Elvis|Music|Memories
Remembering Elvis and How a Chicken Factory Went into Mourning
The unexpected consequences of an unexpected death
Where were you 47 years ago when you heard the King was dead?
Much of what happened during my teen years is now a little blurry. But some events remain crystal clear. Like where I was the day Elvis died.
It was not a glamorous location. Far from it. It was about as unglamorous as you can imagine. Wearing some kind of white cotton hair covering and a blue overall, I was standing on the production line at the local chicken factory. Stuffing little bags of giblets into the body cavities of soon-to-be frozen chickens.
Music mixed with an occasional news update or company announcement blared at the workers via an aging Tannoy system all day. Mostly country and western tunes interspersed with a bit of 70s disco. It was almost impossible to decipher the jibber jabber of the DJ above the intermittent static and constant machinery noise.
I’m sure it was supposed to aid productivity.
If you’ve ever worked on a production line (especially one dealing with dead, plucked poultry) you will understand the significance of productivity.
