All I can say is . . . I have to put this experience in a book. (VBG)
Jack was great in his Elvis outfits–he sang very well and the concert was a lot of fun. What fascinated me was the audience–such a wide array of fans, both for Elvis and for Jack in particular. I was expecting mostly older people–after all, Elvis was popular in my mother’s generation. Even my hubby is a post-Elvis guy, and he’s eight years older than me. But yes, there were older people, but the Monkeys, Metallica, and Sesame Street fans were also represented. Everyone had a grand time.
One of the things that tickled us most was Jack’s practice–based on Elvis’s habit–of handing out sweat-soaked scarves to the audience. Jack had at least a hundred scarves prepared, and at several places during the concert he invited folks down to get one. His helper–a guy in black he kept referring to as “Fonzie,” would drape the scarf around Jack’s neck, then Jack would rip it off and hand it to the reaching audience members. Jack’s scarves weren’t exactly sweat-soaked, but nary a scarf went out unless it had been around his neck first.
I enjoyed the music, but I also enjoyed sitting back and watching all the bobbing heads around me–including the heads of a couple of other Elvi in the audience.
Jack and I went to high school together, and he used to call me “Well Well.” (My maiden name is Elwell). In the middle of his concert, between songs, he calls out, “Well Well, are you here?”
“I’m here,” I holler back.
“I can’t see you,” says Jack. (The lights). “So you’ve got the advantage–and that’s the first time.”
“Not hardly,” I yell back.
Tee hee. I wasn’t sure he remembered all those debates we used to have in the school bus. Then again, maybe he did.