My real first memory of music was listening to Elvis on a 45. “You ain’t nothin’ but a Hound dog” I mean what kid didn’t love those lyrics. I use to play it over and over on an old console record player that only got used when my parents were not home, except when my Mom would play an occasional country album. Whenever I would go visit my aunt Margaret, she had a collection of Elvis records that we would listen to. I think because I was an Elvis fan, I was her favorite nephew.

I was 10 years old when Elvis died. I remember that day like it was yesterday. It was a hot August day in Indiana. I was listening to the radio and one of the announcers had said that Elvis had died. I walked into the living room to turn on the television and I noticed that the room had an unusual hue to it from the sun. I have never seen the sun look so depressing.  I didn’t know what to expect when I turned on the TV, except it confirmed what I had heard on the radio. For me,  it was the first time that  I truly understood what death meant. I was sad and I began to cry for someone who I had never met.

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