He was born Andreas van Kuijk in Holland in 1909. After an unhappy childhood, he illegally entered America in 1926. For three years he hoboed around until he met the Parkers, who worked in a carnival. The childless couple adopted him as Thomas A. Parker. He disappeared from their world, joined the U.S. Army in 1929, and, after his discharge three years later, went back to the circus. He reveled in every minute of the carny business. Over time, he developed his skills as a promoter and publicist and dreamed of bigger things.
In 1939, Gene Austin, owner and star of Star-O-Rama, a tent show, called on the young man he had once met to rescue his failing business. In no time, they were fast friends, and business was booming—until the IRS shut them down. Parker then went to Nashville to manage the Grand Ole Opry’s Tent Show featuring Minnie Pearl and Eddy Arnold. He became Arnold’s manager and convinced RCA to quintuple Eddy’s royalty rate from 1% to 5%. That same year Parker was appointed an honorary Louisiana Colonel. A slight falling out led Eddy to cut ties, though they remained friends, and Parker could still book appearances for him. Parker immediately started a Country & Western Caravan for RCA. Soon after, he moved on to an exclusive relationship with Hank Snow and began touring with an undercard of different performers. The youngest of the group was a beginner from Memphis—Elvis Presley.
Parker was astounded by the fans’ reaction to Elvis. It was unlike anything he had ever seen. Within six months of meeting him, Parker arranged to be Elvis’ new agent and for RCA to buy out his recording contract with Sun Records. In 1956, Elvis’ first full year with Parker, he sold 12 million records, was watched by 82.6% of America’s television audience on The Ed Sullivan Show, and became an international movie star. He was twenty-one.
Before Elvis entered the Army in late 1958, Parker extracted more and more money from RCA, Hollywood, and every conceivable source—all while assuring that Elvis had total control of his music. The highlight of Elvis’ first year back from Germany was two charity shows, one in Memphis and the other in Hawaii, raising funds for the Arizona Memorial. Both were his first public performances in years, and both were resounding successes. The Colonel wanted to get Elvis back on the road because live shows invigorated him—and Elvis mesmerized the crowds. But there was so much money to be made in Hollywood, and though both men knew Elvis was unchallenged and unhappy, they had contracts to fulfill.
Elvis fell into a bit of a funk during the mid-1960s but returned to the studio. For his comeback special, he poured his heart, soul, and energy into the performance, highlighted by If I Can Dream. Elvis was clearly still the King. He was “once again caught up in the pure joy of making music.” He excelled in his first Las Vegas residency and, starting in 1970, began touring again—bringing the house down night after night. But after about three years, it was obvious he was phoning it in, and his drug dependency was taking a toll. Around the same time, Parker’s gambling addiction consumed him.
Their last triumph together came in early 1973 with Aloha From Hawaii. Shortly after, Parker sold Elvis’ catalog to RCA for $5.4 million and took a 50% cut. Their relationship deteriorated during Elvis’ last four years, as did the King’s stage performances. After Elvis’ death, the Colonel sprang into action, fending off those who tried to profit from his name and image. The Estate severed its relationship with him in the early 1980s, though he maintained a limited and mostly amicable relationship with the heirs until his death in 1997.
Given that the author wrote the definitive two-volume biography of Elvis, I’m somewhat surprised at his relatively benign treatment of the Colonel here. This stands in vivid contrast to Baz Luhrmann’s evisceration of him in the Elvis biopic. It is universally accepted that Parker was a whiz and that he and Elvis adored each other. Still, I agree with those who believe he deliberately kept Elvis away from talented writers and producers to maintain control. That leaves me deeply upset, because in doing so, he inhibited—if not crushed—one of the greatest talents we have ever seen. Recently, I asked my 15-year-old granddaughter if she knew who the King of Rock ’n’ Roll was. She hesitated for a moment, then said, “Of course, Papa, Elvis."
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