It’s hard to imagine Elvis Presley as a 75 year old man. When he appeared on the black and white TV in my parents’ little den, as they called it, I screamed. I didn’t like him all that much, but all the other girls my age in Ed Sullivan’s audience were screaming and it seemed like the thing to do, even though the only people watching him at our house were me and my parents. They thought I was crazy. My mother said it was a travesty that people like that made so much more money than my father, a physicist, and that they shouldn’t show people’s hips moving like that on television.
I only have one Elvis record, and since it’s not in mint condition (who would ever have an Elvis Presley record in mint condition in the first place?) it’s not worth much. But I have a little model of the Norden bombsight, and though I don’t much like the idea of bombs, I like to think my father’s role in ending the war is worth more than Elvis Presley ever made.