I was in a bar called the Rio, a motel bar in Austin where a friend of mine was bartending. Someone came into the bar and announced it. Duffy, the bartender was also a drummer. He gave me my first drum cases. We were both stunned. Neither one of us were big Elvis fans. Duffy was a forty something black man into jazz and soul, and I was a 29 year old into rock,country rock, jazz, and soul, but Elvis was a larger than life character who you felt like would be around forever. Elvis and Kennedy are the only famous people that I remember where I was when they died.

I remember where I was. I, along with three of my brothers, were waiting in the car at the bank, listening to the radio, while our mother went inside. When mom came back we all told her Elvis had died. She simply lamented the fact that he was likely in hell.

UPDATE: I just made a trip with my dad (taking him to the doctor) and my mom (who has dementia). My dad brought up the fact that today is the 42nd anniversary of Elvis' death and that he was 42 when he died. My mom, looking at me with a look of shock on her face: "What? Elvis died? Me: "Yes, mom, 42 years ago." Mom: Wow! I didn't know that he died. He was sure young to die." Me: "Yes, mom, he was." I don't like the fact that my mom has dementia; but, at least there was no mention of Elvis likely being in hell.

I remember hearing someone predict that Elvis would become a religion - he’s already called the king.

I remember that day well. I was in Texas City, Texas on a service call at the home of a black lady. We were on her porch discussing the ailing clothes dryer when her son came out of the house and said "I think y'all better come inside and look at the TV. They just said Elvis Presley was found dead." We went inside and watched TV for the next hour.

Found in toilet