I had unwittingly signed on for one of the most difficult but satisfying media production experiences of my life: "Always Elvis" a traveling multimedia extravaganza featuring 5 side-by-side screens illuminated by 24 slide projectors and eight synchronized film projectors with a full concert sound system. The show would feature never before seen photos and footage of Elvis, and be a self-contained "concert," while providing an audiovisual retrospective of Elvis' life and career. It was a dream project for me and my bosses knew it.

"Are you a decent photographer?" Creative Director Peter Inova asked me. "You bet!" I told him of my two summers as an apprentice to a large-format photographer in my home town, my basement darkroom when I was in high school and my college film degree. "Well then, you're going to Memphis with me," he said and my heart leapt. Since childhood I had seen photos of Elvis' home Graceland, and it seemed like a miracle that I was going to get to walk through those musical gates and into his private domain. "My timing isn't half-bad," I thought to myself driving home.

ALWAYS ELVIS
The show was being produced, I found out later, to fulfill a contract Colonel Parker had with the Las Vegas Hilton. As I understood it, The Colonel did business by handshake, and he had shaken hands on a deal to provide Elvis as the main attraction for the grand opening of the new Hilton Pavilion — a massive multipurpose venue where concerts, conventions and prize fights would be staged. The only problem was that Elvis had passed away. The Colonel, being a shrewd business man, convinced the Hilton that by providing the "Always Elvis" multimedia show, he was meeting the terms of the contract.

When this skinny 24 year old kid was introduced to Elvis' Best Friend, Joe Esposito, I didn't know how I was going to be received. Joe immediately put me at ease with his easygoing style and ever-present smile. Esposito treated us all like we were equals on a team. He was so much fun to be around that you just wanted to hang out with him. I never wondered for a moment why he was Elvis' Best Friend - everyone loved Joe. How could you not?

We traveled to Memphis to photograph memorabilia in Elvis' Trophy Room. This was an amazing journey for me and Joe was quite talkative on the long drive from the airport out to where Graceland sits. He told us stories of the Memphis Mafia, explained what the strange monster plant overgrowing the power poles and lines was (kudzu), and we had a meal with his friend "Dr. Nick."

THE TROPHY ROOM

What struck me first about Elvis' Trophy Room was how much stuff he had kept. Next to items from presidents and kings would be snapshots of someone's family with a little note attached. Elvis obviously treasured both equally. Framed proclamations from dignitaries worldwide hung on the wall. Teddy bears from all over the globe with "We love you Elvis," handwritten on them in various languages. I was overwhelmed with the love represented here. Both ways.

"This whole room was a slot car race track once," Joe mentioned with a faraway look. "Elvis went through a phase...we'd race all night."

At one point, sitting on the floor with our camera copy stand and a stack of black and white photos, Joe was sifting through the shots and telling us what each one was and when it was taken. During this process he held one for a moment, speechless, and it was obvious it had caused him to choke with emotion. Peter and I left the room quietly and walked around for awhile, allowing Joe the moment alone. He too had just recently lost someone he loved very much, and he was obviously hurting.

It gave me time to more closely examine the cases where some of Elvis' clothes were on display and still more framed proclamations from the globe's Very Important People. In a far corner, one of them seemed to be moving. On closer inspection, I noticed what must have been termites or some other little bugs chomping away on the edge of the document in the frame between the glass. It was creepy, but the muggy humidity of Tennessee breeds all sorts of life and it had crept into the trophy case.

Joe showed us around the grounds and introduced us to Vernon Presley, who was working in an out building serving as his office. The place was filled with boxes and boxes of letters from the fans expressing sorrow for Elvis' loss. "I'm going to answer every single one," Vernon said. I was really touched by his sincerity and love for the fans. Outside, Lisa Marie zipped by in a golf cart singing, "Love Me Edmund, Love Me True" (Edmund, if I remember correctly, was Lisa-Marie's pet dachshund.)

After we had completed on-site photography and were at the airport preparing to fly out, Joe asked Peter and me for our plane tickets. "Wait here," he said, walking up to the counter. He came back with upgraded first class seats for us all. We returned home triumphant and in style thanks to Joe's generosity. I sipped champagne while Peter took photos of the clouds through the plane's window that ended up being one of the backgrounds for "I Can't Help Falling In Love With You" in the multimedia show.

PRODUCTION
Working on "Always Elvis" was a 24/7 deal for the hippies at Metavision. We were doing the 24-projector slide show and programming everything while a contingent of filmmakers worked on the eight 16mm film portions. The two camps were different mainly by virtue of the drugs we used to keep working through the nights and weekends. At Metavision we preferred pot, or "combustible motivation," as Peter used to call it. The Beverly Hills guys were coke heads. Needless to say we didn't mix and mingle much or well at all. I found the Beverly Hills guys to be quite full of themselves.

Joe, meanwhile, seemed totally uninterested in drugs. "They either make the day go too slow or too fast - I like things the way they are," was his attitude. Joe was the perfect go-between — he got along famously with both camps and was the diplomatic liaison for the course of the project..

We were using bleeding edge technology to synchronize the film projectors with the slide projectors and soundtrack. A European company had a new method for doing this and it was buggy. The evening we tried for the first time to bring the entire 28-projector monstrosity to life was an exciting moment. The whole company gathered, champagne and joints in hand.

Inova hit the button and we held our breath. The opening musical vamp of "Promised Land" pumped through the speakers. I got goose bumps as I watched the screens come alive with my sparkling "Always Elvis" logo animation, the film projectors lurched to life right on schedule and — the power blew out. All of us were stunned, suddenly standing in the dark, only the tiny red tips of the sagging joints could be seen in what was first silence, then uproarious laughter. At least it was a good excuse to go home and get some sleep to give the electricians some time to beef up our power panel before we got back to work the next day.

THE COLONEL
Once we had the show produced and programmed it was time to invite Jerry Weintraub and The Colonel to our offices for a review. Of course we were all very nervous but at the same time intensely proud of the show we had put together. The memory I cherish the most is of The Colonel first waving his hands around, then standing, motioning for an 'all stop,' during the song "Teddy Bear."

We spent a long time on that song and I had carefully isolated and animated various poses from an Elvis photo shoot that, when animated, showed Elvis dancing in time with the music. Various "cute" shots of Elvis were splayed across all five screens in rhythm with the music. It was one of my favorite sections of the one hour and 35-minute show.

"Where are the teddy bears? Where are the goddam teddy bears!" The Colonel yelled. "Teddy bears?" Peter Inova remarked, horrified at the thought. "I wanna see teddy bears! Lots of em!" With this The Colonel stormed out uninterested in the rest of the presentation. We were shocked. I was terrified that we had pissed him off somehow. Inova was distraught that his carefully designed show was going to be blasphemed with, god forbid, teddy bears.

We sucked it up (literally - the pot, that is) and got to work. Becky, Theo's wife, went on a teddy bear buying spree. We readied the photo studio and began animating the little dolls back and forth so they would "dance." Of course we shot various scenes of the bears doing unspeakably obscene things to one another but these never saw the screen.

Long story short, once we got to Vegas for the premiere, "Teddy Bear" was an audience favorite. My first thought upon hearing the roar of approval — louder for this song than others — was that The Colonel certainly knew his audience and how to please them. Weintraub, on the other hand, didn't seem to have the same respect for the ticket purchasing public. "Put a few more rows of seats down there," we heard him telling the maintenance men in the theater. "But that's too close to the screen, they won't be able to see everything!" Inova protested. "My job is to put asses on seats," Weintraub shouted back, "Put the rows there."

I happened to be checking out of the hotel the same time The Colonel was and witnessed an interesting interchange at the front desk. "What's this, a bill?" The Colonel yelled, seemingly insulted. (He had commanded nearly an entire floor of the hotel throughout the two weeks of show prep and performance.) "I've never paid for a room here in my life." The poor desk clerk made some meek sounds which resulted in The Colonel tossing the bill back across the desk with, "Here — give it to Weintraub."

PROMISED LAND
Not only did the show have a ten day run in Vegas, it packed up and toured the south. Metavision's Hal Park took the show on the road and as the reviews reveal, the crowds loved it. As a backhanded compliment that I very much enjoyed, Saturday Night Live did a skit based on our show called "Elvis Presley's Coat," wherein one of Elvis' costumes is attached to a microphone stand while a stage hand rocks it back and forth from below in time with Elvis' hit songs. That's when I knew we'd arrived!

As part of the "Always Elvis" fan fest, The Colonel would sometimes sit at a card table and sell for a dollar apiece a poem he had composed called, "WRITTEN FOR ALL THE FANS WORLDWIDE." For another dollar he would sign it. I bought one for a memento not really thinking much about it, but reading the poem later something struck me. The way he capitalized "Parents" and "Mom" for example, I felt if there actually was a soft side to The Colonel, this poem revealed it.

Once I got back to my North Hollywood home, trying to put the previous few months of my life into perspective, I kept coming back to that poem and how it represented not only Elvis' career but The Colonel's and the fans' feelings about the man and his work. I got inspired to put some chords behind it, record and send it to The Colonel as a kind of 'thank you.' But as a timid 24 year old kid I lost my nerve and never did.

This was before I learned that it is usually the things you don't do in life that you live to regret.

The songs he sang at home each day,
Pleased his Parents in every way.
This humble home, with love to spare,
The three together went everywhere.

Then came this man, his name was Sam,
He recorded a song for Elvis' Mom.
That's when everything began.

It was blue suede shoes and blue moon too,
Along with midnight and moody blue.
It was Elvis here, and Elvis there,
And teddy bears were everywhere,
It was don't be cruel and such a night
And he sang Mamma that's alright.
He was all shook up and G I Blues
And girls, girls, girls and potluck too.
Kissin' cousins and roustabout,
And then we knew what he was all about.

The boy became a man and he carried on
To make us happy with his songs.
We will play your songs from day to day,
For you never really went away