Twosome

The slender woman must be in her late sixties, maybe seventy, and the portly man she is with is in his forties, maybe fifty. They sit across from each other in a booth in the coffee shop without saying a word. She eats one egg with potatoes and accepts another cup of coffee from the waiter. The man hungrily shovels pancakes, bacon, eggs, potatoes, toast, into his mouth. He is drinking a large Pepsi, and when he finishes that, he asks for another.

She is wearing black knit pants, a red sweater, and sensible black boots. He is in jeans, a long sleeved green t-shirt and sneakers.

They are mother and son. When he speaks, loudly, it is clear that he is mentally challenged. The mother answers him in patient, quiet tones. Her face looks tired.

I wonder: where is the father? Did he leave them years ago, unable to handle the situation, or is he dead? Are there other children, or is he her one and only? Does her life revolve only around taking care of her adult child? What dreams of hers have been thwarted by this twist of fate? Does she resent the boy or does mother-love overcome that?

Someone else is watching the duo, too. She is much younger, but she also has a son with obvious limitations. I can observe and wonder, but this young woman looks and sees her future.

Meeting Elvis

Elvis would have been 75 years old this month. People are talking about what he meant to them, where they saw him in concert, how he changed music forever, what he would be like now. Some people say that visiting his Graceland mansion is a life-changing experience. Many make regular pilgrimages there. Several years ago Paul Simon even wrote a song about it.

I've never been to Graceland. When Elvis first came on the scene, I was too young for him to mean much to me. At the time, I was more tuned into the innocent sweetness of Ricky Nelson. But I met Elvis once and in honor of his 75th birthday, I'd like to share that encounter with you.

After being drafted into the Army, Elvis was stationed in Germany at the same time that I lived there with my Army officer stepfather, my mother and two little sisters.

Germany in the 1950's was still recovering from the devastating effects of World War II. Americans were the victors, the dollar was king against the Deutsch mark, and I remember a certain sense of superiority among us. After all, we'd won the War.

Our mothers employed German housemaids for almost nothing. Peddlers selling Rosenthal china and Hummel figurines appeared regularly at our door. Dressmakers would come to the house with beautiful fabrics, all dirt cheap. I remember my mother had a beautiful pale gold brocade dress made for a special occasion. She had dresses made for her mother and sisters in Pittsburgh, too.

We lived in a military housing area built on the outskirts of the German town of Butzbach. Our compound was surrounded by German homes and farms, but we were discouraged from crossing streets into "the German area." A local farmer had his apple orchard right behind our apartment. Some adventurous children, including me, may have fanned his anti-Americanism by trying to steal apples from his trees.

Officers and their families lived in apartments on the East side of the compound's main road and the enlisted men lived with their families on the West side. "Fraternization" among officers and enlisted men, including their wives, was discouraged, but we children could cross the road and play with each other. We were all in school together anyway.

One day I crossed the road to play with my friend Catherine. That's how I met Elvis.

It was raining outside so we were playing in the stairwell of her apartment building. We had just come back from a dangerous foray into enemy territory. We had crossed the street over into the German neighborhood to buy candy at one of "their" stores. They had special sweets called gummy bears, which were unknown in the United States then. With very few pfennings, we could get a generous bag of them.

Unknown to us, Elvis and his father Vernon Presley were visiting the home of a sergeant and his family on the second floor. As we sat on the steps of that floor dividing up our gummy bears, the door to the apartment opened and out came Elvis, wearing his green dress uniform.

I remember looking up and recognizing him, but hey, he was no Ricky Nelson! He looked down at me, smiled, patted my head, and said, "Hello, little darlin'."

I can't say that Elvis touched my life, but he did touch my head.

Postscript: Later we learned that the wife of the sergeant Elvis was visiting left her husband and married Vernon Presley. It was the scandal of the housing compound.

Elvis photo: photobucket