Close Encounters of the Elvis Kind

Elvis Presley was sighted at taco stands and in hotel hallways long before his death in 1977. As Cirque du Soleil's "Viva Elvis" settles in at Aria, we asked Review-Journal readers lucky enough to have encountered the King to submit their memories.

Dozens of recollections were set at one of Presley's concerts at the Las Vegas Hilton (then the International), where the women who wrote usually received a kiss and a red scarf on her neck. What follows are some more intimate, and amusing, interactions. (Their facts were checked, as thoroughly as possible, by former Presley road manager Joe Esposito, former Presley bodyguard Jerry Schilling and Viva Las Vegas Elvis Presley fan club president Susan Laurenz.)

When Bishop Gorman High School junior Val Wilwol Kelly turned 16 in June 1956, her father handed over the keys to his beat-up, blue Studebaker and laid down the law: "No boys in the car!"

Five months later, driving east on Sahara Avenue at 7 a.m., Kelly says she spotted a man walking toward the Strip wearing a gray-and-black striped jacket. She slowed down as she admired his ducktail from behind.

"He turned his head and waved," Kelly says. "My heart stopped."

Presley was in town to see Liberace's show at the Riviera. Kelly, now 69, reports that he approached her car and, "in the most charming Southern drawl," asked for a lift to the New Frontier.

Kelly claims Presley said he hated the smoke inside casinos and "needed some fresh air," explaining that he had no money for a cab because his manager, Colonel Tom Parker, had it all. (Our experts said this part of the story rings particularly true.)

Just as she started down the Strip, Kelly said her father's voice echoed. She stopped the car and explained her quandary.

"Y'all tell your daddy I ain't no boy," her passenger said. "I'm Elvis Presley."

That was good enough for Kelly, who received an autograph at the ride's end.

Needless to say, Kelly was the most popular girl at Bishop Gorman High School -- but not with her father, who worked as a Las Vegas police officer. She remembers his explosion verbatim: "I tell you no boys, and you pick up the biggest sex maniac in the entire United States?!"

A similar encounter was enjoyed by Las Vegas resident Betty Lunn, 74, who manned the information desk at the Tropicana in 1973. When the casino host at the International dropped by, she struck up a conversation. On a lark, Lunn asked him for an autographed photo of Presley. She received considerably more.

A few days later, a man approached the info counter asking for Lunn. He wore slacks and a button-down shirt, and he was standing by himself.

After retrieving her jaw from the floor, Lunn remembers saying, "I am Betty."

Presley replied, "Well, this is for you."

Lunn thanked the most famous person alive for hand-delivering his own photo.

"I couldn't think of anything else to say," Lunn says, adding that she has kicked herself "several times" over the years for not at least mentioning that she was born in Winfield, Ala.

"That's only 30 miles out from where Elvis grew up."

Las Vegas resident Marlene Koppenhaver, 76, enjoys a rarity in Presley lore. She was one of the few ladies able to resist the King's advances. She says they crossed paths when she worked as a Hollywood movie extra in 1960.

"I was quite a number back then," Koppenhaver says. "I still am."

She remembers Presley initiating several conversations while she played the part of a Women's Army Corps officer in his movie "G.I. Blues."

"Small talk, a few little niceties," says Koppenhaver, who still has a copy of her call sheet.

During her second of three days on the Paramount soundstage, the small talk escalated. Koppenhaver was by herself, reading, when a 25-year-old Presley sat in the folding chair facing hers, stared into her eyes, and placed his right hand on her left knee.

This obvious invitation to shake, rattle and roll did not tempt Koppenhaver, who was married at the time with her fourth child on the way.

Koppenhaver recalls her exact response: "With a smile, I said: 'Elvis, please take your hand off my knee. That is not your privilege.' "

Presley politely obliged, smiled back and apologized, according to Koppenhaver, who claims no regrets.

"I don't think like that," she says. "I have very high moral standards that probably cut me off from a lot of things, but I'm not sorry."

Las Vegas resident Marie Evans isn't sorry, either. In by far the closest encounter reported to us, Evans said she and Presley had a three-week fling from January through February of 1964 -- while Presley was holed up at the Sahara and Evans was a 19-year-old bombshell.

Evans' never-before-reported story was confirmed by Esposito.

"I remember that," Esposito said, although he didn't recall Evans' name.

"She still lives here?" he asked.

According to Evans, 65, Presley gave her private lessons on his movie dance moves, and sang whenever he phoned.

"He was fantastic," says Evans, who calls Presley "a better kisser" than anyone she kissed before.

"He was a fantastic cuddler, too," she says, "and that's all I'm gonna say."

The couple met outside a Fats Domino concert at the Flamingo, where Evans worked the graveyard shift in the gift shop. Before the show, a security guard approached Evans and informed her of the King's interest. Evans accused him of lying. But after the show, Presley approached the counter himself.

"He just stared at me," Evans says. "I was in complete shock."

Evans suspects the attraction was her resemblance to Ann-Margret.

"He was madly in love with her," Evans says. "At the time, they had just broken up."

Evans said she knew Presley already had a significant other living at Graceland.

"I knew Priscilla was in the picture somewhere," she says, "but she wasn't in Vegas, and she wasn't married to him."

Esposito chauffeured them on their first date, to see Nat King Cole at the Sands.

"My mother didn't believe me that I had a date with Elvis," Evans says. "She's sitting in the front window and she says, 'A Rolls Royce just pulled up.' "

Evans says she kept "trying to forget he was Elvis" so she wouldn't be terrified. However, whenever they went out in public, this was difficult.

"Girls would go crazy," she says. "They'd hang on the car and they'd be looking at him, crying."

Some, Evans says, even came to the Flamingo gift shop, after catching wind of who beat them to their idol.

"They brought their friends to stare at the girl who dates Elvis," she says.

At Cole's show, one girl approached their table asking for an autograph.

Presley told Evans: "You sign it, too."

He instructed her to write "Ann-Margret."

"I didn't know how to spell it," Evans says.

Presley broke it off after being called to shoot the film "Roustabout." He phoned and sang, as usual. Evans said, "Well, hello there," as usual.

This time, however, his reply was unusual: "Well, goodbye there."

Evans asked for his phone number in Beverly Hills, Calif. (She still remembers the digits.) She checked it once to make sure it was legit. One of Presley's employees answered, informing her that the big guy was on set. Evans never called back, though.

"I just knew that Elvis was Elvis," she explains, "and if he was madly in love with me, he would have called me."

Although she married three times since, Evans says Presley still occupies a "very special" place in her heart.

"You just don't get over someone like that," she says.

Contact reporter Corey Levitan at clevitan@review journal.com or 702-383-0456.

MORE ELVIS ENCOUNTERS

Las Vegas resident Betty Nesslage, 74, attended Memphis’ Humes High School in 1948 and 1949, which means she had a very famous eighth-grade classmate. Nesslage recalls that Elvis Presley was not one of the more popular kids.

“He had friends, but he didn’t have a lot of friends,” she remembers, adding that he suffered from acne and “wasn’t a big flirt.” Presley was a 1953 Humes graduate; Nesslage, whose last name at the time was Pate, left school in 1949.

Where Presley truly shined, Nesslage recalls, was in glee club. While it is commonly reported that Presley received a “C” in eighth-grade music class, Nesslage claims this never happened. (Glee club was the only music class Humes had at the time.)

“Mrs. Mormon thought he was the best thing since sliced peaches,” says Nesslage, who sang second soprano but can’t recall Presley’s voice assignment. “When we did ‘The Lord’s Prayer,’ you could hear a pin drop.”

Presley also stood out for a less desirable reason, according to Nesslage: his poverty.

“Elvis had holes in his shoes and he knew what a bean sandwich was, just like I did,” Nesslage says. “I don’t think I ever saw Elvis buy his lunch at school.”

He made up for this deficiency, however, by frequenting a gourmet eatery called Ember’s following his first record deal. Nesslage reports waiting on him several times in 1955.

“A normal order of pork chops is two,” Nesslage says, “but he would always want three. He always wanted that little bit of extra, but he was always very friendly.”

In the mid-’60s, Nathan Bassing and his parents lived in a four-plex apartment at Lana Avenue and Koval Lane. They shared the second floor with two English women who danced at the “Casino de Paris” show at the Dunes.

One day at dawn, Bassing went out his front door to fetch his morning newspaper. Parked at the curb, he saw a Cadillac with steer horns as a hood ornament.

“That car certainly did not belong in the neighborhood,” recalls Bassing, now 65.

As he bent down to get his paper, the door to the adjacent apartment opened. Bassing was surprised, because the dancers weren’t usually up before noon.

You guessed it.

“He got past me as fast as he could,” Bassing says.

No words were exchanged as Presley squeezed by Bassing on the narrow landing, then bounded down the stairs, across the lawn and into his car.

“I was shocked,” Bassing recalls. “You just sort of gape and stare and say, ‘OK.’ ”

By the time Presley began performing at the International in 1969, he was an international superstar who couldn’t venture in public without creating a safety hazard. He also loved playing slot machines. It was Las Vegas resident Dick Killian’s job to reconcile these two facts.

As the International’s slot shop manager, Killian lugged two 25-cent slots up to the 30th-floor penthouse before every Presley engagement up to the last (Dec. 2-12, 1976). They were always the same two slots: a two-coin, three-reel Double-Up and a single-coin, three-reel International Special, both manufactured by Mills.

Killian, now 77, would encounter Presley while servicing the machines.

“He was very polite with me,” Killian says, “but he never said a word about the blatant attempt to cheat the house.”

During one mid-’70s engagement, Killian claims, he found a Double-Up loosened from its base, enough so that a magazine was slipped under the coin drop. It caught the quarters after they activated the machine.

Instead of accusing anyone, Killian secured the slots from that point forward with an extra jam nut. In all fairness, Killian acknowledges, anybody entering the suite could have been responsible. Presley might not have even been aware of it.

“It’s anyone’s guess,” Killian says.

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Comments

Note: Comments made by reporters and editors of the Las Vegas Review-Journal are presented with a yellow background.

1. milan.petkovich Feb. 25, 2010 | 4:28 p.m. Report Abuse

   THE FRONTIER VILAGE IN BACK OF THE SILVER SLIPPER HAD BUMPBER CARS THAT YOU COULD PAY TO RIDE ON. I WAS IN HIGH SCOOL IN THE MID 50'S AND THEIR WERE TIMES THAT ELVIS AND HIS PALS WOULD BE SEEN THERE.