Trump is an Elvis Presley fan, but he's really a lot more like Col. Tom Parker
By Gary Abernathy
Trump, like Parker, is mostly a benevolent ‘snowman’
That Donald Trump is an Elvis Presley fan is something I’ve always admired about him, since it demonstrates good taste. Trump’s appreciation for Elvis has been shown by honoring him posthumously with the Presidential Medal of Freedom, claiming that people used to tell him that he looked like Elvis, fondly recalling seeing Elvis in concert in Las Vegas, playing Elvis music at his rallies and naming Elvis as one of the initial honorees of his planned National Garden of Heroes.
But Trump has always reminded me more of another larger-than-life character from the Elvis world, namely Colonel Tom Parker, Elvis’ longtime manager. I’m in the middle of a new biography of Parker written by Peter Guralnick, one of the top music historians of our time and author of what is considered the definitive two-volume biography of Elvis, “Last Train to Memphis” and “Careless Love.”
In researching his new book, “The Colonel and the King,” Guralnick was given unprecedented access to Parker’s records in the Graceland archives, and in reading hundreds (maybe thousands) of letters Parker wrote to everyone from Elvis to record company executives to talent agency bosses to movie studio producers and everyone in between, Guralnick came away with a different perspective on Parker than that which has been widely held. Guralnick concluded, in fact, that the Colonel should be viewed much more sympathetically than he commonly has been in popular culture, including in the 2022 Baz Luhrmann biopic, “Elvis.”
For the uninitiated: Parker was Elvis’ manager for more than 20 years. He was lauded and/or vilified for both the ups and downs in Elvis’ career. As a young man, Parker spent years in carnivals and circuses, and took pride in being a “carny” who understood human nature and enjoyed pulling a “snow job” on people, his way of being, as he put it, a “benevolent con artist.”
After Elvis died, it was revealed that Parker was not who he claimed to be. In fact, he was an illegal immigrant from the Netherlands named Andreas Cornelis van Kuijk, born in 1909, who stowed away on a ship as a teenager. (Good thing he wasn’t around for Trump’s illegal immigration crackdown.)
Once in the U.S., he reinvented himself entirely, new name and all (“Thomas A. Parker” from Huntington, West Virginia). “Colonel” was one of those honorary titles bestowed in 1948 by the Louisiana governor, and Parker insisted on his colleagues referring to him as such. Eventually even close friends adopted its use, just calling him “Colonel.” (Elvis, for fun, often called him “Admiral.”)
After his carnival days, Parker went into show business, and was a successful talent manager — or “promoter,” as he preferred — long before Elvis came along. His clients included Gene Austin, Eddy Arnold and Hank Snow before he came across Elvis, whose talent and possibilities he recognized immediately.
Trump Mimics Parker’s Tactics
In reading “The Colonel and the King,” Parker’s own words — as quoted by acquaintances and via his own lengthy notes and letters — reveal a personality much like our current president’s.
Parker was a hard worker, seldom sleeping more than five hours a night. He believed that work should be fun as well as productive, and that if you couldn’t enjoy yourself, no amount of money was worth the aggravation.
Parker built a reputation as a slick operator and, to some, a con artist. But it was an identity of his own making. Parker enjoyed being thought of as a shrewd businessman who often got the best of people through his “cons.” But his letters reveal that he only enjoyed the con if the object of his shenanigans was also in on the joke.
Parker insisted that his cons — “snow jobs,” he preferred — “have to be honest.” He advised, “Never snow anyone other than to do good.” And, “Allow other snowers to snow you from time to time even if you know you are being snowed.” And above all, “Never take advantage of anyone you have been able to snow under.”
In “The Art of the Deal,” his 1987 book, Trump advises people to think big because it attracts energy. He believes in getting the best deal you can, while still leaving something on the table. He recommends driving a hard bargain, but not to the point of destroying relationships.
But Trump’s most Parker-esque philosophy is summed up as follows: “The final key to the way I promote is bravado. I play to people's fantasies. People may not always think big themselves, but they can still get very excited by those who do. That's why a little hyperbole never hurts. People want to believe that something is the biggest and the greatest and the most spectacular. I call it truthful hyperbole. It's an innocent form of exaggeration, and a very effective form of promotion."
In other words, as Parker would say, let it snow.
If Elvis was the King of Rock’n’Roll, Parker (like Trump) was the King of Hyperbole. Everything Elvis accomplished was “the biggest ever” or something “never before done” or he was “the only artist in history” to achieve whatever milestone was being claimed. There was often truth to the claims, but that was beside the point. Seeing if you could make people believe what you were saying — or at least get them to say they believed it — was part of the fun.
Hyperbole Can Become Accepted Fact
It’s amazing how many of Parker’s outrageous boasts have stood the test of time, embedding themselves into popular lore. One perfect example came when Elvis performed the “Aloha from Hawaii” satellite TV show in 1973. Parker immediately claimed that it was seen by 1.5 billion people around the world, and much of the media dutifully repeated the claim.
This was, and remains, ridiculous. At the time, there were only 4 billion people on the whole planet, and a large part of the world still didn’t have television. But the number is quoted to this day, even by mainstream news organizations. It found its way into the 2022 “Elvis” movie. (A good, deep-dive examination of the logistics and realities of the “Aloha” show was done by a fan site in 2018 that concluded that while the worldwide audience was quite large, total viewership was likely in the realm of about 200 million — still quite impressive, but a little short of 1.5 billion.)
Parker, who died 20 years after Elvis in 1997 at age 87, must have personally enjoyed the staying power of that bit of “snow” and so many other “benevolent cons” that endured for the remainder of his life (and beyond). But despite nurturing a reputation as a “snowman,” Parker was constantly held in high esteem by virtually everyone with whom he actually did business.
Showbiz industry executives loved regaling listeners with their stories of their interactions with the legendary Colonel Tom. They took immense pride in being on the receiving end of his audacity. But they considered him a man of his word and a loyal friend, and until he died he was a sought-after guest at anniversaries, birthday parties and retirement gatherings of the high-ranking industry officials with whom he had worked.
His carny-style philosophy was legendary. The TV show “Laugh-In” (1968-73) typically paid “scale” of $1,000 for celebrities to do a quick “walk-on” and deliver a witty one-liner. Everyone from stars like John Wayne and Jack Benny to politicians like Richard Nixon and Ronald Reagan made such appearances. When “Laugh-In” producers approached Parker about having Elvis do a walk-on, he replied that yes, $1,000 would be fine for Elvis to walk on, but it would cost $49,000 for him to walk off. Laugh-In’s producers passed, which Parker said was foolish on their part.
When a movie mogul came to Parker with an offer for a film with a low-ball dollar amount, Parker replied, “That’s fine for me. What about Elvis?” Colleagues often warned him that his stringent and high-priced terms would cost him deals, but Parker’s philosophy was that “you couldn’t lose a deal you never had.”
Parker started the “Snowmen’s League of America.” It cost nothing to join, but $10,000 to quit. He claimed never to have lost a member. (Everyone from close personal friends to stars like Frank Sinatra, Bob Hope and Andy Griffith to politicians like President Lyndon B. Johnson had joined.)
Like Parker, Trump is well known for his boasts and exaggerations. From claiming to have the biggest landslide victory in history to drawing the largest inauguration crowd ever to creating the best economy in U.S. history, Trump makes preposterous claims that even his supporters know are strictly untrue. It drives his enemies nuts, who forever complain about his lies and misleading statements. But his supporters are in on the “snow” and they enjoy playing the game.
Every time Trump claims that what he has done, on whatever subject he is discussing, is the “best,” “most” or “greatest” in history, his supporters can see the twinkle in his eye — they know it’s not true, they know he knows it’s not true, he knows they know it’s not true — it’s just everyone having fun in the moment, and part of the fun is knowing how crazy it drives his opponents and the self-designated “fact checkers.”
When Trump talked about building a wall along the southern border and would ask at his rallies, “Who’s going to pay for it?” the crowd would gleefully respond, “Mexico!” Trump knew Mexico wasn’t going to pay for it. The crowd knew Mexico wasn’t going to pay for it. But the satisfaction was in sharing the joke and then witnessing how upset people like the former president of Mexico would get, evidenced by his response, “I’m not going to pay for that f—ing wall.” Mission accomplished.
When Trump said during the 2024 campaign that he would immediately fix the economy, end the war between Russia and Ukraine, and do any other number of things on Day One, only his opponents took him seriously. News stories constantly, to this day, quote those words to demonstrate Trump’s “failures,” but for his supporters — who were all in on the snow — it was always entirely irrelevant.
Trump’s Hubris Was Always There
Trump, like Parker, is a mostly benevolent snowman. And his hubris is nothing new. Re-watching the first season of “The Apprentice” from 2004 reveals Trump, as host, reveling in his own bombast. He tells wide-eyed contestants that his Trump Tower apartment is the most beautiful in New York. His businesses are the most successful in the country. His golf courses are the best in the world. They smile, even giggle. They don’t know if any of it is really true, but it’s fun to play along.
As they did with Trump, the “elites” at first considered Parker a clown, a rube, an uncouth interloper — until they caught on to the intelligence and cunning that was lurking beneath the carefully crafted “country bumpkin” exterior.
In a Washington Post column in 2018 I noted that Trump was embraced by Middle America precisely because he offended the highbrow critics.
“With Trump, we get the cheesy, the shocking and sometimes the uncomfortable – just like a good drive-in movie. Trump never seems to study the script or know his part, at least as defined by those previously cast as the ‘President of the United States.’ His riffing and ad-libbing are endless sources of dismay from Democrats, the media and, quite often, Republicans. But drive-in movies never depended on good scripts.
“Naturally, the reviews from those who studied under the masters have been scathing. Trump breaks protocol. Trump flubs his lines. Trump insults his castmates. Why, he does not even look the part – who does his hair and makeup, anyway?
“But Trump appeals to Americans who were never invited onto the red carpet, a snub that was due in part to their lack of formal training in political theater. His fans are particularly offensive to highbrow critics. It’s as though the Helen Hayes Theatre was suddenly filled nightly by yokels fresh off the bus from Topeka, hiding their Milk Duds and Raisinets in their pockets – the kind of crowd former FBI agent Peter Strzok could ‘SMELL,’ as he texted about the Trump supporters he stumbled onto in a southern Virginia Walmart.”
Like Parker, Trump has had the last laugh.
Of course, the main difference between Trump and Parker is that while Parker promoted Elvis (and sometimes himself), Trump is only promoting Trump. He is both manager and star. He calls the shots behind the scenes and then puts on the show in front of the curtain.
Trump’s rallies have always reminded me of Elvis concerts of the 1970s. After a long build-up with opening acts — singers and a comedian for Elvis, usually speakers for Trump — the familiar music wafts through the air — “Also Sprach Zarathustra” (the theme from “2001: A Space Odyssey”) for Elvis, “Proud to be an American” for Trump — with Trump finally climbing onto the stage, strolling to each corner, posing and soaking up the wild adoration of the crowd before finally approaching the microphone. Elvis tossed scarves to his fans. Trump sails red hats through the air into the hands of his followers.
From his earliest days in show business, Parker claimed to be working on an autobiography entitled, “How Much Does It Cost If It’s Free?” The title represented Parker’s suspicion of anyone asking for something for free, or offering something for nothing. Parker believed there was ultimately a cost to everything.
He discussed selling the back cover of his proposed book (which he never wrote, by the way, despite lucrative offers from publishers) to RCA Records, which had by then paid Elvis (and Parker) a fortune already. Parker wrote, “I feel that I am giving the company a very good rate having been with you folks such a long time and the value of advertising will more than pay the cost. We will of course let you furnish the plate and the layout for this ad at no cost to us.” How generous.
And he would give them plenty of notice before the book was published “so you can order at least enough copies for the company as I know you will want to present a copy to each fieldman and distributor, as much information regarding record sales and promotion gimmicks will be included in this great publication. … Price of the book will be $10.00 Ten Dollars … which is plenty cheap when you can learn so much from it …”
Parker practically invented modern show business mass merchandising techniques, emblazoning Elvis’ name and image on practically anything with a flat surface. Sound familiar? Trump hawks everything from Bibles to watches with his name and/or image attached.
Throughout his life, and long after Elvis died, Parker was sought out for his advice by the managers of countless rock and country stars. His vast knowledge of every aspect of the business — from music recording and publishing to making movies to planning and staging tours and everything in between — was unequaled. He often admitted that he knew nothing about the artistry of music and couldn’t pick a hit song if his life depended on it, but he knew how to market and sell it.
Likewise, Trump may not be an expert policy wonk, but when he settles on a policy he knows better than anyone how to market and sell it. And more and more politicians on both sides are embracing his style and his techniques.
Turning Negatives Into Positives
A final note on Parker: He is often accused of working Elvis literally to death, keeping him on the road and squeezing every last dime out of his star. In fact, one particular letter to Elvis offers a more nuanced view.
In the letter, dated Aug. 20, 1976 — about a year before Elvis’ death — Parker writes, “I was able to secure this (Las Vegas) engagement doing one concert Sunday through Thursday with two concerts on Friday and Saturday... as per your request…” (The schedule had always called for two shows a day every day.) And, “When you told me you wanted to do more concerts each month, I did schedule six tours, one at the end of each month through the beginning of the next month, to allow you to be off a few weeks…” But, “I will go slow in planning anything further until you advise me that this is what you want to do…”
Separately, he wrote to Elvis’ father (with the expressed wish that it be shared with Elvis) laying out his worries about Elvis’ health and encouraging all concerned to get Elvis’ drug use under control, as it was noticeably affecting his performances.
Throughout his managerial career, Parker believed it was part of his job to wear the black hat while his star wore the white hat. In other words, he took the heat for anything that went wrong. Elvis often blamed things on Parker when he didn’t want to be held responsible, such as not doing the 1976 version of the movie “A Star is Born” — which had been offered directly to Elvis by Barbra Streisand — after Parker made the terms of the contract so strict (with Elvis’ agreement) that the deal fell apart. (Elvis decided he didn’t want to play such a “loser.”)
At the time of Elvis’ death, Parker was exploring an international tour. He was slow to schedule such a tour not because he was worried about being discovered as an illegal alien, as legend has it, but because such tours truly were not profitable in those days, and he was worried about security — not just for Elvis’ safety, but also out of concern that Elvis might be caught with drugs by customs officials.
For the most part, Parker was a visionary manager and promoter. He never took credit for Elvis becoming a star, but acknowledged modestly that perhaps he improved opportunities and deals more than others might have. But his creativity is beyond question.
When Elvis hit big in 1956 under Parker’s guidance, the Colonel famously manufactured two buttons — “I Love Elvis” and “I Hate Elvis.” His reasoning was that someone was going to make the “hate” buttons, and he and Elvis might as well be the ones to profit from it. Elvis loved it.
Likewise, Trump seldom seems bothered by whether he generates love or hate, just as long as he’s generating a reaction. And, like Parker, he knows how to turn a negative into a positive, such as proudly embracing his arrest mugshot and marketing it on clothing and other items — someone was going to profit from it, and it might as well be him.
While he has more in common with Colonel Parker, Trump does share an important trait with Elvis — recognizing the power of raw emotion to connect with the audience. Elvis sold songs through the emotion of his singing much more than the words on the lyric sheet. Likewise, Trump sells his ideas and policies on an emotional level that connects with people much more than facts or stats. His opponents are at a loss to effectively respond.
I wrap this up with an apology for the length of this column. I can only quote the Colonel on this subject when, after a multi-page letter to his associate and friend Abe Lastfogel, head of the powerful William Morris talent agency, Parker concluded, “If this letter is too long, read it a little at a time.”