Reprinted from yesterday's editions.
"Can we have the lights down, please?" says the announcer.
Screams from Sunday night's soldout, 19,000-plus Capital Centre crowd erupt.
The lights dim.
Still more wild cheering.
"Here's Elvis Presley."
Heavens, will the roof hold up? On steps the white-suited, sequin-covered Presley, guitar slung round his neck, singing "C.C. Rider" to a deafening roar.
All Elvis has to do is jerk his knee, point toward the crowd, make even the slightest utterance (once he was cut off by cheers when he merely said "Uh") and his worshippers, who range up to middle age, go positively mad.
Sometimes it's difficult to understand what Presley is singing and saying, and once he even throws away his microphone after asking if he can be heard in the far reaches of the arena. But he is making his points anyway, flipping away his guitar (caught by an aide) early in the program and catching little teddy bears thrown by admirers.
A woman waves a sign, "You Can Spare a Kiss or Two and Still Have Plenty Left." Another woman says Presley looks something less than his svelte, youthful self, but the reaction of others leaves her as part of a small minority. TWomen in their teens and 20s thunder down the aisles toward the stage to catch the scarves he flings from his neck. (As he throws each scarf an aide rushes up and fits another on his shoulders). For a little more than an hour, he sings such familiar tunes as "Jailhouse Rock" "Don't Be Cruel" and "You Ain't Nothin' but a Hound Dog." Women fight for the scarves, absurd tugs of war in front of the stage, until they are restrained by guards.
The place is still a sea of flashbulbs as the end approaches, signaled by some accentuated bumps and grinds that first became famous more than two decades ago. Though no one was seen swooning, nobody objected to that gyrating either.