Strangers in the night

In 1970, Elvis Presley decided to stop making movies, to refocus on his singing, and to bring a live show to Las Vegas. On August 10, 1970, he opened, wearing what was known as his White Fringe Suit. It also had gigantic grommets. Then he changed to a White Fringe Suit trimmed in dark red leather. Phfew. But he was still slender and he could still move and he looked great. Seated in the audience was Cary Grant. I know all this because I just saw a documentary about this concert on TCM. It brought back certain memories and thoughts. Ergo:

By the time I was 11, our good neighbors, the Powells, had moved away, taking their beautiful daughter who had been my favorite babysitter. So my parents hired another teenage neighbor, Carol, to babysit us when they would be out late on Sundays, probably at events at the Temple. It was a school night, so I would have to go to sleep before they would return home. Otherwise, they would have left me alone with “the kids” to wait up for them. After all, I was 11 and 12ish, and had been “watching the kids” since I was 9. But on a school night…

CBS. 8:00 p.m. Sundays: I stayed up to watch Ed Sullivan. Some of those shows in 1956 and ‘57 included performances by Elvis. When Carol was there on Elvis nights, she would lie on the floor in front of the black and white console TV in our den. When Elvis came on, she would stand up and start screaming and gyrating.

I was terrified. Usually she was quite shy and non-communicative. But when Elvis was performing, she turned into a fire-breathing fainter who pounded the tile floor in our den with her fists. I cowered on the sofa in the far end of the room and didn’t mind a bit that she was blocking the TV because as far as I was concerned, whatever it was that was happening on TV was nothing compared to what was happening live in full color in 3D. It was all but traumatizing. What did I know about “sex appeal”, sweat, chest-bearing jumpsuits, or what constituted a hot voice?? Absolutely nothing.

What I did know was that Frank Sinatra was the ne plus ultra in our home. And opera. And Broadway shows, which had been preceded by the Big Bands. In my personal life, Johnny Mathis was starting to seep into my consciousness and inform my relationships. (“Wonderful, Wonderful”… ahhh….) I also knew that the music we listened to and danced to at bar mitzvahs and boy/girl parties did not include Elvis. He was from a foreign country. I went to high school, graduated, went to college, married, and so on. As far as I was concerned, he stayed in that foreign country and I never thought about him again.

In January of 1970, Simon & Garfunkle released “Bridge Over Troubled Waters.” By then, of course, my taste in music was highly developed. I had graduated from the classics on which I was bred, and from folk music, and become a light-weight jazzer of sorts: LOVED Brazil ’66, The Fifth Dimension, Crosby Stills & Nash (and YOUNG!) (“Suite Judy Blue Eyes”…. AHHH….), Chicago, Carole King, Carly Simon. You get the picture.

In June of 1972 Simon and Garfunkle got “Together Again for McGovern” and performed at a fundraiser at Madison Square Garden along with other groups that had broken up, including the Kingston Trio, Mike Nichols and Elaine May, Peter, Paul & Mary. Every movie star you can think of was there. Not just sitting and listening – but walking around for more than an hour all through the stands, greeting the packed house audience one-on-one, thanking us for supporting McGovern: Warren Beatty, Goldie Hawn, Julie Christie, Jack Nicholson, Susan Sarandon, Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward, and so on. “The Sounds of Silence” filled the Garden with noisy applause and brought the house down, even before they knocked us over with “Bridge Over Troubled Waters”, their soaring anthem.

Not long after that event, I heard Elvis sing “Bridge…”! On the radio. In my car. I could not believe it. Elvis sang “Bridge…” with more tears in his voice than Arty could ever muster. With more longing and richness than I could imagine either Arty or Paul ever mustering. He had me at “Sail on, silver girl…” This was not “Hound Dog.” I had to take another look at this Elvis guy.

I never purchased any of his music, but when I heard it, I was in thrall. Perhaps Thrall was the foreign country in which he had resided all along. But wherever he had been, he was now more than welcome to reside within earshot of me.

I still thought he looked like a cartoon character. But when he sang, I melted. No wailing or swooning. Just sheer appreciation for the guy’s chops. I would never consider going to see him in person. If he was on TV in those years, I don’t remember it. I just remember being glad when he came on the radio: “Wise men say, only fools rush in…” I couldn’t help falling in love with him.
As long as he remained a disembodied voice.

I was sad when he died 11 days after my birthday on August 16 in 1977. He was such a mess, but he had my appreciation, and I was sad. So when I ended up art directing Priscilla Presley in a photo shoot while working in Manhattan in 1980 – I was really, truly sincere when I offered my condolences. Of course, by then she was with a model name Michael Edwards and didn’t really want to talk about Elvis, so I made it quick and got it all out of my system.

Then here I was, a couple of hours ago, working away on my laptop at home with the ubiquitous TCM on the tube, and on came the documentary “That’s The Way It Is” about Elvis. It made good background music while I designed away. Then I glanced up and saw Cary Grant in the audience! It seemed like an oxymoron. The elegant, understated icon and model of restrained, dignified, sensitive, subtle, sophisticated wit, charm and romance. The one male actor I made sure that my son could identify from the time he was 6. Cary Grant.

At first I thought “What the heck is HE doing there?” Then I started to write this piece and I answered my own question: Cary was also in thrall! Elvis also had him at “Sail on, silver girl…” or somewhere else along the line. I realized that Cary was there to represent all the rest of us who had, perhaps, eschewed the man until his undeniably wondrous voice captivated and enslaved us. Cary was there to pay homage. Just something else for which I have Cary to thank, in a long list of things for which I have Cary to thank, just as one always looks to, then thanks, one’s idol: he taught by scripted movie example, and set classy/classic standards which I have always admired.

So Cary was there. While the credits rolled, Cary and Elvis were shown greeting one another back stage. It was obvious that they were in mutual thrall, a strange place for each of them to be, perhaps, but enticing and somehow fitting. I smiled at their awkward, but respectful handshake.
Then Sammy Davis, Jr stepped into frame between them, and it all came together:

When those three seemingly non-sequitur entities converged, it gave me hope for a right-filled, peaceful and just world. Seeing those unlikely three standing together, it gave me hope that lofty good things are improbably possible after all. “….I’m sailing right behind…”

For the moment, my mind is eased.