Tag Archives: Graceland Museum

October 20, 2023

Of Oak Trees and Epiphanies

By The Sector M

I love museums and historical sites. If you’ve followed this blog for any period of time, this will come as no surprise. If you’re just joining us, museums have been something I’ve always enjoyed, even as a kid.

The thought of preserving our history where it can be enjoyed by the public is something that has always been a part of me as long as I can remember (even before I saw Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.) In my writing career I’ve even had the pleasure of doing some museum work, and hope to do much more in the future. So, suffice to say, historical sites and museums are my bread and butter.

There’s a phenomenon that I’ve encountered a few times when I’ve visited these places that I want to share with you, which I call  “Oak Tree” moments. I’ll get into why I call it this in a moment, but it’s a catalyst that peels back the fog of time and years in a sudden rush.

Sometimes when you stand in a historical place or in the presence of historical artifacts, it can be hard to reconcile that you are actually there, that history is so close at hand. An Oak Tree moment is the realization that you are, in fact, there. It can be a transformative experience.

This doesn’t happen to me at every site or museum I’ve visited, but when it does it is powerful stuff. For this blog post, I wanted to share with you a few of the times I’ve had an Oak Tree moment, starting with the original.

My First Oak Tree

When I was fourteen, I had a week-long school trip to our nation’s capital. Washington D.C. was the most impressive city I had ever visited at the time. I had a keen interest in history even back then, having joined the local chapter of our school’s Junior Historians two years before at the age of twelve.  

As you can imagine, getting to see all the regular stops was incredible: the Lincoln Memorial, the Jefferson memorial, Capitol Hill, and the crowning achievement — the Smithsonian. There, I got to see (among many other things) the original model for the U.S.S. Enterprise used in the original series Star Trek. They even had a pair of pointed-ear appliances worn by Leonard Nimoy on the show. I was a big fan even back then, and seeing the real deal was breathtaking, but not the Oak Tree.

We weren’t able to visit the White House, but drove by it. We looked at the Declaration of Independence through bullet-proof glass at the National Archives. We saw so many relics from the founding of our nation that I was close to such a moment, but not quite there yet.

Our tour group went to Mount Vernon, home of George Washington. If you’ve never been there, the grounds are tranquil and well maintained. I walked through his home. The tour guide told us that the green paint on the walls was Washington’s idea because it was soothing to the eye. Gorgeous as the house is, I knew in the back of my mind that it had been heavily renovated. Great care had been taken to restore the place to how it had been in Washington’s lifetime, but again I knew that little of it was original.

We visited Washington’s grave nearby, where he and Martha Washington are interred. I’ve always had a reverence for historical graves, and this one was no different, but still that feeling of realness hadn’t quite hit me. 

The moment in question came when the tour guide took us to a beautiful, picturesque oak tree on the grounds, not terribly far away from the house. It had grown tall and strong. I remember looking up at it and thinking that it had come out of Lord of the Rings. That’s when the tour guide informed us that Washington himself had planted that tree.

My mind reeled at this. I thought about how long it takes oak trees to grow to that size, decades, centuries, even. The time difference between where I stood there at the age of fourteen and when Washington had stood on the same spot to plant the acorn seemed vastly far away, yet close at hand at the same time. He had actually been there, on that spot. The house wasn’t just a reproduction; it was really the place he lived, the place where he died.

In my mind’s eye I saw the tree sprout up out of the ground as the days and nights flew by in a time-lapsed flash, growing and growing until it finally became the tree I stood beneath. It was like a waking dream. This was the first time I had ever felt connected, really connected to history.  

The Hatch

Some years later, I found myself at the National Museum of the Pacific War in Fredericksburg, Texas. I’ve been lucky to visit this museum more times than any other, but on this occasion it was my first visit. If you’ve never been, I highly recommend it. After a short video presentation, the museum starts off hundreds of years before World War II, talking about how trade and conflict over a long period of time created the complicated relationship between Japan and China.

As you walk along the timeline, you start to see Japan’s gradual rise to power and imperialism, including the military campaigns they waged in China, creating the client state of Manchukuo. The displays and exhibits don’t try to downplay the violence. One of the photos in the gallery here is of an infant sitting in the ruins of a bombed out train station in Shanghai. On a future visit, this photo would absolutely wreck me.

Finally, as you might expect in a museum about the Pacific War, you are led to a short presentation about the attack on Pearl Harbor. The display features one of the two-man Japanese subs present at the attack. There are many artifacts from that day and models of ships. Just around the corner from the submarine, however, tucked into an unassuming alcove is a rusted piece of metal.

I’ve mentioned this particular piece of metal before, but this was the first time I had ever laid eyes on it. The metal is reddened with rust. A black stain crosses it about half-way. Above that stain, there is an egg-shaped hole cut into its surface.

This is a hatch from the battleship, Arizona one of the first USN ships lost in the war. The black stain comes from all the oil floating on top of the water. It shows us where the waterline was when the ship sank. The hole was cut by Navy divers who were looking for survivors on the other side.

I’ve seen the famous photo of Arizona in the aftermath, her once-proud lines blackened and ruined, belching smoke. It’s a powerful image, but nothing (and I mean nothing) prepared me to see an actual part of her hull. The fear and desperation of that day seemed to radiate from it, but with it, the courage, the determination, and uncommon valor also. I’ve never really been one to believe in ghosts, but the reaction I had was visceral, and I was overwhelmed. 

I may have had an Oak Tree moment then, but it was to a very violent and dark chapter of our history. I have since visited this hatch on several occasions, and there has always been a reaction, though nothing quite like the first time. Each time I visit, I am thankful for the Japanese Peace Garden that exists on the grounds, which is always a welcome coda to the war.

The Diary

Last year, my family visited the National World War II museum in New Orleans, which includes an incredible number of exhibits from both the European and Pacific theatres. Before we go any further, I should say that even though this story also deals with a WWII museum, it led to one of the most heartfelt stories of the war that I’ve ever encountered.

We took the guided tour, and I’m really glad that we did. (Once again, I highly recommend doing so.) We progressed through the march to Berlin and then the march to Tokyo. As we got a decent way into the Pacific War, the tour guide stopped us at a glass enclosure and pointed out an open diary.

This particular diary belonged to Thomas Jones, a Marine whose blonde hair earned him the nickname of “Cotton.” Cotton kept a diary like so many did to document his experiences in the war. He also kept a picture of his high-school sweetheart in the diary, a young woman named Laura Mae Davis. Knowing the danger he was in, Cotton wrote in his diary that, if something should happen to him, he wanted Laura Mae Davis, the woman he loved, to have his diary. 

Unfortunately, something did happen. Cotton died at the age of twenty-two at the battle of Peleliu. His personal effects, including the diary, were sent home to his family. Unfortunately, it appears that the diary went into a box and never made its way to Laura Mae Davis. Eventually, the diary was sent to the museum and put on display.

Fast forward to 2013, and a fateful trip to the museum. A 90-year-old woman with her family sees the diary, and the photo, recognizing it as a picture of herself. By sheer chance, Laura Mae Davis encountered the diary that Cotton wished her to have from the beginning. She brought this to the attention of the curator, who read Cotton’s words in the book, and gave it to her on the spot. It eventually came back on display at the museum where I encountered it.

There are so many service members who kept a diary just like Cotton’s, thousands, tens of thousands. This book is a single thread in a greater tapestry. The scope of World War II is so large that it’s almost more than the mind can comprehend, but Cotton’s diary shines a spotlight on one story among many in such a way that it humanizes them all.

Honorable Mention: The King’s Palace

Early this year I went to Graceland in Memphis, Tennessee, the home of the one and only Elvis Presley. I wrote about it in the blog post here, where I talk about having an Oak Tree moment, but I didn’t give specifics to it, only that it had happened to me.  

You know what it was that triggered it? It wasn’t a white bespangled jumpsuit or the sight of the famous pink Cadillac. Two things triggered it, actually. First, it was the wood paneling in the security booth that guarded the driveway just outside the mansion itself. It’s the same kind of paneling that was in my childhood home, which had been built in the sixties. It gets really hot in Memphis in the summer, but the booth station had to be manned at all times because of who Elvis was. Thankfully, there was a standalone A/C window unit to give some much needed relief to the person on call. These small details really brought Elvis’ fame home to me.  

The second part was green carpeting — on the ceiling. In the world-famous Jungle Room, where Elvis famously bought all of his furniture at once, he had green shag carpeting installed on the floor. Besides using the space to entertain celebrities, he also used the Jungle Room as a place to record music. This led him to carpet on the ceiling as well. From various accounts, this is the room where Elvis would often watch the news and eat breakfast. So, the carpet gave me that momentary view into the life of the man himself in the very space where these events took place. Absolutely magical.

Final Thoughts

History is a weird thing. The effects of it are all around us, every day, influencing us in a dozen subtle ways, affecting our opinions and viewpoints across a spectrum of areas — often without us even being aware of it. Museums and historical sites are our direct link to that history, where we come face-to-face with it.

I know that not everyone is quite so moved by history as I am, and that’s fine. It can be easy to get lost in all of the names and dates and minutiae, but in the end history is really about people. Oak Tree moments, on the rare occasions that I experience them, bring all that into sharp relief for a moment. They are a reminder that we are all fellow passengers through time.

So, I put the question to you: Have you ever experienced an Oak Tree moment of your own? If so, I would love to hear about it in the comments. If not, I hope that you do have one at some point in the future. You never know when something will strike a spark. Sometimes it can be the littlest thing, the smallest detail that can forge that connection with history.

4 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , | posted in General Stuff, Museums and History, Silly Me, Uncategorized

May 19, 2023

Poor Boys & Pilgrims: My Visit to Graceland

By The Sector M

When my father would take me to elementary school, we had something of a tradition: We would listen to music to set the mood for the morning. It was through these early morning music sessions that I was first exposed to classical composers such as Vivaldi and Brahms, as well as the guitar magic of Fernando Sor and Enrique Granados. One of the albums that made its way into the mix was Paul Simon’s, Graceland.

The entire album is fantastic, but there was something in the catchy bass hook of “Graceland” that really resonated with me. This was the first time I had ever heard of the place, but I didn’t know what it was. My father informed me that Graceland was the famous residence of none other than the legend himself, Elvis Presley.  

Recently, I had a chance to finally follow in the footsteps of the King. Paul’s Simon’s eponymous theme played through the speakers of the rental car on the way there, as it should. The Graceland Museum is right across the street from the mansion itself. It is filled with all manner of Elvis artifacts, ranging from his cars, including the famous Pink Cadillac, some of his Army gear from the time he was drafted, and tributes and various personal possessions. His signature jumpsuits and golden records are also on display, though I wasn’t able to see them this time around. It’s good to have something new to see next time I’m in Memphis, however, since I already want to go there again.

Where I was fascinated, however, was in the mansion itself. Elvis bought the estate when he was just 22 years old, and he lived there for the remainder of his life. He modified the grounds extensively, adding the iconic guitar gates, an outdoor pool, a trophy building, and an indoor racquetball court.

The grounds there are peaceful. Part of me was captivated by the trees on the green in front of the house. I went in with the tour group, just one more pilgrim in the crowd. While luxurious, even decadent in places, I was struck by just how small the house was. Elvis was arguably the first international megastar. Musicians nowadays with a fraction of his star power live in megamansions that could dwarf Graceland. That Elvis chose this place as his main residence, and didn’t have a string of much larger places, is something that’s worth noting.

The Graceland Mansion has been frozen in time from the era when he lived there. His living room with a grand piano and stained glass peacocks, his yellow basement lounge with its three TVs and a (for the time) state-of-the-art RCA sound system, the world-famous Jungle Room with its carved wooden furniture and green shag carpeting on the floor and ceiling — it’s all in the state that Elvis left it.

It’s here that I had my ‘oak tree’ moment (a phenomenon that happens to me often enough at places like this that it really deserves its own blog post). Basically, it’s the dawning realization that the place you’re standing in isn’t a reproduction or facsimile; it’s the very real place where this person lived. This is where they sat down for dinner, spent time with family, took important phone calls, made tough decisions that are now lost to the sands of time — where the quiet moments of their life took place. In Elvis’ case, it’s also the place where he passed away. Heavy stuff, man.

The second floor of the Mansion is roped off. The audio tour, hosted by John Stamos, tells the visitors that the upper floor is kept private. I suspect that’s largely because having people see the place where he died just should not be on display. And, you know, I’m fine with that.

The next day, I went into Memphis proper to see the place where Elvis’ recording career first began its meteoric rise to prominence. Just as I would recommend the tour of Graceland, the same is true of Sun Studio, the birthplace of rock and roll. The likes of Jerry Lee Lewis, Johnny Cash, Roy Orbison, Carl Perkins, B.B. King, and so many others made their careers at Sun Studio.

The space where Elvis recorded “That’s All Right,” his first runaway hit, is right there on the first floor of Sun. You can see the spot where he recorded the single that began his rock stardom. The story goes that Elvis had a fateful recording session with Sam Phillips, Sun’s owner and record producer, one that did not go so well at first. After a few hours, Sam decided to call it quits. The guitar and bass players began putting their instruments away when Elvis started singing “That’s All Right.” Something in it really grabbed Sam’s attention, and he asked Elvis to sing it again. The bass and guitar players pulled their instruments back out and they spent the rest of the night trying to get the song down.

Once they finally had it in the can, Sam sent the record over to the “Red Hot & Blue” radio show hosted by legendary DJ, Dewey Philips. “That’s All Right“ became an instant hit. A few days later, Elvis signed his first recording contract with Sun. His first record came out two weeks later, and so begins Elvis’ path to becoming a fixture in American pop culture. He inspired a generation of artists, and his fame paved the way for many other musical legends. As Buddy Holly put it, “Without Elvis, none of us would have made it.”

Buddy Holly would, in turn, go on to inspire many others, including the Beatles. So, the impact that Elvis has had on music cannot be understated. As an aside, I once knew a lady who had a collection of pristine liquor decanters in the likeness of Elvis, complete with microphones and necklaces gilded with real gold. I mean, that’s a little on the weird side, but how many other musicians are ever enshrined in such a way?

Yet, when I think of Elvis, not the one we see on black velvet but the man himself, I can’t help but feel pity for him, especially in the final years of his life. Increasingly isolated, with most of his musical rights sold, divorced, performing constantly, with years of bad habits taking their toll, he died alone at the age of just 42.

There’s a piano in the lounge adjoining the aforementioned racquetball court. That was the last instrument that Elvis ever played, on the day he died. According to his cousin and member of the Memphis Mafia, Billy Smith, the last songs Elvis sang were “Blue Eyes Cryin’ in the Rain“ and “Unchained Melodies,” the latter of which was one of the last live performances he ever gave. Both songs, especially when sung by Elvis, have that poignant, yearning quality to them, which I can only conclude encapsulated his state of mind at the time. Listening to them now is haunting.

I didn’t know this before I arrived at Graceland, but Elvis is actually interred on the grounds, near a fountain in the Meditation Garden. He’s there along with his mother and father. Tragically, his only daughter, Lisa Marie, now lies there in a mausoleum next to her son, Benjamin Keough. It’s difficult to stand there and not be moved, yet the peaceful nature of the grounds I spoke of earlier is a balm to this.

You know, in many ways, I have been on my way to Graceland for a long time, ever since those trips with my father as we zipped down the country roads in his ’72 Datsun pickup truck. Trips like this are transformative in many ways. Where I thought the visit would be for the glitz and glamour of one of America’s brightest stars, I came away with more of a feeling of introspection for having been there, a cause to ask the important questions of life, death, and existence. My trip to the Buddy Holly Museum had a similar effect on me.

Even still, Elvis had a personal mantra in the ’70s, summed up in this logo. Believe me, it is everywhere at the Graceland Museum.

The gates of the Graceland Museum.

It stands for “Taking Care of Business in a Flash,” or often shortened to simply “Taking Care of Business.” I believe this was Elvis’ way of telling us that time is short, to stay focused on what’s most important, get stuff done with style, and live a life worth remembering.

Not bad advice from the King, really. And considering everything that was going on in my life when I took this trip, they are sentiments I needed to take to heart. So, from me to all of you out there reading this…

TCB!

Thank you. Thank you very much.

3 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , , | posted in General Stuff, Museums and History, Silly Me, Uncategorized