Chapter VIII
The big lummox had been seated in my car only 3 minutes, but nonetheless I’d already tried to initiate conversation by talkin’ sports, politics and weather. I’m not really knowledgeable about this trio of subjects, but then, neither is anyone else. Including sports announcers, political figures and weather forecasters. Clearly the man who had been an integral part of Elvis Presley Enterprises for so many years wasn’t in a talkative frame of mind. However, a plan began formulating in my temporal-lobe, and I felt certain his tongue might be loosened by resorting to a different tactic. But inherent risks to my health and well-being were involved here. Because this fella’ was dark and brooding, a chap of many moods closely related to a ticking incendiary bomb. Ya’ gotta’ exercise extreme caution with these types, as bombs are known to explode without prior notice or any warning whatsoever. A “compelling urge” caused my next action…I tossed caution to those howling gale forces one hears so much about, “the prevailing winds.” “Mr. Red West, I’ve known who you are since back there in Maxways. I also have some suspicions about your former bossman who is allegedly entombed inside a crypt at Graceland, but maybe isn’t.” I saw turmoil boiling in his eyes, wild and raging, but seeking to escape. Storms can be caged inside the human body for just so long, then in some manner must be freed. Else ya’ leave yourself wide-open to a variety of maladies…migrane headaches, a breakdown of the nervous system, insommnia, upset stomachs, hallucinations, etc. It’s not wise to allow a buildup of problems inside. Believe me, they will compound and multiply profusely. Mister West realized he’d been unearthed, discovered, his cover blown. But ya’ know, the apeman reacted in a most surprising fashion: “Whew! For years I’ve been dreading this moment, and I’m glad the game is over.” He made no attempt to use my face as a punching bag, strangle the precious life from me, nor did he reach for a six-gun to drill me full of hot lead. Old Red simply exhaled a huge blast of air from his lungs in a sigh of relief. And podnuh, knowing the possible consequences if he threw a tantrum, so did I. We’d just passed a road branching off to the Giles County Landfill, and motored on still deeper into the beckoning but as yet unmapped territories of Wilburn Valley. My passenger, meanwhile, began telling an incredible story. Their troupe numbering 30 souls had lived 10 years in a variety of disguises. Wigs, false beards, false noses, dark Hollywood eye shades. At first it had been a lark, but traveling incognito gets old in a hurry. Drudgery became boredom, and extended periods of idleness can cause the human mind to malfunction. A big, big problem for show-biz folks. Hollywood “head-shrinks” keep real busy. I felt it was now safe to ask the question an entire world was desperately wanting answered. Time to peel away the outer covering. Time to reveal the mysterious inner-core and determine just what the devil wuz goin’ on. “Red, where is Elvis?” “Up there,” he responded without hesitation. My eyes followed the trajectory in which his pudgy finger pointed. I found myself gazing up to the uppermost heights of Sugar Run Mountain…
Chapter IX
The strongarm man opened a gate leading into a pasture field and I left Wilburn Valley Road. Carefully skirting a herd of moo cows, we soon entered a thick woodland at the base of Sugar Run Mountain. For maybe one mile I drove up rough terrain that really wasn’t a road, more like a logging trail ( A rather strange sight greeted my eyes at the edge of the woodlands. Surely it’s a first for our area. Three machine-gun emplacements, well camouflaged among the treeline, had those rapid-fire weapons trained on the gate leading to this strange place). And then a most unusual sight. About 12 vehicles of various makes and models were parked in a small clearing that had formerly been a dense forest. I’ve never been unduly interested in autos, but the license tags caught my attention. Alien plates…California, New York, Tennessee. Red, noticing my bewilderment, muttered: “Associates.” “Too steep and rough from here on. We gotta’ walk,” said the goon who wore two armpit holsters. We began a treacherous uphill climb that would offer serious challenge to Sir Edmund Hillary, the British climber of Mt. Everest fame. “Hey Red, how far?” I’ve been involved in a goodly number of ridiculous situations, but this was the topper…absolutely preposterous. “About a mile.” Actually it was slightly farther, and during our strenuous climb Red launched into a capsule rendition of what had transpired over the years to cause the current “Elvis is alive” flap. Seems Elvis Presley had simply grown weary of the attention and adulation the world had heaped on him. Everywhere the rock-and-roll star went he was mobbed by screaming, grabbing, tearing, swooning and fainting females. Teenagers led these dangerous charges, reinforced by recently married lasses, middle-aged ladies, and even gray-haired spinsters. Elvis grew weary of that life…he had to get away! Summoning his “Memphis Mafia” to Graceland for a pow-wow, carefully laid plans were set in motion. A hoax of unimaginable scope , the biggest ever perpetrated on mankind, began with the so-called split twixt “The Pelvis” and his chief security man. Ladies and gentlemen, Red West never went off the payroll!! Even his tattle-tale book had been a part of the scheme. This was one bunch of sharp dudes, slicker’n a barrel of eels! Mr, West was instructed to comb the globe for a secluded place that could guarantee absolute privacy for an international celebrity who wanted to exit the glaring spotlight (Elvis didn’t really need the work, and the notion that social-security funds might be exhausted by the time he reached retirement age never entered his mind) The Amazonian jungles were looked over, but quickly ruled out. Too many durn snakes! Besides, they were choppin’ all the trees down and that matted rain-forest would soon be nothing but a vast barren plain. And nobody, not even Elvis Presley, can hide on a plain. Red scouted the Gobi Desert. That location was nixed before ya’ could whisper “Jack Rabbit.” Too much sand, not enough water The main bodyguard experienced great difficulty just finding a comfortable place to sit in China…wall-to-wall humans! Turned it down pronto. Siberia was given close scrutiny, but the Russian government expected every person who settled there to dig 44 tons of salt per day. To hell with that! Red made numerous trips around the world, and always his conclusion was the same: “Ain’t no privacy left on this over-populated Earth!” The search narrowed and finally centered on our own Atlantic Seaboard.One day in 1983 the redhead came motoring thru Giles County, looked up at towering Sugar Run Mountain and exclaimed: “Ahh, I’ve found it. A Shangri-La for Elvis!” And that’s how come they’re here…
Chapter X
I’ve seen more than my fair share of the strange and unknown, watched a far greater abundance of oddities than most folks, at least under normal circumstances, are privileged to witness in a lifetime. This is not a boast but a statement of fact. But alas, in one respect I’ve failed miserably. Doggone it, I haven’t kept a daily log to offer as proof of the countless instances of “high strangeness” I’ve witnessed during my stay on this ball of mud called Earth. This oversight, a real stupid one, has caused me regret a thousand times over. The error has, however, been corrected. Just yesterday I commenced jottin’ down some stuff in a diary. A total of 116 mysteries were entered into my logbook the very first day of it’s inception. Truly a baffling world in which we live! If you will, a few examples. Alien spaceships, the enigmatic flying saucers. I’ve witnessed thousands of UFO’s streaking across the night skies at incredible velocities ( But let’s be clear about this important matter. I’ve seen huge numbers of extraterrestrial flying-machines during daylight hours). Many of these interstellar craft touch down to explore our flora and fauna (Giles County is a prime location for this strange activity, as it occurs nearly every night). Humanoid UFO crewmen are also waging a campaign of terror against earthlings they capture along deserted highways. Surely everyone has heard of “alien abduction.” Countless numbers of humans are being kidnapped and whisked away to CTA-102, a star ( having 19 planets ) located 37 light-years from Earth. It remains to be seen if these poor souls will be returned to their loved ones, or whether (as I strongly suspect ) they’ve been taken on a one-way ride. UFO’s…spectacular and highly unusual vehicles! Ghosts. Man, I’ve seen more spooks than ya’ can shake a stick at! Surprisingly enough these haven’t been frightening experiences, but rewarding ones. Quite educational too. For instance, ghosts are encountered in the most unlikely places. Never, at least to my knowledge, has an apparition been seen inside a cemetery. Ghosts just don’t hang out in graveyards. These eerie spooks are available in two types…benevolent, and demonic. Spirits…ethereal, airy, spectral. Ya’ can see right thru ‘em! Wire stretchers. I ain’t never figured out how them doggone things work. Farmers say these tools are mighty useful though, help greatly to pare down operating expenses. A single roll of barbed-wire can be stretched to equal eight. Maybe the least said about wire-stretchers, the better. Skyhooks. Some of ‘em reach to points far beyond the clouds. I’ve climbed ( out of curiosity ) hundreds of steel cables tryin’ to make sense of the phenomena, and am utterly amazed to learn they have no visible means of support up there. The durn things just end in mid-air, and one has to come slidin’ down. How about butterflies? These insects are three entirely different creatures at separate stages during their growth. A metamorphosis from larvae to pupae to winged beauty flitting across the meadows. Nothing here on Earth or in the infinite heavens can outdo that transformation. Let’s plod ever onward, delve even deeper into these intriguing topics. Creatures, monsters, ogres. Vast numbers of these odd beings are, for unknown reasons, attracted to Giles County and vicinity. Masters of deceit and with an uncanny ability to remain hidden from prying human eyes, they exist with us at this moment ( a lifetime of studying the supernatural has allowed me to learn many of the secrets the novice is not aware of. Thus I know where to look for THINGS ). As of this morning I have knowledge concerning twelve tribes of terrifying trolls, six sects of shameless shamans, five families of frolicking fairies, a gazillion garrisons of gruesome gargoyles, great gatherings of gaudy gnomes, and eleven exotic enclaves of extraterrestrial entities ( the humanoid UFO crewmen are visiting us from the farthermost points of interstellar space. Many people believe these are benevolent beings, here to help us solve our problems. But the actual truth is very different. They’re here spying on us in preparation for the complete annihilation of the human race and the overt takeover of bluewater Earth)! The above is a small sampling of what exists in the atmosphere above and in underground passageways neath our feet These peculiarities are, I have now determined, restricted solely to the Central District of Giles County. Next week I will begin an exhaustive study in the Eastern and Western Districts. No tellin’ what nightmares might be uncovered out yonder in the boondocks! Puzzles, riddles, enigmas…each and every day they surround us. The old seafaring Captain Symmes said it best many centuries ago when he uttered: “Strange things they be lad…on land and in the sea.” Ladies and gentlemen, prior to that muggy day in July I thought I’d seen everything But then , walking in company with a fella’ named Red, I knew differently when we reached the summit of Sugar Run Mountain. There, miles and miles from the nearest inhabitant, my eyes focused on the anomaly that shamed all other anomalies. Grandeur to rival any palace owned by the richest Arab oil-sheik. Nothing in the Arabian Nights could outdo this. “This place musta’ cost millions,” I said, hardly able to believe what my eyes perceived. “About 30 million,” Red west let me know. I didn’t know if the look of disdain in his eyes were for my limited knowledge about financial matters, or for Elvis because he chose a hermit’s lifestyle…
Chapter XI
Tell ya’ right now, those people who produce “Lifestyles of The Rich And Famous” oughta’ come to our County and take a look at this one. That hideaway on Sugar Run Mountain, built by Elvis Presley and Associates and occupied by same, is an architectural wonder surely worthy of being spotlighted on their program. Man, any member of European Royalty could live comfortably in this “pad.” I suppose awe-struck might be the proper word, for at that moment it became apparent to me that the obituary columns of 1977 had indeed fostered a gigantic hoax on a gullible world. And the “big lie” is still being played out. Rumors are rife as ever: “Elvis boarded a UFO mothership and even now is zooming at the speed of light toward Antares, a colossal star located 520 light-years from Earthin the constellation Scorpius.” Such a journey could certainly fulfill the desires of a person wishing to “git away from it all.” One thing bothered me and I turned to Red for some clarification: “How the devil did y’all get this building material up here?” The bully chuckled first, then broke out in uncontrollable laughter; “Hey dummy, we packed it in by mule.” “Hmm, I see.” But I didn’t really. What local farmer had that many mules? Mulling it over for a moment, I decided not to pursue the matter any further. Red and I were within 50 yards of the palace when I detected a lone figure, guitar in hand, emerging from the grandiose mansion. My dimmed eyesight didn’t allow recognition as the person strolled across a wide veranda and seated himself in a reclining chair. The individual began plinkin’, plunkin’, and strummin’ the old guitar, and a soft mountain breeze carried the unmistakable voice our way. “Hound Dawg” has always caused me problems, arousing my sentiment and emotions to an uncontrollable level. The beautiful lyrics ( you ain’t never caught a rabbit and you ain’t no friend of mine ) and haunting melody of that song never fails to bring a welling of tears to my orbs of vision. Only with great effort, and 5 handkerchiefs, did I finally manage to staunch the flow of lachrymal drops. My suspicions had been confirmed. I looked at the mystifying man belting out that tune, a gent who is the subject of so much scuttlebutt …and I knew the truth. The rumors had foundation, were more than gossip! Only the various locations where Elvis was supposedly living were wrong. The rock-and-roller wasn’t in some faraway exotic land, never had been. Elvis wasn’t residing in an underwater city on the Pacific ocean floor. Neither had he been a passenger aboard a UFO zipping across infinity toward Antares. How the hell do such stories get started anyhow? “Come along and meet my boss,” Mr. West stated. The invitation sounded so sincere. “Fine Red…fine. I’d sho’ ‘nuff appreciate it.” Emerging from a dense woodland we began closing the gap to a wide veranda. Palpitation of heart increased rapidly, my thoughts ran wild. That figure seated there. Allegedly he’d departed from this “earthly plane of existence” a decade ago. Was it a real, flesh-and-blood person I was about to meet? Or was it SOMETHING else, perhaps not living…but EXISTING on this mountaintop?…
Chapter XII
Old Red is well-versed in etiquette, protocol, durn good with introductions. “Elvis, I’d like you to meet…uh, uh.” He groped for words then added: “Hey, I never did get your name.” Naturally not. The goon hadn’t asked; I certainly hadn’t voluntarily given. I’m always evasive where names are concerned, perhaps somewhat less than honest. If ever there’d been a time when an alias was justified, this was it. “Sorry, I should have told you. My name is John Jones.” One often finds himself embroiled in peculiar situations in this unpredictable world; it’s an excellent idea to be prepared for any eventuality. I had no way of knowing the personal habits and whims of these people. Heavenly day, they were actively engaged in one of the biggest shams in all of human history, and might later decide it wasn’t wise to have witnesses hangin’ around. Best they didn’t know the name on my birth certificate! “John, meet Elvis,” Red continued with the formalities. The lad from Tupelo, Memphis, Hollywood and other points had a firm handshake, a rather warm one too. This greatly alleviated my apprehension, for it let me know I was greeting a real honest-to-goodness live person, not one of THEM who had returned from that great and unknown beyond ( cold and clammy… that’s how I reckoned the handclasp of a ghost might be ). Yeah pal, my tensions abated sharply! “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Presley. I’ve heard a lot about you.” “And I’m delighted to meet a local resident.” The superstar sounded sincere and went on with his dialogue. “But I ain’t never heard of you.” Being well accustomed to “putdowns”, the barb had no sting whatsoever, didn’t hurt nary a bit. The heart-throb of every female is an inquisitive lad. “You any kin to Tom?,” Elvis wanted to know, having reference to his colleague in music, the British pop-artist who wears tight-fittin’ britches. “My ancestors came from merry olde England, but I doubt there’s any relationship. Oh, I suppose it’s possible we might be distant cousins, but Tom won’t think so. I really don’t think he’d mix and mingle with we commoners.” That’s how I saw it. “Probably not. You commoners would immediately begin hatching plots to grab his money.” His tone sounded almost a sneer, emphasized with great disgust. All celebrities are paranoid about this matter. I had a 2 hour gabfest with the “in residence” superstar who dwells among us. Needless to say our discussions were broad-ranging, touched on many topics, encompassed the whole doggone gamut from A to Z. I learned many details of what had happened to an internationally famed person whose name is synonymous with rock-and-roll music. A man who’d grown tired of fame and fortune, and 10 years ago decided to become a recluse and live the lifestyle of a hermit. Quite naturally only a handful of his closest associates are in on this biggest con-game of all time. Even more intriguing I was made privy to several courses of action Mr. Presley’s “aide-de-camps” are planning for the very near future. A”game” is being played here, and sitting at the table dealing the cards is a man whose wealth is estimated at 600 million dollars. We residents of Giles County oughta’ deal ourselves in , and make a strenuous effort to play our cards just exactly right. At stake is the resurgence of the local economy, which all experts agree is in dire need of re-vitalization. I have this plan…
ChapterXIII
The immensity of this charade that’s been going on for 10 years is unequalled in the annals of human history. ..completely defies comprehension. Ours is a crowded, prying world with little or no privacy remaining, thus making it utterly incredible that a farce of such vast scope could go undetected for a decade. Maybe more amazing things have happened, but I’d be hard pressed to say what they might be. This thing ranks right up there with pyramid building , superconductors, spontaneous combustion, and even the common cold! I find it very strange that at least one computer-whiz hasn’t consulted his hi-tech devices, studied the readout, discovered what’s happening, scheduled a news conference and announced to a stunned world that Elvis Presley is hale and hearty, alive and well. “Elvis, seems your decision to go underground and become a mole has worked to perfection. But I foresee a snag just ahead, one that will surely throw a monkey-wrench into your scheme. I don’t mean to butt into the financial affairs of any person, but old buddy, one aspect here I don’t understand. Your last will and testimony bequeathed all your cash to daughter Lisa Marie, meaning she’s gonna’ be one rich little girl on reaching her twenty-fifth birthday. How are y’all gonna’ survive up here on Sugar Run once she gets her greasy paws on yer dough? You and Red maybe gonna’ raise cabbage?” The Tupelo lad literally flew into a rage, his irateness letting me know I’d touched a real, real sore spot. I mean, awfully tender! ‘From the time that girl was a tot I warned her to steer clear of cotton-pickin’ guitar pickers (Danny Keough). To make matters even worse she selected one who belongs to the Church of Scientology. The worst two evils in the world, and my little girl has fallen victim!” I had considerable difficulty understanding his statement and interrupted the tirade with: “Durned if guitars ain’t been pretty good to you, Elvis.” “Shut your mouth,” he yelled, glancing over to where Red West stood. The threat was a veiled one, but all too clear. I zipped… and listened. “Well, have I got news for that pair of lovebirds. I’ll end this sham one month before Lisa Marie turns twenty-five. Nobody, especially a triflin’ no good son-in-law , is gonna’ get their mitts on my dough. That goldbricker will earn my Lisa a living by other means, else I’ll turn Red loose on him ( Mister Danny Keough, please take note ) Elvis and I discussed a few more items, and then I announced: “Well gentlemen, I really must be getting along.” Turning to leave, I looked back to add: “Been nice meetin’ y’all, and have a nice one.” “One last thing,” said the man who has caused millions of women to swoon and experience spells of fainting. “I’d sure appreciate it if you’d remain silent about my presence here. As a matter of fact, I'm’offering ten million dollars for that silence.” “Aw hell, Elvis. I’ve never been one to take advantage of my fellowman . Five million bucks will keep my lips sealed forever.” “We’ve made a deal,”he remarked. I began my trek down the mountain and didn’t look back. In September I received a check for 100,000 dollars, the first of 50 monthly installments of that amount. I certainly don’t wish to jeopardize my incoming mail by pinpointing the exact location I visited on Sugar Run Mountain. I’m not even gonna’ say anything about goin’ up there… The End M. L. Wilkinson August, 1988 |
