Return to Sender
Elvis meets his Maker.

By Jack Walsh, NRO contributor
August 11-12, 2001

y 1977, Elvis Presley, the "King of Rock and Roll," had not recorded anything close to a rock song in almost two decades. His legion of fans did not seem to mind. They also ignored his tremendous weight gain, canceled appearances, and the mumbled and forgotten lyrics that were becoming the hallmarks of his live performances. Elvis, 42 years old, tipping the scales at 350 pounds and hopelessly addicted to prescription drugs, could no longer endure the stress of touring. But he could not stop. The man with the most recognizable first name in the world had $1.1 million in the bank and a mansion and entourage that cost him $500,000 a month.

On August 16, 1977, as the Graceland staff prepared for yet another tour, in an upstairs bathroom The Elvis Presley Show finally came to a halt. Peter Harry Brown and Pat H. Broeske in their biography, Down at the End of Lonely Street record Presley's earthly end.

When Ginger Alden awakened, she ran her hand over stained sheets, searching for her lover's arm. But his side of the bed was cold. "Elvis?" she called out softly. She noticed a wedge of light emanating from the partially open door of Elvis's bathroom suite. Ginger walked to the door of Elvis's inner sanctum, which included an office, a library, and an oversized bathroom, and called out his name. But there was no answer again. Not bold enough to fling open the bathroom door, Ginger instead crept up and looked through the opening.

She instantly put her hand to her mouth and reached out to steady herself against the door.

In the reflection of the smoked-glass mirror she could see Elvis, his body contorted on the floor, his buttocks upward in the air, both feet splayed behind him. She saw his face, too. It was bloated, turned to one side, and pressed into the thick nap of the vermilion carpet. Blue streaks were spreading up through his face, and his hands, which were frozen into fists, were grasping the carpet fibers. Shoving the door open, Ginger confronted the full horror of the scene. Elvis had been on the toilet and had fallen face forward onto his knees. He was stiff and frozen in that position. The bottoms of his blue silk pajamas were bundled around his feet.

At 2:48, the ambulance reached the double doors of the Baptist Hospital emergency room. At the admittance desk, a registrar hurriedly logged Elvis in: "John Doe. Profession: Entertainer."

Elvis was so stiff and contorted that it took all three physicians to straighten his body so they could tend to him. The bluish fingers of death had spread down his legs and arms. His cheeks were discolored and swollen by pools of blood.

Kim Davis, an emergency room nurse, threw up her hands. "Why are we working on this corpse?"

The answer came from one of the physicians: "Because he's Elvis Presley."