It was the second Sunday in November, 1954.  I was 13 years old and already in the habit of attending country music concerts in the North Hall of Ellis Auditorium despite the fact that Memphis was a 3-hour drive from my hometown in the Delta.  My father didn’t complain about the drive.  He enjoyed every minute and was happy that I had inherited his love of music.  He had even given me a Montgomery Ward guitar for Christmas the year before. 

During the early 50s listened to the radio every afternoon after school.  They played an hour of hillbilly music, as it was known then, and then an hour of black rhythm and blues – something for everybody.  But during the summer of ’54 a record came out that got airplay during both those hours.  During the country hour they played one side – an old Bill Monroe tune, “Blue Moon of Kentucky” and during the R&B hour they flipped the disc over and played “That’s All Right Mama.”  That record took off like wildfire.  Teenagers, who bought most of the records then, loved it.  I eventually learned that the singer was from Memphis, that this was his first record and that it was recorded at 706 Union Avenue – Sun Recording Studio.  The singer’s name was Elvis Presley – I had no idea what he looked like.  But that record he made was such a hit that he soon had another one and I liked it just as much as the first one.  Then in November I heard that he would be opening for Carl Smith at a Sunday afternoon show at Ellis Auditorium.  Carl Smith was one of my favorites and I was real curious about this “Elvis Presley.”  So we drove to Memphis that morning and I got the tickets.

Sitting in the North Hall waiting for the show to begin, I was surrounded by teenagers – mostly female and mostly there to see Elvis even if he wasn’t the headliner.  The show opened with some little trio that played a few numbers and then Elvis came on.  He had black hair that was somewhat longer than was fashionable then and side burns and was wearing a plaid jacket with a dress shirt and pants rather than the western outfits that the other entertainers wore.  He seemed ill at ease, out of place, even awkward as he walked to center stage; but the crowd went wild before he even opened his mouth.  (They had seen him perform before – I hadn’t.)  He stepped up to the microphone, sang part of a lyric and the audience started screaming.  You couldn’t even hear him over the screams.  This was Elvis four months after he cut his first record – tentative, shy, unsure – but having a ball.  He would become totally immersed in the music and start to twitch or almost sneer – seemingly unconsciously -- and the audience would shrill and swoon and then he’d do it again with a little more assertiveness.  He was testing himself and his audience, learning his craft, but even at that time he and the audience were locked together – it was hypnotizing. 

When his set was over and the audience had reached a fairly calm state Carl Smith came on.  His set was entertaining, but he couldn’t match Elvis.  The screams were gone, everyone was back in their seats and things returned to normal.  I wasn’t bored, but I was restless and went out to get something to drink.  I left the auditorium and headed down a hallway for the concession stand.  I rounded a corner and there, right in front of the concession stand, was Elvis – Coco-Cola in hand – talking and laughing with two friends and the concessionaire.  I stopped and stared – he stared back – they all did; for a second we all waited for someone to make a move.  Finally I walked toward them and, because I couldn’t think of anything else to say, I asked for his autograph.  He smiled that crooked smile obviously flattered – he hadn’t signed that many autographs at that time -- and looked at his friends, then back at me expectantly.  I realized I had nothing for him to autograph.  I started digging through my bag when Elvis grabbed a pen from his pocket, reached over and took my hand and scribbled his name across the back of my wrist. I protected that hand for two weeks.  I’d wash around that name every time I washed my hands; I’d rest it on the side of the bathtub way out of the bathwater; I held it out for everyone at school to see.  I managed to keep that autograph on my hand for about two weeks.  But of course I couldn’t keep ink on my skin forever.  If I had known then that name would become a household word all over the world, maybe I’d have had it tattooed or something.  At any rate I was something of a celebrity for a couple of weeks.  Elvis’ contract was sold to RCA soon after that and he continued his sky-rocket ride to stardom.  I saw him several times after that and I have several more autographs that were more permanent – ones I could keep.  But I still remember the first one – it was my favorite.

-- Mimmye Goode