I can't believe it was thirty years ago (I'm nearly ninety now and I'm still so pretty―I can't help it), but in 1989, The King was asked to host Otis Redding's induction into the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame.
Well, of course I was! I have no idea why I'm not asked to do all the inductions. The Beatles, after all, are my babies and Jimi was my boy and everybody, everybody, comes from me.
But here's the thing―and I won't say that thing's from The King, because when I speak jive, that's for the cameras―but the only thing I remember today from Otis' induction is a man I didn't know coming up to me on stage to interrupt me right in the middle of a photo opportunity with Otis' poor, grieving widow. It was so unexpected, and strange! There I was swinging poor Zelma around this way and that and calling out to my fans "make my picture, make my picture" when suddenly, there he was, whispering something in my ear.
I had no idea what he was saying, of course. Because when I am on stage, I am transcendent. In retrospect, my guess is that he was probably trying to tell me to get off the stage and let the poor woman speak or something. But whatever it was, he spoke his words, disappeared as mysteriously as he had appeared and Zelma and I resumed our dance. Lord have mercy.
***
Ah yes, I remember one other thing from that night. I was on fire. I was singing Otis like Otis never sang Otis. My goodness, but you know I can sing. How come you all stopped calling me?
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