A Little Thing Called Life

by Linda Thompson

  I listened to him say the words, and I agreed, but then, I gave everything to Elvis. I was now realizing that I should have held on to that core of my being. This lesson has stuck with me for decades. (I cowrote a song in 2015, “Hallowed Ground,” about this way of thinking, and it was on the charts for nearly three months in Scandinavia.) I had completely lost myself, and I vowed that I would never allow that to happen again. I felt like I was an empty shell, and I needed to fill myself up with who I was. I sought to remember who I had been going into my relationship with Elvis. Not Miss Tennessee. Not Elvis’s Girlfriend. But Linda Thompson, a young woman who’d put herself through college, who’d aspired to be a wife and mother, an actress, and most of all a good person. No matter where I landed, I didn’t need private planes to be happy—​I wanted normalcy.

  Initially, I went on auditions and started getting some acting jobs, but I also soon had an entrée to a career I’d never imagined for myself: as a songwriter. The opening for this began when I started dating David Briggs, Elvis’s keyboard player. Our relationship was never that serious, as I was still healing. It amounted to a long-distance relationship since he lived in Nashville, while I was mostly based in Los Angeles, which kept it casual.

  The fact that he was familiar from my days with Elvis was helpful, because it meant I hadn’t lost everything from my old world. David was familiar and a comfort of sorts to me. Of course, our relationship created a raised eyebrow or two as well. Apparently, Elvis found out David and I were dating, and he mischievously unplugged David’s keyboard onstage one night. But aside from an occasional little prank like that, Elvis didn’t make a big deal of the situation. He allowed David to continue working for him because David was very talented, Elvis and I had already broken up, and the music always came first for Elvis. Did it bother him? Maybe. But not so much that he would diminish his band because of it. Also, I think Elvis knew I’d been very good and extraordinarily faithful to him, and down deep, he wanted me to be happy.

  More than anything, David was a respite. He was the opposite of Elvis, because he was very easygoing. He also saw something in me that I’d never brought to its fullest potential before, and by doing so, he helped me to make a profound leap forward in my artistic life. I began sharing with him a few little love poems when we were apart, as was my way. He called me on the telephone one day after receiving my latest musing in the mail.

  “You should let me put these to music,” he said. It was similar to what Elvis had told me, and once again I demurred.

  “Oh no, I just write poetry,” I said. “Perhaps I’ll publish a book of poetry someday, but that’s it.”

  Not long after that, David surprised me by sending me a tape. He’d taken it upon himself to put music to one of the lyrics I’d written. And he’d gotten the lead singer of the Oak Ridge Boys, Steve Sanders, to sing the demo for him. Steve had a great voice, and it sounded incredible. Now it was my turn to call David.

  “This is what could happen with your lyrics,” he said. “This is the full fruition.”

  “Oh, wow, that’s really pretty,” I said, finally getting what he and Elvis saw in my songwriting potential.

  While Elvis had told me that my poetry would make good lyrics, I’d never really believed it, or felt entitled to turn the private emotions of our love into a public song. Now that I heard it for myself, however, there was no denying that I had a way with words that translated well into music. David and I began writing songs together occasionally, and I learned a great deal about songwriting and musicality from him.

  “This is what you could be doing because you’re a lyricist,” David said. “You’re not just a poet. You’re a lyricist and a damn good one. It’s something you can do for the rest of your life. You really have a talent.”

  “Okay, I’m a lyricist now,” I said with a laugh.

  I’d always believed the poetry I’d written was too personal to be of interest to anyone but my parents or Elvis or David. So it was gratifying to receive this validation, especially at a moment when I was trying to define myself on my own terms.

  After Elvis and I had been apart for several months, without any contact, I felt I had healed enough to call him and see how he was doing. I wanted him to know that, even though we didn’t live together anymore, he was still in my heart. I was back in Memphis at the time, at the house he’d bought for me. I was a little nervous as I waited for Elvis to come to the phone, and then just like that, I could hear his breathing and sense his presence on the line.

  “Hey, Ariadne, how are you doing, baby?” he said.

  “I’m doing well,” I said. “How are you doing, sweetheart?”

  “I’m okay,” he said. “I’m good. Everything is good.”

  “I’m just checking on you,” I said. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “I’m all good.”

  “I’m mostly living out in L.A. now,” I said. “And I’m doing some acting roles. Using my college training for something. I just think about you a lot, you know I love you, and want you to know I’m always here for you. Are you taking good care of yourself?”

  “I am, honey. I am.”

  “Are you eating right? Getting enough exercise?”

  “Yeah, I’m playing some racquetball.”

  “Okay, Buntyn, well, don’t overindulge in anything. You know what I mean.”

  “Naw, naw, I’m good,” he said. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

  “I have just about everything I need,” I said. “I’ve got my house, and I’m doing some acting. I’m doing a lot of Aaron Spelling shows. I’m fine.”

  “Do you need some money?” he asked. “I can give you a hundred thousand dollars if you want, and you can start a business, or do whatever you want with it.”

  “Oh my gosh, no, no, thank you, but I’m good, honey,” I said. “I want you to know that I don’t want anything. I’m so grateful for my house, for everything. You were very good and generous to me. I’m grateful for the time we had together. I love you. I wasn’t there for you to give me a buyout or payoff at the end. Please know that.”

  “Well, I appreciate that, honey,” he said. “Just let me know if you ever need anything.”

  “Of course, thank you. I love you,” I said.

  “I love you, too, Ariadne.”

  We hung up. In the way we spoke affectionately to one another, it was if we’d never missed a beat, and no time had passed. It was wonderful but also wrenching.

  It never would have occurred to me to take any money from Elvis, simply because I’d once lived with him and now no longer did. But around the same time, a woman named Michelle Triola Marvin made a splash in the media with just such a claim. She’d been the live-in companion of actor Lee Marvin for several years. They’d never married, but she’d legally changed her name to Marvin, and she was very ensconced in his life. When he broke up with her, she sued him for “palimony,” a term she and her attorney coined. She won around $100,000, although the decision was later overturned and she never received any money.

  Still, it was a high-profile case and got many people talking. Several people had told me I should sue Elvis in the same way. I was incredulous at the suggestion, finding the very idea offensive. But I’m sure Elvis knew about the palimony case, as it was big news. Maybe that’s one reason he offered me money like he did. Whatever his motivations, it meant a great deal to me that I’d set him straight. I’d never had an agenda when I was with him and didn’t need to be paid for what I considered the privilege of loving him. It had been my decision to be there.

  To this day, I derive a great deal of satisfaction from knowing that when Elvis drew his last breath, he had to know who loved him authentically. And in doing so, he knew that I’d always been there with him for the right reasons. When I left, I hadn’t asked him for anything. And I wouldn’t let him give me anything, even though he wanted to do so. I know he died with the absolute conviction that I loved him truly and purely.
You can’t buy or manufacture a better feeling than that.

  Not long after that first call with Elvis, I ended up dialing his number again. In the spring of 1977, I landed a role on Hee Haw. The show, created by Bernie Brillstein, John Aylesworth, and Frank Peppiatt of Yongestreet Productions, was on the air for twenty-five years. Of course, I found it ironic that I had to leave Memphis and come out to California to audition for a show that would take me back to Tennessee. I replaced Barbi Benton, making me the new girl, even though I ended up being a regular cast member for fifteen years. The show was meant to be pure country, and it was a lot of fun to do. I met just about every old school, iconic country music artist in the world. Not only did I work with such incredible stars as Dolly Parton, Merle Haggard, Kenny Rogers, Johnny Cash, Tanya Tucker, Loretta Lynn, George Jones, Tammy Wynette, and too many others to mention, we also had special guest stars like Jonathan Winters, Ed McMahon, and Tommy Lasorda. Admittedly, as Hee Haw Honeys, we were clearly objectified in the cornfield, but 98 percent of the time I really didn’t mind. It was all in good fun. Elvis and I had watched Hee Haw together religiously, so I was familiar with its premise and the full cast of characters. When I was cast, I knew he’d be excited, and I decided to call him again. He came right to the phone.

  “How are you doing, honey?” I asked.

  “I’m fine, sweetheart,” he said. “Are you doing okay?”

  “I’m calling to check on you,” I said. “I’m going to call and check on you from time to time. Just make sure you’re okay.”

  “Good, honey, you do that,” he said. “Even if they say I’m not available, you just call and check on me. Tell them to let me know that you called.”

  “Okay, I will,” I said. “You know, I’ve got a job. I’m going to be coming back to Nashville to film Hee Haw. I’m going to be one of the Hee Haw Honeys.”

  “Oh my God, you’re going to be one of the Hee Haw girls?” he said, obviously thrilled for me.

  “You’ll have to start watching in September,” I said. “They’re going to air the shows then, but we’re filming in June and October. I’ve already filmed some shows, and I’m going to be filming again in October. It’ll start airing in September.”

  “You know I watch it everywhere I go,” he said.

  “I know you do, honey,” I said.

  “Okay, I’ll watch for you. That’s great, sweetheart. I can’t wait to see my little Ariadne out in the cornfield on Hee Haw. You’ll be great.”

  “Thanks, sweetheart,” I said. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too, honey,” he said.

  Of course, I didn’t know at the time that Elvis wouldn’t be alive to see me make my debut on Hee Haw that September. Or that this would be the last time I spoke to him. But looking back now with the full knowledge of what was coming, I’m even more grateful that I was able to be that sweet and loving to him, and him to me, although we weren’t dating anymore. And I’m also glad that we were able to leave things on such warm, affectionate terms.

  I was appearing on Hee Haw with Kenny Rogers’s wife, Marianne. She and I were great friends, and I was over at their house almost every night. We often had dinner and played Scrabble together, enjoying casual, homey activities like that. I was visiting with them when I brought up my newfound creative endeavor.

  “Hey, Kenny, my friend David Briggs sent me this cassette,” I said. “Would you listen to it and tell me what you think about it?”

  “Oh no, you too?” he said, with a laugh.

  “What does that mean?” I asked, genuinely surprised.

  “Are you pitching me a song?”

  “Oh gosh, no,” I said.

  I was so naïve at the time, I didn’t know people were always pitching him songs.

  “No, no, no,” I said. “I just wanted you to listen to it and give me a critique, because it’s the first one of my poems that’s ever been put to music.”

  “All right, I’ll listen to it,” he said, somewhat indulgently.

  He went back to his dressing room alone, while Marianne and I sat and visited. Not long after that, he rejoined us with an openly astonished look on his face.

  “Linda, I’m going to give you a critique,” he said.

  “That’s all I wanted,” I said. “I just wanted to hear what you thought.”

  “My honest thought is that this is one of the most beautiful songs I’ve ever heard,” he said. “I’d like to record it. Do you have any more?”

  My heart swelled with pride at the knowledge that I really did have my own talent and was on the verge of finding my own standing and recognition.

  “Yes, I do,” I said. “I’ve got plenty more poetry.”

  Kenny was as good as his word. He recorded that song for his 1985 album The Heart of the Matter and released it as the B-side to his album single. He had enjoyed a major success with his 1977 song “Lucille,” and was still at the top of his game, not to mention the pinnacle of his career, so this was a confidence booster for me. Kenny also wanted to record more of my songs. To add to the thrill, Sir George Martin, known as the fifth Beatle, was the producer of Kenny’s record, and I had the pleasure of working with him. George even asked to read some more of my poetry because he found it compelling, he said. This was a major coup for me—I’d launched myself into a proper songwriting career.

  That was my first-ever royalty check. Marianne was selling a pair of her diamond earrings around the same time and decided I needed to get my ears pierced and buy them from her. That’s exactly what I did. Our friendship and those diamond earrings were a great investment.

  “Love Don’t Live Here Anymore”

  This is the house

  That love built

  With memories of you

  Built in each wall

  Warm tender scenes

  Still haunt my dreams

  Thought I just heard your voice

  In the hall

  The mirrors reflect

  All the heartache I feel

  Smiling photographs

  Just don’t seem real

  Nothing’s been moved

  But everything’s changed

  Each chair is in place

  Just my life’s rearranged

  The wind cries your name

  Through each window and door

  But love don’t live here

  Love don’t live here anymore

  The firelight still glows

  A pale blue

  And the mantle is cruel

  To hold pictures of you

  Your scent lingers there

  In the bed that we shared

  The last plant that I sent

  Is in bloom

  These rooms are unkind

  To play tricks on my mind

  I can’t believe

  You’d just leave

  Without me

  Nothing’s been moved

  But everything’s changed

  Each chair is in place

  Just my life’s rearranged

  The wind cries your name

  Through each window and door

  But love don’t live here

  Love don’t live here anymore

  LYRIC: LINDA THOMPSON

  Chapter Twelve

  A Final Goodbye at Graceland

  On Friday, August 12, 1977, I had a strong urge to talk to Elvis. I’d been thinking about him all week, worrying about his health in a way that made me feel uneasy. I just had a sense of foreboding, so I called Graceland and Charlie Hodge answered the phone.

  “Charlie, it’s me,” I said. “I’m just calling to check on Elvis. How’s he doing?”

  “He’s fine,” he said. “He’s good.”

  “I have an uneasy feeling about him,” I said. “Would you please just go upstairs and check on him?”

  “Honey, he’s fine,” Charlie said. “He’s sleeping.”

  “I have this feeling, just an uneasy feeling,” I said. “Please, Charlie, do me a big favor and just do a quick che
ck to make sure he is breathing all right and he’s okay. Do you mind? I know it sounds silly, but I’ve just got a weird feeling about him.”

  “All right, all right,” he said, sounding a little annoyed. “Hold on.”

  I didn’t care if I’d irritated him, though. All I cared about was Elvis. He put down the phone. After a few minutes he came back on the line.

  “He’s fine, honey,” Charlie said. “He’s alone and he’s sleeping soundly. He’s good. His breathing is fine.”

  Of course, I don’t know if he was really alone, or asleep, or even if Charlie really went up there. It wasn’t acceptable for anyone to simply walk into Elvis’s room. I was well aware of that. But what more could I do? It wasn’t like I could fly in from L.A. to check on him myself.

  “He’s breathing well and he’s all right?” I asked, still unsettled.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “We’re going on tour next week. Everything is fine.”

  “Okay, Charlie, do me a favor,” I said. “Tell him I called, tell him I love him, and just keep an eye on him. I worry about him.”

  “I know you do, but try not to worry,” he said.

  I can’t explain how I’d known, but I was certain Elvis was in trouble. I guess sometimes there’s a kind of energy in the atmosphere that we can pick up on. Just as technology allows us to receive and transmit invisible radio and TV waves, I believe the human mind can sometimes perceive thought waves and energy. And that’s what prompted me to call him that Friday.

  Just a few days later, on Tuesday morning, August 16, I received the call from Lisa Marie with the terrible, heartbreaking news that her daddy was dead.

  A short time after Lisa Marie called me, my phone rang again. It was Vernon Presley, Elvis’s father. His voice sounded weak, defeated, and sad beyond description. There can be no greater tragedy than the loss of your child, at any age.

  “He’s gone, Linda,” he said. “My boy is gone. Oh me, Lordy, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  “Oh, Mr. Presley, I’m so sorry,” I said. “I’m so sorry for your loss. I don’t even know what to say. I’m devastated, and I know you must feel the same way. It’s just in the wrong order. No one ever expects to lose a child. And no matter how old he was, or how long he’d lived, or how famous he was, he was still your baby. I can only imagine your hurt. I’m so, so sorry. If there’s anything that I can do …”