Me and a Guy Named Elvis: My Lifelong Friendship with Elvis Presley Book

I have a teacher friend who has the uncanny ability to make me feel better about myself than I ever should. He is a born diplomat, cheerleader, sage. Every single time I have lunch with him, go see a movie or a football game, I realize how lucky I am to have him as a friend. If I were to die, he would probably give a praiseworthy eulogy at my funeral, maybe even write my uneventful biography.

And I'm no Elvis. Far from it. I am just an average teacher in a modest suburb in Virginia, but somehow I managed to find this gem of a guy and try to appreciate him each and every day.

This is exactly how I pictured Jerry Schilling after finishing his book "Me and a Guy Named Elvis: My Lifelong Friendship with Elvis Presley".

It is a slow start, to be sure, and at times the reader starts to wonder if this is a book about Jerry Schilling or Elvis Presley. The answer, of course, is that it is both. It is an account of two good-ole-boys from Memphis who begin their journey orchestrating touch football games, but end up touching each other's lives meaningfully even beyond the tragic death of the man known as the King. And sure, some of the details Jerry depicts -- from Elvis' generosity to his drug addiction -- are common knowledge, but it is his simple prosaic style and ability to make those around him shine that makes this account a gem. By the time I read the epilogue, detailing Jerry's undying devotion for the King's legacy, I got teary-eyed. His loyalty and devotion to Elvis and his family are virtues all of us should aspire to.

Something else: So many rock biographies read the same. So and so had a horrible childhood, fell in with the wrong crowd, found music (and drugs), made it big, fell to abysmal depths, then (hopefully), cleaned up and discovered life in a more meaningful way. Elvis, however, veered from this script in that he had a loving, caring upbringing (though poor), and maintained religion and spirituality on his journey through stardom. And man was the guy generous, to a fault. Yes, the pills took their toll on him, but sometimes the reader got the feeling that disappointment was Elvis' depressive, his cross to bear, his anchor.

Jerry Schilling highlighted Elvis as an entertainer and a man. His late night bull sessions, his generous gifts, his family loyalty. They complimented each other and sometimes conflicted. But as Jerry gave as his reason for leaving Elvis a few years before his death: I did not want to be a yes man or an asshole. He valued his friendship that much, and Elvis knew it.

One of the hardest scenes to read follows Jerry's discovery that Elvis has died. He boards Elvis's plane, finds no one on board, and holds one of the King's nightshirts to his chest as a mother to an infant. He says he does not know what life will be like without his best friend, and even breaks his hand trying to come to grips with the passing of that good-looking quarterback from 20 years ago who was nice enough to invite him to a game of touch football.

Thank you, Jerry Schilling, for being so loyal to a man who may have lost his way by the end of his life. You, like my friend, have the uncanny ability to make people look better than they really are. In this case, the man who would die way too young and change the course of your life forever.