A towel, a tune and a twist

Forty-two years ago, my Sunday school teacher brought a bath towel to the church dining hall where each week she tried to inspire a bunch of hormone-laden teenagers who were as close to mortal sin as you can possibly get.

On that particular day, our teacher had us stand in the open area of the dining hall -- about where the potato salad and coleslaw would have been laid out for a potluck dinner -- while she made mysterious preparations.

She put a record on the phonograph and turned it on. In an instant, the dining hall was filled with Chubby Checker. Right there in the church dining hall!

As if that wasn't enough to send us down the road to perdition, what she did next was even more astonishing. She put the bath towel around her -- how can this be delicately put? -- rear-most parts and, grabbing a hank of terry cloth in each hand, started sashaying to a rock beat.

I have no idea what the Bible verse was for that day. But I'll never forget learning to do the Twist.

Our newfound knowledge was put to use every time we heard Elvis Presley. Not the ballads, of course. Slow dancing was something entirely different.

I'm sure there must have been other popular dances at the time, but the only one some of us -- those of us who feared a lightning bolt from on high -- would ever try was the Twist. After all, we had learned it from our Sunday school teacher. There must be some sort of special dispensation for that.

As it turns out, our parents were much more worried about Elvis than Chubby. Even TV censors -- remember them? -- didn't know how to handle what Elvis could do below the waist.

When it comes to song lyrics these days, I am the least informed person on the planet. Blame it on my hearing loss, but the plain fact is I don't even try to make out what the words are. That's because the noise that passes for way too much teen-oriented music these days is more than I can bear.

Which is exactly what our parents said about Elvis.

But I do know this: A lot of folks are concerned about a lot of song lyrics these days, the ones that are explicit about sex and abuse and drugs, the ones that use words so vile that I never would have dared to utter them as a teenager, knowing that if God didn't get me, my mother would.

By comparison, Elvis was a choirboy. So help me, I can't even find any decent double entendres in the songs he sang. Either those lyrics are mighty tame, or I've lost whatever moral footing I ever had.

What am I missing here?

"If you gave me nine lives like a tommy cat,

I'd give 'em all to you and never take one back.

Ain't that loving you, baby?"

I'm sorry. I can't find anything terribly suggestive in that. Did it mean something 40 years ago, something that I've forgotten?

"Take my hand, take my whole life too,

For I can't help falling in love with you."

I know the hormones haven't changed, but do teenagers today still fall in -- and out of -- love as often as my generation did?

I'm not a leading authority on Elvis. I like listening to him today more than I did when I was a teenager. I think that's because his songs remind me so much of another time.

My wife and I have taken the Graceland tour. She made an unwelcome comment in the jungle room. I spoke inappropriately at his grave site. Both of us, it seems, are about as welcome to make a return visit as locusts at a wheat growers convention.

Regardless of all that, we are among the millions of fans who will remember Elvis, in our own way, on this, the 25th anniversary of his death.

One final thought: Is Elvis still alive?

"We ain't fakin'

A whole lotta shakin' goin' on."

You bet he is.

R. Joe Sullivan is the editor of the Southeast Missourian.