Also this issue:

A New D-Hole
Artist and activist Albo Jeavons takes on the Disney divot.
-Daniel Brook

Made Music Man
The Philadelphia confluence of gangsters and gangstas.
-Brendan McGarvey

Failing the Test of Fairness
Institutional racism and the SAT.
-Tim Wise

Chow, Fun
-Mary F. Patel

Commissioner Gordon
Surprising many, Inquirer editor puts insider Anne Gordon in charge of policing the paper’s operations.
-Deborah Bolling

August 15-21, 2002

city beat

Ring Up the King

Hunka hunk of a name: Jared P. Kennedy conjures up Elvis in name and in spirit.

Photo By: Michael T. Regan

There are thousands of names in the Philadelphia phone book. One of them is Elvis Presley.

by Jenn Carbin

One can only imagine what it would be like to be an ordinary citizen named Elvis Presley: the schoolyard taunting, the disbelievers (is that your real name?), the endless “has left the building” jokes, the salespeople saying thank ya verah much while handing back your American Express card.

It's easy to figure that such a person would necessarily be given a nickname, resort to initials for more formal purposes ("E.M. Presley"), and opt out of having a telephone listing. So it wasn't a surprise to learn that the Elvis Presley in our midst, listed as a South Street resident in our very own white pages, was not a real Elvis, or for that matter, even a real Presley. He was born in the South, but he doesn't have a rock 'n' roll band. In fact he describes himself as tone deaf. He's often the one wielding the bad Elvis jokes. This Elvis works at a local motorcycle shop fixing Italian and German bikes and at a Rittenhouse Square coffee shop. This Elvis sells vintage Italian motorcycle parts on eBay. He's 30-year-old Jared P. Kennedy, a guy who decided, six years ago in New Hope, to take the phone company up on its offer of a second free directory listing. "People have a hard time spelling my first name; I did it on a whim," Kennedy explains. "I tell people, ŒJust call information and ask for Elvis Presley.'"

Kennedy, who's been in Philly since 1998, says he's received "only about 10 or 15" Elvis calls over the years, some strictly prank, some friendly goof-offs. Still, it's clear that being the King, even just within the realm of the SuperPages, requires being open. You have to like people to set yourself up to hear from a sobbing Elvis fan at three in the morning, which, incidentally, hasn't happened yet. "If you're going to do something like this, you've got to have a sense of humor over it," he admits. "I got a message about a week ago from a guy who said, ŒIs this Elvis? I really twist my missile over you.' The way he said it, I thought it was kind of funny."

A few months ago, Kennedy received a call from someone asking if he'd sing on the caller's answering machine. He graciously obliged, singing through his phone into the man's recorder. "I sang "Viva Las Vegas." He requested that. As luck would have it, I knew the chorus from the Dead Kennedys' version," he says.

With this week marking the 25th anniversary of the real King's death, Kennedy was asked if he thought he'd get more calls than usual. "We'll see what happens. If worse comes to worst, I'll go to Joey Ramone next. Elvis has left the building."