disappointed. Says Russell: "I thought it would be, you know, a little more grand."

Graceland never quite makes it that far, but in places it sure twists and shouts. Elvis picked all the furnishings for his den, called the Jungle Room, during a 30-minute shopping trip to Donald's, a Memphis furniture store. The huge chairs and sofas are upholstered in what resembles fake monkey fur, and the grass-green shag carpeting that covers both floor and ceiling makes such an acoustically perfect room that Elvis recorded eight hits here for his last album, Moody Blue. The yellow-and-blue TV room sports three built-in sets mounted side by side. Elvis was aping the three sets in the Oval Office. The excess prompted one Reeboked grandmother to pronounce, "It's a killer."

Visitors almost did not get to see Graceland at all. By 1981, four years after Elvis died, taxes, security and upkeep cost some $400,000 a year. But, says Soden, "you couldn't just plunk down a FOR SALE sign out front. There are people buried up there." Also, Priscilla Presley, Elvis' ex-wife, did not want to part with the home. Although she divorced Elvis in 1973, Priscilla is the mother of his only child and heir, Lisa Marie, 20, and remains an executor of his estate. She gave the go-ahead to turn Graceland into an Elvis museum in 1982. Soden, a former banker, picked up ideas from Monticello and San Simeon, the California mansion of William Randolph Hearst. Smithsonian Institution curators helped Soden and his staff plan the displays.

In the trophy room, a low building beside the house, where Elvis used to keep his slot-car racetracks, visitors are reminded of what all the shoutin' is about. Some 150 of Elvis' gold and platinum records, including Hound Dog and Heartbreak Hotel, range down a long corridor. His film and stage costumes, from tailored black leather to elaborate Las Vegas numbers, adorn faceless mannequins. Some women with an eye for fashion think the white jumpsuits have been taken in beyond the dimensions necessary to fit the porky Elvis in his final years. Guides stoutly deny it.

Graceland's most intense experience comes in a small plot of shrubs and religious statuary near the pool. Here the graves of Elvis, his parents and his maternal grandmother are marked by large bronze slabs. Fans pluck blades of grass from the plot and leave a variety of mementos, including red roses, teddy bears, hound-dog dolls and religious medallions. Even casual visitors are affected. "The resting place is very impressive," says interior decorator Agustin deRojas, 60, a Cuban refugee who lives in Houston. "I admire Mr. Presley -- how he served in the Army when he really didn't have to."

The admiration may be as much for the time as for the man. Graceland's furniture, hues, appliances and attitudes are frozen in the 1970s. "People complain that Graceland isn't up to date," says cousin Karen. "But you have to remember what people looked like in the '70s -- the bell-bottoms, the sideburns." The mansion's many mirrors may reflect graying hair and fuller waistlines, but the hallways seem to whisper a message of supple hips and simple dreams. One can almost hear Elvis singing "I've heard the news, there's good rockin' tonight." At Graceland the good times still roll to memory's beat.