May 13, 1956
By Allen W. Doerr, The St. Paul Pioneer Press
Elvis Aaron Presley, swarthy young singing idol of teenage rock and roll fans, held court for 26 minutes in the St. Paul auditorium Sunday.
There were no casualties.
Some 4000 present, mostly girls, greeted the 21 year-old former Tennessee truck driver.
They screamed, they cheered, they whistled, they clapped and they cried. Then they fought like demons for a touch or close-up glimpse of their king.
Another 4,000 persons, only slightly less exuberant, screamed and squealed through Presley’s evening show in the Minneapolis auditorium.
Youths lined up at the doors before noon. They bought photographs of Presley for 50 cents, 75 cents and $1.
Presley, in nondescript black shirt and slacks slipped in a side door at 3:15 p.m. A dozen patrolmen held back the mob.
In his dressing room Presley admitted in his southern drawl that he doesn’t know how long his popularity will last. “Ah’m not worried. There were plenty of good ‘rock and roll’ men before I came along. “This is good. I hope it keeps on. Ah’ll keep working as long as it does.”
He signed autographs and posed for pictures and explained he hopes to try serious acting in movies. It would be a career to fall back on if the rock and roll boom fades, he said.
Outside the crowd was chanting “We want Elvis.” When he emerged in a Kelly green jacket and started for the stage, they began screaming again. Police formed a ring around the stage.
After the first words of his hit song “Heartbreak Hotel,” the noise of the crowd drowned out the music. Only the beat carried over the loudspeaker system.
“You don’t need to know what he’s saying,” one girl shouted. “It’s just to look at him.”
Presley grabbed the microphone with both hands and tossed his head. He shook his shoulders in a motion that carried down through his body to his feet. He shuffled stiff-legged from side to side. He leaned his forehead on the microphone closed his eyes and twitched slowly through his body as he sang.
He threw his guitar from side to side and moved jerkily around the stage. The guitar gashed the side of his head and girls in the audience moaned and through their handkerchiefs to him as blood flowed.
“Over here, Elvis, over here,” a 13-year-old shouted falling on her knees pleading in the front row.
“I love you, baby I love you. I love you,” another girl chanted, tears streaming down her face.
Police formed a flying wedge to take Presley in a waiting car after the show, but the crowd broke through. The Kelly green coat was half torn off.
Two stowaway girls were waiting in the car. Police pushed one into the street and the car drove away.
“Hey,” screamed the girl. “My girl friend is in there.”
She stood in the street crying and the pouring rain matted her hair down around her face.
