Woodstock Memories, Mud And All : NPRWoodstock Memories, Mud And All
[5 min 35 sec]add to playlist|download
August 14, 2009 - Forty years ago there was this thing on a farm in the small town of Bethel, N.Y. It was called the Woodstock Music and Art Fair, and to this day it conjures images: a field of people nearly surrounding the stage — half a million free wheeling, free smoking, free loving, music-loving hippies covered in mud. But besides the mud part, how much of that is true?
Artie Kornfeld was one of the organizers of the festival. For him, the torch burns bright.
"That's still my whole trip, keeping the spirit of Woodstock alive," says Kornfeld.
And that doesn't just mean the good stuff.
"I did have a gun pulled on me by some guy who said I was a hippie fascist," Kornfeld recalls. "And Crosby, Stills and Nash's road manager saved my life by jumping the guy."
But for the most part, Woodstock was an immense gathering of people who were into music, had no idea about camping — but definitely wanted to have a good time. Parry Teasdale went to the festival as a video artist. Today he publishes a local newspaper.
"I think I look like a geezer," Teasdale laughs.
He's wearing chinos and a pressed shirt. Back in 1969, the costume was a bit different.
"(A) large brown kind of Stetson cowboy hat that was punched up in the center, and big motorcycle boots and dirty jeans. And a VW bus full of old video equipment," says Teasdale.
Teasdale's black and white, fuzzy videos almost look as if they're shot in a sort of slow motion. He repeatedly asks the question, "Are you having a good time?" The kids look back, incredulous, as if saying, "Do you have to ask?" These tapes, these documents, seem to validate the Woodstock legend of all free, all peaceful, all love.
Myth And Reality
"That's part of the sort of mythology of Woodstock is that it's free; it's peaceful," says Michael Lang. "I don't buy into that."
Surprising, considering that Lang was one of the producers of the festival. Today, Lang lives near the town of Woodstock, on a 100-acre estate he bought in 1979. It's so big that that a reporter couldn't figure out which building to go to to find him.
But 40 years ago, it wasn't about the money, man.
"Somebody forgot to roll the ticket booths in place in time to beat the traffic," Lang remembers. "And once we focused on that, they couldn't be moved. There were not ticket booths. Most of the people who came were looking for a place to buy a ticket and you could not buy a ticket."
Still, the bands had to be paid. Bill Thompson managed the then-hot Jefferson Airplane.
"I remember saying to Michael Lang, 'How are we gonna to get paid?,'" recalls Thompson. "And he was — I think maybe he was on acid, or LSD. And he said, 'Aw don't worry about it, man. Isn't this beautiful?' Well that was the worst thing he could've said to me. So I got everybody together and I said, 'We should just tell them we're not gonna play unless we get paid.' So they showed up a couple of hours later with cashier's checks for all the bands."
For their gig, the Airplane got $10,000. It was 6 a.m. when singer Grace Slick greeted the crowd: "You have seen the heavy groups," she said, "Now you will see morning maniac music. Believe me."
"The band had stayed up all night," says manager Thompson, "and to be honest with you, did just about every illegal drug known to man. So I think they were a little woozy at first. But then the "black beauties" kicked in — I think those were the Obitrol, speed. And about 20 minutes into the set it was really an excellent set."
The Music Stunk?
Few people claim that the music was very good. It was the context, more than anything. Still, for Bob Solomon, who's now in the music industry in Nashville, sound was everything.
"Musically only one act was passable: Santana," Solomon says. "There were so many drugs floating around the entire farm that everybody was completely out of it; nobody did a very good job."
Back then, Wavy Gravy was called Hugh Romney, and Michael Lang asked him and his commune, the hog farm, to help feed at least some of the thousands, to help with security and — one of the hog farm's specialties — talk people down from bad acid trips.
"I was so transported — kind of like dowsing for the juice," Gravy says. "There is a high there not available in the pharmaceutical cabinet! It's all people pitching in for common good and that's what Woodstock was, except we had a better sound track!"
It's a soundtrack that had a stuttering start. The equipment hadn't arrived and organizer Michael Land needed somebody to play acoustic. He convinced Richie Havens that he was the guy.
And like all Houses of the Lord, the Woodstock story is largely a matter of faith. Charles Hardy is a professor of history at West Chester College in Pennsylvania. He was at Woodstock: 17 years old, cold, wet, hungry.
"Bragging rites are nice nowadays," Hardy says. "Often I don't even mention it because it sounds like bragging. It's only fun when I tell people how miserable it was, which makes it sort of interesting.
But for Woodstock organizer Land, it was a respite from the Vietnam War, the struggle for civil rights, assassinations and Richard Nixon.
"It was this moment of hope in the midst of all this darkness, so hold out hope for this wonderful experience — that's what it was for us," Land says.
'The Parable Of The Hot Dogs' At Woodstock
Enlarge Photo Illustration: Lars Gotrich; Photos: Shelly Rusten, iStock.I know if you remember the '60s, you weren't really there, but, see, I was there.
Photo Illustration: Lars Gotrich; Photos: Shelly Rusten, iStock.I know if you remember the '60s, you weren't really there, but, see, I was there.
[4 min 12 sec]add to playlist|download
Woodstock In Photos
August 15, 2009 - It had to have been one of the earliest examples of a viral event — long pre-dating blast faxes, mass e-mails, Web ads, the blogosphere, texting and tweeting. Somehow, 40 years ago, word spread from person to person about a fabulous outdoor rock festival at a farm a few hours outside of New York City.
I may have heard about it from my younger brother, who still has the three original $6/day tickets he sent away for and received ... by mail. Yes, it surely was a different time.
While I can still recall most of the acts and music I heard at Woodstock, a much more vivid memory is of the enormous crowd's evolving awareness that it — and not the concert — had become the real event. Perhaps sparked by some psycho-pharmaceutical bonding process, hundreds of thousands coalesced into a single — well, semi-sentient — organism. Inevitably, the crowd simply overwhelmed and upstaged most of the music.
My own most indelible Woodstock memory is what current parlance terms a "teachable moment."
I call the it "Parable of the Hot Dogs."
My circle of newfound friends and I were starving. Like so many others, we had arrived at Woodstock without much planning or preparation. That Saturday morning, rumors circulated of food kiosks located somewhere behind the gathered multitudes. Mud sucked at my knees as I trudged up the gentle hillside border of the festival site for nearly an hour. Wonder what was served at a typical American gathering for nearly 500K people? That's right: hot dogs!
On reaching the vendor area I waited in line for another hour and bought a dozen. I made the same muddy, laborious return trek, threading my way through masses of people, protectively clutching that precious food. Somehow I found our prime location, center-front of the stage. Three hours to get a dozen hot dogs! The cardboard takeout box holding them disappeared into a tangle of grabbing hands. When the box returned to me, all that remained was a glistening red blob of ketchup. In my zeal to be the good guy personifying the communal Woodstock spirit, to be the intrepid provider for my friends, I had waited until my heroic return so we all could eat together. While they — if by then their devolved reptilian brains could even muster a social concept — assumed that with so much time and trouble involved, of course I must have already eaten. What kind of fool wouldn't have?
So my oft-recounted amusing, if cautionary, Woodstock fable imparts this lesson, a familiar message we all know from air travel: Always put on your own oxygen mask first, before assisting others.
The official Woodstock message, the festival slogan, was: Three Days of Peace and Music. That still sounds pretty cool. Though to this day, I try to avoid huge crowds ... and hot dogs.
Robert Goldstein is NPR's music librarian.
August 15, 2009
Woodstock Memories, Mud And All : NPR
Request To Consider Willy DeVille For Induction In The Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame Petition
Request To Consider Willy DeVille For Induction In The Rock And Roll Hall Of FameRequest To Consider Willy DeVille For Induction In The Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame Petition
View Current Signatures - Sign the Petition
Willy DeVille: Rest In Peace August 06 2009
To: Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame FoundationWhereas each year the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Foundation selects individuals they deem worthy of being voted on for inclusion in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame it is our belief that Willy DeVille, for his work as an individual performer and songwriter, and as lead singer of the Mink DeVille band, meets all the conditions said foundation deems essential to be enshrined in the Hall of Fame. His substantial body of work, his dedication to his art, and the level of appreciation that he has enjoyed both in North America and Europe offer substantial evidence of his significant contributions to both the dissemination and preservation of Rock and Roll.
It is our belief Willy DeVille's inclusion in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is long overdue and we ask the board to rectify this matter as soon as possible by including his name on the next ballot.Sincerely,
View Current Signatures
Daily Buzzkills: Funeral Friday | Film | A.V. Club
Daily Buzzkills: Funeral Friday | Film | A.V. ClubDaily Buzzkills: Funeral Friday
Congratulations on making it to the end of another week! Unfortunately, these people didn’t: Light a candle for Funeral Friday.
In our rush to eulogize last week, we sadly left out Willy DeVille, a true original of the New York punk scene. In his band Mink DeVille, the man born as William Borsey cut an unusually dapper figure on the stage of CBGB’s with his tailored suits and towering pompadour, playing a refined version of soul music alongside contemporaries like Talking Heads, Blondie, and the Ramones. DeVille drew a lot of inspiration from artists like the Drifters and Ben E. King, incorporating their classic, string-sweetened soul with bits of Latin, French, and Cajun influences for a classic (yet truly unique) sound that stood in stark contrast from all the bands who were so intent on ripping up history and starting again. Nevertheless, he had a dangerous edge to him that made the punks respect him—Daily Telegraph critic Neil McCormick once wrote that DeVille “sounded like he couldn’t quite decide whether to serenade you or pull a knife on you”—and even though DeVille himself never saw the connection, he’s indelibly connected with that scene, with three of his songs appearing on the famous Live At CBGB’s compilation. The group signed to Capitol Records in 1976, and while Mink DeVille never exploded the way some of those other new wave naifs did, the band continued to be a critical favorite, aided by the production work of Jack Nitzsche and Steve Douglas, both of whom had worked with Phil Spector on the Wall Of Sound technique and were thus a perfect fit for DeVille’s lushly textured music. Early albums spawned the minor hits “Spanish Stroll” and “Cadillac Walk,” while his French cabaret-inspired Le Chat Bleu survived a shelving by Capitol to be declared Rolling Stone’s fifth best album of 1980.
He eventually shed all of his original bandmates and went on to record albums that dabbled in everything from Springsteen-like workingman’s rock to traditional blues to mariachi music to New Orleans-influenced zydeco, and in 1988 he even scored an Oscar nomination for his “Storybook Love,” which was used as the theme to The Princess Bride. After kicking a two-decade-long heroin addiction in 2000, he embraced his Pequot heritage, wore a headdress on the cover of 2004’s Crow Jane Alley and Native American jewelry on stage, and began dabbling in Spanish-American music and even straight country. His well-received final album, 2008’s Pistola, was a culmination of everything that had come before, fusing Tex-Mex blues, tribal rhythms, vintage rock, and New Orleans soul. DeVille died last Thursday at the age of 58 from pancreatic cancer; there’s currently a petition circulating to see him inducted into the Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame.Although the West Coast and its Dogtown crew typically gets all the credit for creating the ’70s skateboard culture that would later become a full-blown, still-flowering phenomenon, the East Coast had its own influential collective known as Zoo York (later co-opted by the Ecko Unlimited clothing brand) and at the head of it was Andy Kessler. Highly respected by Dogtown skater Tony Alva for their “super hardcore” riding style and willingness to navigate the harsh urban environments of Manhattan, Kessler and his Soul Artists Of Zoo York team pioneered the art of city skating, taking over the band shell in Central Park and Brooklyn swimming pools while also relentlessly tagging the city with spraypaint, helping to create the culture of graffiti, skateboarding, and old-school hip-hop that still informs much of the New York art scene and beyond today. Kessler later helped to design and build some of the city’s first skate parks, and after recovering from his own problems with heroin, went on to help many other young addicts get clean. He died this week at the age of 48, from an allergic reaction to a hornet sting he sustained while surfing.
The figurehead of her own influential, albeit entirely different New York subculture, actress Ruth Ford held court over a borderline mythical salon of legendary writers in her apartment at the Dakota, becoming something of a muse to people like William Faulkner, Tennessee Williams, Edward Albee, Terrence McNally, Stephen Sondheim, and Truman Capote. She began her career as a model working with luminaries like Man Ray and the Russian surrealist painter Pavel Tchelitchew before branching out into acting, beginning with Orson Welles’ Mercury Theater. A trip to Hollywood found her cast in a string of more than two dozen B-movies like Truck Busters, The Gorilla Man, and Adventure In Iraq, an ignoble career about which she once said, “I made so many terrible movies in Hollywood.” She fared far better on stage, where she most famously starred in Requiem For A Nun, the only play ever written by Faulkner and a role he created expressly for her after they’d forged a friendship in their native Mississippi. In all, she had more than 50 film and TV appearances ending with 1985’s Too Scared To Scream—though none of particular note—but it was her role as hostess and friend to New York’s creative class that had the most lasting influence, providing a place for chance encounters like the one between Sondheim and Arthur Laurents that led to the creation of West Side Story. Ford died this week at the age of 98.
On a similar note, Mike Seeger, half-brother of protest folk singer Pete Seeger, never achieved the same level of fame with his own songs, but he had a crucial impact on musicians of the ’60s with his dedication to unearthing and popularizing pre-industrial American roots music. In his Chronicles: Volume One memoir, Bob Dylan referred to him as “the supreme archetype” of a folk musician, hailing him for being “romantic, egalitarian, and revolutionary” and even calling him something of a father figure. Seeger began recording artists like Lead Belly and Woody Guthrie in his home around the age of 20, and would later seek out long-lost musicians from the old records that he loved, bringing people like Dock Boggs—whom he personally invited to the 1963 American Folk festival—back from obscurity and introducing them to a new, young audience. A talented multi-instrumentalist on everything from dulcimer to fiddle, he recorded, produced, and played on dozens of albums over the years, scoring six Grammy nominations along the way. In 2007, he performed on both the Album Of The Year-winning Raising Sand from Robert Plant and Alison Krauss as well as Ry Cooder’s Grammy-nominated My Name Is Buddy. Seeger died last Friday; he would have been 76 tomorrow.
A former TV and music producer turned sensationalistic publisher, Michael Viner found his true calling in a rather unlikely place: the world of audio books, which he helped to transform into a popular, multimillion-dollar industry in the 1980s. After noticing the limited number of titles in the fledgling medium, Viner and his wife, actress Deborah Raffin, started Dove Books-On-Tape from their home garage; their first titles were recordings of bestsellers from Viner’s longtime friend, author Sidney Sheldon, who agreed to the production rather than pay Viner $8,000 he lost to him in a game of backgammon. The company grew quickly, with Viner hustling authors and Raffin recruiting actors like Roger Moore, Jason Robards, and Gregory Peck (who narrated the Bible in one of Dove’s most popular titles), and the two of them churning out everything from potboiler thrillers to Stephen Hawking’s A Brief History Of Time, its first big hit. Eventually, Viner found a second calling publishing some of the least reputable books in the biz, trashy titles ripped straight from the tabloid headlines—most famously, Faye Resnick’s Nicole Brown Simpson: The Diary Of A Life Interrupted (which netted him a summons from Judge Lance Ito), but also books on the Menendez Brothers and, more recently, Rod Blagojevich. His most recent in-progress list included books on Bernie Madoff, a Larry Flynt autobiography, and “’a historical and personal perspective’ of prostitution by Kiss singer Gene Simmons.” Sadly, he’ll never see any of these published, as Viner died this week at the age of 65.
With his burly physique and squinting eyes that said, “Don’t fuck with me,” character actor John Quade had an unlikely Lana Turner moment when—after many years working in aerospace (including crafting pieces of equipment left on the moon during the Apollo missions)—a stranger noticed him in a diner and suggested that he put his rough-and-tumble looks to good use on the screen. His most famous roles, naturally, were as “heavies” in westerns like High Plains Drifter and The Outlaw Josey Wales, and he squared off against Clint Eastwood again as motorcycle gang leader “Cholla” in the famed trucker-orangutan love stories Every Which Way But Loose and Any Which Way You Can. Quade’s credits also included classic films like The Sting and Papillon, and he built up a sizeable résumé of television credits on everything from Buck Rogers to The A-Team to the pilot episode of Knight Rider. As he more or less retired from his acting career in the 1990s, Quade became an increasingly outspoken opponent of the U.S. government and a figurehead of the anti-New World Order movement, giving frequent lectures on the Constitution and, common law, and what he saw as the dangers of being forced to register for drivers’ licenses and Social Security cards. Quade died this week at the age of 71.
The King and Dr. Nick: What Really Happened to Elvis and Me - Doctor Nick Plays the Old Card - The Daily Beast
Elvis's Doctor Speaks - The Daily Beast
X CloseYour email has been sent.Thanks for recommending The Daily Beast!
AP Photo On the anniversary of Elvis Presley’s death, Dr. George Nichopoulos—The King’s own Dr. Feelgood—talks to Gerald Posner about prescribing drugs to celebrities—and why his doctor’s bag is being put up for auction.
“I was so upset when Elvis died that I couldn’t listen to his music for several years,” 82-year-old Dr. George Nichopoulos, Elvis’s personal physician, told The Daily Beast. “I wouldn’t listen, it just upset me so bad.”
I recently had a rare chance to talk to Dr. Nick, as he was called by Elvis and his friends. He gives few interviews since he’s still angry at the press for feeding the “witch hunt” that portrayed him as the original Dr. Feelgood. Dr. Nick spent a decade with Elvis at Graceland and on the road and 42 years ago this Sunday he was in the ambulance on the King’s last trip to the Baptist Memorial emergency room. After Elvis was pronounced dead, Dr. Nick signed the death certificate. And he maintains, as he did from that day, that the King of Rock died of natural causes: a heart attack.
“No one understands that Elvis was so complicated,” Dr. Nick said. “I worked so hard just to keep things together and then they turned the tables on me after he died and decided I was to blame.”
Jerry Francisco, Memphis’s medical examiner, surprisingly agreed with the natural death conclusion. Although, the chief pathologist at Baptist who oversaw the autopsy felt Elvis died from a deadly mixture of drugs, he was overruled by Francisco. “The pressure was on in Memphis,” the chief pathology investigator on the case, Dan Warlick, told me, “to make sure the King of Rock and Roll did not die a drug addict.”
Still, there’s no denying that Elvis’s toxicological report was a veritable what’s what of the day’s leading drugs. Four were discovered in “significant” quantities: codeine; Ethinamate, a popular sedative-hypnotic; Quaaludes; and a barbiturate, or depressant, that has never been confirmed but is reported as Phenobarbital. Elvis also had the painkillers morphine and Demerol; tranquilizers Placidyl and Valium; and Chlorpheniramine, an antihistamine.
Once the tox report was public, attention focused on Dr. Nick. On the morning of Elvis’s death, he had told Warlick that Elvis “only used antibiotics.” Later, Dr. Nick admitted he had prescribed in 1977 alone over 10,000 doses of opiates, amphetamines, barbiturates, tranquilizers, hormones, and laxatives for Presley. But he claims that they were meant not only for Elvis, but also for the up to 150 people that used to hang around Graceland and go on tour with the King.
“You have to put yourself back into that time,” Dr. Nick told me. “There were no such things as pain clinics or sleep centers. I needed both. I could not write a prescription in any other state, so when we were on tour, I was like the team physician. I had to treat the team patients. If I didn’t treat them, then they couldn’t do their work. There was no second string for each person, the guy who put on the lights, or the one that laid out the cords. If they couldn’t work, things didn’t get done. “
Dr. Nick maintains he used to check with the health boards for all tour cities to find out if there was a flu outbreak or anything for which he should pack extra drugs. “I had to carry so many drugs because of the things I might come across. And then someone might be allergic to a certain pill, so I had to carry the substitutes. I’d have several bags with the prescriptions with me.”
If they were for so many different people, why were they all dispensed only to Elvis?
“That was for his father. Only if he thought they were all for Elvis would he not complain about how much was spent.”
Dr. Nick contends that he’s unfairly criticized for having written so many prescriptions, but that he was Elvis’s only doctor, whereas most celebrities, like Michael Jackson, have many. “If you added up all their prescriptions, they’d be a lot more than mine,” he says.
"I don't regret any of the medications I gave him. They were necessities.” Dr. Nick says he asked large pharmaceutical companies to make placebos for Elvis for those pills that might be habit forming. After they said no, he claims he tried in vain to develop his own placebos. “Later, everyone attacked me, saying all I was interested in was making money from Elvis. That’s just not true. I never charged him for a house call, and I’d make those four or five times a week to Graceland.”
In 1980, three years after Elvis’s death, Dr. Nick was indicted on 14 counts of overprescribing drugs to Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis, and a dozen other patients. The district attorney ruled out murder because of Francisco’s natural death finding. The jury acquitted Dr. Nick on all counts. But later that same year, the Tennessee Board of Medical Examiners found him guilty of over-prescribing, and gave him a slap on the wrist—suspending his license for three months and putting him on three years' probation.
In 1995, the Tennessee Board of Medical Examiners permanently suspended Dr. Nick’s medical license after it was revealed that he had been overprescribing to numerous patients for years. His appeals were all rejected. “They just never stopped going after me, they always wanted a scapegoat for Elvis’s death,” he told me.
The man who once spent as much time as anyone with Elvis is reduced now to selling personal memorabilia for extra cash. This past June—by coincidence a day after Michael Jackson died—45 items that had belonged to Dr. Nick were sold in Las Vegas by Julien's Auctions. Julien’s is the world’s largest auction house for high-end celebrity estate and entertainment sales. It has sold everything from Jimi Hendrix’s studio guitar ($480,000) to a pair of Bono’s sunglasses ($24,000) to a jacket worn by Kurt Cobain ($87,000) to Marilyn Monroe’s personal phone book ($90,000).
“I want you to know that I had nothing to do with the Julien’s auction,” Dr. Nick told me. Turns out he had previously sold all those items—for an undisclosed price—to a private collector, wealthy Napa-based entrepreneur Richard Long. But Long decided to sell them through Julien’s. As the auction drew near, Long asked Dr. Nick to help out by recording some video promotions. The final product, a DVD titled Dr. Nick's Memories of Elvis, explained the history and events surrounding the gifts in his own words. Nichopoulos wouldn’t disclose how much he was paid for the video endorsements.
“Elvis was impulsive and very generous,” says Dr. Nick, “he’d give away things all the time. One important thing about Elvis is that material things didn’t mean diddly squat to him. He would buy something and wear it one time, or sometimes never even wear it at all, and then give it away. He was crazy about gadgets and got tired of them real fast. He would have been crazy for Sharper Image.”
Elvis gave Dr. Nick, among other items—the auction sales prices are in parentheses—a puka shell necklace he had worn on a Hawaiian movie set ($8,750). “Everyone had gone out shopping,” says Nichopoulos, “and I was in the room with him and couldn’t go. So he said, ‘Here, take this,’ and gave me the necklace.” Some of the other items Dr. Nick says Elvis gave him included a diamond encrusted TCB necklace—Taking Care of Business, the name of Elvis’s band ($117,000); a gold Piaget watch ($8,960); a Mathey-Tissot watch ($23,040); a ring with a large lapis stone ($33,750); a Cat’s Eye ring ($28,125); an Angelus watch ($8,960); a copy of one of Elvis’s favorite books, Kahlil Gibran’s The Prophet ($16,640); and even a television set that once supposedly belonged to the King ($1,024).
Dr. Nick sold autographed pictures from Elvis, a tour scarf and jacket, a stuffed dog, one of Elvis’s kitchen bowls, and even the original newspaper with the headline “Nicholopoulos [sic] Found Not Guilty” ($768). Two pistols fetched nearly $10,000, and a display box of assorted security items brought $7,877.50. A single red strobe light went for $1,375. “He gave that to me and told me to put it on top of my car if I ever had to get to Graceland fast. I used it once and my son did once. The police stopped my son, but when he told them that Elvis had deputized us, they just waved him on.”
But every other item put up for auction paled in comparison to one: Nicks’s worn leather doctor’s bag and 9 prescription bottles with Elvis’s name printed on the labels. Julien’s thought the prescription bottles would fetch $800 to $1,200 each. Instead they brought in nearly five times that, a total of $53,000. And the doctor’s bag got a high bid of $16,000. Two items that Nichopoulos thought were virtual throwaways, a glass nasal douche used by Elvis to clean out his nostrils with a saline solution, and a laryngeal scope, used to examine his vocal chords, fetched $2,176 and $1,792, respectively. “My God,” said Dr. Nick, when I told him the final prices. “I can’t believe that.”
Does he consider it unsavory to sell Elvis’s prescription bottles? “Why?” he asked, with seemingly genuine surprise. “The connotation is that the prescription bottle is bad, but the prescriptions are for things like antihistamines, something for diarrhea, nausea, antibiotics. Just because it’s a prescription bottle doesn’t mean it’s a bad drug.”
What about many critics who think he was responsible for feeding Elvis’s addictions and now for profiting from his relationship? “I’m sick of being the whipping boy. No one understands that Elvis was so complicated. I worked so hard just to keep things together and then they turned the tables on me after he died and decided I was to blame. That was the worst part.”
As for second thoughts about selling memorabilia that marked their relationship, Dr. Nick says he isn’t finished. “There were several [doctor’s] bags,” he says. “I still have a couple of bags. And I think I may have some other prescription bottles.”
“People say I took advantage of Elvis, or stole those things, it’s all over the Internet,” Dr. Nick said. “That’s all I hear in Memphis. It drives me crazy. You break your balls to help somebody and try to keep him alive and it turns around you were in it for the money. I was one of his closest friends. At times I was his father, his best friend, his doctor. Whatever role I needed to play at the time, I did.”
Other questions? “You’ll have to read my book,” he says. The King and Dr. Nick: What Really Happened to Elvis and Me will be released by the Nashville-based Christian publishing giant Thomas Nelson next February. “I’ll be giving some interviews then.”
Gerald Posner is The Daily Beast's chief investigative reporter. He's the award-winning author of 10 investigative nonfiction bestsellers, ranging from political assassinations, to Nazi war criminals, to 9/11, to terrorism. He lives in Miami Beach with his wife, the author Trisha Posner.
I love "Death Week". Every year there's more good dirt on The King. I wonder if the same kind of celebration/remembrance/tattling will happen on the yearly of Michael Jackson or Billy Mays' deaths?
JESUS MICHAEL JACKSON AND GRANNY - Hollywood Wax Museum Auction
Profiles in History - Hollywood Wax Museum Auction
Lot Description Estimates
(USD)152 
8,000
-
10,000153 
3,000
-
5,000154 
6,000
-
8,000155 
2,000
-
3,000156 
2,000
-
3,000157 
3,000
-
5,000158 
1,000
-
1,500159 
30,000
-
50,000160 
6,000
-
8,000161 
6,000
-
8,000162 
3,000
Profiles in History - Hollywood Wax Museum Auction - jesus
Profiles in History - Hollywood Wax Museum Auction
Lot Description Estimates
(USD)1 
2,000
-
3,0002 
2,000
-
3,0003 
2,000
-
3,0004 
5,000
-
7,0005 
2,000
-
3,0006 
2,000
-
3,0007 
10,000
-
12,0008 
3,000
-
5,0009 
2,000
-
3,00010 
2,000
-
3,00011 
2,000
-
3,00012 
600
-
80013 
8,000
-
10,00014 
3,000
-
5,00015 
1,000
-
1,50016 
5,000
-
7,00017 
3,000
-
5,00018 
3,000
-
5,00019 
3,000
-
5,00020 
3,000
-
5,00021 
3,000
-
5,00022 
2,000
-
3,00023 
2,000
-
3,00024 
3,000
-
5,00025 
2,000
-
3,00026 
2,000
-
3,00027 
2,000
-
3,00028 
2,000
-
3,00029 
3,000
-
5,00031 
4,000
-
6,00032 
5,000
-
7,00033 
2,000
-
3,00034 
8,000
-
10,00035 
3,000
-
5,00036 
3,000
-
5,00037 
2,000
-
3,00038 
3,000
-
5,00039 
8,000
-
10,00040 
2,000
-
3,00041 
3,000
-
5,00042 
3,000
-
5,00043 
3,000
-
5,00044 
2,000
-
3,00045 
8,000
-
10,00046 
2,000
-
3,00047 
2,000
-
3,00048 
2,000
-
3,00049 
2,000
-
3,00050 
3,000
-
5,00051 
2,000
-
3,000