Elvis and Ginger: Elvis Presley's Fiancée and Last Love Finally Tells Her Story (3 page)

By the early 1960s, my family was living in a three-bedroom, one-bathroom house in one of the new suburbs springing up around Memphis. Our home was half a block down the road from a cotton field that a farmer and his mule plowed from time to time, a remnant from the Old South. When the postwar boom hit, part of the field was paved and a gas station was erected there as modernization swept across Memphis, eventually surrounding our home with malls and fast-food restaurants.

My parents were hardworking, everyday people. My father had retired from the army and was managing a local department store. My mother worked up the street from our home, managing a stamp store. My siblings and I were baptized, and our parents did their best to raise us with good morals and values.

During my childhood and early teens, as I was learning to read and write and discovered a love of art, Elvis’s celebrity continued to skyrocket. He made music and movies, got married, and had a child. On occasion, when relatives visited us in Memphis, they wanted to see Graceland. We accommodated them and rode along with a security guard in a striped, canopied pink jeep—renowned at the estate—up Graceland’s driveway and back. It was a small tour of the estate, usually offered when Elvis was out of town.

Tomboyish, I roller-skated, rode horses, and clambered up trees. I often climbed on my brother’s motorcycle, too, pretending to ride it. Though our parents worried, occasionally Mike would take me out for a short spin and I would be thrilled.

My big brother’s love for motorcycles quickly became my own obsession. When I was fourteen, I pestered my father to purchase a minibike for me. My parents were apprehensive, having had enough safety concerns with my brother riding motorcycles, but my father gave in and I got my minibike. I continued to love motorcycles, and years later, I would eventually get my own.

Art, however, was my biggest passion. I was constantly drawing and painting, and I revered my brother, Mike, a wonderful artist who had begun taking art classes in college. I had an inspirational art teacher in high school named Mrs. Murphy who usually dressed in purple. She wore purple eyeglasses and carried a purple cane. Even her silvery white hair seemed to have a purple hue. Art was an easy way for me to express myself, and by my teens I was thinking about how to turn my passion into a career.

I also loved to sing. Pretending my hairbrush was a microphone, I’d dress up in one of my mother’s old skirts and croon along with various records. This wasn’t surprising to anyone because music was central to our home life. My mother was a self-taught musician who could play piano, guitar, and mandolin. Her father had been the minister of a small church in Arkansas, and having been spiritually influenced by both parents, she usually played gospel hymns on our piano.

My mom enjoyed a variety of music, from classical to gospel, and when she was home you’d hear the voices of Dean Martin, Bing Crosby, Engelbert Humperdinck, Tom Jones, and yes, Elvis, resonating from the stereo in our living room. Her love of music rubbed off on us. Terry became interested in the piano and began taking lessons, practicing fervently. At thirteen, I started taking vocal lessons. I could play piano a little bit by ear and occasionally fooled around on a big red guitar I’d been given, but usually when I wanted to sing, I’d pester Terry to accompany me on the piano. Despite the fact that our parents weren’t wealthy and had four children to feed and clothe, they had generously found the money for music lessons when we expressed our interest.

Whenever my mother was playing the piano, I’d wander in and stand behind her to sing. My father and sisters would occasionally join in, making those moments some of my fondest memories. When answering machines later came out, my mother, sisters, and I recorded a singing message in harmony on a whim. Friends claimed we sounded just like the Andrews Sisters.

As much as I enjoyed singing, I was too self-conscious and concerned about what others thought to sing in public. I made my family look the other way when I practiced and even asked them not to come to my recitals. I continued voice lessons through high school, then stopped, unable to overcome this great shyness. I decided it would be all right to let this particular passion of mine remain a childhood fantasy, safely tucked away.

Despite my tomboyish inclinations, my sister Terry and I used to cut out pictures of models we liked from
McCall’s
magazine and the Sears catalog, using them like paper dolls. As a teenager, I thought, “Wow, being a model sounds so cool.”

At sixteen, I finally saw my first live fashion model, and caught a glimpse of the world beyond Memphis when I tagged along with Rosemary and her girlfriend to Lowenstein Department Store downtown to watch auditions for a pageant called “Model of the Year.” The pageant was put on by Stewart Cowley, the owner of a New York modeling agency.

As I stood among the crowd gathered to view the entrants, I became fascinated by the sight of a female model seated beside Mr. Cowley, helping him interview contestants. This girl was rail thin and she’d cut her black hair very short. In my mind, she represented everything I thought a New York City model must be.

Looking about the room, Mr. Cowley stood up at one point and walked our way. He approached me and asked, “Why aren’t you in the contest?” Offering me an entry form, he returned to his table.

I began filling out the form, but my hand was shaking. I was excited but unprepared for this. Rosemary pressed me to personally hand the form back to Mr. Cowley and said, “Make sure you smile.” She had more confidence in me than I did. I returned the form but, upon seeing my age, Mr. Cowley asked me to come back in a few years, for eighteen was the eligible age to enter.

A few weeks later, through friends, I modeled some clothing alongside two other girls during a brief segment of the show
Talent Party
, which showcased bands. My interest in modeling had outweighed any fears. Someone saw me on the show, and not long afterward, I was contacted and hired to work in a hometown television commercial. I also held two part-time jobs after school, working at a restaurant on weekends and decorating the windows of a dress shop. I viewed the latter as an apprenticeship and a stepping-stone in the artistic field.

My interest in art continued throughout high school, and I began entering my paintings into local art competitions, even winning some awards. I graduated in the spring of 1974 with scholarship money to put toward a college that fall. I chose the Memphis Academy of Art, a small private college of art and design. As I started classes, I gave up my job at the restaurant but continued working part-time at the dress shop.

I was one of the younger students in my classes; between my drawing, sculpting, and pottery courses, I felt out of my depth and slightly overwhelmed. Although my teachers, friends, and family told me I had talent and I believed it on some level, the academy’s curriculum proved to be too intense for me. Wanting to slow down and figure out my future one step at a time, I decided to take a sabbatical from the art academy after my first year. I hoped to find a different path that could lead to a future art-related career.

In the spring of 1975, Terry saw an ad for the Miss Memphis pageant. Pageants were prominent events in the South, and she decided to enter, winning first runner-up. Finding it challenging and fun, by the end of that year she began encouraging me to enter the Miss Tennessee Universe pageant. I wasn’t a competitive person, but I could definitely see how competing could help me overcome my shyness. So, with nothing to lose, in the beginning of 1976 I took the plunge. The title went to the sister of the pageant’s executive director and I placed first runner-up.

In February 1976, my family moved into a larger home on a nice corner lot in east Memphis. My father still managed a local department store and my mother had been working for the Internal Revenue Service. My brother, now a firefighter, lived close by with his wife and two daughters, while my sisters and I still lived at home. Rosemary worked in sales, Terry attended Memphis State University, and I did extra work at the dress shop while tending to the store’s windows.

My parents’ relationship had not been at its best the past few years. My mother had applied for a divorce twice in 1974, but dismissed it both times, hoping to work things out. When my parents purchased our new home, my siblings and I wanted to believe it was the beginning of a brighter future for them.

In the spring, Terry entered Miss Memphis again and won. This led her to the Miss Tennessee pageant in June, and our family proudly watched as she was crowned Miss Tennessee of 1976. The pageants had been exciting, and with my sisters encouraging me, I entered a few more local ones around the same time, winning Miss Traffic Safety and Duchess in our annual Cotton Carnival Ball.

As Miss Tennessee, Terry was invited that summer to a country club in Memphis, where she got free tickets to see Elvis perform at our local Mid-South Coliseum on July 5. Due to official obligations elsewhere, she was unable to go to the concert, so she gave the tickets to my mother, Rosemary, and me. Little did my family or I know that, in the very near future, Terry’s title would open the door to Graceland, leading me straight into Elvis’s life.

When July 5 rolled around, I was thrilled to see Elvis perform for the first time. I didn’t personally own any Elvis albums, but my mother had his gospel and Christmas ones, and my brother, Mike, owned a few of Elvis’s Sun label 45s. I enjoyed a variety of music, from classical to rock ’n’ roll, and some of my favorite bands at the time were Fleetwood Mac and Led Zeppelin, and the singer Elton John.

Our seats weren’t too close to the stage, but as Elvis entered and the cameras began flashing, I was completely spellbound. The man whose voice I’d grown up hearing all my life was suddenly right there in front of me, flesh-and-blood and very real! It was wonderful to hear him sing the songs that I’d heard before only on television and the radio.

His hair was longer and he looked a little heavier than in his earlier years, but I was captivated by the way Elvis strutted onto the stage dressed in a white jumpsuit with an Egyptian bird design, blue silk puff sleeves, and a matching belt with chains hanging from his waist.

That summer night in 1976, the crowd was a mix of middle-aged adults, teens, and children. Elvis put on a great show and at one point that night, he told the audience, “The first record that I did here in Memphis, ya know, was ‘That’s All Right (Mama),’ and so forth and they . . . had a couple of people say well you can’t do that anymore. You, by God, watch me!”

He went full force into the song then and proved them wrong. My mother, sister, and I were three out of thousands that night, captivated by a show that unfortunately would turn out to be Elvis’s last hometown performance.

In early September 1976, Terry went to Atlantic City, New Jersey, to represent the state of Tennessee in the Miss America pageant. I was able to work around my job at the dress shop and go with my family to New Jersey to support her.

Terry was an extremely gifted pianist whose many hours of disciplined practice had gotten her far. On one of the preliminary nights, she won all three honors in the swimsuit, talent, and evening gown competition. Although the Miss America crown wouldn’t be hers that year, she was always a winner in my eyes.

Before going to New Jersey, I had entered and won Miss Mid-South Fair, a huge two-week event that I looked forward to every year, when it came to Memphis at the end of September.

A little over a week after returning from New Jersey, the Mid-South Fair began and I attended it each day as the official hostess. As usual, it was a lot of fun, but before I knew it, the fair was over and so was the month of October.

A typical weekend night in Memphis usually found my sisters and me out to dinner, the movies, or socializing with friends. On the evening of Friday, November 19, 1976, however, all three of us were at home. We were sitting in the den with Larry, a young man I’d been seeing, when the phone rang. Our mother answered it in the kitchen, then entered the den to say that George Klein was calling for Terry.

My sisters and I exchanged curious looks. George was a well-known local disc jockey and television personality. Last, but certainly not least, he was also a longtime friend of Elvis Presley’s.

Terry picked up the receiver in the kitchen. Meanwhile, our mother, looking slightly stunned, reported that George had told her Elvis had been dating around and would like to meet the new Miss Tennessee. He was inviting Terry to Graceland!

It certainly wasn’t your everyday phone call. Having seen Graceland only from the outside made it all the more surreal. Rosemary and I scurried into the kitchen to unashamedly eavesdrop on Terry’s conversation.

Terry may have been Miss Tennessee, but the idea of a “date” with Elvis was unimaginable to my sisters and me. That only happened in the movies! Terry had also been dating someone since high school, so upon hearing her accept the invitation, we knew she had done so for the same reason we would have: She was eager to meet Elvis in person and get a peek inside Graceland.

The three of us were very close, and knowing Terry would feel uneasy about going alone, Rosemary brought up the possibility of the two of us accompanying her. As exciting as it sounded, I didn’t feel comfortable with this idea because we hadn’t been invited.

Before I could protest, however, Rosemary quickly approached Terry while she was still on the phone and whispered, “Ask George if Ginger and I can come!”

Terry paused for a second—she knew this wasn’t proper, but she was our sister, and we always looked out for each other, so she went ahead and asked. Then, lowering the receiver from her ear, she told us George had sounded a bit hesitant and put her on hold while he checked. Now we were embarrassed.

When George came back on the line, however, much to our relief, Terry nodded yes and Rosemary and I went to tell our mother and Larry. Larry wasn’t too keen about me going to Graceland, but seeing how excited we all were, he said, “I don’t blame you for wanting to go,” and left.

When Terry finally hung up the phone and joined us back in the den, she said Elvis had wanted to send a car for us, but she’d told him she would drive. George had asked what car we would be in so he could tell the guard at the front gates to watch for us.

Our appointed time to be at Graceland was 11
P.M.
We began getting ready, feeling enthusiastic but nervous. Meeting Elvis plus touring the inside of Graceland meant we were in for a double treat!

As we chatted and touched up our makeup, Terry said, “I’m glad you and Rosemary are going.” A few moments later, she reflected on George’s hesitancy and having to check about it. “I really hope it’s all right you’re coming with me.”

Feeling uneasy about it myself and not wanting Terry to feel worried, I walked away and stopped getting ready. Rosemary soon noticed and told me, “George said it was fine.” Then, half-joking, she added, “The worst Elvis can do is ask us to leave.”

She was right, so I finished getting dressed. By 10:30 we were saying good-bye to our parents and excitedly heading out the door.

Graceland was a little less than half an hour from our home. We were so keyed up, we chatted all the way over. What once had been a section of Highway 51 South was now Elvis Presley Boulevard; as we turned onto it, the three of us grew quieter. The fieldstone wall surrounding Graceland soon came into view and, as we entered the turning lane, blinker flashing, the wrought-iron gates with the image of Elvis holding a guitar slowly began to open. It was an incredible feeling, knowing this was happening just for us!

Terry gave her name at the guardhouse. The gates swung closed behind us as we started up the long driveway, eventually stopping just shy of Graceland’s lit front porch. We sat in the car for a few moments, unsure of what to do next. Would someone come out to get us? Should we park here or around back?

A security guard soon emerged from the darkness and approached the driver’s side of the car. Terry lowered her window and asked, “What should we do?”

Smiling, the guard replied, “Try knocking on the front door.”

My sisters and I climbed out of the car, laughing at ourselves and the guard’s comment as our nerves got the better of us. Passing between two huge lion statues, we jokingly chanted, “Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!” in an effort to relax.

We walked up the stone steps to the front porch where Rosemary, always the bravest among us, pressed the doorbell beside the green wrought-iron front door. Expecting Elvis to appear at any moment, my earlier concerns about showing up uninvited resurfaced. I grew increasingly anxious, wondering, “What if Elvis really doesn’t want Rosemary and me here?”

I hung back, letting Rosemary and Terry wait at the door. When it opened, George Klein greeted us, which surprised me. Naive as this may seem, because this was Elvis’s house, I expected him to answer the door.

George was the same age as Elvis, forty-one, and a friendly guy with black hair. It had been his
Talent Party
show that I once briefly modeled on. I didn’t say anything about this, because I didn’t think he would remember.

He introduced himself and then beckoned for us to follow him. Feeling like Alice stepping through the looking glass, I took a deep breath and entered Graceland for the first time.

My feet sank into thick, red shag carpet, which extended into the foyer and up a staircase with a gold-and-white banister and railings. George invited us into the dining room. Passing beneath an enormous, ornate crystal chandelier, I glanced to the right and saw a room decorated all in red with French provincial furniture. Peacock stained-glass windows were on either side of the entrance to a music room dominated by a black baby grand piano. Many people have referred to this red décor as gaudy and it would eventually be changed. But, gaudy or not, it impressed me at the time, and it’s still one of my most lasting memories of Graceland.

To my left, I heard voices. I turned and saw some people seated in red, silver-studded, high-backed chairs around a mirrored dining table. Cigar smoke curled into the air as we approached. Staring at the chair at the end of the table, its back facing us, I excitedly thought,
This has to be Elvis!
and slowed my steps, almost holding my breath.

I was wrong. George introduced the chair’s occupant as GeeGee Gambill. His wife, Elvis’s cousin Patsy Presley, was there, too, along with another cousin, Billy Smith, and Billy’s wife, Jo. They were playing cards, the men smoking cigars, all of them casually dressed in jeans and T-shirts or blouses.

Everyone greeted us cordially. I couldn’t tell by their reaction whether they had been expecting us or knew who we were, but I did get the sense that they were sizing us up as they gave us quick, up-and-down appraising looks. The three of us had dressed nicely to meet Elvis, but hadn’t put a lot of thought into overly trying to impress anyone.

George then led us through the kitchen. Its floor was covered in wall-to-wall carpet in a multicolor patchwork design. I had never seen carpeting in a kitchen, but this was Elvis’s home, so I figured there would be much I had never seen before. The room looked warm, with dark brown cabinets and stained-glass lamps hanging from the ceiling. The kitchen had a breakfast nook and opened into a den.

“This is the Jungle Room,” George announced, gesturing around the den as he paused to answer a green phone buzzing on a nearby table. As I watched George listen to someone on the phone, I heard laughter echoing from the dining room and it struck me how comfortable everyone was in Elvis’s home.

I began to relax a little and gazed around the room. The Jungle Room was far from your typical den. I noticed water trickling down the face of a stone-covered back wall, and the furniture featured carved animal heads and engravings.

George hung up the phone. “Can you please wait right here?” he asked. “Elvis isn’t ready yet. He’s practicing karate.” Then he walked away, leaving the three of us alone in the room.

It seemed a little odd that Elvis would invite us here at a certain time and not be ready. Still, I wasn’t complaining. I was excited just to be seeing inside Graceland.

I sat on a faux-fur chair with wooden arms carved to look like Asian dragon heads. Rosemary and Terry chose a matching couch. In front of it was a huge coffee table made of lacquered wood. Statues of jungle animals were placed randomly about the room; a large mirror framed with feathers was hanging on a side wall; and the green carpet was, surprisingly, on parts of the ceiling as well as the floor.

After a few minutes, a maid entered and offered us a drink. We asked for sodas and, when she left, eased our tension by taking our mirrored compacts out from our purses, opening them, and jokingly pretending to primp.

Suddenly, I noticed cameras mounted on the walls near the ceiling. The cameras seemed to be aimed our way! I quickly closed my compact and pointed them out to my sisters. Mortified, I wondered if we were being watched.

The maid returned with our drinks and we sat quietly, now cautious of every move we made.

Considering the late hour, I was surprised that Graceland was so active. Phones periodically buzzed (they did not ring) and various people came and went. At one point, a young man in his twenties, with long blond hair, stepped into the Jungle Room and casually introduced himself as Elvis’s brother, Ricky Stanley.

Brother?
I was puzzled. I didn’t know Elvis had any siblings. Later, I learned that Ricky was Elvis’s stepbrother; his mother, Dee, had married Elvis’s father, Vernon, after Gladys Presley died. We introduced ourselves and found out that Ricky worked as an aide to Elvis.

Not long afterward, a short, dark-haired man in his forties appeared and introduced himself as Charlie Hodge. With a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other, he began telling off-color jokes, all the while leaning as if balancing on the deck of a heeling ship. If Elvis was considered the King of Rock and Roll, I thought Charlie would certainly qualify as his court jester. I wondered if he’d been sent expressly to entertain us. As I discovered after I started seeing Elvis, Charlie sang harmony with Elvis and assisted him onstage during his shows.

George finally returned. “Elvis is still practicing karate,” he said. “Would you like to see downstairs?”

Thinking we were downstairs, I was surprised to follow him down a staircase at the back of the den. We entered a colorful room with vibrantly patterned fabric in blue, red, and yellow lining its walls and ceiling. Pieces of furniture were upholstered in matching material. An electric organ stood against one wall, and a billiard table sat in the middle of the room beneath two large Tiffany-style lamps suspended from the ceiling.

George then took us into another room he called the TV Room. I felt immediately disoriented as we entered this room, because it was filled with mirrors: Mirrors covered the ceiling, framed the fireplace, and covered a square coffee table. What looked to be small mirrors were shining in the embroidered fabric of yellow-and-white pillows scattered across a large navy sectional sofa. Yellow leather stools were pulled up to the bar, and three television sets had been built into a side wall.

A huge white lightning bolt inside navy and yellow clouds had been painted above the couch. George explained that Elvis had a motto,
TCB
, which stood for
taking care of business
. The lightning bolt was a symbol for
taking care of business lightning fast
.

A phone began to buzz in the room. George answered it, listened, then hung up, saying we were going upstairs next, to Elvis’s daughter’s room.

Upstairs?
I couldn’t believe it! Our tour had helped me calm down, but now my nerves began to hum again. I knew Elvis had to be on the top floor because we’d pretty much covered the entire downstairs. The time had come, I thought: We were finally going to meet him!