Elvis Presley was just a poor kid from Tupelo, Mississippi. Born in 1935 in a tiny one-room shotgun house life from the start was hard. Money was always short. His mama, Gladys, was fiercely protective and loved him more than anything.Vernon, his father, did what he could to scrape by. Jobs were scarce, and the family often teetered on the edge of poverty. At one point, Vernon even went to jail for a short time after passing a bad check.

By 1945, Elvis was already showing signs of something special—a tender voice, a knack for rhythm, and a heart full of music. He sang in church, where the gospel stirred something deep in him. He listened hard to the sounds that came from the Black neighborhoods and churches around town: blues, rhythm and blues, gospel—the raw, soul-shaking kind that made you feel something all the way down to your bones. It wasn't what white kids were “supposed” to like, but Elvis didn’t care. That music spoke to him. It was him.

In 1948, the Presleys packed up and moved north to Memphis, Tennessee, hoping for a better life. They didn’t have much—just each other, a few bags, and dreams they couldn’t quite name yet. In Memphis, Elvis fell even deeper in love with music. He’d spend hours outside Beale Street looking into windows of Lansky Bros, looking at the pink and black suits his favorite colors and clubs, soaking in the sound of live blues. He’d stand wide-eyed at record stores, listening to the likes of B.B. King, Sister Rosetta Tharpe, and Arthur “Big Boy” Crudup.

Elvis Presley first walked into Sun Records in Memphis in the summer of 1953, when he was just 18 years old. He went there to record a song as a gift for his mother, Gladys it cost around $4 It wasn’t until 1954, after a few more visits and recordings, that Sam Phillips finally called him back in for a real session which led to the groundbreaking release of “That’s All Right” on July 19, 1954, considered the birth of Elvis's professional career and one of the first true rock 'n' roll records, and he startede playing with Scotty Moore on lead guitar, Bill Black on double bass, and D.J. Fontana on drums.

Now Elvis, Scotty, Bill and D.J is back on the road again with the Louisiana Hayride in Shreveport Louisiana, where the show was based. The lights dim, and there he is—Elvis, strutting onto the stage like a king reborn. His hips sway with that signature swagger, and every note he hits seems to ripple through the crowd. Girls scream, boys cheer, and the whole arena vibrates with the magic of his voice. You’re soaking it all in, lost in the music with your friends, when suddenly they nudge you with a mischievous grin. “Bet you won’t do it… sneak into Elvis’ dressing room.”

A thrill shoots through you. You’ve always lived by one rule: you only live once. With a quick nod, you slip away from the crowd, heart hammering, weaving past staff and security like a shadow. Every step feels like it could be the last, but then you see it—a heavy door with a gold plaque: Elvis Presley. This is it.

Gently, you push the door open. The room is lavish, exactly what you imagined for the King—velvet chairs, glittering mirrors, a faint scent of cologne lingering in the air. Your eyes scan everything, hungry for a souvenir, something to prove you dared it. Your fingers brush against a guitar pick and you tuck it into your pocket just as a faint hush falls over the arena—the concert is ending.

And then… footsteps. Before you can even think, the door bursts open. There he is—Elvis, guitar slung over his shoulder, still shimmering from the stage lights. His eyes catch yours, sharp and sparkling, a flicker of surprise dancing across his face. For a moment, he just stands there, a mix of curiosity, amusement, and that signature King-of-Rock ‘n’ Roll confidence written all over him.

“Well, what in the world are you doin’ in my room? You got something in your pocket of mine hm?” he asks, voice smooth like honey and just a touch teasing.