‘The Colonel and the King’ author on his book about Colonel Tom Parker

As the author of multiple books about Elvis Presley — including his magisterial 1994 biography “Last Train to Memphis” and its 1999 sequel, “Careless Love” — Peter Guralnick has interviewed hundreds of subjects and combed through a tall mountain of archival material in his quest for the truth about the most consequential American musical artist of the post World-War II era.

But as it turned out there was more material, far more than Guralnick could squeeze into his Elvis biographies, and that material is the basis for his latest deep dive, “The Colonel and the King.” A visit to the Graceland archive shortly after the publication of “Last Train to Memphis” revealed a trove of correspondence written by Presley’s manager Colonel Tom Parker, the rotund, blustery operator that shepherded the musician’s career from the mid-1950s until shortly before his death in 1977. A cursory sift through the material revealed tens of thousands of letters tracing in minute detail the inner workings of Elvis business, from publicity campaigns to the finer points of his recording and movie contracts.

These missives exploded the myths around a man who has for decades been derided as a cynical and unscrupulous opportunist that cheapened Presley’s legacy while enriching himself at his client’s expense. “I read the letters and thought, ‘Oh my God, this is nothing like the person that has been portrayed,’” says Guralnick from his Massachusetts home.

What Guralnick found was a scrupulously honest businessman in love with what he called “the wonderful world of show business” and the art of the handshake deal, in thrall to his star client’s talent and willing to do whatever was necessary to keep him front and center. Guralnick’s new book is the story of an immigrant scrapper who became a kingmaker with his unerring instinct for the main chance. The first half of the book is Guralnick’s narrative; the second half contains a generous selection of Parker letters.

Born Andreas Cornelis van Kuijk in Holland, Elvis’ manager-to be-dropped out of school at 12. “His uncle owned a small circus,” Guralnick notes. “He did every sort of job, like how to site the tent so it would have the maximum visual impact. He knew how to water the elephants, he studied the acrobats.”

After a few false starts, he stowed away in 1929 on a ship bound for New Jersey, adopting the name Tom Parker shortly after reaching American soil. There was an Army stint in Hawaii, some odd jobs, and then he found what he loved: the itinerant world of the traveling carnival. At home in this milieu, Parker mastered the art of grassroots promotion, of pulling in large crowds by plastering the town with loud, hyperbolic placards. “In the world of the carnival and the circus, nobody questioned your pedigree,” says Guralnick. “Your handshake was your word, and everyone trusted and supported each other.”

Parker scouted talent and took them on as clients. By the time he witnessed Elvis performing at the Louisiana Hayride in the summer of 1955, he had already enjoyed big success with singers Hank Snow and Eddy Arnold and had adopted the Colonel moniker. Elvis, he sensed, was different.

“He sees in Elvis someone without limits, a great creative artist with great drive,” says Guralnick, “and Parker was prepared to throw over all of what he had achieved with Arnold and Snow in order to cultivate this untested talent. And he put everything he had into it.”

Even a cursory reading of Parker’s voluminous correspondence reveals a man not prone to passing over even the smallest detail in order to please his client. Working with a small staff of loyalists including his trusted associate Tom Diskin, Parker oversaw every aspect of Elvis’ business, from meals to publicity to hotel accommodations. Work was play, it consumed his life, and this is exactly how he liked it. “It is of course these funny letters and my feeling that One must enjoy his work or grow stale keeps me on the go,” he wrote to his friend Paul Wilder in a 1957 letter.

He was a tireless proselytizer for his star client. Shortly after signing Elvis to a management deal, he immediately set about convincing the William Morris Agency of the greatness of his charge, writing to agent Harry Kalcheim that Elvis “has the same type of personality, and talents along the line of James Dean,” and that “if you ever follow one of my hunches, follow up on this one and you won’t go wrong.”

Elvis, for his part, deeply appreciated Parker’s enthusiasm and loyalty. “Believe me when I say I will stick with you thru thick and thin and do everything I can to uphold your faith in me,” Presley wrote to Parker in November 1955, shortly after he had secured a recording contract with RCA. “I love you like a father.”

Author Peter Guralnick previously wrote Elvis biographies “Last Train to Memphis” and “Careless Love.”

(Mike Leahy)

“Parker defended Elvis against every single entity with which he was dealing,” says Guralnick. “RCA wanted to turn him into a mainstream artist, like a crooner, and Colonel wouldn’t allow that to happen. When Kalsheim asked Parker to rein in Elvis, because he was too wild on stage, Parker refused.”

“The Colonel and the King” debunks some of the most stubborn myths about Parker, refuting the notion that Parker destroyed Elvis’ career by force-feeding awful material down his throat. While Parker was a hawk when it came to contract negotiations, he had no say in any artistic decisions and fended off record and film executives with designs on grabbing Elvis’ ear.

“He completely removed himself from Elvis’ creative life,” says Guralnick. “It was a partnership of equals, but Parker didn’t get involved in that aspect of Elvis’ career.” For many Elvis fans of long standing, Parker’s hands-off approach as revealed in his letters will be hard to square with the singer’s enlistment in the Army in 1958 and his subsequent posting to Germany, which, so the conventional wisdom tells us, killed the first vital phase of his career and kick-started the descent into awful Hollywood movies that effectively turned this erstwhile force of nature into a B-movie hack.

Parker endorsed Elvis’ Army move — his client wasn’t about to be a draft dodger — but the decision to push Elvis into movies was a bilateral strategy that both men agreed was the best way to generate income at a time when Presley was reeling from his mother’s death and fretting about money — as was Parker. “It was actually financial and psychological,” says Guralnick about the left turn that changed Presley’s career. “And so the Colonel needed to reassure him, to say, ‘things are even better now than when you went into the Army, and when you get out you’ll be making even more money.’”

But even “Clambake” and “Harum Scarum” couldn’t douse Presley’s musical artistry and fire. His triumphant 1968 comeback TV special kick-started an artistic renaissance. The hits returned: “In the Ghetto,” “Suspicious Minds,” “Burning Love.” In 1969, Parker booked Elvis for a triumphant series of dates at the International Hotel in Las Vegas. The downside of this was that Parker picked up a nasty gambling habit, while his client soon became dependent on prescription drugs. Presley and Parker grew distant, as Presley insulated himself with sycophants and his behavior both on and offstage grew increasingly erratic.

Parker was cast adrift by Elvis’ death in 1977, retreating to his Palm Springs home. Ten years later, he was brought back into “Elvisland” by Priscilla Presley and Elvis Presley Enterprises President Jack Soden, coordinating an Elvis festival at the Las Vegas Hilton and selling all of his memorabilia to the estate. But he never regained his standing at the top of the Elvis hierarchy, much to his dismay.

In assessing Parker’s legacy, Guralnick thinks that it all comes down to “the great music he helped Elvis bring to the world — not through any musical contributions of his own, obviously, but by creating the conditions necessary to ensure Elvis’ creative independence from the start. Not to mention all the joy he himself delivered and derived from what he always liked to call the Wonderful World of Show Business.”