Elvis Has Left the Stadium

By Randy Haglund

“10-12 Chuck. This is the last number.”

Officer Chuck Sorini’s radio crackled as he observed the concert from the north terrace of Memorial Stadium[1] from his Harley motorcycle with a sidecar. Depressing the side button on his microphone he replied.

“10-4”

He was ready. Nevertheless he tapped his fingers on his handlebars impatiently. He thought about all the things that could still go wrong. The timing had to be perfect and total cooperation was essential.

His observation point presented a rather absurd view. He could see Elvis Presley gyrating as he sang from a makeshift plywood stage in the center of the football field. But Elvis could barely be heard over more than 12,000 screaming fans crowding the west seats of the stadium. If it had been a boat it would have capsized with everyone jammed on one side. Wearing a gold sequin jacket Elvis shimmered in the pink footlights while his band went almost unnoticed.

On Friday night, August 30, 1957, Elvis was red hot. With eight number one hits in the last eighteen months, and three blockbuster movies over the same period, Spokane seemed like an unlikely stop. According to Billboard, at twenty-two years old he had already had more top 100 hits than any act since anyone.

Ever.

As Presley growled out his closing number, “Hound Dog,” Sorini frowned, thinking about how irritating the song was. The same lines were repeated over and over, and they didn’t even make sense. “We-lll, you ain’t never caught a rabbit and you ain’t no friend of mine.”

What’s that supposed to mean?

At one point during the song, Elvis left the stage, got to his knees and crawled toward the crowd, as if pleading for them to scream louder.

Which they did.

Sorini watched as fellow officers kept swooning teenage girls from entering the football field.

Returning to the stage, Elvis ended the song, making a windmill motion with his arm. “Thank you, Spokane, and God bless!”

A gold Cadillac convertible rolled up to the front of the stage and he climbed in, perching himself up on the back seat. Waving to his adoring, screaming fans, the gleaming car proceeded up the northwest ramp, escorted by a herd of police officers. It came to a stop on the north terrace near where Sorini waited.

Keeping fans at bay, the police surrounded the pop star when he left the Cadillac and entered the eastside door of a brick building normally used as locker rooms for football teams. Before the concert, Elvis and his manager, Colonel Tom Parker, had met in there for publicity photos with reporters.

Sorini had been hired along with fifty other off-duty police officers to provide security at the stadium, and they huddled around the east door while hundreds of fans hoping to get another glimpse of the King did the same.

But Chuck waited with his Harley Davidson FHL motorcycle at the west door, opposite the crowds. Several agonizing minutes passed before his radio crackled again.

“Ten seconds”

“10-4.” Sorini kick started the Harley which yielded a low rumble.

In ten seconds the east door opened to screaming fans and policemen ordering people to stay back. At the same moment, the west door opened and a security man popped his head out of the dark opening, looking from side to side.

“We’re clear,” said Sorini.

The security man then came out with Elvis Presley right behind him. Minus the gold jacket. Wearing a black t-shirt and black pants he locked his blue eyes with Chuck’s brown ones momentarily.

“Ready?” Sorini asked, nodding to the getaway module.

“Ready Teddy” said the King. He slipped into the sidecar, and then tucked his head between his knees with ease.

I guess it’s not just his legs that are rubber. Sorini snapped down the leather tonneau cover and eased the throttle toward him. With the high compression Harley-Davidson Hydra Glide he could’ve peeled out of there, but he moved slowly past the crowds.

Nothing to see here.

The policeman couldn’t help but smile as he pulled away from the commotion, knowing he was now the sole member of the rock and roll idol’s entourage. As he drove through the lot he heard the PA system announce, “Elvis has left the stadium.”

Indeed.

He pulled out onto Assembly Street and continued his slow pace with heavy traffic all around him. Going on midnight, hundreds of cars had left the stadium parking lot with him. He checked his mirrors and saw one police car there to make sure no one knew Elvis was stashed alongside him.

As he turned down Northwest Boulevard traffic started to lighten up and he could feel tension leaving his muscles. He unsnapped a couple buttons of the leather top to let more air in to the side car. Now it was just him, the cool evening air and his motorcycle.

And the King of Rock and Roll folded in half.

His fingers were tapping the handlebars again but this time he realized a song was running through his head.

“We-lll, you ain’t never caught a rabbit and you ain’t no friend of mine.”

At Belt Street, he turned right. Nobody followed him. Not even the police car. In a lonely neighborhood at the corner of Belt Street and Carlisle Avenue a black Limousine with tinted windows waited. Sorini pulled up behind and stopped.

When he unsnapped the black leather top Elvis popped up like a jack-in-the-box. A little red in the face but otherwise fine. He hopped out of the sidecar and walked over to the waiting limo where the chauffer held an open door.

But before he climbed in, he turned and walked back to the motorcycle cop. He put out his hand and shook Sorini’s. In his signature baritone benediction, he said…

“Thank you. Thank you very much!”

***

What about you? Any great memories of Albi stadium? Any memories of Elvis? Share them with us!

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[1] Memorial Stadium became known as Joe Albi Stadium in 1962 in recognition of a sports booster that had led the efforts to construct the stadium in 1950.