Elviss Number One Fan

Elvis's Number One Fan- Or - Steam Cleaned

The leading edge of the baby boomers is divided between Elvis fans and Beetle fans. My ex-wife was born in "46" right at the spear point. As a teenager she was Elvis's number one fan. She had seen every one of his "Sing and get the girl." movies. She had counted the pelvic thrusts in each film.

I met her in a drive in pick up spot called Jerry's in Tampa. I was stationed at nearby MacDill, AFB. My nitwit buddy and I were cruising around in my MGA. Scouting, for any women of drinking age. They are the best because they could buy booze. We intended on getting drunk and laid, or laid and drunk. We spotted Donna and her girlfriend. We jumped in the back of her light blue Comet. She had a conversation starter "button" on her sun visor that said, "Hug me I love it." I reached over the seat and snatched her into the back seat. I asked her if she was old enough to go for a drink, she lied.

After five years of marriage she was still Elvis's number one fan. I also think she liked her old boyfriend more then me. He combed his hair in a front curl over with a part down the center and a DA (duck's ass) in the back, just like Elvis in the "60's." If I could get Elvis on my side, maybe I could get some exciting creative sex (oral) into my marriage. I was young and full of dumb.

I hired on with Bell Helicopter after college and was going to Iran as a weapons instructor. During the training portion, which lasted six months I managed to squeeze in getting my FAA Commercial and Instrument pilot license, I was already a mechanic. I was out at Meachem Field every day flying with Acme Aviation.

My bride informed me that Elvis was putting on a concert in Dallas and she was going. I informed her that I would be a lot closer to Elvis then she would. I had found out that Elvis had his 707 modified at Meachum Field in Fort Worth. Every time that he came into Dallas he actually flew into Meachem Field and had work performed on his aircraft.

My wife announced that I was wrong. Elvis would be flying into Dallas. I let her know that Elvis had a double he traveled with and he never flew where he said he was going. He didn't like all the sticky screaming women on the hot tarmac.

On Elvis ramp day, our flight Instructors said they would let everyone know when Elvis's pilot reported in for landing clearance. I called the wife and informed her Elvis would be on the ramp at 10 a.m. All she had to do was show up, scream and get sticky. As Elvis walked down the portable steps to his limo, waving to the crowd of females, my wife was one of the 150 women throwing their keys to Elvis.

I flew in about an hour later and parked my straight tail Cessna 150. The one I liked to fly was the oldest in the fleet. I liked the feel of her hands on control, her manual flaps. I would hold her down with both hands in ground effect. This would build up a huge compressed air bubble. I would then jerk her straight back to my chest.

Yelling "Sky king"

I was successful in scaring the hell out of every instructor at the school. As I ripped her out of ground effect, I leveled into a slow climb. I always strapped in real tight. The instructors would hit the top of their noggins on the antenna screw ends.

No other student pilots would fly her, she always dogged out at take off, (refused to fly) scaring the hell out of the student aviator. She was a cold runner; it required a sensitive mechanic/pilot to warm her up properly. I taxied her hot, (high RPM) while riding her six-inch Cleveland's. (Brakes), This also gave me extra time on the Hobbs meter. (Based on RPM) I was flying in a two-hour block and getting 2.2 hours with her every day. All the "peter pilots" (pilots who flew, knew nothing about the airplanes, wanted to impress girls to feed their peter) were averaging 1.5 hours per block. They also did dumb things like check the weather first.

I was walking off the ramp, from tying up my aircraft. I was the only student aviator that used the proper FAA approved knot, the square knot. I wanted to know if someone else had tried to fly my cold running sweetie pie.

I noticed some activity out at Elvis's aircraft. I spotted Elvis walking down the portable stairs with two bodyguards. Elvis was dressed in Levi's and a worn denim long sleeve shirt. Their limo was parked in the parking lot next to the gate I was heading for. I arrived at the gate the same time as the Elvis entourage.

One of his bodyguards looking at me said, "I'll take care of this guy."

I sized him up, "Hump on someone else's leg, I'm running late."

Elvis said, "Easy, he looks OK."

He actually said I looked harmless. I felt like a fairly dangerous pilot. I decided to push my luck. I presented my pilot's logbook to Elvis. "Would you mind signing my log book for my wife, she was one of the screamers lining the fence serenading you about an hour ago."

The other body guard moved between me and Elvis and snatched the log book. He earned his pay, he said. "Looks like a logbook."

I pressed on, "Hell, yeah, I'm not asking you to sign my hand, and saying that I'll never wash it again."

Elvis said, "Give me the log book."

Elvis was handed the logbook by one guard and a pen by the other.

"What's her name?"

"Donna."

Elvis took his time; He wrote out "Donna" then "Love" and signed "Elvis."

The message was beautiful. The "E" in Elvis was very large and flowery and supported the other letters. I was left standing as the Limo pulled off.

I yelled to the limo. "Thanks, I've never bought any Beetle's albums."

I presented the Elvis autograph to my wife. I told her the complete story and reminded her that Elvis would not be dumb enough to walk down portable aircraft stairs with all his sparkling clothes on with screaming females 100 feet away behind a five-foot fence. It was his double she saw, getting paid to take the shot of some crazy. She believed me.

If you have ever watched the antiques road show you know that the story behind the family heirloom is half of the value of the art. Donna presently has the Elvis autograph in a gold leaf frame over her bed. It is her most prized possession. She has taken it to several appraisers to have it verified; it's the real deal. The appraisers advised her to write up the entire sequence of events and attach it with the autograph.

One reason she had it appraised was several "yahoo" buddies of mine attempted to endear themselves to her. (Put on the teapot) They advised her that I was a bad person, a Texas liar. They implied that I had a friend sign for Elvis.

Elvis ramp day became a very special day. I was proclaimed a wonderful husband and I could expect something extra nice. She witnessed my shower and then requested a second hand cleaning. She felt that there might still be some germs hiding. I offered a sanitation regiment featuring steam cleaning. She put on the teapot. The steam whistled in a new era.

The master forger's name is John Holland; he is a retired Gunnery Sergeant from the Marine Corp. He could look at a signature once and duplicate it. He has signed Elvis more then Elvis.

I only send out one Christmas card each year, it's signed "John" and then "Love" The "E" in my name flows back under the other letters.

Author's note: Everything in this story is true. I ended up at the gate with Elvis and his two bodyguards. I didn't have my log book with me. Didn't need it. Baba8