I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing the day Elvis Presley died.
I had just turned 10 years old and was riding with my mother in her 1975 Olds Cutlass Supreme. I remember it well. It was a beautiful shade of green and had a white landau top.
We were on our way to the mall. I can’t remember exactly why, but I’m pretty sure it involved shopping and eating out — which was our absolute favorite thing to do.
We were driving down Highway 231 and listening to the radio when, right in the middle of a song, the announcer broke in with a special news bulletin: Elvis Presley had died.
We were shocked! We had no idea he was ill or that he had serious health problems.
Which he did.
We’d just seen one of his television specials not that long ago. He looked fine.
And he was only 42 years of age! The older I get the younger that seems.
We thought Elvis would be around for many years to come.
But on August 16, 1977 he died. It was one of the few times in my life that I remember seeing my mother cry.
People around the world mourned his loss.
The funeral occurred just two days later on August 18, 1977. It was held in his sprawling mansion, called “Graceland”. Just two hundred people were allowed to attend his funeral but among that number were many famous recording artists, sports figures and movie stars.
John Wayne was there. Burt Reynolds was there. So was Ann-Margaret and Caroline Kennedy and Sammy Davis, Jr.
A day earlier some 80,000 people had lined Elvis Presley Boulevard in Memphis, Tennessee to watch the funeral procession go by on its way to Graceland. There were so many people that President Jimmy Carter sent 300 National Guard troops to help local and state police keep order.
Seven weeks after his death, Elvis’ last concert was rebroadcast on CBS and, at that time, it was the most-watched television program in history.
Elvis had a big influence on my life.
I loved his music and movies.
In first grade I used to serenade the high school girls on the bus ride home by standing in the aisle and belting out — “You ain’t nothing but a hound dog! Cry-ing all the time.” And my impromptu concert would always end with a touching rendition of “Love Me Tender”. I dare say that I wowed my audience — just like the king!
Thank you, very much.
I also owe my very name to Elvis.
My middle name is Scott, but my first name is Richard. I don’t mind it so much now but as a kid I never liked it.
One Saturday afternoon when I was in third grade, I was watching one of Elvis’ movies called “Clambake”. He played a character by the name of Scott Heyward.
The moment I heard him introduce himself as “Scott”, I thought: “That’s my name! Elvis has my name!”
I went back to school on Monday and refused to answer roll, do any work or talk to anyone — unless they called me “Scott”.
Of course, I got sent to the principal’s office. Every day.
And every day I got a paddling.
But I stuck to my guns!
On Friday morning, they brought my mother in and she settled the matter: “If he wants to be called Scott, let him be called Scott!”
I have been known as Scott ever since! I can honestly say that Elvis changed my life.
Many years ago a group of us were sitting at a restaurant on a Wednesday night after church. I’m not sure why, but for some reason we started swapping “Elvis stories”. What struck me is that everybody had one.
Literally — every one at the table had some story about how Elvis had touched their life or influenced their life in some way.
It was powerful! And maybe you have a story like that. Some day I’d like to hear it.
But I have to tell you that years later I was introduced to a man who had an even bigger influence on my life.
He was born in a small town in Israel called Bethlehem but grew up 70 miles away in Nazareth. He was trained to be a carpenter but, at the age of 30, became an itinerant preacher, traveling through the villages and towns of Galilee.
His ministry lasted just three years yet it rocked the world. And His life and teachings continue to shape our world to this day.
His name was Jesus.
All of us who are Christians have a “Jesus story”. That is, a story of how we came to know Him and of how He changed our lives and influenced us for good.
We need to share that story! We must not only share the gospel story which we read about in the New Testament, but our story.
It is our testimony. And personal testimonies are powerful!
In Luke 8, Jesus healed a demon-possessed man. He was so overjoyed that he wanted to leave everything and travel with Jesus and His disciples. But Jesus said unto him: “Return home and tell how much God has done for you” (Luke 8:39a). And Luke tells us, “So the man went away and told all over town how much Jesus had done for him” (Luke :839b).
We must do the same.
Let me urge you to tell the world your story. Tell everyone who will listen all that Jesus Christ has done for you!
If you do, then one day they will have a “Jesus story”, too.