Margrethe Ahlschwede (margahls@utm.edu) from 192.239.150.210 at 09/29/99 08:08AM
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    In 8th grade when I heard "Blue Suede Shoes" and "Heartbreak Hotel" during lunch hours in the playroom of Northeast High School in Lincoln, NE, I had no idea I was listening to a sound of the south. All I knew was what my best friend Lonie said, “This is Elvis Presley. He’s famous.” In that dim room with the concrete floor, the smell of chlorine wafting over from the pool across the hall every time the door to the dressing room opened and closed, our teachers mingling and monitoring among us, I only knew the beat was strong and the sound of that voice, luscious. A long time later, never having expected to, I moved to the Mid-South, and several years after that made the pilgrimage to Graceland. The house was much smaller than I had expected, the jungle room not nearly as garish as I had imagined. Outside, the sun blew hot and I stayed a long time watching people circle the gravesites, amazed all over again at where I was, at the truth from 8th grade. A family member took a picture of me there and it hangs on our refrigerator.