ELVIS PRESLEY'S FAMOUS ICONIC 1950's "BLUE SUEDE SHOES"

Jimmy Velvet's words ... "Elvis wore these iconic blue suede shoes, size 10-1/2, during the 1950’s on and off stage. During his performance on the Steve Allen show, July 1, 1956, Elvis mentions wearing the shoes before singing “I Want You, I Need You, I Love You.”  

Elvis Presley Owned "Blue Suede Shoes"

In the latter part of 2022 Jeffrey Marren contacted the Alfred Wertheimer's archive and they gave him access to unreleased outtakes, recently seen for the first time. These new images on closer inspection show the white stitching on the top edge of the sole, the arrangement and location of the lace holes on the top of the shoe and the exact shape of the shoes upper and heel. These three black and white images of Elvis Presley wearing these Blue Suede Shoes © Alfred Wertheimer courtesy of Jeffrey Marren.

Elvis Presley Owned "Blue Suede Shoes"

On July 1, 1956, Elvis sang  “I Want You, I Need You, I Love You.” and "Hound Dog." on N.B.C.-TV's The Steve Allen show wearing the Blue Suede Shoes. 

Elvis also mentions wearing the Blue Suede Shoes during the comedy skit with Andy Griffith during the show.

ACCOMPANIED BY 2 HAND SIGNED DOCUMENTS



1. Accompanied by an Elvis Presley Museum certificate of authenticity hand signed by Jimmy Velvet who was Elvis' friend of twenty two years and the Founder and original President and CEO of the world famous Elvis Presley Museum all those years ago.



ELVIS PRESLEY MUSEUM
CERTIFICATE OF AUTHENTICITY

THIS IS TO CERTIFY that in my opinion, the following item was the personal property of ELVIS PRESLEY.
The Elvis Presley Museum opened on June 1, 1978 and is the only museum in the world licensed by
Elvis Presley Enterprises, Inc. and “Graceland” - the estate of Elvis Presley.

BLUE SUEDE SHOES

Elvis wore these iconic blue suede shoes during the 1950’s on and off stage. During his performance on the Steve Allen show, July 1, 1956, Elvis mentions wearing the shoes before singing “I Want You, I Need You, I Love You.” In 1958, the night before Elvis left for the Army he gave these shoes to close friend & entourage member, Alan Fortas. The heel of each shoe is stamped 'Nunn-Bush' and inside of each shoe is stamped 10-1/2 stating the shoe size. 

There is a lot of history wrapped up in these well worn blue suede shoes which is synonymous with the name Elvis Presley.

(Hand signed in ink) Jimmy Velvet, Founder and CEO 

2. Accompanied by a letter From the desk of Alan Fortas (Hand Signed in ink) which reads: 

FROM THE DESK OF ALAN FORTAS

To Whom this May Concern:

I Alan Fortas worked with Elvis Presley and was friends with Elvis my entire life. I was also Elvis' ranch foreman at Elvis'  Circle G Ranch. I also appeared with Elvis in many films as a extra. I was also with Elvis in the concert in the round segment for the famous 1968 NBC "Comeback" special. 

 The night before Elvis' army induction here in Memphis. Elvis had an all night party at Graceland. Afterwards we went to the Rainbow roller rink. When we all got home Elvis called some of us upstairs and was giving away some of his clothes he didn't think he would be wearing or wanted when he came back from the army. That night Elvis gave me these blue suede shoes size 10 1/2. I've owned these all these years. 

Sincerely,

Alan Fortas (Hand signed in ink) 

Nunn Bush

Born in Milwaukee in 1912, Nunn Bush was launched with the goal of creating fine men's shoes at affordable prices. Over 100 years later we continue to rely on our Midwestern values of hard work and fair play. Today, whether it's classic, contemporary, dress or casual, the Nunn Bush name has become synonymous with quality, comfort, value and style.

And we still call Milwaukee home! 

Lyrics

Well, it's one for the money
Two for the show
Three to get ready
Now go, cat, go

But don't you
Step on my blue suede shoes
Well you can do anything
But lay off of my blue suede shoes

Well, you can knock me down
Step in my face
Slander my name
All over the place

Well, do anything that you want to do
But uh-uh, honey
Lay off of my shoes
Don't you step on my blue suede shoes
Well, you can do anything
But lay off of my blue suede shoes

Yeah

You can burn my house
Steal my car
Drink my liquor
From an old fruit jar

Well, do anything that you want to do
But uh-uh, honey
Lay off of my shoes
And don't you
Step on my blue suede shoes
Well, you can do anything
But lay off of my blue suede shoes

Well, it's one for the money
Two for the show
Three to get ready
Now go, cat, go

But don't you
Step on my blue suede shoes
Well, you can do anything
But lay off of my blue suede shoes

Well, it's
Blue, blue
Blue suede shoes
Blue, blue
Blue suede shoes, yeah
Blue, blue
Blue, suede shoes, baby
Blue, blue
Blue suede shoes
Well, you can do anything
But lay off of my blue suede shoes

Songwriters: Carl Perkins
Blue Suede Shoes lyrics © Carl Perkins Music Inc.

Sunday Night, July 1, 1956 … 

Elvis Presley on "The Steve Allen Show":
The Taming of Rock 'n' Roll and Its Biggest Star 

“Steve Allen … he was out to humiliate an entire culture he would have called hillbillies. It was all a smear.”— Writer Dave Marsh in “Elvis: The Searcher”
It’s doubtful Steve Allen had that specific goal in mind when he signed Elvis Presley to appear on his new Sunday night variety show in the summer of 1956. After two years as the host of NBC’s late night talk show, Allen jumped into the network’s Sunday 8 p.m. prime time slot on June 24 directly opposite Ed Sullivan on CBS. Neither man cared for Elvis Presley’s act, but Allen realized he needed a quick rating boost if he was to compete with Sullivan’s top rated program. After Presley drew so much attention with his earlier appearances on the Dorsey Brothers and Milton Berle shows, Allen decided Elvis was what he needed and signed him to appear on his Sunday evening show on July 1, 1956. 

The ratings potential for Allen’s show with Presley skyrocketed when Elvis’s “bump and grind” version of “Hound Dog” on the June 6 Berle show brought widespread condemnation from the TV entertainment press. Columnist Charles Mercer was among those who urged Steve Allen to cancel Presley’s appearance on his show. NBC even weighed in on Elvis’s shenanigans. “We think this lad has great future,” a network spokesman said, “but we won’t stand for any bad taste under any circumstances.”
On his late night show, Allen responded, “There has been a demand that I cancel him from our show. As of now he is still booked for July 1, but I have not come to a final decision on his appearance.” In reality, of course, Steve Allen had no intention of canceling Presley and missing out on the monster TV audience he needed. On June 20, NBC announced, with assurances of moderation by Allen, that Elvis’s appearance was a "go" on the network for July 1. 

Allen revealed his Presley strategy in an open letter 

In a  June 22, 1956, open letter to Steve Allen, syndicated columnist Charles Mercer asked Allen why he was planning to book Presley on his NBC-TV show on July 1. "I'm not taking a moral stand in this case," Mercer explained. "My purpose in asking why you're booking Presley has another basis. Your television career has been marked by a high sense of humor and a great respect for talent. Presley certainly is not funny—though that is not my complaint against him. My  argument against his appearance is simply lack of talent. I can't for the life of me see why you want to have such an untalented guy on your program." 

In an open letter of response to Charles Mercer, Allen explained why he was rejecting the columnist’s plea to cancel Elvis’s appearance. 

“To start at the beginning I didn’t book Elvis after the Berle incident. He was set for my new Sunday evening program several weeks before he appeared on Milton’s show and I have therefore a legal commitment to employ him on Sunday, July 1, on NBC-TV at 7 p.m. Secondly, the anti-Presley arguments I’ve been hearing seem a bit illogical. You see, he has made many TV appearances before the Berle show, all without arousing any hue or cry, so there can be no firm basis for keeping him off TV altogether.” 

It seemed that Allen, long a conservative advocate in the television business, was championing Elvis Presley’s right to bring his wild act to the small screen. But Allen went on to make it clear in his open letter that he intended to keep Presley’s urges under control on his show. 

“He thoughtlessly indulged in certain dance movements on his last TV appearance which a number of people thought objectionable … He knows he made a mistake with the Milton Berle business and I think he’s smart enough not to do it again … So the thing to do, it seems to me, is to allow him to appear on television any time he wants, but to make certain that he conducts himself in a gentlemanly manner, and that is precisely my intention.” 

Of course, Steve Allen’s assertion that Elvis knew “he made a mistake” on the Berle show was nonsense. Allen had never spoken with Elvis at this point, and in an interview with syndicated columnist Hy Gardner the same night as his appearance on the Allen show, Elvis declared, “I’m aware of everything I do, at all times. It’s just the way I feel.” Still, Elvis had no input on his Steve Allen show appearance that evening. In an agreement that foreshadowed his later movie contracts, when Elvis took the money, in this case $7,500, he surrendered complete control to everything he said, sang, and did to the host of “The Steve Allen Show.” 

For starters, it’s certain Steve Allen didn’t sign Elvis for his talent as a singer, because he didn’t believe Elvis had any such talent. In the “Elvis: The Searcher” documentary, Allen is heard saying, “The reason I booked him … I recognized right away that he had something. A cuteness, chiefly his face, but a beautiful sound, he never really had.” 

“Presenting low culture in a high-culture setting” 

Allen had already begun formulating his plans to emasculate Elvis before he got the go-ahead from NBC in mid-June. He closed his open letter to Charles Mercer with, “Let me assure audiences again that they will not be offended by Elvis on any program over which I have control.” In the 1971 radio documentary, “The Elvis Presley Story,” Allen recalled his plan to make Elvis’s appearance on his show a comedic double-take. 

“Back in 1956, the kind of thing that is so common now was considered scandalous by some. It never bothered me any, but, in any event, we had to take some kind of recognition of all this publicity, if only for comedy purposes. So I decided to put Elvis in evening clothes. We put him, in fact, in tails, and we built a very dignified set, which consisted, I think, chiefly of Greek columns and perhaps a sky in the background and billowing, gossamer curtains. It was something of that sort. It was very dignified. We might even have had a chandelier in evidence. And we put this marvelous basset hound, I think it was, on a low Greek column, and had Elvis sing to him in this very dignified kind of Carnegie Hall context, and the contrast between the somewhat inane lyric of that particular song and the wild way in which Elvis sang it, with the attire and scenery, made for a funny set up.” 

Presley biographer Peter Guralnick called it, “Allen’s comedic concept of presenting low culture in a high-culture setting.” 

Columnists anxiously awaited Allen’s scheme for Elvis 

Many in the TV entertainment press awaited with disdain Elvis’s reappearance on the small screen. One was columnist Nick Kenny. 

“Will Elvis rock and wriggle on Steve Allen’s Show tonight??? While thirty million teenage fans applaud in wild delight??? And will he shake his torso like a trotter with the heaves??? Will Presley’s fans all rally at the nearest TV set??? While mom and pop retire just as far as they can get??? Will maidens swoon and lads grow faint when Elvis starts to squeal???  

“This is the question of the hour … in just so many words … Is good taste just a mockery??? Is talent for the birds??? Some guys don’t care what they air when ratings are too lean … But I’m convinced that Presley should be heard and never seen.” 

In contrast, columnist Harriet Van Horne had heard enough through the grapevine to make her fear Elvis was about to be muzzled on the Allen show. “Revamped, purified and somewhat abridged,” she feared, “He’ll wear white tie and tails, glory be. And he’ll stand reasonably still while singing … With so much Bowdlerizing, he may well sing ‘Come Sweet Death’ as far as his career is concerned.” 

Fortunately for history’s sake, an unbiased observer was close to Elvis throughout the day and evening of Sunday, July 1, 1956. Alfred Wertheimer, a young photographer who RCA assigned to take publicity shots of Presley, recorded his observations in his 1979 book, “Elvis ’56: In the Beginning.” In the early morning hours of July 1, Wertheimer rode the train with Elvis from Richmond, where Elvis appeared the night before, to New York’s Pennsylvania Station. A cab took them to the Hudson Theatre, an old Broadway show-house now converted into a studio from which NBC broadcast “The Steve Allen Show.”  Wertheimer noted the studio’s tight quarters. “The stage, which had been extended to accommodate both sets and television cameras, jutted deep into the seating area leaving no more than a dozen rows. The balcony had been given over to the lights.” 

Elvis’s company, including Scotty, Bill, D.J. and the Jordanaires, took seats halfway toward the back. Wertheimer recalled how, “Steve then took to the aisle, and as he paced back and forth, detailed the outline of the show … He listed the order of the acts and mentioned appearances by Eydie Gorme, Steve Lawrence and Milton Berle, in addition to Andy Griffith, Imogene Coca, and Elvis.”  

After a 10-minute break, the first run-through began. When Elvis and his troupe were called to the set, which Wertheimer judged could have been “designed by Aristotle and Liberace,” he sang “I Want You, I Need You, I Love You” without passion or body movement, Wertheimer noted. After Allen complimented him, Elvis responded, “Thank you, Mr. Allen.” Then a trainer led a female basset hound onto the set and dressed her in a bow tie, top hat, and collar. After the dog was placed on a stand by the microphone, Elvis was instructed to sing to her. When the dog ignored the singer, Allen suggested Elvis try to make friends with her. 

Elvis unhappy on being told to stand still 

Once Elvis had established some rapport with the basset hound, the rehearsal moved to the skit with Steve, Elvis, Andy, and Imogene. Unsure of himself at first, Wertheimer noted, “Elvis relaxed into the natural fellow I had come to know” with the support of his “lighthearted and easygoing” costars. 

After answering some questions for New York reporters in his dressing room, Elvis wandered away from the theatre without telling anyone where he was going. RCA’s Anne Fulchino found him playing pinball in a penny arcade a few blocks away. She told Wertheimer that Elvis was unhappy that he had been told not to move while singing on the show. After the photographer changed his clothes and replenished his film supply, he returned to the dressing room to find Elvis “resigned to his fate” and donning a “starched baby blue shirt, matching bow tie, tails and blue suede shoes” in preparation for the dress rehearsal. “The elegance of his formal attire might have qualified him for an ambassador’s ball,” Wertheimer observed, “but his slicked hair and leering smile made him look like a party crasher.” 

While waiting his turn in the dress rehearsal, Elvis, hands in his pockets, was approached by Milton Berle. After straightening Elvis bow tie, Berle said, “Good luck, kid.” Elvis smiled and responded, “Thank ya, Mr. Berle.” 

At eight o’clock eastern daylight time that evening, Elvis watched a monitor backstage as Steve Allen and his other guests went through their paces in the first half of “The Steve Allen Show,” being broadcast live from the Hudson Theatre on Broadway. Mid-show Steve Allen stood alone at center stage and spoke to his audience. 

“Well, you know, a couple of weeks ago on the ‘Milton Berle Show,’ our next guest, Elvis Presley received a great deal of attention which some people seemed to interpret one way and some viewers interpreted another. Naturally, it’s our intention to do nothing but a good show … We want to do a show the whole family can watch and enjoy and we always do and, tonight, we’re presenting Elvis Presley in his … what you might call his first comeback.”  

Handshaking and backslapping after the show 

What followed over the next thirty minutes needs no description here, as its controversial scenes have been viewed and commented upon often over the decades by Presley fans and critics alike. In “Elvis: The Searcher,” record producer John Landau recalled his reaction as a teenager watching Elvis sing “Hound Dog” to a hound dog on the Allen show in 1956. “As a child, I was deeply offended. There was something wrong there.” Landau wondered, “Elvis, why you letting them do that to you?” 

Immediately after the show, everyone involved seemed more than pleased with the results. Wertheimer noted the handshaking and backslapping. 

“After the show, Allen congratulated Elvis on a job well done, Milton congratulated Steve and the stagehands congratulated each other … On his way to the dressing room, Elvis was intercepted by the William Morris agent … Shaking Elvis’ hand, he said, ‘I think the show was terrific. You did a marvelous job. We really ought to get a good reaction to this one.’ Tom Diskin, the Colonel’s lieutenant, stood by with a wide smile.” 

Steve Allen got what he was looking for. The show topped Ed Sullivan 20.2 to 14.8 in the Trendex ratings. You’d think Elvis’s critics would be doing a victory lap and spouting their roles in taming Presley, but instead they doubled-down on their scorn. In The New York Times, Jack Gould wrote, “Insofar as this corner is concerned the young man has lost none of his indescribable monotony as a singer.” Jack O’Brien, writing in the New York Journal-American, agreed. “Elvis Presley was a cowed kid on Steve Allen’s opus last night … NBC’s promise to de-gyrate the controversial hip-swingin’ singer was kept … It proved Presley’s excitement is not his voice but his erotic presentation … Once his gears were shifted into a picture suitable for a Sunday evening, it was plain he couldn’t sing or act a lick.” 

Elvis found a defender in John Lardner, who wrote the following in “Lardner’s Week,” a regular column in Newsweek. 

“Allen’s ethics were questionable from the start. He fouled Presley, a fair-minded judge would say, by dressing him like a corpse, in white tie and tails. This is a costume often seen on star performers at funerals, but only when the deceased has specifically requested it in his will. Elvis made no such request—or for that matter, no will. He was framed.” 

“Those people in New York are not gonna change me” 

And what did Elvis think of his appearance on the Steve Allen’s show? In a telephone interview in his room at the Warwick Hotel a couple of hours after the show, Herald-Tribune columnist Hy Gardner asked Elvis if he had “fun” on the Steve Allen show. Elvis responded, “Yes, sir, I really did. I really enjoyed it.” Of course, in the moment Elvis was wise enough to know when dishonesty was more appropriate than telling he truth. In “Elvis: The Searcher,” Priscilla observed, “It was humiliating. After that, he didn’t like Steve Allen at all.” 

In his Newsweek article, Lardner prophesied that Elvis’s humiliation was short-lived.
“It was a gag from which no ordinary twitching vocalist … could be expected to recover. Elvis recovered. As he left the hall, more dead than alive, he found the street hip-deep in bobby-soxers. And he bloomed like a rose, they tell me, and writhed again as of old.”
The next night, Elvis was back in his natural element, on stage for a performance in his hometown of Memphis. “You know, those people in New York are not gonna change me none,” he promised the crowd. “I’m gonna show you what the real Elvis is like tonight.” 

In Steve Allen’s mind, his strategy to tone-down Elvis had succeeded. So much so, that he was planning to do it again. But, as he explained in the 1971 Presley radio documentary, his Sunday night adversary stepped in to foil his plans. 

“Ed called Elvis backstage and offered him $50,000 to make, I don’t know, three or four appearances on Ed’s show. Our top then was what the top price throughout television was, $7,500 a week, and I wasn’t interested in paying anyone any more than that. So by this bold stroke, Ed simply took Elvis away from us.” 

Despite how he kept Elvis under control on his show, Steve Allen later praised Presley in a TV Guide article. “Opinions may vary as to the scope of his talent and the duration of his popularity,” he said, “but I happen to think that he is a very solid performer, and will be around a lot longer than his detractors think.” 

Still, there is no doubt that many senior Elvis fans still hold a grudge against Steve Allen for belittling their idol that Sunday evening in the summer of 1956. No need for that, though. Elvis’s appearance on the “Steve Allen Show” was merely a speed bump on Presley’s rocket ride to super-stardom in 1956. Ed Sullivan may not have liked Elvis’s act anymore than Steve Allen, but he was smart enough to let Presley be himself on his program. Elvis on Ed Sullivan became the lasting image of Elvis Presley in the 1950s. Elvis on Steve Allen became a minor blip along the way, and justly remains so. — Alan Hanson | © June 2018

It’s nearly 70 years since Elvis Presley found himself singing to a dog on national TV in what’s considered the nadir of his career. But was the programme’s host really out to humiliate? We look at how The Steve Allen Show tried to neuter the raw charisma of rock’n’roll’s newest star…

There are some images of Elvis that are almost sacred objects to fans. That screaming, impossibly handsome young buck on the front cover of his first album is one. Andy Warhol’s triptych of Presley, gun in fist, from Flaming Star is another. But there’s one, more ignominious photo that fans would rather didn’t exist, and that’s of Elvis singing Hound Dog to a bewildered looking Basset Hound on The Steve Allen Show in 1956. And yet, in a way, no image or TV clip better captures how mainstream America sought to fight back against the raw, subversive energy of rock’n’roll. It’s nearly 70 years ago that NBC broadcast what would become one of the most famous, nay infamous, clips of Elvis ever, one that Presley forever regretted. He’d made his small-screen debut only six months before, on the Tommy and Jimmy Dorsey-fronted CBS variety programme Stage Show, following it up with two appearances on The Milton Berle Show. While Presley’s six turns on Stage Show and his first performance on Berle had elicited the odd tut and eye roll from Middle America, it was nothing compared to the furore after his second Milton Berle gig on 5 June 1956. At first, everything about Elvis’ performance of Hound Dog was as expected. Yes, there were the ferocious mic gropes and jittery leg movements, but nothing that was that different or more licentious than before. Then, towards the end, Presley decided to fling himself into a half-tempo, blues-charged ‘bump and grind’ version of the song, jack-knifing his legs and gripping the microphone with an almost sexual relish. The audience absolutely loved it. The next day, the media was screaming with apoplexy, with reviewers decrying Presley’s lusty swagger and indecent posturing. “Popular music has been sinking in this country for some years,” fumed journalist Ben Gross in The Daily News. “Now it has reached its lowest depths in the ‘grunt and groin’ antics of one Elvis Presley. The TV audience had a noxious sampling of it on The Milton Berle Show the other evening. Elvis, who rotates his pelvis, was appalling musically. Also, he gave an exhibition that was suggestive and vulgar, tinged with the kind of animalism that should be confined to dives and bordellos.”

Sometimes, it’s hard to look back and be able to fully grasp how shocking a cultural moment might have been in the long-distant past, but, watching that performance in 2021, it’s staggering how potent and electrifying it still is. It’s as if all of the imagined threat of rock’n’roll is boiled down to that set-closing 54 seconds. When you consider how beige and sexless American television – and indeed culture – was at the time, that libidinous, down-tempo version of Hound Dog seems like it’s been beamed in from another planet.

The storm it stirred was unlike anything Elvis had yet encountered. Presley’s press, up to that point, had been fairly positive, but now the knives were out. To the press and the pulpit, Elvis represented the worst excesses of juvenile delinquency and godlessness. Unlike other rock’n’rollers, who revelled in their outlaw status, the Pentecostal-raised Elvis seemed rattled at first by being the poster boy for bad behaviour. “I don’t do any vulgar moves,” he said to reporter Aline Mosby, while telling another writer, “I’m not trying to be sexy.” Elvis had been booked for The Steve Allen Showsince before that second Berle appearance, but with all the media brouhaha around him, NBC were under pressure to strike him from the guest list. “As of now he is still booked for July 1,” Allen said on The Tonight Show, “but I have not come to a final decision. If he does appear, you can rest assured that I will not allow him to do anything that will offend anyone.” One columnist, Charles Mercer, even penned an open letter to Allen, pressuring him to drop this new upstart from the line-up: “My argument against his appearance is simply lack of talent. I can’t for the life of me see why you want to have such an untalented guy on your programme.” Less than a week later, Allen responded in print. “Who is to say that Elvis has no talent?” he countered. “You may say it, and a few million other people might be found to support you, but I am sure that additional millions will rise to his defence and say that he has oodles of talent… When I was a teenager, all the adults I knew told me Frank Sinatra had no talent. Later, I’ve heard that Vaughn Monroe had no talent, that Liberace has no talent. I’m sure the point is obvious.” Allen made it clear that he intended to keep Presley’s urges under control.

“He thoughtlessly indulged in certain dance movements on his last TV appearance which a number of people thought objectionable,” he wrote. “He knows he made a mistake with the Milton Berle business and I think he’s smart enough not to do it again… So the thing to do, it seems to me, is to allow him to appear on television any time he wants, but to make certain that he conducts himself in a gentlemanly manner, and that is precisely my intention.”

NBC were quick to reassure doubters that Allen would be spotlighting a new “revamped, purified and somewhat abridged Elvis Presley.” The network, it seemed, was taking no chances. Elvis was told he would be bedecked in a white tie and tails and would have to play down, if not eradicate entirely, the hip thrusts. The irony was that NBC were hungry to have Presley as a guest to capitalise on the singer’s new-found notoriety, and to hopefully batter rival programme The Ed Sullivan Show in the ratings, yet they didn’t want the very quality that had excited viewers in the first place. Elvis arrived at NBC’s New York City rehearsal studio on 29 June, accompanied by a photographer hired by Presley’s record company RCA, Al Wertheimer. The young snapper recalled that Allen eyed Presley “much as an eagle does a piece of meat”, before one of the presenter’s secretaries ushered Elvis to be measured for his new suit.

The broadcast was scheduled for the coming Sunday, with Presley arriving at the Hudson Theatre on 44th Street early in the morning. The itinerary was a full day of rehearsals, before the live show in the evening. Elvis was down to perform two songs and take part in a comedy skit, alongside Allen and fellow guests Andy Griffith and Imogene Coca. Clad in his white tie and tails, Elvis discovered he’d be performing on a Greek-columned set (Allen was amused by the idea of presenting what he considered low culture in a high-culture setting). Wertheimer recalled that, in the dress rehearsals, Elvis “sang without passion. He didn’t move, didn’t touch the microphone, he stood square, both feet spread, and stuck to the ground.” After Elvis finished the run-through of I Want You, I Need You, I Love You, Allen walked up to him, patted him on the back and muttered, “That was great”. Elvis smiled and replied, “Thank you, Mr Allen.”

Then came the moment he’d been dreading. Having Elvis sing Hound Dog to, well, an actual dog was one way to make sure he didn’t turn the song into the carnal come-on he had on Milton Berle’s show, but it also fitted The Steve Allen Show’s comic template. With the dog also gussied up in a collar, bow tie and top hat, it looked at first that the gimmick was falling flat. As Presley serenaded the hound, the dog looked everywhere but towards Elvis. Allen suggested “that they get to know each other”, and so Presley began to ruffle its fur. Eventually, the two bonded enough for the dog to do what was expected of it, at which point the assembled stagehands burst into applause. For the live show, there was no way, it seems, that Elvis could be introduced without Allen acknowledging the storm around his appearance. “A couple of weeks ago on The Milton Berle Show,” Allen said in his opening monologue, “our next guest, Elvis Presley, received a great deal of attention, which some people seem to interpret one way and some others interpret it another. Naturally, it’s our intention to do nothing but a good show,” At that point, there came a yelping sound from backstage. “Somebody is barking back there,” he continued. “We want to do a show that the whole family can watch and enjoy, and we always do, and tonight we’re presenting Elvis in his, what you might call his first comeback… And at this time it gives me extreme pleasure to introduce the new Elvis Presley. Here he is!” Elvis then sauntered on, guitar in hand, looking noticeably less relaxed than he was for his last TV appearance, only two weeks before. Primped up as if he was about to go on stage with the Royal Philharmonic, he was the model of Southern politeness to his host.

It’s not often I get to wear the, uh, suit and tails,” Elvis said, bashfully. “But, uh, I think I have something tonight that’s not quite correct for evening wear.” “Not quite correct? What’s that, Elvis?” “Blue suede shoes,” he cracked, and the audience hollered. Allen then produced “a giant petition”, featuring over 18,000 signatures from “loyal fans” who wanted to see Elvis
on TV again. “That’s wonderful, Mr Allen, and I want to thank all those wonderful folks and I’d like to thank you, too.” And with that, Elvis launched into his first song. Of course, there was little room to be suggestive on a track as inherently inoffensive as I Want You, I Need You, I Love You, and indeed Elvis appeared less stilted during this number. It was only with the next song that Presley began to feel the waves of shame. “Elvis, your new record hit, I predict it’s going to be one because I’ve heard you rehearse it and you’re going to record it tomorrow. It’s called Hound Dog, and I’ve got you a very cute little hound dog right here,” Allen said as the camera closed in on the lugubrious-looking Basset Hound in a dignity-challenging top hat. Allen then exited the stage as Elvis cupped the dog’s chin, before turning to the audience as if to say, ‘we’re all in this together’ As dog performances go, the unnamed hound was never likely to scoop an Oscar, but she didn’t shame herself either. She didn’t amble off or bite anyone, even if she often looked as though she’d rather be anywhere else but on that stage in front of the cameras. All told, those two minutes may have been the nadir of Elvis’ TV life, but, ever the pro, he never gave away quite how demeaning it must have been. “He always did the best he could with whatever situation he was given,” remembered Jordanaire Gordon Stroker about that famous night, “and he never, ever insulted anybody.” It’s worth remembering how old Elvis was here. Aged 21 and with just six months of TV appearances behind him, he was still easily cowed by older, more experienced types. Allen was 35 and, even by then, an industry veteran. Had it been two years later, it’s doubtful Presley would have capitulated so easily or looked so diffident in those awkward exchanges with his host. That shyness was even more evident in the comedy skit, dubbed the ‘Range Roundup’ sketch. Elvis hadn’t yet lensed his first movie, and again, it’s difficult to imagine Presley sinking into the shadows this much had the sketch been made in ’58 or ’59. Elvis spent the first two minutes or so lurking timorously in the background, his get-up presciently close to what he’d be sporting in his first feature film later that year. At first, he confined himself mostly to mouthing lines inaudibly in the background, but warmed up when his character, Tumbleweed, was ushered up to the front by Allen. By the end, he was more in his comfort zone, strumming along to some featherweight Wild West ditty and then, in the final moments, getting his own self-mocking solo: “Well, I got a horse, and I got a gun,” he sang, “And I’m gonna go out and have some fun/ I’m a-warnin’ you, galoots/ Don’t step on my blue suede boots.” Backstage, everyone seemed happy at how Elvis had conducted himself. On his way back to his dressing room, a man from the William Morris agency whispered, “You did a marvellous job, we really ought to get
a good reaction to this one.” Except they didn’t – not from Elvis’ most devout followers anyway. When the singer arrived at the RCA building the next day, he was confronted by fans carrying picket signs that read ‘We want the real Elvis’ and ‘We want the gyrating Elvis’. Yet RCA seemed happy with this neutered version and appeared indifferent to those who feared the raw, sexualised Presley was gone forever. When Hound Dog was eventually released as a 45, it was issued with a cover photo from that Steve Allen Show performance, showing Elvis standing, mic in hand, with that by now famous hound to his right. When the history of Elvis on television is written, Steve Allen is habitually cast as the villain of the piece, a middle-aged, white-bread square who took it on himself to defang Presley. But is that fair? Allen was certainly no fan of Elvis the performer, but then, as a short-back-and-sides, suit-wearing thirty-something, he wasn’t exactly the King’s natural demographic. “The reason I booked him,” he reflected, “[is that] I recognised right away that he had something. A cuteness, chiefly his face, but a beautiful sound, he never really had.”

While Allen was largely graceful towards the King in the decades after, the same couldn’t be said for Elvis. Though he’d started off by claiming he’d “really enjoyed” the show, he later told Paradehe’d been made to “stand like a biddy”. Later, in 1972, he lambasted Allen for being “as funny as a crutch” and, two years later, said, “Steve Allen had me on his show… He had me dressed in a tuxedo, singing to a little fat dog. I love him for it, but I will never forgive him.”

“It was humiliating,” Elvis’ later wife Priscilla said in the 2018 documentary The Searcher. “After that, he didn’t like Steve Allen at all.” Elvis never appeared on The Steve Allen Show again. Though Allen was keen for a repeat performance, The Ed Sullivan Show made the King a more lucrative offer, while promising they wouldn’t be constricting him like Allen had. And thankfully, it’s these performances that have lingered longer in the cultural memory than Elvis singing Hound Dog to a baffled-looking canine.   

By the time Elvis had completed the third of his three appearances on Sullivan’s show, any fears that he’d been permanently emasculated had been laid to rest. His reputation was, by now, sealed forever.