Lisa Marie Presley and I had no relationship whatsoever. Let’s get that straight at the beginning. Now, let’s talk about her father.

I listened to a lot of Elvis Presley when I was in my last years of high school, and liked him a lot. Not visually – not sure I ever “saw” him then. Just the music. He was continually on the radio (I listened mainly to KWK, KXOK, WIL) in St. Louis), and I owned a couple of his albums. After high school, even though I hardly ever listened to rock and roll or the like, I always stopped and listened when a Presley record was on.

Move ahead 40 years. (That isn’t to today, but to the year 2000) The entire family went to Memphis to help my great aunt Rose celebrate her 100th birthday. She was my mother’s mother’s younger sister, and she thoroughly enjoyed her party, and left this world only days later.

While we were in Memphis, the family wanted to go to Graceland. I am not sure if I wanted to go, was indifferent, or didn’t want to go at all. But I know everyone else did. I was surprised to find it in a part of Memphis that was not where all the wealthy people seemed to live, and that it was a house that didn’t seem to be in a residential area at all.

It was big house, built in the 1930s, part of a 500 acre farm, which explains why it isn’t surrounded by other houses. I don’t know if the 500 acres still belong to Graceland, but I know that Presley bought it in 1957 (when he was in his early 20s) and remodeled it. Upon entering the house, I quickly realized that Presley (to me) had no taste as a decorator. It was such a stylized, 1950s house. “Modern” furniture, tiger rug, no patterns, simple and ugly. That’s how I remembered it. And it freaked me out, completely. And I never freak out.

I couldn’t imagine Elvis Presley, of whom I had a very set image, living in such a horrid place. Then, I looked at all the mannequins wearing Elvis costumes, and they seemed so stylized and old fashioned that, while I could imagine him in the costumes, I assumed he felt stupid wearing them. And there were so many, one sillier than the next.

And then I saw all the “gold” records, and thought they were fine as awards, but awful as decoration. Outside by the pool, I saw Elvis’ grave, next to his parents, with tons and tons of tourists traipsing by them. I couldn’t imagine a worse place to be buried (I understand that is where Lisa Marie is going to wind up).

There were tourists all around. Elvis could not have envisaged or wanted this. I was sure of that

I had to sit down. I couldn’t really look at anything. Most of the house I rushed through. I felt physically sick. And mentally disturbed. No place has ever affected me that way. I HATED IT.

No one else that I have ever talked to had that reaction. I don’t know why it hit me like it did. Heartbreak Hotel? No. But heartbreak something for sure.