Elvis Entered an Elvis Impersonator Contest in 1975 — He Came in THIRD Place D
The sign outside the Lucky Strike Lounge read Elvis impersonator contest $500 prize tonight 900 p.m. Inside 15 men in various states of Elvis costume line the back wall. Some had the jumpsuit, some had the pompador, some had the sideburns. Only one of them had actually recorded Hound Dog at Sun Studios in 1956.
And judging by the scorecard that night, he was the least convincing Elvis in the room. Las Vegas in the summer of 1975 was a strange place for Elvis Presley. He’d been performing there for years at the International Hotel in front of thousands of screaming fans. But lately, something had been bothering him.
The distance between Elvis the person and Elvis the image had grown so wide that he sometimes felt like he was watching his own life from the outside. That’s what brought him to the Lucky Strike Lounge on that particular Thursday night. He’d been driving around Vegas in his rental car, dressed in regular clothes, just trying to feel normal for a few hours.
When he saw the sign for the Elvis impersonator contest, something made him pull over. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was the absurdity of it. Or maybe he just wanted to know what it felt like to be judged as an imitation of himself. Elvis walked into the bar at 8:45 p.m. The place was small and smoky, filled with locals nursing cheap beers and tourists looking for authentic Vegas experiences off the strip.
A makeshift stage had been set up at one end with a karaoke machine and some colored lights that flickered occasionally. Behind a folding table sat three judges, a middle-aged woman who managed the bar and had seen a thousand Elvis impersonators over the years, a local radio DJ with sllicked back hair and aviator sunglasses, and a man who claimed to be Elvis’s former backup dancer from the 68 comeback special, though Elvis had never seen him before in his life.
At the registration table, a young woman with big hair and bright lipstick looked up at him. You here for the contest, honey?” she asked, chewing gum loudly. “Yeah,” Elvis said quietly. “Is it too late to sign up?” she looked him up and down. “You got a costume.” “Not with me. No.” She frowned.
“Well, you can’t go up there looking like that. This is an Elvis contest. You got to look like Elvis.” She rummaged through a box under the table and pulled out a wrinkled white jumpsuit, the kind you could buy at any costume shop for $20. Here, this is all we got left. Dressing rooms in the back. Elvis took the costume and headed to the small bathroom in the back of the bar.
Looking in the mirror, he almost laughed. Here he was, Elvis Presley, about to put on a cheap Halloween costume of himself. He changed into the jumpsuit, which was two sizes too big and smelled like mothballs. There was no cape, no belt, none of the details that made his real stage costume special.
Just a plain white suit with a few fake rhinestones glued on. He sllicked his hair back with water from the sink and practiced a few poses in the mirror. Without his usual stage presence, without the lights in the band and the energy of thousands of fans, he looked like just another guy trying to be Elvis. And maybe that was the point.
When Elvis came back out, the contest was already underway. Contestant number one was a heavy set man in his 40s, singing Suspicious Minds Badly Out of Tune, but with tremendous enthusiasm. The small crowd clapped politely when he finished. Contestant number two was better, a young guy in his early 20s who had clearly practiced the moves in front of a mirror, but sounded nothing like Elvis when he opened his mouth.
Contestant number three went for comedy, exaggerating every gesture until people were laughing more than appreciating. One by one, they went up and performed. Each one a different interpretation of what Elvis Presley was supposed to be. Elvis watched from the back, fascinated. Some of them moved their hips too much.
Some of them wore sunglasses indoors. Some of them had the lip curl so exaggerated it looked like a cartoon. But what struck him most was how confident they all were. Each one believed they were nailing it, that they’d captured something essential about Elvis Presley. And maybe they had, just not the parts Elvis recognized in himself.
Contestant number seven, the MC called out. That was him. Elvis had signed in as John Burroughs, one of the aliases he sometimes used when checking into hotels. He walked up to the small stage, adjusting the ill-fitting jumpsuit. The crowd barely looked up from their drinks.
He picked up the microphone and nodded to the karaoke operator. The backing track for Can’t Help Falling in Love started playing through the cheap speakers. Elvis closed his eyes and started singing. It was strange singing this song without his band, without his usual arrangement, without the orchestra swells and the perfect acoustics he’d grown accustomed to.
Just him in a karaoke track in a small Vegas bar with sticky floors and the smell of spilled beer in the air. But he gave it his full voice, pouring the same emotion into it that he’d given countless times before on real stages around the world. From Madison Square Garden to the Aloha from Hawaii concert.
Wise men say only fools rush in, but I can’t help falling in love with you. About halfway through the song, he noticed the judges weren’t really paying attention. The woman was checking her watch. The DJ was writing something on his scorecard. The supposed former backup dancer was eating peanuts from a bowl.
When Elvis finished, there was polite applause, about the same as everyone else had gotten. He set down the microphone and walked off stage back to his spot against the wall. The contest continued. Contestant number eight was a skinny kid who did a surprisingly good job with Jailhouse Rock. Contestant number nine was a car salesman from Denver named Mike Grady.
And he was good. really good. He had the voice down, the moves, the attitude. The crowd actually cheered for him. Elvis found himself clapping along. After all 15 contestants had performed, the judges huddled together to deliberate. Elvis stood in the back, still wearing the borrowed jumpsuit, watching them whisper and point at their scorecards.
Finally, the MC took the microphone. Ladies and gentlemen, the judges have made their decision. The room got quiet. All 15 Elvis impersonators stood at attention, hoping to hear their number called. In third place, with a prize of $50, contestant number 12, a older man with too much hair gel, pumped his fist in the air and went up to collect his prize.
In second place, with a prize of $150, contestant number seven, Elvis blinked. That was him, second place. He walked up to the stage trying not to smile and took the small envelope with the cash and a plastic trophy that said second place Elvis Impersonator. And in first place, winning $500 in the title of Lucky Strike Loung’s best Elvis impersonator of 1975, contestant number nine, Mike Grady.
The crowd erupted in applause. Mike Grady, the car salesman from Denver, bounded up to the stage, grinning from ear to ear. He shook hands with the judges and held up his trophy like he’d won an Olympic gold medal. Elvis stood there holding his second place trophy, genuinely amused.
He’d lost an Elvis impersonator contest to a car salesman from Denver. The irony was so perfect he almost wanted to tell someone, but who would believe it? After the ceremony, as people were filtering out of the bar, Mike Grady approached Elvis. Hey man, you did real good up there,” Mike said, still holding his first place trophy.
“You got a good voice. You ever done this before?” “Once or twice,” Elvis said with a small smile. “I do these contests all the time,” Mike continued enthusiastically. “This is my fifth win this year. The secret is you got to really study Elvis, you know, watch all his movies, listen to every recording.
You got to get inside his head, understand what made him tick.” “Is that right?” Elvis asked, thoroughly entertained. now. Oh, yeah. Like, take that song you did, Can’t Help Falling in Love. You sang it too straight. You know, Elvis had this thing where he’d add little vocal runs, make it more emotional. You got to sell it more.
Elvis nodded seriously. I’ll remember that. Thanks for the tip. No problem, man. You got potential. Just need some polish. Mike clapped him on the shoulder and headed toward the bar to celebrate with his friends. Elvis was about to leave when one of the judges, the woman who managed the bar, came over to him.
“Hey, you were robbed,” she said quietly. “You should have won.” But the other judges said you didn’t look enough like Elvis. Said the real Elvis is bigger, more presence. You know, Elvis almost laughed, but managed to keep a straight face. Yeah, I guess I need to work on that. You got the voice, though.
That was the closest to the real thing I’ve heard. Where you from? Memphis, Elvis said. No kidding. Same as Elvis. Well, keep practicing, honey. You could go somewhere with this. Elvis thanked her and finally made his way out of the bar. He walked to his car, still wearing the cheap jumpsuit because he’d forgotten to change back into his regular clothes.
He couldn’t stop thinking about what had just happened. He’d performed as himself, singing songs he’d written and recorded, and he’d come in second place. The judges said he didn’t look enough like Elvis Presley. a car salesman from Denver, was a more convincing Elvis than the actual Elvis. Part of him felt like he should be insulted, but mostly he just found it hilarious and kind of liberating.
The next night, Elvis was back on stage at the International Hotel performing for a soldout crowd of 4,000 people. As he sang Can’t Help Falling in Love, he thought about Mike Grady’s advice to add more vocal runs and sell it more. He almost started laughing in the middle of the song.
After the show, back in his dressing room, Elvis told the story to his longtime friend and guitarist, Charlie Hodgej. “You’re telling me you came in second place at an Elvis impersonator contest?” Charlie said, barely able to speak through his laughter. “Second place,” Elvis confirmed. “Be a car salesman named Mike.
” “Huh? Did you tell them who you were?” “Nah, what’s the point? They wouldn’t have believed me anyway. Besides, it was kind of nice being judged like that. No expectations, no pressure, just another guy trying to be Elvis. Charlie shook his head in disbelief. Only you, E. Only you would enter an impersonator contest and lose.
You know what the funny thing is? Elvis said, looking at himself in the dressing room mirror, wearing his real performance jumpsuit with the real jewels and the real cape. That car salesman probably knows more about my public image than I do. He studied every move, every inflection.
He’s built a whole career on being me and he’s better at it than I am. That’s because he’s playing a character. Charlie said, “You’re just being yourself.” Elvis thought about that for a moment. Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I’ve been myself for so long that I forgot how to be Elvis. The story of Elvis entering and losing the impersonator contest became one of those legends that people half believed but couldn’t quite verify.
Elvis never publicly confirmed it, though he’d occasionally tell the story to close friends late at night, always with a laugh and a shake of his head. Years later, after Elvis passed away in 1977, Mike Grady was interviewed by a local Denver newspaper about his Elvis impersonation career. The reporter asked him about his biggest win.
“Oh, that’s easy,” Mike said. “Lucky Strike Lounge in Vegas, summer of 75. Best night of my life. I beat 14 other guys, including this one contestant who had the most incredible voice I’ve ever heard. I’ve always wondered what happened to that guy. He had real talent. The reporter asked if Mike ever heard the rumors that Elvis himself had been in that contest. Mike laughed.
I’ve heard those stories. People like to say Elvis was contestant number seven, the guy who came in second. But come on, if Elvis Presley had actually been there, don’t you think I would have recognized him? I’d studied everything about the man. No, whoever that guy was, he was good, but he wasn’t Elvis.
And maybe that was the ultimate irony. Elvis Presley had become so mythologized, so larger than life that the real person couldn’t compete with the image. He was no longer just a man from Memphis who loved to sing. He was an idea, a symbol, an icon. And icons don’t come in second place at small town impersonator contests.
But the man behind the icon, he absolutely could and did. To this day, there’s a small plastic trophy in the Graceand Archives that most visitors never see. It’s labeled second place Elvis impersonator contest. Lucky Strike Lounge, 1975. No one knows for sure if the story is true, but those who knew Elvis best say it’s exactly the kind of thing he would have done.
Because at the end of the day, beneath all the jumpsuits and the stage lights and the screaming fans, Elvis Presley was just a man who loved music and had a sense of humor about the absurdity of fame. And sometimes the best way to understand who you really are is to watch other people try to be you.
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