When he stepped onto the Hilton stage for his next Vegas “season” he did so with more weight than he’d ever carried before. He was approaching three-hundred pounds with cheeks that seemed to be constantly pressing his lips together like a fish and his eyes kept in a permanent squint, peeking out over his ever-large cheekbones that now carried a lot more extra baggage than they did in the mid-’50s. His voice was terrible, in large part because he was so winded from what little moving around the stage he did. Fans were still turning out and were happy to pay the ticket price to see him live and in person, so to that end the Colonel was content, but there was only so much Elvis’s hardcore fanbase could take before they broke. His live shows were his financial firewall; his LP sales had been in steady decline throughout the decade, and even though he could be counted on to sell a lot of records every year compared to other artists, his floor of support—from those same hardcore fans—was eroding slowly but steadily. After they were gone, the ticket-buyers would be next.
And yet, nothing was done in 1976 to shake things up. Status quo reigned as Elvis toured with the same band, the same jumpsuits (which, now that he was overweight, simply made him a walking punchline, looking like a man in his pajamas), the same corny stand-up comedian warm-up act, followed by the same performance by whatever backing group was with him at the time (either Voice, or the Stamps, or the Sweet Inspirations, or some combination of the three), the same twenty-something songs, starting with “See See Rider” and ending with “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” Nothing was changing and nothing could convince Elvis that change was needed.
In July, Elvis’s father, acting on behalf of the man himself, fired longtime associates Sonny and Red West under the auspicious of what he called “cost-cutting measures.” Red had gone to school with Elvis and had served as bodyguard, driver and confidant from the beginning of his career. Sonny (Red’s cousin) had been with him since 1960, when he returned from the Army. A third associate, Dave Hebler had been working security alongside Sonny since 1972 and was fired along with them.
According to those close to Vernon and the future Elvis estate, the trio was actually fired for getting a little too rough with rowdy spectators at live events and Elvis was worried about getting sued. Considering his fragile financial situation that’s a fair worry. On the other hand, the trio claimed that they were let go because they stood up to Elvis regarding his prescription drug abuse. What should not be lost in the back and forth is the fact that Vernon had long disliked the men who were ever-present at his son’s side. He called them blood-sucking leeches at one point, and was no doubt frustrated to see his son shower them with such lavish gifts despite his sometimes-precarious position with the IRS.
Let’s be fair to the stooges and say they tried once or twice to warn Elvis that the drugs were becoming “too much” but let’s also consider the very reasonable assumption that Vernon was looking for a chance to sack them—especially Red and Sonny—and money was as good a reason as any. The fact that Hebler was also canned, despite not being part of Elvis’s inner circle and merely being a security goon, lends credence to the idea that their tactics at live events might have scared the Presleys into worrying about a lawsuit one day.
Whatever happened, the trio started immediately on a tell-all book, to be entitled “Elvis: What Happened?” They claimed the money was not their goal with the book, but rather it was designed to be a wake-up call for Elvis. They claim their hope was that all of Elvis’s fans would read the book (ergo “buy” the book, but I digress) and shower Elvis with love and concern and push him to sober up for good.
Elvis had, in the past, fired employees in a flash of anger, but would almost always bring them back after he’d cooled down and forgotten what happened. That might have happened here had the book not prevented it. Interestingly, the trio started on the book (which would release the next year, only a few weeks before Elvis’s death) almost the day they were fired; what that implies, one way or another, is left for the reader to decide.
Around the same time, Elvis had a falling out with Dr. George Nichopolous, the man who kept Elvis stocked with drugs and who kept his addiction afloat. There is a common argument that, if “Dr. Nick” hadn’t been the guy, Elvis would have found someone else to dope him up. And while there’s truth to that, it’s not a complete picture. After Elvis and Dr. Nick split, he, sure enough, found someone else; a Las Vegas doctor named Elias Ghanem. The future chairman of the Nevada State Athletic Commission was flown to Elvis’s Palm Springs home, where Elvis had been hiding after the fallout from firing Red and Sonny, where he served the king his regular cocktail of uppers, downers and all-arounders. Again, those who say that “Dr. Nick wasn’t evil; he was just doing a job that someone was going to do” forget what happened after Elvis split with Nick. He left Palm Springs for a show in Houston that turned into a disaster: Ghanem had over-medicated him, and Elvis, so loaded up on sleeping pills and anti-depressants, collapsed in the dressing room minutes before he was set to take the stage. He was found slumped over a chair, completely unconscious.
As people frantically tried to revive him, Colonel Parker was asked if they should cancel. He said that under no circumstances would the show be called off (which would have brought about a refund of the night’s earnings) and that Elvis would be on that stage one way or another. With a final shout of “The only thing that’s important is that that man is on that stage tonight. You hear me? Nothing else matters! Nothing!” he slammed the door and left the staff to tend to “his boy.” After literally dunking his head in a bucket of ice water, Elvis recovered enough to stumble onto the stage and perform a lethargic and zombified concert.
The performance is heartbreaking to listen to. Elvis talks in slurred, slow-motion. He’s unfocused, clearly confused, and even—for the first time ever—being led from song to song by the cues of his band, instead of the other way around. He sounds like a man who’s just been shot up with morphine before surgery but whether the crowd realized something was wrong or not didn’t matter (and judging by all the happy squeals they didn’t seem to notice). They paid, they saw, and Elvis survived another day. Dr. Nick was flown back in, with fences mended, and returned to his work of carefully balancing all of Elvis’s many drug-intakes.
It apparently was a fine art that only he could do so well, though that doesn’t make him any less criminal.
Dr. Nick claimed that he was really the unsung hero of Elvis’s story; that he, while he administered drug after drug, was also stressing the need to take it easier! He would give Elvis “Sparine” (for depression), but the side effect of it was extreme lethargy and a sudden and severe drop in blood pressure. To counter that, Nick gave him “Donnatal” (which is intended to treat irritable bowel syndrome and stomach ulcers), all the while telling Col. Parker that the drugs would kill him without a lighter touring schedule. Elvis was in a perpetual state of medication, but he was especially loaded-up when he performed. Performing is where Elvis made the real money (with Parker taking home nearly half of it), and his manager had him performing an insanely rigorous schedule. Elvis sometimes would perform five shows in two days. There was no other singer in the world touring as much as he was, but they needed the money.
In part because Parker was over a million in debt from a gambling addiction.
