Inside Graceland: Elvis' Maid Remembers (12 page)

But it didn’t work. After his announcement, chaos immediately erupted throughout the house. Everyone started crying and screaming, and some even ran from room to room like they were trying to find some comfort by going to another place.

I remember Vernon slumped in a chair in the hallway, his left arm propped for support on the table. He was crying out, “My baby is gone . . . my baby is gone!” He looked so frail, and so lost. My heart was grieving for him, and yet I knew there was nothing anyone could say or do at that time to comfort him.

That was such a sad day, one I know I will never forget. There was no good news, and everyone had to deal with their grief in the best way they could.

It took a long time before everyone eventually settled down. I think many of them had just cried until they could cry no more.

By about 3:30 the national news had broken the story of Elvis’ death. Within less than a minute the phones began to ring. Calls came in from all parts of the city, then the state, then the country, and, eventually, from around the world, as the news of his death spread like wildfire. There were so many calls that at one point the phone system shut down completely.

Elvis was gone. We had to give him up, and put away our tears, so the whole world could say good-bye to one of the most unique musical talents that had ever lived. From the world of entertainment, from the President of the United States, from capitals and governments around the world, an outpouring of sympathy and mourning would take place over the next several days. And it would take place at Graceland, a place that in the last ten years had become a second home to me.

The most sincere and fitting tributes came from his fans, those who had come to love him and his music. The tens of thousands of them, and the thousands of floral arrangements that arrived in Memphis, paid silent homage to the fallen star. A star of unparalleled magnitude that had burned out long before it should have.

I know Elvis would have been impressed, and deeply touched, to know that so many people loved him and appreciated his talents. The king was gone, and there would never be another like him.

He was gone, but the rest of the world still remained. Through our numbness and tears, we still had to carry on. A funeral had to be planned and Graceland, Elvis’ home, would have to accommodate it.

We also had to remember that little Lisa Marie now demanded our immediate attention. As bad as it was for the rest of us, she had just lost her father, and her mother was half-way across the country in Los Angeles. It must have been a terrifying ordeal for her at that time.

She was old enough to know something terribly bad had just happened to her father, but, at the same time, she was too young to be able to fully comprehend it’s magnitude. And those of us around her weren’t able to offer her much understanding because we were as shocked as she was at what had just happened.

I don’t think Lisa actually heard Dr. Nick make the announcement. She may have been outside, having thankfully been able to, as only a child can do at a time like that, divert herself into riding her small, blue golfcart around the grounds to escape a scene she couldn’t understand.

At some point in time she came back into the house and, seeing the emotional outbreak taking place, began running from room to room, crying and jumping around.

After what seemed like an eternity, she was able to settle down somewhat. She went into Dodger’s room and called Linda Thompson, dialing the memorized number herself, and told Linda that Elvis had died. That was how Linda found out that her former lover was dead.

I often wondered what she remembers about that day. My heart was breaking for her, and I wanted so badly to be able to return to the days when she and I had so much fun together.

All the memories came flooding back to me, memories of all the happy and joyous times she and I had shared in this great big wonderful house that had become such a part of my life.

But, sadly, that wasn’t to be.

Instead, we had a funeral to prepare for.

THE NEXT DAY
 

We
dnesday, August 17th, was a day all of us at Graceland
co
uld have lived without. We all awoke to the cold reality that the day before had not just been a bad dream. It had all been very real, and an even harsher reality lay ahead. Elvis, in the tradition of the old south he had loved and respected so much, was coming home to Graceland to lie in state before being buried the next day.

This was the day we would all come face to face with his mortality, a thought which, until the previous day, had never even crossed our minds. It had not even been in the realm of possibility as far as I was concerned. But here it was, early that morning, slapping me in the face as I came to work.

I had left for home late the night before and was getting back to Graceland as the sun was coming up that morning. Not a lot of sleep, and what there was of it had been extremely restless.

Another hot, humid summer day, I remember thinking to myself, as I made my way through the crowded streets around Graceland toward the familiar front gates.

The crowds around the gates were fairly substantial even at that early hour. In contrast to the expectant mood of the people the day before, a somberness now filled the air. It was like a sense of disbelief had overcome everyone standing listlessly around the front of the mansion that morning. Elvis may have been dead, but his fans were now determined to show the world how much they loved their idol.

A cross section of America could be seen gathered in front of their fallen star’s home, paying silent homage to someone they considered to be one of them. It was not just women, but men as well, and many of them were openly crying. Though I had never met any of them, I could feel their sense of loss and pain as I drove slowly through the crowd.

Cars were parked wherever a spot could be found. News teams and their equipment vehicles could be seen parked on both sides of Elvis Presley Boulevard. Newspaper and television reporters were eagerly attempting to find anyone to interview who even acted like they had known Elvis.

I had a few microphones thrust hopefully at me as I made my way up to the front gate and it became obvious that I was going to be let in, signaling that I was one of the “chosen few.” I felt bad that I was not going to be able to satisfy their requests for any hint of information, but I wasn’t in the mood for talking to the news media at that time. Not only that, but, even thought I knew Elvis was now dead, I still was in the familiar pattern that had been ingrained in me from the first day I went to work at Graceland: ‘Don’t tell anyone anything about Elvis!’

I guess I was still in my protective mode where he was concerned. That’s a very hard habit to break, especially considering the loyalty we all were feeling towards him at such a vulnerable time.

I had not just lost a boss. He had truly become a dear friend. Being there that morning was like a dual-edged sword for me. On the one hand, I was having to deal with the normal grief that one goes through in a time like that. On the other hand, I, along with everyone else at the house, was expected to “pull it all together” and do what needed to be done to get everything ready for the funeral and viewing. The task that lay in front of us was going to be nothing short of monumental.

As much as we were suffering, we had to think of the immediate family, and how we could comfort them. They needed the support and strength of everyone around them, and we were determined to give that to them in the best way we could.

I didn’t know what to expect when I walked inside. It turned out everyone was trying to be as quiet as possible. Priscilla had gotten in sometime around midnight and, having stayed up half the night getting caught up on all the tragic events, was now asleep, along with Lisa, in one of the annex bedrooms. It was not at all what I had expected to find that morning.

Several of the other cooks and housekeepers were there, and were quietly going about their chores trying to get things prepared for what we all knew was going to be one of the longest days of our lives. I think I had expected a chaotic scene similar to the day before, and I was very pleasantly surprised, and relieved, when I found that not to be the case.

Shortly after getting there, Grandma came into the kitchen and we fixed breakfast for her, which she barely picked at. When someone asked her if she had gotten any sleep, she replied, “I don’t think I slept more than a few hours total. All I could think about was that my precious baby will never come into my room again. I just don’t understand how he could be gone so quickly like that.”

She looked her age that morning, and her face was puffy and her eyes were swollen. She broke down several times as she sat at the kitchen counter. I remember her saying, over and over, “I just can’t believe my baby is gone! It’ just not fair. He can’t really be gone. This is just a bad dream. I should be the one who died, not him. I’m the one who should have gone first!”

Those of us who witnessed that sad display found ourselves caught up in the emotional distress. I had to leave the room on more than one occasion to keep her from seeing my tears. I figured that, with the ones she was shedding, she didn’t need to see any more coming from me.

The worst of it was not over, however. Any dry eyes that remained in the kitchen that morning were soon overwhelmed when Vernon came into the room a short time later, looking so pitiful.

In an agonizing display of raw emotions, he embraced his mother and the two of them cried softly, each trying unsuccessfully to comfort the other one. It seemed as if the more they tried to comfort each other, the more distressed they both became.

It was a pattern which would be repeated throughout the day many times over as family and friends continued to pour into Graceland, trying to find some shred of comfort in each other’s arms. Unfortunately, not much comfort was to be found that day. Inside Graceland would never be the same again.

Sometime around eight o’clock, Charlie walked into the kitchen. He got a cup of coffee and I asked him what I could fix him to eat. He looked at me and said, “Nancy, I don’t think I can eat anything right now.”

I thought that was unusual but then I found out why. He told me that he was getting ready to meet Larry Geller, Elvis’ hairstylist, at the funeral home. Vernon had requested that the two of them go to Memphis Funeral Home on Union Ave., where Elvis was being prepared for the funeral, and, between the two of them, wash and style Elvis’ hair for the last time.

Charlie confided to me that this would be one of the most difficult things he would have to do. He told me he was dreading it, but, at the same time, felt honored to be the one to do it. I later learned that he broke down several times at the funeral home, but, like everyone else, did what had to be done.

I continued to work in the kitchen, as everyone else went about doing what needed to be done.

Sometime around mid-morning Earl Pritchett and several of the other maintenance men went into the living room and began removing the furniture. They moved it, piece by piece, into the trophy room, stacking it in one of the corners.

An hour or so later I was walking through the trophy room. Upon seeing the living room furniture stacked where it was not normally located I was again vividly reminded how out of place the entire world seemed that day. It was such a surreal scene, one that I kept telling myself was not really taking place. Even though the sun was shining, I couldn’t seem to shake a feeling of darkness as I kept busy doing the mundane things I’d always done. It all seemed so different now.

Though I had tried to suppress it, the dreaded time was fast approaching when Elvis would be brought back into his home for the last time. Like me, everyone was trying to act like they weren’t thinking about it, but we all knew it was going to be a very traumatic event. It was almost like, “If I don’t think about it, it won’t happen.” But, of course, it did happen.

I seem to remember that it was sometime around noon when we got the word from the funeral home that they were nearing Graceland. It was almost as if we were expecting something to “happen” when they brought him in. His entrances in the past had always been filled with fun and happiness.

The memories came flooding back to me, times when he would be returning from Hollywood, or tours on the road. He would come thundering up the front driveway, horns blowing, his limousines loaded with his entourage, full of excitement and stories to tell of their latest “adventures.”

The yard men would have worked hard to make sure the grounds looked their best, the curbs freshly painted, and the lawn manicured to perfection. He would often make several passes around the circular drive, just enjoying the view of his beloved mansion, before coming to a screeching stop at the front door, a king returning to his castle. We always looked forward to his return after a long trip away, because his mere presence brought life back into the walls of Graceland.

This time, however, was not such an entrance. In place of a luxury limousine, this time Elvis was making his entrance in a shiny white hearse. Oh, how my heart was aching, how I wanted so much for this to all be a bad nightmare. But, of course, it wasn’t.

Because of the crowds now surrounding the front gate area, the decision was made to have the hearse bring Elvis through the back entrance, thus bypassing the thousands of fans milling around out front. (Elvis had constructed the back entrance many years before as a way to slip unseen on and off the grounds of Graceland. We all referred to it as the back entrance, but, in reality, it was more like a side entrance. It is a private driveway running parallel to the north wall of the mansion, running next to the old church building that now serves as Graceland’s offices. There is a gate at the top of the drive, leading onto the property. Once inside the gate, you sort of make a u-turn to the right and that brings you around to the back of the house.)

Several of us gathered silently out in the back yard to watch as the hearse, escorted by several motorcycle officers and a limousine, slowly made it’s way from the back entrance, drove toward the front of the house, and then turned left, parking directly in front of the entrance to Graceland.

Scurrying through the house to the dining room, we watched, quietly, as the massive casket was unloaded from the back of the hearse and brought, with no small effort, into the foyer. The men from the funeral home who lifted the heavy casket appeared to be breathing heavily from the sheer weight of it. Between the heat and humidity I’m sure they worked up quite a sweat.

Once inside the foyer, the casket was placed on a wheeled cart, then wheeled through the living room to the entrance of the music room. There, it was placed in such a way that, when the lid was opened, Elvis’ head was pointing to the left, towards the back of the mansion.

One of the funeral home employees plushed up the pillow and made a few minor adjustments, and then they left. Elvis was now back home.

From my vantage point in the dining room, I could barely make out his profile as he lay there in the casket. I mainly saw that unmistakably beautiful black hair, swept back over his forehead.

It just didn’t seem possible that Elvis Presley, world-class entertainer, movie star, singing sensation, and my friend, was now laying in front of us, dead.

The scene took on a surreal look and feel. Numerous floral arrangements had begun arriving and many had been placed inside the living room and foyer, filling the entire front area of the house with the unmistakable funeral home flower smell that we have learned to associate with death.

The thought struck me, as I stood there watching all of this unfold in front of me, that this could not possibly be happening. It seemed like only a few days before since I had seen him seated at the piano, singing his heart out. That same piano now obstructed from view by his casket.

Several of the other staff wondered back into the kitchen, in an awkward state of not knowing quite what was appropriate to do at a time like that. The arrival of Elvis into Graceland had ushered in an uneasiness that now hung over the entire house like a heavy blanket. We all had the sense that we needed to DO something, but we didn’t quite know what it was we should be doing.

After standing there in the dining room for several minutes, I decided it was time for me to pay my respects. I had waited until everyone else had left the living room. As I started walking slowly toward the casket, Al Strada, Elvis’ wardrobe assistant, walked up beside me and the two of us approached the casket together.

It was a most uncomfortable time for both of us. Al went slightly in front of me and stopped, looked briefly at his friend, and then almost immediately went over to the side to adjust where some flowers had been placed.

I was left standing in front of Elvis, alone in my thoughts.

I have been asked many times what he looked like, and what my thoughts were at that moment. I’m not sure that I can do justice to either one of those questions.

As to what he looked like, I can only say that he did not look like the Elvis I had known. I want to say that he looked at peace, but I’m not sure that is what I saw, or what I WANTED to see. I had seen him fighting so many battles with various ailments and illnesses in the last few years and I wanted to know that he was now ok.

His face and body both looked somewhat thinner, and I immediately noticed that he looked different in some way. Then it dawned on me what that difference was. He was dressed in a coat and tie, something I was not used to seeing him in. It was a far cry from the casual clothes he was usually wearing when I would see him while he was alive.