What Elvis's Guitar Player Taught Me About Getting Old

I grew up inside an assisted living community in Salt Lake City. While other kids had neighborhood friends, I had Holocaust survivors, World War II veterans, a presidential photographer, the first woman bank president, and the secretary to a U.S. vice president.

And for a few unforgettable months — I had Elvis's rhythm guitar player.

His name was John. A surgeon friend of my father's had operated on him and suggested he recover with us at Alta Ridge, our assisted living community, before he could navigate the stairs at his split-level home. My dad is a lifelong Elvis fan, so John was welcomed like royalty.

When I first met John, I was about 25 years old. He looked exactly fifty percent Vietnam veteran and fifty percent Elvis Presley — signature glasses, classic sideburns, and a lightning-bolt necklace with the letters TCB, "Taking Care of Business," given to him personally by Elvis.

John had toured Europe after Elvis's passing in 1977 but had to stop performing after a stroke in 1989 made it impossible to play guitar. He was still well-known in Europe, and journalists would come to our community to interview him. One afternoon, he and I were sitting on the front porch while he smoked his Pall Mall cigarettes — he was the only person allowed to smoke out front — and I mentioned that it looked like a storm was rolling in.

He looked at me, the spitting image of an elderly Elvis, and said: "Jason, Mother Nature is a fickle bitch."

I never forgot that.

The Best Story He Ever Told Me

John told me that one night at Graceland, after watching a truck commercial on TV, Elvis woke up the owner of a nearby dealership and bought several trucks on the spot. Then Elvis's people called the owner of the local sports outfitter to purchase football helmets and pads. According to John, the band played demolition derby until dawn on the front lawn of Graceland. In the morning, the battered trucks were towed to local mechanics for repair — and then donated to farmers in the area.

I've worked in this industry for 35 years and heard thousands of stories. That one still makes me smile every time.

What a Lifetime of Stories Taught Me

John died in 2013 at the age of 67. He and his wife, Terry, became close friends with our whole family. I think about him often — not because of who he knew or where he'd been, but because of the way he carried himself. He had lived an extraordinary life and wore it lightly.

That's the thing nobody tells you about seniors: they are often the same people they were at 25, living inside bodies that have simply had more time. Most of the elderly residents I've known over the decades were astonished by how quickly time had passed. They didn't feel old. They just felt like themselves — with more stories to tell.

Working alongside people like John shaped the way I do my job today as a senior care advisor. When I help a family find a community for their mom or dad, I'm not just thinking about care plans and square footage. I'm thinking about who that person is — their humor, their history, their habits, the things that make them feel like themselves.

A good assisted living community doesn't just keep people safe. It keeps people alive in the ways that matter most.

A Few Others Worth Knowing

John wasn't the only unforgettable person I met growing up in our communities.

Marilyn was a petite 100-year-old woman with mangled little fingers from a lifetime of playing piano. One afternoon, some EMTs were at our community and reluctantly sat nearby while she made her way over to the piano — they assumed she'd play something simple. She sat down and commanded the keys like Mozart. The look on their faces was something I'll never forget.

Ray was a World War II hero and a gentle giant who worked as a custodian his whole life and loved trailing me to Home Depot when I was fixing things around the community. He had dementia, but his instincts were intact. When a fire marshal came in for an inspection and Ray got the impression he was giving me a hard time, he pointed his finger in the marshal's face and said: "If you have a problem with my friend, you're going to have to answer to me." One of the most loyal moments I've ever witnessed.

Yvonne grew up in San Francisco as a socialite, loved Mash reruns, and asked me to take her to the liquor store once a week. At a Thanksgiving dinner with my very conservative grandmother, Marvin Gaye's "Sexual Healing" came on the radio at exactly the wrong moment. Yvonne thought it was perfect.

Thomas was an usher for the Utah Jazz who once met Tina Turner backstage and never got over it. Before he passed, we arranged for the retired head coach of the Jazz to visit and personally thank him for his years of service. Thomas was wearing a purple mohawk that week.

Why I'm Telling You This

I share these stories for a reason.

If you're in the process of looking for senior care for someone you love, it's easy to get lost in the logistics — the cost, the location, the level of care, the contract. Those things matter, and I can help you navigate all of them.

But the people who end up happiest in senior living communities are the ones whose families took the time to find a place where their loved one's personality, humor, and history are recognized and celebrated. Where the staff knows that your dad was a Navy vet who likes sports radio in the morning. Where the activities director knows your mom spent 40 years as a schoolteacher and would rather be useful than entertained.

The community that keeps your loved one themselves — that's the one worth finding.

I've spent my entire life in this industry. I know which communities in the Salt Lake Valley take that seriously, and which ones don't. If you'd like to talk through your options — no pressure, no sales pitch, just an honest conversation — I'd love to help.

Jason Guy Mendenhall is the author of The Changing Face of Senior Living: What Every Family Needs to Know and the founder of Utah Senior Care Advisors. He grew up inside his family's assisted living communities in Salt Lake City and has spent over 35 years working in every role the industry has to offer. He offers free consultations to families across the Wasatch Front.

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