I knew the name—knew who he was--because mom played his records a lot, especially at Christmastime when she almost always had music on the record player. But standing there watching her so distraught, his dying didn't mean much to me and I just couldn't understand why she would cry so hard over someone she didn't even know.

Years later I would find out how big an Elvis fan my mom was. As a teenage girl she had been president of his fan club in Michigan (back when artists' fan clubs had chapters and were really run by people). She had spoken with "The Colonel" on the phone. She had corresponded with someone Elvis briefly dated (although I'm still not sure how this came about). We still have a letter in which the woman talks about a date with Elvis. My mother wasn't just a fan. Like millions of people she loved him. And he was gone. It was the end of an era.

And if you're wondering, yes, every now and then I do get in the mood for a little of the King's music.