Modified On August 17, 2007
For the first time in almost forever, The Female Half has written a column. In it, she reflects on that fateful day in August of 1977, thirty years ago today… the day after Elvis Presley died:
We were on vacation that week. My grandparents had decided to take me and my older sister to Atlantic City. In my early years, I had stayed at their house quite often, but this was the first time we had actually vacationed together for any length of time. It was my grandpop’s idea. I now realize that he must have known something was wrong.
Since my grandparents didn’t have much money, we stayed at an establishment that was part motel/part B&B– minus one of the B’s. It was dark and it smelled like an old person’s house. The lobby was always full of French Canadian men who were far too old and too fat to be wearing the late 1970’s equivalent of a Speedo.
Read the whole thing.