Elvis Presley and the White Suit Version

I think you and I can agree that this world needs a heap of inspiration, what with Covid, threats of nuclear war, inflation, crazy gas prices, and other rot. It needs to be reminded that love and goodness exist, and that, together, people are powerful enough to overcome anything that’s thrown their way.

My name is Rutherford Jackson, and I’m fixing to scratch that itch for you. In fact, I’m going to tell you something that I’m not supposed to tell anyone. It’s a true secret. But we need truth right about now, so I’m going to spill it, and it won’t be a secret no more. Whether you believe me or not, I don't mind. I’m okay with whatever you decide.

I’m sure you’ve heard about the fear and protests going on around the country. Heck, around the world! I decided that I just couldn’t sit still anymore. So, when a friend opened the door to make some noise, I decided I would. I became a certified member of The White Suit Version.

The White Suit Version is a group of people fighting to make the dreams of Martin Luther King, Jr., Bobby Kennedy, and Elvis Presley come true. It’s called The White Suit Version because of the song Elvis used as the finale of his 1968 Christmas special while dressed in a double-breasted white suit. Man, he looked sharp.

What? You've never heard If I Can Dream sung by Elvis Presley? Well, make damned sure you listen to the white suit version – the only version that matters. Elvis recorded it in June 1968, two months after Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated and shortly after Robert Kennedy was murdered. It’s said that Elvis was so torn up by the going’s on of the world that he begged composer Earl Brown to write something that expressed both his pain and hope. This magical song was born. It’s a song full of tears – tears of sorrow and tears of promise.

My friend, Charlie Suggs, came to me about a year ago with his invitation to join The White Suit Version. I told him that he probably meant to invite Mama, because, “Charlie, man, I ain’t no Elvis fan.” He laughed and asked if I had ever seen the white suit version of If I Can Dream. Of course, I had not. Fifteen minutes later, in front of my gaming computer, I cried as the song came to its end. All Charlie could say was, “I told you so! I told you, bro!”

I thought about my mama. She was an Elvis fan, true blue. She had seen him in concert in Fayetteville, North Carolina, the year before he died, and would have seen him the following year, if he’d lived. I remember well the story she told about that concert.

Mama was angry that her parents were forcing her to attend the Elvis concert that year. It was August 1976, she was 13 years old, and Elvis was their obsession, not hers. She didn’t want to go, but the ticket was paid for. At the auditorium, Mama was surprised that her parents had managed to get seats on the floor level in front of the stage. She counted nine rows from the stage’s edge. Wow.

Still, she sulked in her seat. Soon, the famous Elvis trumpet music began and spotlights slung around the auditorium in a frenzy. Excitement ran through her bones like pure electricity. Still, she reminded herself – she didn’t want to be there. Suddenly, Elvis came on stage in a white jumpsuit, with a long scarf draped around his neck, the ends falling about his thighs. He was not the Elvis of the movies – he was bloated and somewhat chubby. Still, you could see that he was Elvis – the King.

The audience behaved as if they were one bulbous human being, rising to their feet in unison, screaming. When everyone around her jumped on top of their chairs to be closer to him, so did she. Mama craned her neck to get a better glimpse of him and was shocked when she noticed that trembling chills ravaged her body. Her hands touched her face in awe as she realized that buckets of tears were streaming down her cheeks, dripping off her chin like two little creeks. It was Elvis. My God. Elvis.

One year later, Mama was 14 years old and on vacation in the Blue Ridge Mountains with her family. As majestic as the mountains were, the conversation kept drifting back to the family’s excitement for their second Elvis concert in Fayetteville, scheduled just a few weeks away on August 25, 1977. At the end of last year’s first concert, just before he exited the stage, Elvis had announced, “Thank you very much. I will come back here. I promise you, I’ll be back. Thank you.” He kept his word.

After a late lunch and with plans to drive to Grandfather Mountain, Mama and her family climbed back into the car. Pops turned on the radio. No matter what station he turned it to, an Elvis song was playing. Pops and Nanny just looked at each other, saying “Oh, no” over and over. Nanny put her hand over her mouth.

Mama screamed, “What? What’s wrong?”

Suddenly, the disc jockey’s forlorn voice poured like molten lava, melting everyone's brains: “If you haven’t heard, Elvis Presley died earlier today. Elvis Presley, the King of Rock and Roll, is dead.” Pops slowly turned the car around to head back home. There would be no more vacation. Elvis was dead. Muffled sobs accompanied the radio soundtrack of Elvis’ life for the entire drive home.

Before Charlie showed me the white suit version, I was a mimic of my 13-year-old Mama. He’s your obsession – not mine. But after Charlie, I, too, became a diehard fan. Elvis was so much more than whatever you had thought of him. His voice in that one song was the essence of the hope and prayers of Martin Luther King, Jr. and Bobby Kennedy. It only made sense to join The White Suit Version.

For several months, I dedicated myself to sharing the message of that song. I played the white suit version on my phone for hundreds of people, recruiting as many as I could to join us in an effort to spread the hope for a better land and a warmer sun. Watch Elvis perform the song – you'll understand.

I was filled with pride when Charlie pulled me aside a couple of months ago. “Rutherford, if all our members were as fine as you, we’d have the whole world belonging to us.”

“Well, Charlie, I figure that if Elvis sang that song with everything that he had all the way back in 1968, the least I can do is share his incredible message with as many folks as I can. It’s easy, really. All I have to do is sit back and let Elvis do all the work.”

“Damn straight, Rutherford. Damn straight. I like your style.”

Charlie nodded to some unknown person behind me, and then, everything went black. When I came to, I had a headache from hell. I was confused and more than bit angry, I must tell you. I might have been in an episode of The Twilight Zone, because I found myself sitting in the seat of a train, next to an attractive young woman in a white, double-breasted suit with a red scarf, and I didn't know why.

“You finally awake?”

I mumbled, “What the hell?”

“Hi, Rutherford. I’m Elenor. I guess all your hard work paid off! Now, listen carefully.”

I pulled myself up in the seat and wiped away bits of drool from the corners of my mouth.

“You’ve been chosen to be part of an elite group to represent The White Suit Version in Washington, D.C. We’re going to speak to the House of Representatives about the importance of spreading the hopes and dreams of King, Kennedy, and Elvis by using If I Can Dream as our rallying song. We’re going to remind people that there is enough good to change the world. We aim to play the white suit version for every congressperson in attendance! Then, they will see it, too.”

“What? Where the hell is Charlie?”

“Sadly, Charlie wasn’t chosen for the trip.”

"I'll bet he wasn't." Elenor smiled at that.

I looked down and saw that, while I had been unconscious, someone had also dressed me in a white suit, double-breasted, with a red handkerchief in the pocket. The expression on my face must have told on me, because Elenor couldn't help but laugh. But it was nice. Very nice. Both her laugh and the suit. It was exactly like Elvis' suit in the white suit version.

Curious, I looked around to see about 20 other passengers. They, too, were all dressed in double-breasted white suits, men and women alike. Some had gone the extra mile and dyed their hair black, slicking it back in classic Elvis-style. I see they'd had some notice, unlike me.

A huge man who resembled Elvis more in his plump latter days thrust out a thick arm to welcome me. I tried not to smile when I saw that, in addition to his hair, he had also dyed his thick Duck Dynasty beard pure black. He was loud when he talked, and even louder when he laughed. I took to him instantly.

“Rutherford, let me introduce to you my brother, Mackenzie Blanchard, President and Cofounder of The White Suit Version.”

“I’ve heard many good things about you, Rutherford.”

“I wish I could say the same,” I mumbled as I shook his hand. “Say, why the intrigue? I mean, why did Charlie knock me out like this?”

Elenor answered for him. “I guess he was afraid you wouldn’t come.”

The inside of the train was magical. Seats and walls alike were covered in white linen, all stamped with black and white photos of the King’s face. Bits of red cloth sang out like one of his songs – tucked in a pocket, wrapped around a neck, feathered in a hat.

I got up and mingled, sitting down next to a old woman. I was struck by the pin stuck in her lapel - Elvis' signature in pure gold. Ahead, at the front of the train, hung a perfect miniature replica of the neon sign that was used as the backdrop in Elvis’ 1968 Comeback Special (in red lights, no less).

As my senses returned to normal, something inside me welled up with such pride for this group of people. They were young and old, of many different races, all genders, and different in all sorts of ways. I was proud that Elvis could bring such a diverse group of people together. I wondered if the electricity in the air was anything like the electricity my mama felt when Elvis walked out on stage back in 1976. It seemed like it could be.

Suddenly, Mackenzie appeared underneath those magnificent neon lights.

“Everyone, please take a seat. We’re about to leave this land of ours on an incredible adventure to spread the message of the great dreamers of 1968 – Martin Luther King, Jr., Robert Kennedy, and Elvis Presley. Settle down, now. Settle down. There will be more details when we get there, folks. For now, just enjoy the Elvis Train!”

We whooped and cheered until our faces were red. This was something special. I turned to the stranger next to me.

“How long have you been a member?”

“Oh, I was there at the founding. It was half my idea!” Grinning, I wondered how many times I would hear that line during this trip.

The train jerked, and like magic, Elvis tunes rang out over the train’s speaker system. I thought of my mama’s trip back from the mountains and felt a kinship to her more than I ever had before in my life. I have to tell you, this felt important. It felt right. And it felt like doing more than nothing. I couldn’t wait to get to D.C.

For five hours, I had wonderful conversations with like-minded members. Every now and then, we’d listen to an elderly person spill their account of an Elvis encounter, giving them the same respect that we gave our preachers. Other times, we sang Elvis tunes, talked of the first time we ever watched the white suit version, blew around small speeches that we thought we might repeat to congress folk.

Just after the five-hour mark, Mackenzie, once again, stood under the Elvis neon lights at the front of the car. This time, he was accompanied by four burly men, almost as big as he was. Their faces didn’t have the light-hearted, hopeful appearance as the rest of us. Mackenzie pointed for them to stand to his left and his right, making a definitive line of human flesh. Back in my seat, I glanced at Elenor, whose face had gone pale.

“The White Suit Version will make an impression today that nobody can deny. Our message will, by God, be taken seriously. The world sees Elvis as some hip-thrusting, love-talking, smooth-singing joke. He ain’t no damn joke!” Mackenzie's face was almost as red as his handkerchief.

The whole car whooped, but not with the ferocity and vibrance of the first one. This whoop seemed confused and uncertain. Mackenzie was talking about Elvis the man – not Elvis the vessel who had a message. And what’s more, Mackenzie seemed almost angry.

Mackenzie continued, “No matter what we do or say in Washington, D.C., Congress will never take us seriously. They will never see Elvis for the hero that he was and is. We aim to make them listen. We aim to make them pay attention. We aim to force them to take us seriously. My friends, we have just overtaken the conductor of this train and tied him up like a stuck pig.”

Wild murmurs erupted everywhere. I grabbed the armrests in fear, and Elenor put her hand over mine. She leaned in and whispered, “My God. We have to stop him.”

But Mackenzie had more to say, and his words drained the blood from my face.

“This is now a runaway train, traveling at about 100 miles per hour. She’s supposed to slow down to under 50 miles per hour when we get close to Washington, D.C., but we’re going to make sure that she continues at a high rate of speed until Amtrak forces us to stop by derailing us. The White Suit Version will have more publicity than it’s ever dreamed about. No one will dismiss us after this.”

I glanced at Elenor. “What’s he doing, Elenor?”

“I don’t know! I swear, I don’t know!”

I rubbed my hand across my mouth and figured this was about as anti-Elvis as you could get. I tried to make eye contact with others sitting near me and figured that I could count on a few to help.

“What are you going to do?” Elenor’s left hand was over her heart, like she was cradling a child.

Without giving an answer, I nodded my head to the others and leapt forward to try to get past Mackenzie and his men, into the conductor’s car. The four big guys fell on me like a tsunami. I could see Mackenzie’s smile shine through his black beard as though it was an Elvis spotlight. I didn’t have a clue about how many had rushed behind me to help, but I sensed lots of bodies in the mix. All I knew was that I couldn’t move.

Suddenly, Elenor’s figure slid up to Mackenzie. She was pleading with him and pointing at me. He grabbed his side with one arm and rested his elbow on its thickness, pulling at his beard as he listened to her. Then, Mackenzie turned up his palm and waved twice to indicate that I could get up. The large men released my limbs.

Once free, Elenor grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the conductor’s car in a move so surprising that I almost tripped. She screamed, “NOW!”

I let go and pushed my way through the door, using a metal track gauge to lodge it shut. Then, I turned to make my way forward. Suddenly, a bright light stung my eyes, and I used the back of my hand as a shield to see what was in front of me. There was the shape of a woman with long, blonde hair, and an old man in a velvety seat.

The woman ordered “Sit down, Rutherford.”

There was no tied-up conductor in sight. I was mighty confused, but figured I ought to do what I was told. I found my way to the open seat across from the old man. The woman remained standing.

This time when she spoke, she was gentler. “First, let me say that I’m sorry we had Charlie sedate you for this trip. We couldn’t risk you saying no. You see, Rutherford, we desperately need you. The White Suit Version needs to know they can trust you."

I crossed my legs and shifted uneasily.

She continued, "I'm not going to ask you to promise not to tell anyone what you are about to hear. I don't think anyone would believe you. Not a single soul. No one. So, if I were you, Rutherford, I wouldn’t say a word. You’ll just look like a fool at best or a liar at worst.”

The harsh light vanished as quickly as it had come. I blinked my eyes to get them used to the softer yellow light. I found that I was sitting across from a thin, old man. The face of the woman standing next to him ebbed into focus. I knew her. Well, I recognized her. Who was she? I couldn’t remember.

The old man’s voice was silky and soft, words tumbling out in a mumble. “Do you know who I am?” The woman used the forefingers and thumbs of both her hands to remove large sunglasses from his eyes as though he were a child, setting them down in front of him on the small table that separated us.

It couldn’t be. No. It couldn’t be.

He cracked out the words again, this time in annoyance and with authority. “Do you know who I am?”

“Yes, but you can’t be him.”

“Who?”

“I would know you if you were five years old or five hundred years old. You are Elvis Presley.

“Yes.”

“But, well, you know. You can’t be.”

“Because I’m dead?”

“Yes! And, oh, my God! What about the train?”

He smiled, and it was a smile that I knew – the curl of the lip was unmistakable. It was him.

“There is no runaway train, Rutherford. I just needed you to think there was. I needed to see if my people were right – that you are the soul of my soul. I needed to know.”

“Sir, how can you be alive? How old are you?”

The woman spoke.

“He’s 87 years young, Rutherford. He believes that you can help change the world so that, finally, there might be peace and understanding sometimes. That's all Elvis has ever wanted - for the dreams of Dr. King and Bobby Kennedy to come true, just like he sang about all the way back in 1968. He still believes. He holds out hope that this world will finally change. He wants to see it happen before he passes.”

Old man Elvis tapped the table with his middle finger for emphasis before he began.

“Today, you become the torch to carry the flame. Because I’m an old man, and tired, I’m resigning as the hidden leader of The White Suit Version. You, Rutherford Jackson, will take my place.

But you can shine bright, Mr. Jackson! You won't have to lead from the shadows as I've done. No. You'll carry the hopes and dreams of 1968 to the people of today in broad daylight.

Let people know, in whatever way you can, that it doesn’t matter if Elvis believes in them, or the president, or you, or anyone else. It only matters if they believe in themselves. Remind them of 1968 – of the fallen Dr. King, Bobby Kennedy – of the white suit version – of the message – the hope – the dream – and the sorrow.”

“Sir, no disrespect, but why would anyone listen to me? Why don’t you speak to them? They’d listen to you!”

“In 1968, I sang a song with everything I had in me. I wasn’t much of a talker, but I could sing. So, I did. Now, you do what you can, however you can. Inspire others to inspire others. Each person must sing their song until the whole world is singing. Can you do that, Rutherford?”

“Hell, yes, Boss.” He reached out and shook my hand. It was a strong hand, fingers littered with gold rings. It was the hand of Elvis Presley. Lips curled, once more, into a bashful side-smile that could've only belonged to him.

When old man Elvis waved his finger, a man standing in the shadows came forward and escorted me back through the doors to the Elvis car from whence I'd come. Upon entry, Elenor, Mackenzie, and all the others gave me a standing ovation, and I blushed from it all.

“What happened in there?” Elenor asked, her hand firm on my arm, eyes wide with curiosity.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” I murmured wistfully, laying my head back on the headrest.

Mackenzie walked by and clapped me on the shoulder, leaving his hand there for a moment.

“I knew you’d try to save the train, Rutherford. I just knew it. The White Suit Version has the best people in the world. You can’t love Elvis and not love the world.”

“I hear ya, man. I hear ya.” I was exhausted.

The train began to slow down just as If I Can Dream bellowed over the speakers for the final time that night.

Honestly, I don’t care a whit if you believe me or not – just so long as my Mama does.

***************

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