Inside Graceland: Elvis' Maid Remembers (14 page)

Elvis was now going to the cemetery to be with his mother.

As I watched the shiny white hearse drive down the long driveway, and out the front gates, I was touched by the site of every law enforcement officer, as the hearse passed by, snapping to attention and giving a crisp salute. It was a fitting tribute to a man who had been so fascinated with law enforcement.

The long procession turned right, onto the highway that had been named for Elvis several years earlier. One of many tributes that Elvis had earned while he was alive. It headed north, toward the cemetery three miles away. Because of the slow speed of the solemn procession, as well as the sheer number of vehicles involved, it took what seemed like forever to make it out of the driveway, and disappear from view.

And then he was gone.

I think that was when, for the first time, it actually sunk in for me that he would never be coming back. Everything leading up to that point had been so unreal. We all had been so occupied, not by choice, in preparing for that single moment that it had acted as a tourniquet, keeping our emotions somewhat in check. There had been so many details to worry about, so many things that had to be attended to, so many others to be concerned over, that the full brunt of Elvis’ death had been pushed back to the limit. We all were blessed to keep our right mind to keep working.

But now, watching the last car of his funeral possession disappear from view on that tiny black & white monitor, the full impact that had been waiting, hit me like a ton of bricks.

I remember just standing there, in a trance, for several minutes after the last car was out of sight. Several of the other people standing beside me started to slowly drift off, in their own worlds of grief. No one said anything, and the silence was overwhelming. The phone suddenly rang, finally jolting me back into reality.

Luckily, someone else answered it, because I don’t know how I would have answered at that moment. I was suddenly feeling an emptiness that seemed as if it was going to completely overwhelm me. For a brief moment I thought that I was going to have to go outside to get away from the emotional pain I was going through right then.

I just could not fathom that life could somehow go on now that Elvis was dead. He had brought so much life and excitement into the house whenever he was home, that it just didn’t seem possible that life could go on without him.

But, of course, it had to, and it did.

“HOME FOR THE LAST TIME”
 

So
mehow, slowly, over the days following Elvis’ burial at
th
e cemetery, things did begin getting back to normal at Graceland. Though it would never be the same as it had been before, necessity dictated that life “on the hill” be restored to some semblance of normalcy.

After all, even though Elvis was gone, his family still continued to reside there. His grandmother, Minnie Mae, along with his Aunt Delta, was still very much alive. And, though Vernon had his own house at the time of Elvis’ death, he still maintained the office out back and used the mansion as if it was his own. The office still had to be maintained and business had to be conducted, even though Elvis was gone. Bills still had to be paid, fans still wrote in asking for pictures, schedules still had to be maintained. And, of course, Lisa Marie would continue to visit.

Additionally, Charlie Hodge was still living at the house, as, periodically, were other members of Elvis’ entourage.

It was still our responsibility, as we knew Elvis would have wanted, to continue to maintain a comfortable place for all of them, just as when Elvis had been alive. He would not have wanted anything to change where those things were concerned.

I don’t remember how many months it took before things got back to what I would call “normal.” But it did not come quickly.

A sense of loss permeated the entire house like nothing I have ever experienced. For the longest time I found myself talking in a hushed tone, as if Elvis had just died that day.

It was difficult to go about our routines, as we had always done, as if things were still the same. They were not the same, but, of course, we still had the same responsibilities to maintain.

The thing that had changed was that Elvis was no longer physically with us. I say ‘physically’ because strange things started happening after he died.

I have to say that I’m not one who scares easily, or believes in the supernatural, but I must admit that I was unnerved on more than one occasion by events that took place after Elvis was gone.

If I were the only one who thought I heard and saw the things I did, I would think it was just me. But, too many other people heard and saw the same type of things for it to just be coincidental.

I had been told by several of the maids when I first started working at Graceland that the house was still “inhabited” by Elvis’ mother, Gladys. Minnie Mae had explained to me that she had also heard and seen things that convinced her of the same thing, and that she had come to believe that it was Glady’s spirit inhabiting the mansion, making sure that Elvis was being taken care of properly.

Being very skeptical, I didn’t believe them. After several months, however, I wasn’t so sure. I started hearing footsteps upstairs when I knew that no one was up there. Or I would hear a faint voice coming from a room and, when I would go in to see who it was, there would be no one there.

It got to the point where I would find myself saying, to no one there, “I know you’re here, Mrs. Gladys, and that’s okay.” One day I remember having said something to that effect out loud and then, realizing what I had done, looking around to make sure no one else had walked into the room and seen me talking to thin air. Luckily, I never felt afraid of what was going on, though, I must admit, it could be unnerving at times, especially if I were by myself at night and something like that would go on.

So I had, over the years, become somewhat accustomed to those types of things. I think that, even though I couldn’t explain them, I just felt that it must have been my imagination getting the best of me.

It hadn’t helped things any when, several days after “hearing” someone who wasn’t there, Elvis decided to try out something new, which he often did. He had been told by someone that you could reach a “dearly departed one” by burning candles in their memory, and that it also helped to ward off bad spirits. He went through several days and nights where he burned a lot of candles, as well as incense, up in his bedroom, trying to communicate with Gladys.

Those few days were not good for me. When I would go into his bedroom, which was always cold and dark to begin with, there was an eerie smell of smoke mixed with incense, which made me feel a little uncomfortable. In addition to getting a somewhat creepy feeling from the smell, I ended up spending several hours, on more than one occasion, cleaning wax from several pieces of furniture, as well as from the carpet, where it had dripped down from the candles. I was also afraid that he was going to burn the house down.

So, even though I had been used to things occasionally not being as “normal” as I would have liked, I was not prepared for the even stranger events that took place after Elvis died.

About two weeks after the funeral, I was cleaning the TV room down in the basement. I had just finished dusting the yellow counter top on the bar, located right inside the small hallway at the bottom of the stairs, when, suddenly, I heard the door leading into the laundry room slam shut. I not only heard it, I also felt it, due to the way the air moves through the little hallway when a door is opened or closed. It slammed shut with such force that I assumed someone was mad and had slammed it deliberately. It took me less than a second to step into the hallway to see who it was, plenty of time to see if someone was in the hallway.

Seeing no one in the hallway, I assumed that they must have gone into the laundry room and slammed it shut behind them. Walking the several steps to the door, I opened it, fully expecting to see Aunt Delta, or maybe Charlie, inside the room. To my shock, when I opened the door I realized that the room was dark. Looking into the shadows of the room, I switched the light on, only to discover that the room was completely empty. I rushed up the back stairs to see if anyone was up there. Aunt Delta was sitting in the jungle room, reading a magazine, with a stunned look on her face from having heard the door slam so loudly. I asked her if she had seen anyone come up the stairs and she said, “No, Nancy, no one else has been up those stairs except you. Was that you slamming the door down there?” I was so unnerved that I couldn’t even tell her what had just happened. How could I explain something that I didn’t even understand myself?

Another time, a month or so later, I was in the trophy room, at night, by myself, and started feeling a little dizzy. It felt like the flu was coming on and I decided to lie down on one of the raised platforms until I felt better. After lying down for a little while, I began feeling worse, and closed my eyes thinking that would help me feel better. As I lay there, I felt someone pulling on my foot, as if to wake me up.

I remember thinking to myself that it was Aunt Delta, and that she would think she had caught me napping, and I would be in trouble. When I did open my eyes and look down to see who it was, there was no one there. The room was completely empty except for me. And I KNOW that I felt someone pulling on my leg.

There were several other events that took place that defy explanation, as well. On more than one occasion, again while in the trophy room, the lights in one or more of the trophy cases would suddenly go on and off again completely on their own. The front doorbell would ring at night, and, when we would open the door, there would be no one there. Other times, the light in the kitchen would start swaying back and forth for no apparent reason.

I know people will think I’m crazy for telling these things, but, though I can’t explain them, they did happen. To this day, I talk to old friends who still work at Graceland and they continue to tell me of the strange things that take place there. Though I don’t believe in such things, I’ve finally allowed myself to believe that there are certain things that took place at Graceland that I’ll never understand.

I kept telling myself over and over that he was not at Graceland, he was buried at Forest Hill Cemetery, several miles away. That, however, was about to change.

Not too long after Elvis had been buried, I got to work one morning and found Vernon, Aunt Delta and Grandma gathered in the dining room, visibly upset.

I was told that an attempt had been made the night before to try and steal Elvis’ body. Apparently the police had been notified of the plan, and had caught three young men walking toward Elvis’ mausoleum, carrying some tools to try and break into the crypt. From what I was told later, apparently the attempt was not considered a real threat, but it was enough to cause concern for Vernon. He had mentioned to several of us that he was very worried about Elvis and Gladys’ graves being vulnerable to mischief or damage by curiosity seekers. He had even hired security for the cemetery, but that didn’t seem to work well enough to satisfy his concerns. And now this.

The decision was made to work out a plan whereby the bodies of Elvis and Gladys could be re-located to the grounds of Graceland, where security could be controlled. The logical location was the meditation garden, next to the swimming pool area. It had originally been a grape vineyard before Elvis had purchased the property, and it became a quiet spot for Elvis and his family to go when they needed to be alone. In the mid-sixties, Elvis had it formally landscaped to it’s present condition. Now, Vernon had decided that it was where he wanted Elvis and Gladys buried.

He assumed that all he had to do was call the funeral home and ask them to bring both caskets to Graceland and re-bury them there. It was not that simple, however.

He was told by the funeral home that he would have to get the property at Graceland, which of course was zoned residential, rezoned to permit bodies to be buried there.

I heard him on the phone one morning talking to someone at the funeral home, and he seemed very upset that he couldn’t just pay to have it done. He eventually got off the phone and, as I was walking by, said to me, “Nancy, they don’t seem to understand, I need to bring my son and his momma home!”

It was not really as if he was talking to me, in particular. I just happened to be there at that time and I think he was just venting his frustration. He had tears in his eyes as he spoke. I remember thinking to myself how old and tired he looked.

I don’t remember exactly what I said back to him, but I’m sure it was something like, “Mr. Vernon, I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

And, of course, he did. He could be stubborn and determined when he wanted something badly enough, and he’d already made his mind up on this issue.

It took several months, a sum of money, getting the neighbors to agree to it, and some arm twisting, but he finally got the permits and permission he needed to get his family moved back home.

It took some co-ordination between the funeral home and the cemetery, and early Sunday evening, October 2nd, two white hearses and two limos drove through the back gates of Graceland and pulled around to the front of the house.

The move, which had originally been planned for the next day, had been moved up one day in an attempt to keep the news people, who had gotten wind of the plan, from turning it into a “film at eleven” event. Only a few reporters, who had been milling around the front gates, witnessed the small procession pull into the back (side) entrance and disappear onto the grounds as the gate was closed behind them.

We had watched throughout the day as a small group of workmen had used a backhoe and shovels to dig the two openings in the ground in the meditation garden area. A few bushes had had to be removed and some minor landscaping done to accommodate the new graves. Also, some electrical lines had to be re-routed prior to the graves being dug. Vernon had decided to have the area made available for a total of four graves, the two being dug for Elvis and Gladys, and the two remaining for himself and his mother, Minnie Mae. After digging the grave openings, we watched as a small crane was driven to the end of the drive running parallel to the swimming pool area. A flatbed truck was then backed up as close to the crane as it could get, and two very large burial vaults were hoisted, the first one with white chalk marked “Elvis”, and then the second one marked “Gladys”, into the two waiting openings in the ground. The lids were then placed off to the side, out of site.

I was one of several employees who walked out and surveyed the scene after the workmen were gone. I cannot explain what an eerie feeling it was staring into that open vault, knowing that was where Elvis was soon to be placed as his final resting place on this earth.

I was struck by how deep in the ground the vaults seemed to be. I remember that as I was leaning over and looking into Elvis’ vault, that the sun hit the bottom of the vault a certain way, reflecting a glint of golden color off the inside copper wall of the vault for just a split second. Already feeling a little uncomfortable, and no doubt a little on edge, it caused me to jump back quickly, as if I felt I was going to fall into the opening. It was quite an unnerving experience, and I quickly made my way back to the main part of the house, still shaking ever so slightly. We were all still having trouble coping with his death.

Even though it had been a month and a half, Vernon was also still grieving. It had not been an easy time for him, and going through the task of having Elvis moved to Graceland, along with his beloved wife, continued to take it’s toll on him. Even though he knew he was doing the right thing, and knew it was what Elvis would have wanted, it was still not an easy thing for him to do.

He had come into the kitchen Sunday morning to get a cup of coffee and, as he did so, I could see the tremendous strain on his face. Though he didn’t shed any tears, he said to me, “Nancy, I know I’m doing the right thing, but it doesn’t make it any easier.”