SIOUX FALLS, S.D. 鈥� Percy Ahrendt didn鈥檛 even particularly love Elvis.
It was June 22, 1977. Elvis Presley hadn't had a No. 1 hit since in 1969.
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Ahrendt鈥檚 musical tastes were more up-to-date.
鈥淒oobie Brothers, America, stuff like that, like the Rolling Stones, a little Grand Funk Railroad, that kind of music,鈥� Ahrendt said. 鈥�(Elvis) was a little over the hill at that point.鈥�
And yet, here Ahrendt was, with a backstage pass to an Elvis show, at the Arena in Sioux Falls, South Dakota.
He had been sent here for the curtains. Ahrendt and a buddy were college seniors, and worked for a local rental agency, which had rented out curtains for this stop on Elvis' 1977 tour.
Neither Ahrendt or Elvis knew it then, but the Sioux Falls show would be one of Presley's final shows,
In less than two months, at age 42, on Aug. 16, 1977, he would be found dead.
But before this night was over, Ahrendt would have a moment with Elvis, one that would become a cherished memory, a story to tell.
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Ahrendt would be the right person, at the right place, at the right time, to reassure Elvis in a moment of existential crisis.
No, he would be there to say, the King was not dead.
Not yet.
***
Elvis Presley in June 1977 was not a well man.
While it wouldn't become public until later, he was on some serious medication 鈥� painkillers, stimulants and sedatives 鈥� as prescribed by his personal physician and confidante, Dr. George C. Nichopoulos, or 鈥淒r. Nick,鈥� who would later lose his medical license for overprescribing to Presley and others.
Nichopoulos would Presley鈥檚 multi-medication regimen while on tour, which included 10 drugs when he woke up, seven more just before a show, five after a show and more before bed.
The effect of Elvis鈥� poor health and reactions to the drugs led to his weight fluctuating from the svelte early days of his career, a fact that quickly became media fodder.
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A found that he weighed 350 pounds at his time of death and had gained 50 pounds in just the last few months 鈥� likely encompassing his tour stop in Sioux Falls.
In June 1977, Presley was a living legend, yet increasingly was feeling like death.
Still, his legions of fans couldn't get enough of him.
Still, the show would go on.
***
Sioux Falls aimed to welcome the King
Elvis had actually just played a show in the city the previous year, Now, he was fresh off South Dakota.
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He had with CBS cameras there to record what would later be aired as a posthumous tour special,
Nobody was recording his Sioux Falls show. It appeared it might not even sell out 鈥攖here were still tickets for sale the day before the show.
Elvis would get the red carpet treatment regardless.
A local furniture store loaned a "king-size, brass-trimmed bed" with red-and-white linens, for the King's suite in the Holiday Inn downtown.
"We went all out for him and we aren't doing it to make money," the store manager told the Sioux Falls Argus Leader newspaper. "It's just a lot of people in the store think quite a bit of him ... especially the women."
Concert promoters hired 25 off-duty Sioux Falls police officers to provide security, the newspaper reported, "along with Elvis' regular contingent of bodyguards."
***
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Ahrendt and his buddy, Greg, got to the Sioux Falls Arena before it all started, and stepped into a roped-off area in front of the stage, white rope stretched between white pylons.
They had both been given green-striped backstage passes to the show, but had later found out they didn't actually have to rush to get the curtains taken down. They decided to go to the show anyway. Why not?
Several dozen women also ducked into the roped-off area, but were shooed away by an elderly off-duty policeman, who then turned to do the same with Ahrendt and his pal.
"Without missing a beat, I pulled my jacket back to show my Elvis backstage pass and he said, 'Oh, you must be Elvis' bodyguards,'" Ahrendt recalled. "And immediately I said, 'Well, yes.'"
It was an understandable mistake for the officer to make. The duo were both in great shape, looking good in their brown leather jackets 鈥� practically matching, Ahrendt recalled.
As the crowd filled in, they tossed around beach balls and Frisbees. It would end up being a capacity crowd after all.
Then the lights dropped. The music swelled. A spotlight.
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There was Elvis. He strode onstage, encased in his white, high-collared "Mexican Sundial" jumpsuit.
Bigger than life.
"He looked good, if you could for being that large," Ahrendt said. "He was obviously under the influence of something ... he wasn't doing too well with all that."
Hugh O'Gara, the Argus Leader entertainment editor, was somewhat less kind in
"His waist 鈥� which once looked like Scarlett O'Hara's but now rivals her bust line 鈥� may have added a few inches; the once gyrating hips now simply jerk and the between-song patter degenerated into incoherent, private jokes with the band, but when he sang, he was Elvis the King again," O'Gara wrote.
***
Ahrendt was taking in the show when it happened. The Frisbee.
"Out of the crowd, I can still see it, an orange Frisbee, medium-size Frisbee, comes floating up," he said. "I'm like 'Oh, that's going to make the stage.'"
It did. It sailed right into Elvis, smacking him just above his right eyebrow.
Bam.
Ahrendt recalled watching closely as Elvis, just a few feet away, absorbed the blow, then imagined the worst.
"He drops to one knee, looks me right in the eye 鈥� I think he thought I was a bodyguard 鈥� and said..."
(Here, Ahrendt copies Elvis' low, rolling mumble.)
"'I've been shot.'"
The young man looked back into the eyes of the aging entertainer.
"No, Elvis, it's just a Frisbee, man," Ahrendt replied.
Not an attempted assassination, just one more painful byproduct of fame.
"Oh," responded Elvis.
Then the King got back to his feet and started singing again. Like he always did.
For that night, at least, the show wasn't over.
Editor's note: Ahrendt, of Deadwood South Dakota, is an uncle of the author's fianc茅e.
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