Every now and then Fly on the Wall likes to publish something "From the Morgue," which, in newspaper jargon, means an article we published some time in the past that's been filed away.
But in this case the expression's especially fitting. It's late October — time to remember Memphis' original horror host Sivad.
The horror first took control of Memphis television sets at 6 p.m. Saturday, September 29, 1962. It began with a grainy clip of black-and-white film showing an ornate horse-drawn hearse moving silently through a misty stretch of Overton Park.
Weird music screeched and swelled, helping to set the scene. A fanged man in a top hat and cape dismounted. His skin was creased, corpse-like. He looked over his shoulder once, then dragged a crude, wooden coffin from the back of the hearse. His white-gloved hand opened the lid, releasing a plume of thick fog and revealing the bloody logo ofFantastic Features.
"Ah. Goooood eeeevening. I am Sivad, your monster of ceremonies," the caped figure drawled, in an accent that existed nowhere else on planet Earth. Think: redneck Romanian.
"Please try and pay attention," he continued, "as we present for your enjoyment and edification, a lively one from our monumental morgue of monstrous motion pictures."
In that moment, a Mid-South television legend was born. For the next decade, Sivad, the ghoulish character created by Watson Davis, made bad puns, told painfully bad jokes, and introduced Memphians to films like Gorgo...
The Brain That Wouldn't Die...
and Saga of the Viking Women and Their Voyage to the Waters of the Great Sea Serpent.
Watson Davis' wisecracking monster wasn't unique. He was one of many comically inclined horror hosts who became popular regional TV personalities from the '50s through the '70s. According to John Hudgens, who directed American Scary, a documentary about the horror-host phenomenon, it all began with "Vampira," a pale-skinned gorgon immortalized by Ed Wood in his infamously incompetent film Plan 9 From Outer Space.
Although a Chicago-area host calling himself "The Swami" may have been the first costumed character regularly introducing scary movies on television, the big bang of horror hosting happened in 1954, when the wasp-wasted actress Maila Nurmi introduced her campy, Morticia Adams-inspired character on The Vampira Show, which aired in Los Angeles.
In 1957, Screen Gems released a package of 52 classic horror films from Universal studios. The "Shock Theater"package, as it was called, created an opportunity for every market to have its own horror host. "Part of that package encouraged stations to use some kind of ghoulish host," Hudgens explains. "Local television was pretty much live or had some kind of host on everything back then."
Overnight, horror hosts such as New York's "Zacherly"and Cleveland's"Ghoulardi" developed huge cult followings.
"TV was different in those days," Hudgens says. "There weren't a lot of channels to choose from, and the hosts could reach a lot more people quickly. Ghoulardi was so popular that the Cleveland police actually maintained that the crime rate went down when his show was on the air, and they asked him to do more shows."
Dr. Lucifer
Tennessee's first horror host was "Dr. Lucifer," a dapper, cheeseparing man of mystery who hit the Nashville airwaves in 1957.
Since Fantastic Features didn't air until the fall of 1962, Sivad was something of a latecomer to the creep-show party. But unlike most other horror hosts, Davis didn't have a background in broadcasting. He'd been a movie promoter, working for Memphis-based Malco theaters. His Sivad character existed before he appeared on television. At live events, he combined elements of the classic spook show with an over-the-top style of event-oriented marketing called ballyhoo. So Davis' vampire, while still nameless, was already well known to local audiences before Fantastic Features premiered.
"You've got to understand, things were very different back then,"Elton Holland told the Memphis Flyer in a 2010 interview.
"Downtown Memphis was a hub for shopping, and going out to the movies was an event. And back then, Malco was in competition with the other downtown theaters, so when you came to see a movie, we made it special.”
To make things special Holland, Davis, and Malco vice president Dick Lightman became masters of promotion and special events. Davis and Holland were neighbors who lived in Arkansas and car-pooled into Memphis every day. During those drives, Davis would float ideas for how to promote the films coming to town.
The studios only provided movie theaters with limited marketing materials. Theater businesses had in-house art departments that created everything else. What the art department couldn't make, Davis built himself in the theater's basement. When 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea came to town, he built a giant squid so large it had to be cut in half to get it up the stairs. He constructed a huge King Kong puppet that towered over the lower seats. For the filmDinosaurus, he built a Tyrannosaurus rex that was 20 feet tall and 45 feet long. It sat in the lobby, roaring and moving its tail.
"All movies were sold through exploitation," Holland explained. "And horror movies were the best ones to exploit. ... I remember when Watson first told me he wanted to be a monster. He was thinking vaudeville. He wanted to put on a show."
Davis' plan to create a scary show wasn't original. The "spook show" was a sideshow con dating back to when 19th-century snake-oil vendors traveled the country hawking their wares. Slick-talking performers would hop from town to town promising entertainment-deprived audiences the chance to see a giant, man-eating monster, so terrible it had to be experienced to be believed. Once the tickets were sold, it was loudly announced that the monster had broken free and was on a bloody rampage. The idea was to cause panic and create a confusing cover for the performers to make off with the loot.
In the early 20th century, the spook show evolved, and traveling magicians exploited the public's growing fascination with spiritualism by conjuring ghosts and spirits. By mid-century, they developed into semi-comical "monster shows" that were almost always held in theaters. Today's "hell houses" and haunted mansions are recent permutations of the spook show. When England's Hammer Films started producinghorror movies that were, as Holland says, "a cut above," he, Davis, and Lightman took the old spook-show concept and adapted it sell movie tickets. They went to Memphis State's drama department and to the Little Theatre [now Theatre Memphis] looking for actors so they could put a monster on a flatbed truck in front of the Malco. Davis dressed as Dracula, Holland was the Hunchback of Notre Dame, and another Malco exec played Frankenstein. The company also included a wolfman and a mad doctor. Davis sometimes joined Lightman on inspection tours of other Malco properties. On one of those tours, the men saw an antique horse-drawn hearse for sale on the side of the road. They bought the hearse that appears in the Fantastic Features title sequence for $500. It also appeared in various monster skits and was regularly parked in front of Malco theaters to promote horror movies. "One time we had this actor made up like a wild man," Holland said, recalling a skit that was just a little too effective. "While Watson did his spiel about the horror that was going to happen, the chained wild man broke loose and pretended like he was attacking this girl. He was going to jerk her blouse and dress off, and she had on a swimsuit underneath." One 6'-3", 300-pound, ex-military Malco employee wasn't in on the joke and thought the actor had actually gone wild. He took the chain away, wrapped it around the wild man's neck, and choked him until the two were pulled apart. The proliferation of television eventually killed ballyhoo promotions and all the wild antics used to promote movies. At about that time, the studios started "going wide" with film distribution, opening the same film in many theaters at one time instead of just one theater in every region. This practice made location-specific promotions obsolete. By then, the Shock Theater package had made regional stars out of horror hosts all across the country. WHBQ approached Davis and offered him the job of "monster of ceremonies" on its Fantastic Features show. The show found an audience instantly and became so popular that a second weekly show was eventually added. Memphis viewers apparently couldn't get enough of films like Teenage Caveman...
And Mutiny in Outer Space...
Joe Bob Briggs, cable TV's schlock theater aficionado who hosted TNT's Monster Vision fro m 1996 to 2000, says that "corny" humor was the key to any horror host's success or failure. "Comedy and horror have only rarely been successfully mixed in film — although we have great examples like Return of the Living Dead, Briggs says. "But comedy surrounding horror on television was a winning formula from day one. In fact, it's essential. If you try to do straight hosting on horror films, the audiences will hate you." In 1958, Dick Clark invited New York horror host Zacherly to appear on American Bandstand. "This wasn't the year for the comedians, this was the year for the spooks and the goblins and the ghosts," Clark said, introducing "Dinner With Drac," the first hit novelty song about monsters. Four years later, Bobby "Boris" Puckett took "Monster Mash" to the top of the charts. In the summer of 1963, Memphis' favorite horror host hopped on the pop-song monster bandwagon by recording the "Sivad Buries Rock and Roll/Dicky Drackeller" single.
Novelty songs such as "What Made Wyatt Earp" became a staple on Fantastic Features, and Sivad began to book shows with the King Lears, a popular Memphis garage band that influenced contemporary musicians like Greg Cartwright, who played in the Oblivians and the Compulsive Gamblers before forming the Reigning Sound. Although "Sivad Buries Rock and Roll" never charted, Goldsmith's department store hosted a promotional record-signing event, and 2,000 fans showed up to buy a copy. In 1972, Fantastic Features was canceled. And though Davis was frequently asked to bring the character back, he never did. Horror movies were changing, becomingbloodierand more sexually explicit in a way that made them a poor fit for Sivad's family-friendly fright-fest. In 1978, Commercial Appealreporter Joseph Shapiro unsuccessfully tried to interview Davis. He received a letter containing what he called a cryptic message:
"Sivad is gone forever" is all it said. Davis, who borrowed his name-reversing trick from Dracula, Bram Stoker's blood-sucking fiend who introduced himself as Count Alucard, died of cancer in March 2005. He was 92 years old.
PostedByChris Davis on Wed, Oct 31, 2018 at 12:02 PM
* A version of this article appeared in theMemphis Flyer in 2010 —- but without all the nifty links and embeds.
Pleasure of Your Company: Military Etiquette and Grooming, 1970
With Halloween just around the corner, it seems like an excellent time to highlight some of the creepier Utility Patent Drawings lurking in the holdings of the National Archives. These come from Record Group 241.
Enjoy!
RG 241 Utility Patent Drawings. 699,669RG 241 Utility Patent Drawings. 885,802RG 241 Utility Patent Drawings. 681,974
For more creepy patents, check out Corbin Apkin’s Halloween Patent post from last year!
I KEPT wondering why this was so familiar, it's based on David Adler’s book The Life and Cuisine of Elvis Presley.
A remarkable guided tour through the culinary world of Elvis Presley, in his later years famed as much for his appetite as for his music. The King's passion for food is recounted by close friends, relatives and personal cooks who share the recipes that kept their idol happy.
From the squirrel and raccoon dishes of his youth to the fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches that contributed to his demise.
'The input's gotta be just as great as the output' was Elvis Presley's rationale for his extraordinary eating habits towards the end of his life.
This documentary reveals just how much Elvis was packing away in his final days.
Tales of giant pizzas being smuggled to Presley, against his doctor's strict instructions, and his love of fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches are just some of the examples of his extraordinary diet.
ALSO WATCH Wisconsin Death Trip, a 1999 American black-and-white and color docudrama film written and directed by James Marsh, based on the 1973 book of the same name by Michael Lesy.
Original music for the film was composed by DJ Shadow, with original piano music for the closing credits by John Cale.
Director James Marsh has an extinguished documentary career, making several films for the BBC that are rarely screened in the U.S.
STD is pleased to bring to light this Marsh title from 1996, based on David Adler’s book The Life and Cuisine of Elvis Presley, in which he explores America by following Elvis’ appetite.
The film travels from Memphis to Las Vegas, documenting dishes (mostly fried), from squirrel to peanut butter and banana sandwiches, complete with recipes.
Along the way, we meet a range of fascinating characters, from Elvis’ cook who served his last meal of cheeseburgers to his eating companion who was known to join him on chartered flights just to satisfy a craving.
Excerpt from Grill Marcus on the films of James Marsh in the New York Times(11/28/1999):
Mr. Marsh received his first directorial assignment in 1989, when he was 25. Arena, says Mr. Marsh — an Englishman now living in New York — was putting on ”themed evenings, four or five hours a night on a single subject.” One was ”Food night,” and for it Mr. Marsh conceived a 15-minute segment on the last meals of condemned prisoners. ”I wanted to know what the ritual meant in a bureaucratic system of execution,” he says, recalling that in the British tradition a prisoner’s last meal might also have involved a last drunk, complete with prostitutes. Because capital punishment had been all but abolished in the United Kingdom since the 1960’s, Mr. Marsh set off for a two-day shoot on Death Row in Louisiana. ”I wanted to expose the process in one detail,” he says. He ended up focusing on a single prisoner, a man ”outraged by the crazy idea of hospitality at the end of his life.”
There is probably a more direct line from this first project to Mr. Marsh’s ”Wisconsin Death Trip” than to another food piece by him, ”The Burger and the King.”
In this graceful account of ”The Life and Cuisine of Elvis Presley,” the fine David Adler book on which the film is based, cooks from throughout Presley’s life — from his high school cafeteria, the Army, Graceland — present their dishes proudly and so lovingly that by the end one may want nothing more than to copy down the recipe for fried banana and peanut-butter sandwiches and make one.
"I think this is one of my favorite videos I've ever seen about Elivs . I especially love Mary, Elvis's cook . No wonder he loved her . I know exactly what she was talking about when she talked about how people down in the South cook a lot different than most folks . I know how to cook like that too . I live in Georgia and I learned how to cook from my Mama and all of my Granny's . I know how to make my granny's homemade banana pudding too . I always added a little sugar to my collards and turnip greens and of course salt , but never pepper (also fat back or bacon ) . I also added salt , pepper , and a little sugar to my coleslaw & fried squash. I learned to always cook my green beans down till all of the water was almost gone, then add more water and cook them for few more minutes . I know how to make fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches too . Lordy....now I'm hungry ... LOL...!! Anyway Thanks so much for sharing this great video . I love it!"
Elvis
Got All Shook Up Without His Cholesterol : Rock 'n' roll: Book
provides a tongue-in-cheek tour of the King's four food groups--meat,
vegetables, tobacco and over-the-counter medication.
LARRY McSHANE | ASSOCIATED PRESS
NEW YORK — A pound of bacon, a loaf of Italian bread, peanut butter and jelly. OK, Mr. Presley, dinner is served. Elvis'
dietary needs--and they made his other pursuits appear tame--are the
topic of "The Life and Cuisine of Elvis Presley" (Crown, $15), a
no-rolls-barred account of the meals that stretched a thousand
jumpsuits.
The groundbreaking "food biography" is the
tongue-in-cheek work of David Adler, an Elvis fan who invested his time
and effort (too much, perhaps) tracking the King's chow from cradle to .
. . well, you know where he died. Adler interviewed Elvis'
Graceland cooks. His valet. His Tupelo, Miss., neighbors. He gathered
menus from Elvis' high school. And the Army. And Las Vegas hotels. He
hung out with Elvis' stepbrothers. And Elvis' coroner. And Barbara Eden.
The
"I Dream of Jeannie" star worked with Elvis on the forgettable film
"Flaming Star," where Presley played a half-breed who protects his
Indian mother from white ranchers. (Remember?)
Barbara was his
love interest. Her mealtime recollections of Presley: "Good table
manners. If he didn't (have them), I would remember that."
Though initially thin, Elvis bulked up nicely--at the time of his death, he weighed in at 255 pounds.
Don't waste any time wondering why. Adler provides the, ahhhh, skinny on Graceland's departed gourmand.
Adler
discovered E's favorite meals were more than simply food--they earned
their very own titles: the Fool's Gold Loaf. The Palm Beach Burger, with
a Chocolate Shake a la Gridiron. Cheeseburger Delight. (Yes, Elvis did
like red meat.)
The Fool's Gold was a particularly sumptuous
feast. Elvis, 18 months before his death, swept two guests via private
jet straight from Graceland's Jungle Room to Glendale, Colo., for a
taste of this treat.
The main ingredients: one loaf of Italian
white bread, smeared with butter and tossed into an oven at 350 degrees;
one pound of lean bacon, fried and drained. After 15 minutes, the
loaf is removed and sliced lengthwise. Hollow out the inside of each
half; smear peanut butter and jelly inside, add the bacon, slap the two
halves together.
Yield, according to the book: 1 serving (Elvis), 8 to 10 servings (others). Cost: $49.95 per sandwich; hence, the name.
Throw
in fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches, chicken-fried steak,
fried dill pickles, fried chicken with potato chip coating. . . . You
get the idea; he got the cholesterol.
What else made the King's mouth water? Adler's research turned up these Elvis food facts:
* Favorite seasoning: Salt. * Cooking Tip: Make it well done. ("That's burnt, man," was high praise.) *
Favorite pizza topping: Barbecued pork, with barbecue sauce instead of
tomato sauce, from Coletta's Italian Restaurant in Memphis. * Ambience: Leave the TV on. (Shooting out tube during dinner optional.) * Favorite dessert: Del Monte fruit cocktail with coconut flakes, raisins and mini-marshmallows. * What drink to serve with dinner: Bottle of Pepsi. * Favorite snacks: Brownies, Girl Scout cookies, Eskimo Pies, Nutty Buddies. (Detect a pattern here?) * Favorite doughnuts: Krispy Kreme jelly doughnuts, by the box. *
Napkins: Save 'em. "He used towels," said Billy Stanley, Elvis'
stepbrother. "He'd say, 'Bring me a beach towel.' 'Cause he'd make such a
mess." Adler's work, although tasty, was high in calories: He put
on 10 pounds while chomping in the King's teeth marks. His favorite
meal, prepared by ex-Graceland cook Pauline Nicholson, was a
chicken-fried steak (that's steak, coated with breading, then fried) and
mashed potatoes served on plates once used in Graceland.
For
those who believe Elvis is alive, Adler says, some sightings back up
this contention. Adler notes that Elvis sightings are frequently at
grocery stores, 7-Elevens or fast-food restaurants--haunts not unknown
to Presley.
One particular account, of Elvis ordering a Whopper in Kalamazoo, Mich., particularly struck the author.
"What gives (this) account eerie credibility is that . . . Burger King was by far Elvis' favorite fast food chain," Adler wrote.
Check, please. Elvis' Shopping List
These items were to be kept in the Graceland "kitchen and house for Elvis-- at all times--every day.
" Purchases often were made at the local Piggly Wiggly. The four major
Elvis food groups: meat, vegetables, tobacco and over-the-counter
medication. The cost: about $500 a week:
* Fresh, lean unfrozen ground round steak. * One case regular Pepsi. * One case orange drink. * Rolls. * At least six cans of biscuits. * Hamburger buns. * Pickles. * Potatoes and onions. * Assorted fresh fruit. * Cans of sauerkraut. * Wieners. * At least three bottles of milk, and half and half. * Lean bacon. * Mustard. * Peanut butter. * Fresh, hand-squeezed cold orange juice. * Banana pudding. * Ingredients for meatloaf and sauce. * Brownies. * Ice cream (vanilla and chocolate). * Shredded coconut. * Fudge cookies. * Gum (Spearmint, Doublemint, Juicy Fruit--three each). * Cigars (El Producto Diamond Tips and Altas). * Cigarettes. * Dristan. * Super Anahist. * Contac. * Sucrets (antibiotic red box). * Feenamint gum. * Matches (four to five books). Source: Associated Press
Elvis Presley’s Legendary Midnight Sandwich Run on his Private Jet
On the night of February 1, 1976, Elvis
Presley took his private jet from Graceland to Denver and back in one
night because he was craving an 8,000 calorie sandwich made from a
hollowed out loaf filled with an entire jar of peanut butter, one jar of
jelly, and a pound of bacon. Not your average snack, priced at $50,
this is the story of how the Fool’s Gold Loaf became the Elvis
Presley of sandwiches, King of the PB&Js…
Late one night at Graceland, Elvis was entertaining his buddies from
out of town, Capt. Jerry Kennedy of the Denver, Colorado police force,
and Ron Pietrafeso of Colorado’s Strike Force Against Crime.
The Denver police who worked as bodyguards for visiting celebrities
and VIPs like Elvis, would often take the stars to a favourite local
restaurant called the Colorado Mine Company (pictured above), and the
three men began reminiscing about a particular sandwich on the menu that
had left quite the impression on Mr. Presley. So much so that the music
icon decided he had to have one, right then and there.
And just like Cinderella’s pumpkin, Elvis’ private jet was awaiting to take the hungry friends for a midnight snack in Denver.
Elvis’ private jet, the Lisa Marie, along with the Hound Dog II, now reside as permanent fixtures at Graceland.
The Lisa Marie, a Convair 880 named after the rock legend’s daughter,
featuring a red-white-and-blue exterior, gold-plated bathroom fixtures,
a stereo system, a conference room and bed, flew two hours to a special
hangar in Denver where they arrived at 1:40am.
Elvis, pictured leaving the Lisa Marie
Aboard the Lisa Marie
Because of it’s connection to Elvis and its particularly outrageous
ingredients, the Fool’s Gold Loaf sandwich became somewhat of a legend
in its own and has been included in numerous cookbooks typically focused
around Presley’s love of food. The sandwich was originally priced
at $49.95, hence its “Fool’s Gold” name, and in later years, it was
priced as high as $65.
The Colorado Mine Company has since closed, but if you’re curious to
try the famous sandwich, you can still find the real deal. The
teenage chef who prepared the Elvis’ midnight snack back in 1976, later
opened his own joint in Golden, Colorado called Nick’s Café, where he’s been selling the King’s favourite sandwich for the last 30 years.
He also provides the recipe for Fool’s Gold Loaf on his café’s
website, but notes that the specific jam used in the original sandwich,
Dickinson’s blueberry preserves, is no longer produced today.
“This is no ordinary PB&J, folks,” writes Nick, “Eat at your own risk”. Here’s the recipe:
INGREDIENTS
o 2 T margarine o 1 loaf French white bread o 1 lb / 450 g bacon slices o 1 jar of smooth peanut butter o 1 jar of grape jelly
METHOD
Preheat the oven to 350F/180C. Spread the margarine generously all
over all sides of the loaf. Place it on a baking sheet in the oven.
Meanwhile, fry the bacon in a bit of oil until it is crisp and drain it thoroughly on paper towels.
Remove the loaf from the oven when it is evenly browned, after
approximately 15 minutes. Slice the loaf lengthwise and hollow out the
interior, leaving as much bread along the walls as desired. Slather a
thick layer of peanut butter in the cavity of the loaf and follow with
another thick layer of grape jelly. Use lots of both.
Arrange the bacon slices inside the cavity, or, if desired, layer the
bacon slivers between the peanut butter and jelly. Close the loaf,
slice and eat.
Serves one if you’re Elvis. Serves 8-10 if you’re a regular person. Fool's Gold Loaf is a sandwich made by the Colorado Mine Company, a restaurant in Denver, Colorado. The sandwich consists of a single warmed, hollowed-out loaf of bread filled with the contents of one jar of creamy peanut butter, one jar of grape jelly, and a pound of bacon. The sandwich's connection to Elvis Presley is the source of its legend and prolonged interest. According to The Life and Cuisine of Elvis Presley, it was the focus of a midnight sandwich run by Elvis Presley and his friends. Taking his private jet from Graceland, Presley and his friends purchased 22 of the sandwiches and spent two hours eating them and drinking Perrier and champagne
before flying home. The story became legend and the sandwich became the
subject of continued media interest and part of numerous cookbooks,
typically focused around Presley's love of food.
Elvis connection
David Adler's book contains a detailed account of the event that made the Fool's Gold Loaf sandwich famous.[10] On the night of February 1, 1976, Elvis Presley was at his home at Graceland
in Memphis, entertaining Capt. Jerry Kennedy of the Denver, Colorado
police force, and Ron Pietrafeso of Colorado's Strike Force Against
Crime. The three men began discussing the sandwich, and Presley decided
he wanted one right then. Presley had been to the restaurant before,
while in Denver.[10] Kennedy and Pietrafeso were friends of the owners, so they were
driven to the Memphis airport and boarded Presley's private jet, the Lisa Marie, and flew the two hours to Denver. When they arrived at Stapleton International Airport
at 1:40 AM, the plane taxied to a special hangar where the passengers
were greeted by Buck Scott, the owner of the Colorado Mine Company, and
his wife Cindy who had brought 22 fresh Fool's Gold Loaves for the men.[10] They spent two hours in the hangar eating the sandwiches, washing them down with Perrier and champagne.[10]
Presley invited the pilots of the plane, Milo High and Elwood Davis, to
join them. When they were done, they flew back to Memphis without ever
having left the Denver airport.[10]
