The King and I

Special Guest Post by Carol Buchanan

Greetings Y’all,

Tomorrow my friend Carol turns EIGHTY-TWO. Last year to celebrate her birthday, I shared a piece she wrote about getting older called Octogenarian Blues. So many people freaked out with joy over that essay that last August, I published another of Carol’s pieces, called Coffee, Tea, or Me, about her life as a young flight attendant—actually stewardess—back in the early sixties. Y’all gobbled up that one, too. So to honor Carol’s latest trip around the sun, today I am sharing still more of her work. This piece is called Elvis. I hope you enjoy it. (I’m positive you will.) And I hope you’ll take moment to wish Carol a Happy Birthday in the comments.

ELVIS

By Carol Buchanan

I was thirteen in 1956, and my father owned a small print shop near downtown Houston. He was a uniquely quirky man—unconventional, fiercely curious, and brilliantly eccentric. Without even trying, he attracted the odd and the extraordinary, turning his shop into a gathering place for Houston’s mid-century fringe personalities. He printed a monthly newsletter for UFO enthusiasts long before MUFON existed, and many of the followers would put on their metaphorical tin foil hats and gather on stools around the printing press sharing stories of their close encounters. My dad was open minded and eager to share, and I was delighted to hang out on a stool in the corner and watch.

One of the regulars was Larry Kane, a popular local DJ, who dropped by weekly to print the station’s Top 40 list. He often brought me stacks of 45 RPM demo records: Bo Diddley, The Everly Brothers, Little Richard, and, of course, the King himself—Elvis.

Elvis entered my pre-pubescent bedroom in the form of an autographed black and white glossy head shot taped to the middle of my sliding closet doors. I wasn’t yet clear on the attraction I felt, but in the sanctuary of my bedroom, I played his records relentlessly on my portable phonograph. I’d slot the tiny yellow plastic adapter into the center of each 45RPM, settling it perfectly over the spindle of the turntable. I wore out the grooves on those little vinyl discs and knew every word to all the lyrics of Heartbreak Hotel, Blue Suede Shoes, I Got a Woman, Hound Dog, Don’t Be Cruel.

That spring, when I heard Elvis was performing at the Houston Coliseum, I begged my dad to take me. I clearly remember the pink and gray circular skirt I wore, decorated with poodles and bulging with freshly starched layers of petticoats. I can still visualize where we sat and still feel the electric charge from the way the crowd erupted the moment he stepped onstage. It was my first live concert, and the first time I witnessed an audience of mostly young girls screaming in delirium, their faces slick with tears, arms flailing as if trying to claw their way toward him. The more Elvis gyrated those hips, the louder they wailed. Just toward the end of his musical foreplay, with the closing lyrics of Love Me Tender, one of those screaming girls passionately tossed her tiny pink panties onto the stage landing perfectly at the feet of the King. I remember my dad and I looking at each other in astonishment and then laughing out loud. This was 1956 and nice girls didn’t remove their panties in public.

And Elvis…Oh Elvis…I suppose that was the first time I became aware of the sensual part of myself. What an amazing shiny black stallion he was at twenty-one. That creamy down deep voice, those snarly sensual lips and most of all those gyrating hips. No white man had ever moved so boldly. I think I literally reached puberty that night. He had a magic that reverberated through all my good places. Places I was just beginning to discover. In that conservative mid-century era of virginity and white gloves he made quite a ripple. His sleazy trailer park allure reeled me right in as he became the first bad boy to make my pulse race. And at the time I wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.

As his music ushered in the infancy of rock and roll, Houston suburbs erupted with weekend dance parties. The garage of someone’s parents became our hormonal haven, a dimly lit love cave for our pubescent emergence. And with parents on watch just inside, the rhythms of rockabilly and early bop came rasping out of the tinny little record player and transformed us into little hunks of burning love. The guys would always attempt to dim the garish lighting inside the suburban garage, and in the shadows, we were introduced to the erotica of slow dancing and the tiny tease of gently undulating bodies. Our fresh young hormones were set on fire by the deep rumble of the velvet voice of the King, and many a slow dancing couple would stumble off into a dark corner for a prolonged and passionate lip lock.

Even now, when an Elvis song spills from a speaker, I am thirteen again, and I can’t help falling in love. I’m transported back to that deliciously naive sensual rush of romantic emotions. The sparkling ecstasy of infatuation is the purest high and better than any drug. Sometimes even now, I feel tempted to tumble into that blissful state and once again fall in love with being in love. And through my viewfinder of lost innocence my present jaded self sometimes wishes I didn’t know now what I surely didn’t know back then.

January 8th of this year would have been Elvis’ 90th birthday.

RIP you glorious stallion. And thank you for turning on our lights.

[Carol at 18 on the left and at her 80th Birthday Party in 2023–that was one for the books.]

JOY & BEAUTY DEPARTMENT

My friend Shen, who is an amazing writer and artist, is also an amazing shepherd. Since I got off of IG I really missed her regular Sheep Parade videos. So now she sends me the links directly to her YouTube sheep parade videos, which she sets to great music and which always make me so happy.

PUPPIES!

If you want to cry over good news, I urge you to read this story about folks who selflessly raise puppies who are then trained to be service dogs. The couple spotlighted in the story lost their son—a US vet—to suicide. They raise these dogs in his honor. Oh, I’m starting to cry again. This link should get you past the paywall.

PICKLES & CO

BUT WAIT, THERE’S MORE!

OUR LADY OF PERPETUAL BAKING

Last week I baked Pascal scones and brownies. I also made croissants, pains au chocolat, cinnamon pinwheels, and scones for the Saturday ranch writing event.

ELOPEMENT

Had a fun little early morning elopement last week. Hashtag Love Wins Y’all!

PEACOCK POWER

Great news! The Austin Visitor Center just opened it’s new big location on 5th street. It’s a really beautiful space and they have great coffee. At least for the moment they are out of lawn art peacocks because I bought the last one. I got it for Andrea’s upcoming birthday (she also will be 82). Andrea is Jason’s mom and Jason loved peacocks. This one is solar powered and lights up from the inside, just like I did when I first laid eyes on it.

NOTES:

Thanks for reading y’all. If you can swing a paid subscription, I hope you’ll consider that. For the next few weeks I am offering an annual subscription rate of $30 —that’s a whopping $20 off the regular annual rate. Such a bargain! And your support helps so much—seriously, if you subscribe it’s like YOU ARE A RANCH HAND. You can also help by sharing this with others you think will dig it.

I have SO MANY WRITING WORKSHOPS coming right up. All are either free or donation based. A handy list:

MONDAYS through May I will be offering a FREE WRITING WORKSHOP at the San Marcos Public Library from 10 am til noon. Information Here. No need to register, you can just show up.

My FREE WRITING WORKSHOPS at Hampton Branch Library happen on the first and third Tuesdays of every month from 5:30-7:30 pm. These always fill up so please REGISTER.

Mondays in April I will be offering DONATION BASED Writing Workshops in South Austin from 1:30-3:30 This is an experiment. If it works, I’m going to keep these workshops going. Space is limited. You can REGISTER HERE.

Ranch Writing Day! The inaugural ranch writing day was this past Saturday and it was such a smashing success we are doing it again! Next one is May 3, 2025, from 10 am til 1 pm. It’s donation based. You can REGISTER FOR FREE HERE.

Ongoing Clothes Drive

I can’t thank y’all enough for all of the donations for the homeless population—aka The Neighbors—I volunteer to serve through Austin’s Central Presbyterian Church. I’m taking a week or two off from collecting because—holy moly y’all have donated so much. THANK YOU. I will resume collections in mid-April once we’ve distributed what has already been donated.