A Week With Elvis

A few weeks ago, I read a biography of Elvis Presley for my U.S. history class at school. We raced through the book, reading it in two sittings, and were assigned to write a paper on the book and its author, Bobbie Ann Mason. I started and finished the entire paper this week, starting Sunday afternoon and finishing Friday night, working diligently and persistently every night of the week. 


My schedule has been crazy this week: I've been juggling a physics project, a piano performance, rehearsals and performances with the Tmen, play practice (and memorizing lines), and homework. I would get home from play practice for A Funny Thing Happened On the Way to the Forum around 9:30 or 10:00 every night. I would eat something and then start working on the paper and regular homework for my other classes. I would take a nap around 1:00 or 2:00 AM, set an alarm to wake me up at 3:00 or 4:00 AM, work for an hour or two, go back to bed, and then wake up and go to school. 
Using these naps and energy drinks to sustain me, and NyQuil to put me to sleep, I wrote the longest paper I have ever written, at 7,000 words. I dropped it off at my teacher's house at Midnight on Friday, the day it was due. (Writing this, it is impossible for me to ignore the parallels of my drug use with Elvis's--he used prescription pills to boost his energy for performances, and then more pills to calm him down and provide a release from the pressure and stress of his hectic life.)


But the paper almost became this entity on its own, this constant in my life with which I had a relationship. Writing the paper, I got to understand Elvis's life so well (or at least, the life that Bobbie Ann Mason,  presented) that I completely wrapped my mind around it and felt like I absorbed just about everything Mason had to say. 


 As Elvis took Las Vegas by storm in the early 1970's, entirely in his element, he had come into his own as a performer and had mastered the stage completely. I also felt that in some ways, with this paper, I mastered the kind of essay our teacher has had us write for the third time: explaining an author's purpose in writing a book. I felt at ease and confidant writing the paper, supplied with all the information I needed, having only to sort through and synthesize it articulately. 


I found myself almost crying while writing the last few paragraphs of my essay, thinking angrily about Tom Parker (Elvis's manager who exploited him horribly for his own gain), about Elvis's drug addiction and the neglect of his friends and family, thinking about his pained, restless relationships, and his struggles with whether or not he deserved all the fame and success that came his way. Recalling as Mason did the sweet, youthful, and ebullient Elvis of 1956, I was sad for Elvis because he always had the best intentions despite his flaws or what his critics said--at heart, he was a simple boy from the south, and all he ever wanted to do was sing as well as Arthur Crudup (a blues singer whose music Elvis heard growing up). I was definitely happy to finally be finishing this monster of a paper. 


Mason writes about Elvis with a thoughtful, gentle and sympathetic hand, understanding him like an old friend who had simply made a few mistakes during his life. With Elvis Presley, she is able to provide and informative and detailed account of the King's life which is supplemented with interesting anecdotes, and she does this in only 169 pages. It was very insightful and told me much more than I ever knew about Elvis, who was such a bright and dominating figure in America's cultural landscape for only two short decades.