“It’s scandalous.”
“It’s disgusting.”
“It’s destroying the future of America, that’s what it is!” Mrs. Chamberlin’s voice cut above the disapproving chatter of the five women seated around the table for brunch.
“It’s a travesty. Morals as we know them are going down the drain.” She stared directly into each of the women’s eyes and formed a fist on the table.
Each of the women seated around the table were unsure of how to take Evils Presley’s appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show. Younger viewers applauded his ability to bring a whole stage to life, but they were simply hooligans with few brain cells, according to the eyes and minds of the older generation.
“I heard my son tell Timmy that he wants to be just like Elvis when he grows up,” offered Mrs. Nelson, shyly and quietly.
“I saw my daughter dancing around the house like a maniac the other day. She asked for a pair of flared pants for Christmas,” stated the socially awkward Mrs. Jones.
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” Mrs. Chamberlin’s voice cut through the air, harsh and unforgiving. “Elvis thinks he can just tell all of America what they want. What is fun and what is hip. We’re supposed to just stand here while American teenagers replace classical music with rock and roll? It’s brainwashing our children. And that dancing. Good lord that dancing. You know, the new York Times called it ‘promiscuous hip shaking” just last week. It’s shameless.”
As Mrs. Chamberlin paced the posh, perfectly decorated living room, the other women sat frozen at the table, gazing at her with a mix of fear and agreement.
“Well what exactly do you suggest we do about it?” asked Mrs. Jones weakly.
“We end it,” stated Mrs. Chamberlin, walking over to the bureau where she knew her husband kept his shotgun, taking off her clean white glove and already formulating a plan.