Learning from the Elvis Community

It is the evening of August 16, the forty-eighth anniversary of Elvis Presley’s death. In his honor, I am playing Baz Luhrmann’s Elvis in the background as I write these words. I purchased the DVD and Blu-ray combination through eBay on December 3, 2023, as a Christmas gift to myself. Since then, I have made a small tradition of watching the film on two dates every year: January 8, which is Elvis’s birthday, and August 16, the day he passed away.

Though I would not call myself an Elvis fan in the traditional sense, I find this act meaningful. It gives me a rhythm of remembrance, a way of pausing to consider his impact. The film itself, with its music and energy, becomes my way of connecting to the story of Elvis and to the community of people who continue to honor him decades later.

My own introduction to Elvis came years earlier, when I was nineteen. In May of 2005, I watched the CBS miniseries Elvis, starring Jonathan Rhys Meyers. I had always been interested in history, and since this was based on a true story, I decided to watch it out of curiosity. 

I even recorded it on a VHS tape, carefully cutting out the commercials so I could return to it whenever I wished. Years later, Jonathan Rhys Meyers reflected on his portrayal in an interview with Larry King, saying, “I thought of him as a poor talented boy from Tupelo, Mississippi, who wanted to buy his mother a house.” That simple description captured the heart of the Elvis I was only beginning to know through the miniseries, a young man with a gift, a dream, and a devotion to the woman who raised him.

The final scene stayed with me: Meyers, in character, performing If I Can Dream. Even though it was a dramatization, I was struck by the song’s passion and urgency. I returned to it again and again until it became the very first Elvis song I ever learned by heart. That moment stirred something in me and made me want to learn more about Elvis, both his songs and his life story, even if only in passing.

Seventeen years later, Luhrmann’s Elvis drew me back again. Around the same time, I began to notice how vibrant the Elvis community was on Instagram. I found myself gleaning inspiration from watching videos of Elvis fans and enthusiasts share their love. They displayed their collections of memorabilia, recounted their travels to his birthplace in Tupelo, Mississippi, and posted photographs from Graceland in Memphis, Tennessee, where Elvis is laid to rest.

Among those who especially caught my attention were tribute artists like as Hugo's Elvis Tribute Artist and The Colorado Elvis and content creators such as Mary Patricia, Sophialoveselvis, UtimateElvisFacts, Ashley's Adventures, Those Elvis Girls, Elvis Archival Preservation Society (EAP Society), The Chronicles of the King Podcast, The Glamourous Pink Riders Podcast, along with many others. Each of them, in their own way, expressed a love for Elvis that was both creative and contagious. Although I do not consider myself an Elvis fan, I have come to admire his contributions to music, his lasting influence on popular culture, and the remarkable fact that he continues to inspire people decades after his passing. Through the work of these creators, I found myself appreciating Elvis in a deeper and more personal way, and their example encouraged me to begin thinking about how I might do something similar for President John F. Kennedy.

In truth, I had already been pursuing my own version of what I now see Elvis fans doing for the legacy of Elvis. Over the years, I visited numerous Kennedy sites across Massachusetts, from JFK’s birthplace in Brookline to the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library in Boston, where I am a member. 

I also met people who knew President Kennedy, including his sister Jean Kennedy Smith, encounters that sparked an even deeper interest in the Kennedy legacy and left a lasting impression on me. Alongside these experiences, I steadily built my Kennedy book collection, which now numbers nearly two hundred volumes, ranging from biographies and memoirs to speeches and historical studies. These moments and efforts were deeply meaningful to me personally, but I had not yet found a way to share them publicly. It was around this time that I discovered the work of one particular fan of Elvis who helped me see how I might take the next step.

That fan was Sam from Texas. She documented Elvis landmarks across her state and shared them generously through her blog My Elvis Adventures. Her openness reflected something I have noticed in the Elvis community at large, a willingness to welcome others in and to keep legacy alive by sharing it freely. When I reached out to her, she responded with kindness and practical advice. She encouraged me to begin my own project, not about Elvis, but about John F. Kennedy, the figure I have devoted myself to. Her words became a spark for me to think about how I could create a space to share the Kennedy world with the same openness and warmth that she showed in hers, and for that I remain deeply grateful.

I may not collect Elvis records or make pilgrimages to Graceland, but I have learned much from those who do. What stands out to me is that the reason Elvis’s legacy still feels so fresh and alive, even forty-eight years after his passing, is in large part because his fans do things together as a community. They gather, celebrate, and keep his name alive not in isolation, but in shared moments of remembrance. The best example of this is Elvis Week, held every August in Memphis, where fans from all over the world come together for concerts, film screenings, panel discussions, and most moving of all, the Candlelight Vigil at Graceland. The event culminates on August 16, the anniversary of his passing, when thousands line up through the night to walk past his grave with candles in hand.

Through watching this community from a distance, I have seen that legacy is not preserved by rigid rules or exclusivity, but by joy, inclusivity, and generosity, by people uniting to celebrate a life that continues to inspire. You do not have to be an expert or know the B-side of a vinyl album to belong. What matters is the willingness to honor Elvis with sincerity. In that openness, anyone can join, anyone can be welcomed, and the love continues to grow. I hope to be friends with people such as these, because their enthusiasm not only sustains Elvis’s legacy but also demonstrates the best of what community can be.

From a distance, the Elvis community has taught me lessons I will carry into my own journey as a Kennedy enthusiast. I have learned that legacy is kept alive through community, when people gather to celebrate and remember together. I have learned that enthusiasm is contagious, that joy shared by others can spark new appreciation in those who stand nearby. I have seen that inclusivity, not exclusivity, sustains a legacy. You do not need to know every detail or own every record to belong. Ordinary devotion matters too, for it is often the simple acts of documenting, posting, and sharing that keep memory alive. Most of all, I have learned that seeing how Elvis fans keep his story alive has inspired me to do the same for President John F. Kennedy.

If I ever do go to Graceland, which I would like to do one day, I hope it will be with people who truly love Elvis. I know their enthusiasm would be contagious, and I would want to share that joy with them, even though I am not a fan myself. For me, the experience would not only be about seeing a house or a museum, but about walking alongside those who carry Elvis in their hearts and allowing their love for him to reveal what he means to them. I imagine that standing in such a place, surrounded by people who have been moved by his life and music, would help me see Elvis through their eyes in a way no book or film ever could. It would be less about the walls and artifacts, and more about the spirit that has drawn people there from around the world. To walk through Graceland with these new friends would be, for me, a lesson in how memory and devotion create living history.

As I reflect on all of this, I return to the moment that first stirred me at nineteen, watching Jonathan Rhys Meyers as Elvis sing If I Can Dream. That performance, both imagined and rooted in history, carried a message of yearning for something better, a call to believe in hope even in dark times.

It reminds me of Robert F. Kennedy’s words: “Some men see things as they are, and say why. I dream of things that never were, and say why not.”

Elvis gave voice to that same spirit through music, just as the Kennedys carried it forward through words and action. Both remind us that legacy is not only about what has been left behind, but about how we choose to keep dreaming and sharing today.