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That's All Right, Mama The Unauthorized Life of Elvis's Twin von Duff, Gerald (eBook)

  • Erscheinungsdatum: 15.02.2016
  • Verlag: Devault-Graves Digital Editions
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That's All Right, Mama

What would have happened if Elvis's twin brother, Jesse Garon, had lived and not -- as history has written -- died at childbirth? Leave it to the imagination of the brilliant satirist Gerald Duff to completely and hilariously rewrite the entire Elvis myth, this time with Jesse Garon passing as Elvis's 'cousin' and made to sit it out on the sidelines by Gladys, the forever-worried mama who calls for the twin when Elvis is having bad times and bad spells. So exactly who was it who first entered Sun Records to make a record for his mama? Who was it really who made the appearance on Ed Sullivan and danced around the firemen's pole in Jailhouse Rock? Well, we can't spoil it for you, but Gerald Duff can, and make you laugh the whole while. Devault-Graves Digital Editions has brought the long out-of-print That's All Right, Mama back in print in a new uncut edition with a splendid new cover and in ebook as well as print. That's All Right, Mama is a new addition to the Great Music Book Series released by Devault-Graves Digital Editions in which worthy music books that have not been available for some time are republished in quality paperback editions and ebook format. Award-winning author Gerald Duff has published numerous works of fiction and nonfiction including Memphis Ribs, Playing Custer, and Memphis Mojo.


    Format: ePUB
    Kopierschutz: none
    Seitenzahl: 200
    Erscheinungsdatum: 15.02.2016
    Sprache: Englisch
    ISBN: 9781942531180
    Verlag: Devault-Graves Digital Editions
    Größe: 457kBytes
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That's All Right, Mama

2 How am I going to get back there to Tupelo, to the beginning? I have been thinking about that, and I have been wanting to tell it right, the whole story. I could come at it from several different ways, and every one of them has its points. I could back way off and generalize about everything. I could do my best to convince you that all this really happened and that it was all possible for it to happen. I thought about doing that. Here is what I come to. There's all kinds of people have different ideas about the same thing, and there's no way to tell which one of them is the best. Who is to judge? So what I am going to do is give the straight story by telling you little stories, as Mama used to say. Now and then I'll probably hold something back, and I may let you know when I'm doing it, and I may not. That's my business, not yours. I look at it this way. What you're going to ask is how could it all be true. Am I real? And what I say to that is that it's not my job to convince you I'm alive. Hell, I've had enough to do to convince myself that I'm alive all these years, and I'm still working on that topic. I am alive because I'm speaking, because I'm standing up and talking back, and that's good enough for me now, and it's damn sure got to be good enough for you. All right. Back to the birthplace. Mama wouldn't let us play outside in the yard at the same time those days I would come in from the country. That was way before I knew who he was and who I wasn't, of course. It was a cold morning, back during the war sometime. I was thinking about what I'd seen the day before at the bus station when I'd gone in there with Uncle McCoy. I'd almost run back out to the pickup when I saw it up against the back wall of the waiting room of the Trailways station in Tupelo. What it was was a shooting gallery with dolls fixed up to look like Hitler and Mussolini and Tojo, and there was a gun there that shot little pellets if you put in some money. Uncle McCoy offered to let me shoot it once during his turn, but I was too afraid to look at Hitler and Tojo long enough to aim the rifle. So I passed on that. I was remembering that and the bad dreams I'd had all night, about those little bodies with the big heads when Uncle McCoy asked me if I wanted to ride with him over to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Gladys's. I remember it was cold, like I said, but I don't remember the ride into Tupelo from where Uncle McCoy and Aunt Edith and I lived out in the sticks twelve miles south of town. The first thing that comes into my mind when I think back to that day is the way the smoke looked coming out of the stovepipe on Uncle Vernon and Aunt Gladys's and Elvis's house. It was a still morning, and the smoke was thick and white, and it looked like to me it was reaching all the way to the sky and connecting things together. "Looky yonder, Uncle McCoy," I said, "the sky is coming out of Elvis's house." "You say some fool things, don't you, boy?" Vernon had the door to the house opened by the time McCoy cut the engine, so I was able to run on into the front room without slowing down. I asked Aunt Gladys where was Elvis as soon as I hit the heat of the house. "He's lying down in the bedroom resting, Jesse," she said. "He don't feel too good this morning, and I'm making him stay in bed until the sun gets good and up." "Let me go see him," I said. "I want to tell him about Hitler and Tojo." "No, you're not," she said. "You can't come in here and scare your cousin like that. He's got to keep his mind happy." That kind of talk wasn't new for me, of

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