On Friday, October 28, back home in Madison, Tom Parker got a telegram from W. W. Bullock, RCA’s singles division manager, that $25,000 was as high as RCA was willing to go. On Saturday he and his assistant Tom Diskin went over to Memphis to meet with Sam Phillips and Bob Neal at the offices of WHER, which had finally gone on the air that morning after several days of what the newspaper called “ladylike tardiness,” equipment delays and problems with the transmitter. Sam had been up three days straight at this point installing the ground system and running all the checks. By apparent coincidence Hill and Range attorney Ben Starr arrived on this very day to work out a deal tied in with the forthcoming Elvis Presley song folio, whereby Hill and Range was licensed to represent the Sun publishing catalogue in Europe as well as to actively promote domestic cover versions of Sun catalogue songs. After listening to Hill and Range’s offer, Sam left Starr in the studio and joined the others in the Holiday Inn restaurant next door, squeezing into a booth with Neal opposite Parker and Diskin. Parker brought up the money situation once again, as if to make sure he had heard correctly over what might have been a bad telephone line. Thirty-five thousand? he said. Well, you know that’s a lot of money. I don’t know if I can raise that kind of money on an unproven talent. He went over great in Jacksonville, but you talking about $35,000. That’s right, chimed in Tom Diskin. That’s a helluva lot of money. How much money you made on that boy, anyway? According to Sam Phillips: “I said, ‘It’s none of your goddam business. In addition to that, I didn’t invite you down here. I invited Tom Parker.’ Tom elbowed Diskin on the outside seat of this booth and said, ‘Shut your mouth.’ ’Cause, man, I was ready to get up and whip his ass. Or get whipped. Parker said, ‘Look, I don’t know where we can go.’ He said, ‘Sam, there’s not a lot of people believe in this thing. But how can we work this deal?’ I said, ‘Well, first thing, you just keep Tom Diskin’s mouth shut.’ ”
They finally worked out an option deal. The option would take effect on Monday, October 31, and allow Parker two weeks to raise $5,000 (until midnight, November 15). The deal was predicated on a $35,000 purchase price—not surprisingly, Sam Phillips did not budge, and undoubtedly part of him was hoping that the price would not be met—and the full amount had to be raised, and the contract executed, within one month, by December 1, 1955. The $5,000 was not refundable, and the deadline would not be extended. It was a gamble on Tom Parker’s part. He was committed at this point. If he didn’t come through, he was unlikely to get another chance. Mr. and Mrs. Presley believed in him, at least for the time being; Bob Neal had simply caved in; and the boy—the boy, he thought, would follow him to the ends of the earth. The boy simply didn’t care. And only the Colonel knew that the money wasn’t there.
Sam Phillips, for his part, was also struck by an uncharacteristic moment of doubt. Upon his return to the radio studio, and after having taken care of the Hill and Range business, Sam ran into Kemmons Wilson, the visionary founder of Holiday Inn and the man who was temporarily providing Sam with free office space. If there was anyone whom Sam Phillips looked up to in the realm of business, it was Kemmons Wilson, and suddenly fearful of what he had done, he asked Wilson his opinion. “He said, ‘Jesus Christ, thirty-five thousand dollars? Hell, he can’t even sing, man. Take the money!’ I said, ‘Well, I just done it, and I don’t know if they will come through or not.’ He said, ‘You better hope they do.’ So I felt better about it—but I was torn.”
FOR BOTH TOM PARKER and Sam Phillips the next two weeks were a period of intense, and sometimes frenetic, activity. On Sunday, October 30, Sam set off for Houston with Marion Keisker for a preliminary injunction hearing in federal court on his lawsuit against Duke Records. It was his son Knox’s tenth birthday, and he was so worn out by all of his conflicting obligations that he had to pull over in a cow pasture by the side of the road outside of Shreveport to catch some sleep. When he returned to Memphis, he made a conscious point of talking to Elvis about the deal, but after reassuring Elvis that he would speak to Steve Sholes personally, that he would never abandon him, there was not much else to say, and Elvis, never the most verbally expressive of individuals in any case, pretty much conveyed the same attitude that he had already articulated to Bob Neal. “Elvis did ask me once or twice, did I think they [RCA] could record him as good as they did at Sun,” Neal said, “and I said, ‘No reason why not.’ He didn’t really seem too terribly excited, except he was excited by the idea that he was increasing in value all the time…. He was not the type that would just get completely broke up over something, it was sort of like, ‘I knew this was going to happen. It’s great, let’s keep it rolling.’ ”
Tom Parker, on the other hand, spent almost all of his time trying to maneuver RCA into raising their offer, either by indicating the interest of other companies, which by now were in all practical terms out of the picture, or by attempting to tie in the Hill and Range folio deal in some manner beneficial to the purchase price of the contract. By the time of the DJ convention in Nashville, on November 10, the Colonel was sure enough of his deal that everyone knew there was something in the air, but whether RCA was aware that Sam Phillips would not move off his original price or Phillips knew of the RCA shortfall is doubtful. It may well be that the Colonel was simply counting on RCA’s increasing commitment to the idea of the deal to carry them through the unpleasant financial details.
RCA head of specialty singles Steve Sholes (he oversaw not just the country and western but the gospel and r&b divisions as well) was at the convention as a matter of course, and the Colonel spent as much time as possible with him and publicity director Anne Fulchino, not one of his biggest fans after the scene he had made in Florida the previous year, mapping out variations on his vision of the future. He did not neglect to point out that both Cash Box and Billboard had selected his boy as most promising new c&w artist in disc jockey polls, and in fact each presented him with a scroll at the convention to go with the plaque he received from Country & Western Jamboree for topping their readers’ poll with 250,000 votes for “New Star of the Year.” Probably the elephant that the Colonel had tethered outside of the Hickory Room of the Andrew Jackson Hotel did not fail to make its implicit point either, while at the same time proclaiming, ‘Like an elephant Hank Snow never forgets. Thanks Dee Jays.”
As for Elvis, he scarcely had time to breeze in and breeze out, flying out of Nashville late Friday night for a few hours at home before taking off again early the next morning for a mill opening in Carthage, Texas, and a Hayride performance that night, then flying back to Memphis for an all-star “Western Swing Jamboree” at Ellis Auditorium Sunday afternoon and evening. The convention itself went by like a blur—the Colonel introducing him to many old friends (not to mention Mr. Sholes), Hank Snow taking him under his wing, Bob Neal reining in old friends and colleagues, everyone having fun and doing business. There were girls all over the hotel and parties to introduce you to the girls (if you needed an introduction). Hill and Range representative Grelun Landon brought him proofs of the song folio and showed them to him and Bob Neal: the cover was printed in pink and black, and the back had a studio photograph of Vernon and Gladys Presley, looking youthful and happy (Gladys’ mouth was open, her hair had been done by Mr. Tommy at Goldsmith’s, she looked as pretty as a doll).
He had never realized before how many friends he had in the business. Biff Collie was here and T. Tommy Cutrer, with his deep booming voice, who had just moved up from Shreveport; all the local DJs and promoters were there, and they were all treating him, he noticed, as if he were somehow… different. He didn’t feel any different, though, he was still just like a kid bouncing on his toes itching to get on with it. When he ran into RCA head of country and western promotion Chick Crumpacker, whom he had met first in Richmond and then in Meridian, Mississippi, the previous spring, he announced proudly, “Hey, I’m with you guys now.” And to Buddy Bain, the Corinth DJ who had hosted him at the outset of the year and showed him a scrapbook filled with Opry pictur
es, he announced proudly, with a big grin, “Buddy, I believe I’m gonna make it. The Colonel just sold my contract to RCA.” To which Buddy replied, “I believe you are.”
So many people wanted one thing or another from him—he didn’t have time to sit still for all that. He didn’t mind signing autographs, and he was glad to shoot the breeze about music or any other subject with anyone who came up to him, but he didn’t want to talk business with anyone, heck, he didn’t know anything about business, that’s what Bob and Colonel were there for. Mae Boren Axton, the lady from Jacksonville who worked for Colonel in Florida, had been trying to get him to listen to this song ever since he got in—she kept saying it would be his first million-seller, he could have it if he would just make it his first single release on RCA, she was so pleased that he had gotten this wonderful deal. He didn’t feel like listening to any songs now, there was so much to do, but Bob finally got him to go up to the room with him and Mae, and he really liked it, he said, “Hot dog, Mae, play it again,” and she played it over and over—it was really different, a little like Roy Brown’s “Hard Luck Blues,” only this was about a hotel, a heartbreak hotel, where the bellhop’s tears kept flowing and the desk clerk was dressed in black. He knew the whole song before he left the room. “That’s gonna be my next record,” he said, nodding at Bob Neal so Mae would know he was serious and maybe leave him alone about it now.
On Sunday he played Ellis in what was billed by the Press-Scimitar as a rare local appearance. He was the headliner, with his name above Hank Thompson and Carl Smith, and that new boy from Jackson, Carl Perkins, was at the bottom of the bill. Both his parents were present—Colonel made sure of that, and that they were well treated. Both Colonel and Hank Snow had been calling Mr. and Mrs. Presley regularly to reassure them that everything was all right, that this new RCA deal was really going to come about, and they had even stopped by to visit once or twice at the little house on Getwell. Gladys still didn’t like the Colonel, he knew that, but she was finally getting more used to his ways, and while Vernon didn’t ever say much, he seemed to know which side his bread was buttered on. At the show that night Elvis wore his oversize red suit and climbed up on top of Bill’s bass fiddle with him after popping three or four strings on his guitar. “Scotty’s onstage to keep order,” said someone in the audience, and after the show was over all the performers signed autographs while still onstage, with Elvis prowling around on the balls of his feet, like a caged tiger, one observer noted, unable to find a release for all that energy.
On November 15, the day the option had to be picked up, the Colonel was still feverishly working out the deal. Bill Bullock continued to balk over the price to the very end, with Parker telegramming him one last time to remind him that time was running out and that if they didn’t pick up the option now, he believed the price would simply go up again. Personally, said the Colonel, he believed the price was too high, and, he emphasized, he had nothing to gain from the deal, other than to protect everyone’s interests, but he believed that they should go ahead because the talent was there. He had managed to stop Sam Phillips from releasing a new Sun single, he said, but the clear implication was that he couldn’t stop him for long. He reminded Bullock of the price once again and of the condition that he had inserted, no doubt as one last way of accentuating the difference between himself and Bob Neal, that there would be three national television appearances guaranteed in the contract. Then he pointed out that the banks closed in Madison at 2:00.
Bullock was finally convinced. With his go-ahead, Parker called Phillips to ask if he wanted the money wired to conform strictly to the deadline. No, Sam said, he could just mail it if he wanted, and sent a telegram to that effect. They would have to get together in the next week or so to finalize the deal, and that would, naturally, take place in Memphis. The Colonel went to his bank in Madison and sent the money air mail, special delivery, then wrote to H. Coleman Tily III, RCA’s legal representative, and thanked him for all the help he and Bullock had been. The Colonel hoped he had done all right on the deal; he had done the best he could in the absence of their guiding hand. He reminded Tily of the three guest appearances that had to be part of the deal, or else he would lose his credibility with the Presleys, and then he gave instructions as to how his reimbursement check should be made out, with a clear notation that it was a refund, not a commission; as an RCA shareholder he was simply proud to have advanced the money.
In Memphis Sam Phillips felt momentarily bereft. Part of him had never fully believed that the deal would actually go through; part of him knew that it had to. But he plunged back into his recording activity, spent long hours at the new radio studio, started gearing up his new release schedule (he was determined to have “Blue Suede Shoes,” the new Carl Perkins record, out by the first of the year), and continued to pursue his claim against Duke Records, which was due for resolution by the end of the month.
Six days later, on November 21, Steve Sholes, Ben Starr, Coleman Tily, the Colonel, Tom Diskin, Hank Snow, local RCA distributor Jim Crudgington, and regional rep Sam Esgro all converged on the little Sun studio for the signing of the papers. Colonel Parker came accompanied by a document dated the same day stipulating that out of the 40 percent in combined commissions due the Colonel and Bob Neal (25 percent to the Colonel, 15 percent to Neal), there would be an even split for the duration of Neal’s agreement, until March 15, 1956. The buyout agreement itself was a simple two-page document in which Sun Records agreed to turn over all tapes and cease all distribution and sales of previously released recordings as of December 31, 1955, while the managers “do hereby sell, assign and transfer unto RCA all of their right, title and interest in and to” the previously exercised option agreement. The purchase price was $35,000; RCA undertook responsibility for the payment of all back royalties and held Sun Records harmless from any subsequent claims. Out of all this Elvis Presley would get a royalty of 5 percent as opposed to the 3 percent that he was currently receiving from Sun—this amounted to almost two cents more per record sold, which over the course of a million sales would come to about $18,000.
In addition, as the result of a co-publishing arrangement that the Colonel had entered into with Hill and Range (who probably contributed substantially themselves toward the purchase price), Elvis would now receive half of the two-cent statutory mechanical fee and half of the two-cent broadcast fee on all new Hill and Range compositions that he recorded, which would be registered through his own publishing company. If at this point he were to start writing songs as well, or, perhaps more pertinently, if he were to start claiming songwriting credit for songs he recorded, a practice going back to time immemorial in the recording industry, he could increase his income by up to another two cents per side. Hill and Range, meanwhile, stood to gain an almost incalculable advantage over their competitors in the field by securing not just an inside track, but what amounted to virtually a right of first refusal from the hottest new singing sensation in the country.
After the contract was signed, there was a picture-taking ceremony, with different configurations of the various parties involved. In one Elvis is flanked by the Colonel and Hank Snow, proud partners in Jamboree Attractions, while Bob Neal, to Snow’s left, jovially approves; in another Gladys plants a kiss upon her son’s cheek and clutches her black handbag as the Colonel pats her on the shoulder and Vernon looks stiffly on. In yet another Sam and Elvis shake hands across RCA attorney Coleman Tily. In all the pictures all the men are beaming—everyone has seemingly gotten exactly what he wanted. After the picture taking a number of the participants dropped by for a brief on-air appearance on Marion Keisker’s show in the brand-new WHER studios. “They thought it would be great fun,” said Marion, “if they all came over and we announced it. So they all crowded into the little control room, and we did a little four- or five-way interview, well, not really an interview, just a little chat. And in the course of it, I remember, Hank Snow said, ‘I’m very proud this boy made his first appearance on the natio
nal scene on my section of the Grand Ole Opry.’ And he was being such a pompous ass about it, I couldn’t help it, but I said, ‘Yes, and I remember, you had to ask him what his name was.’ That was a rather tactless thing for me to do.”
Bob Johnson’s story in the Press-Scimitar the following day was headlined “Memphis Singer Presley Signed by RCA-Victor for Recording Work.”
Elvis Presley, 20, Memphis recording star and entertainer who zoomed into bigtime and the big money almost overnight, has been released from his contract with Sun Record Co. of Memphis…. Phillips and RCA officials did not reveal terms but said the money involved is probably the highest ever paid for a contract release for a country-western recording artist. “I feel Elvis is one of the most talented youngsters today,” Phillips said, “and by releasing his contract to RCA-Victor we will give him the opportunity of entering the largest organization of its kind in the world, so his talents can be given the fullest opportunity.”
To further capitalize on that opportunity Elvis and the Colonel flew into New York on November 30 for a whirlwhind visit to RCA’s New York headquarters the next day. On December 2 Elvis was back on the road, playing to a decidedly modest crowd in Atlanta and joining an Opry package headlined by Roy Acuff and Kitty Wells the following night in Montgomery, Alabama, for which he was paid $400. That same day’s issue of Billboard magazine ran a banner headline announcing, “Double Deals Hurl Presley into Stardom,” and speculating shrewdly about the bright future that might well lie ahead.
Last Train to Memphis Page 29