David Morrell - NightScape

I readily admit that "Elvis.45" is the most cryptic title I've ever used, but I wouldn't change it for the world. You see, I never got over being on the high-school social committee that was empowered to select and buy the records for the weekend dances, As this story indicates, in those ancient days there were listening booths in record stores. My friends and I could spend all afternoon there if we wanted. Not playing CDs, of course. That format hadn't been invented. Vinyl, along with Elvis, was king, A lot of you are too young to have heard vinyl (I continue to believe it sounds better than CDs do), or if you have, the word probably suggests IPs (long-playing records the size of pizzas) that held a half-dozen songs on each side and turned at thirty-three-and-one-third revolutions per minute. But there was another vinyl format, the small, one-song-on-each-side 45 (forty-five revolutions per minute) that gives this story its title, as do the.45 revolvers Elvis liked to play with. The title also refers to a number of a course at a university, as in English 101 or Presley 45. Hey, I told you it was cryptic. In any case, the story was written for a 1994 anthology called The King Is Dead and gave me a chance to experiment with an unusual technique. There is no exposition. No description. I avoided speech tags in the dialogue. The story is presented solely in dialogue fragments or in dialogue-like substitutes.

You want to teach a course on…?"

"Elvis Presley."

"Elvis…?"

"Presley."

"…That's what I was afraid I heard you say."

"Do you have a bias against Elvis Presley?"

"Not in his proper place. On golden-oldie radio when I'm stuck in traffic. Fred, are you really serious about this? This isn't the Music Department. Not that I can imagine them offering a course in Elvis, either. Musical appreciation of Elvis. What a joke. So how could I justify teaching Elvis in the English Department? The subtlety of the lyrics? The poetry of 'Jailhouse Rock?' Give me a break. The dean would think I'd lost my mind. He'd ask me to resign as chair. Fred, you don't look as if I'm getting my point across."

"Not a literature course."

"What?"

"A culture course."

"I still don't-"

"We already offer Victorian Culture. And Nineteenth-Century American Culture. This would be Twentieth-Century American Culture."

"Fred, don't you think you're interpreting 'culture' rather broadly? I mean, listen to what you're saying. Elvis Presley, for God's sake. The department would be a laughingstock. And for you in particular to want to teach such a course."

"I?"

"That's what I mean. You said I instead of 'me.' Perfect grammar. You're the only person in the department who speaks as if he's writing an essay for Philological Quarterly. Correctness of language. Wonderful. But Fred, you're hardly the type to…You'd sound ridiculous teaching Elvis Presley. You're a little -how would the students put it – uncool for the topic."

"Maybe that's why I want to teach the course."

"High school. When I was fifteen."

"What are you talking about?"

"If you'll stop interrupting me, Edna, I'll explain. When I was fifteen, my high school had a student committee that selected the records for the Friday-night dances after the football and basketball games."

"So it's going to be another stroll down memory lane. Every night at dinner. Well, if I'm going to have to hear one more story, you'd better pass me the wine."

"I don't need to tell it, Edna."

"In that case, I have a phone call to make."

"I was the president of the social committee. I had three subordinates, and every Friday after school, we went to our favorite record store."

"I thought you said you weren't going to tell the story."

"I was wrong. I do need to tell it."

"And I still need to make my phone call."

"To Peter Robinson?"

"What makes you think I'd be calling…"

"The two of you seem awfully chummy."

"Are you insinuating…"

"Just drink your wine. The record store had soundproofed booths. Customers were allowed to choose records they were interested in buying and to play the records in the booths. Each Saturday, my committee and I – "

"Fred, did anyone ever tell you you talk as if you're lecturing?"

" – would spent hours playing records there. The committee was allowed to buy only two records each week. The small ones. Forty-fives. That format had recently been introduced."

"Fred, I know. I remember what forty-fives looked like."

"But we played as many as thirty before we bought our quota of two. Strange. The owner didn't seem to mind. To me, that booth in the record store felt like – "

"Fred, how can I drink my wine if you don't pass the bottle?"

" – home ought to be. And I never had closer friends than the students on that committee. We debated each record with absolute fervor, determined to supply the best music possible for the dances. I was underweight even then. And of course, I'm short. And – "

"Fred, is there a point to this story?"

" – I didn't have a chance to be popular, as the football players and basketball players were. Come to think of it, all the members of my committee were, I guess you would say, geeky. Like me. So we tried to be popular in a different way. By controlling the music at the dances. Other students would have to come up to us and make requests. They would have to be nice to us or else we wouldn't play the records they wanted."

"Fred…"

"Of course, I never danced. I was far too shy. The dances were really only the excuse that allowed me to be able to go to the record store after school on Fridays. I don't think I ever experienced anything as exciting as hearing Elvis Presley sing 'Don't Be Cruel' in that soundproofed booth. I sensed that he was singing directly to me. I felt his emotion-the feeling of being picked upon, of being an outcast. What a revelation. What a sense of being privileged to listen to that record before the students at the dance could."

"Fred, I asked you before. Does this story have a point?"

"Since then, I don't think I've ever been so happy."

"Two hundred and twenty-five students enrolled in the course. I must say I'm gratified. I never expected to attract so many Elvis Presley enthusiasts."

("He's a funny-looking dude, isn't he? Check out the Coke-bottle glasses and the bow tie.")

"As I emphasized on the syllabus that I distributed among you, the subject…Elvis Aron Presley…may be misleading to some. You may have concluded that this is what you call a fresh-air course, that you can expect high grades for very little work. Quite the contrary. I expect the same intense diligence that my students bring to my courses in semiotics and post-structuralism."

("Talks funny.")

"Our subject is one of those rare individuals who through talent, character, and coincidence becomes the focus of the major trends in that person's culture. In this case, a young, Southern male, who adapted black musical themes and techniques, making them acceptable to a segregation-minded white audience. It can be argued that Presley's music, bridging the division between white and black, created a climate in which desegregation was possible. Similar arguments can be made about Presley's contribution to the counterculture of the fifties and the later sexual revolution."

("That sexual revolution sounds interesting.")

"I must say, my initial instinct was not to let Fred teach the course. I'm pleased that I listened to his idea, however, and needless to say, the dean's very happy with our increased enrollment. Would I like another martini? By all means. These receptions make me thirsty. Speaking of the dean, look at Fred over in that corner, talking to him. Lecturing to him is probably more accurate. These days, all Fred can talk about is Elvis. The poor dean looks like he's afraid there's going to be an examination after the reception. Fred's got Elvis on the brain."