Recently, while looking through magazinesrnat my local book superstore, I camernacross Chronicles. The first thing I noticedrnwas John Meroney’s piece allegingrnplagiarism by Maya Angelou. As an Englishrnteacher, I have more than a passingrninterest in plagiarism. Also as a teacher,rnI give poor grades when students do notrnsupport their arguments, hi a magazinernof national culture, I’d expect at leastrnsomething to support Meroney’s assertionrnthat “the concept, structure, andrncentral images [of Angelou’s and Tennille’srnpoems] are . .. quite similar.”rnIt is interesting that the differencernMeroney notes is that where Angelou’srnpoem has trees, Tennille’s trees havernropes wrapped around them. I can understandrnAngelou not using ropesrnaround trees in a poem expressing hopernfor a new presidency. It is certainly true,rnhowever, that trees with ropes aroundrnan Outward Bound setting can conveyrnpositive images. But perhaps this is thernpoint. Two people express ideas differently.rnNot having seen both poems, Irncan only respond here to what Meroneyrnwrote (or what you included of hisrnpiece), and there is precious little of substancernabout the poems.rnIf Meroney’s purpose is to prove plagiarism,rnthe reader needs to see at leastrnsome support for his bland assertion ofrnsimilarity. Instead of an account of hisrnand Tennille’s unsuccessful search for arnresponse from Maya Angelou, her agents,rnand her acquaintances, his argumentrnwould be better served by a discussion ofrnthe text of the poems (or at least thernparts allegedly plagiarized).rnThe response Meroney received fromrnAngelou, Random House, et al., is thernresponse a weak allegation of plagiarismrndeserves. As a lawyer, my response tornsomeone who made a claim and thenrnfailed to prove it would be the same.rnAlso, of what relevance is the size ofrnTennille’s employer (which Meroneyrnmentions twice)? Plenty of dopes workrnat large law firms.rn—Arnold SchwartzrnMedia, PArnThe Editors Reply:rnNorton Tennille, Jr.’s resume includesrnthe following: ].D., cum laude, HarvardrnLaw School (1968); Rhodes Scholarship,rnBalliol College, Oxford, B.A. (1965) andrnM.A. (1970) in politics, philosophy, andrneconomics; M.A. in classical philology,rnHarvard University (1963); A.B. withrnhighest honors in Latin, University ofrnNorth Carolina at Chapel Hill (1961).rnHe has written for Fortune, been a foreignrncorrespondent for Time, and heldrnnational posts with Outward Bound andrnthe American Bar Association.rnCULTURAL REVOLUTIONSrnliiLVIS is everywhere. But where twornor more fans are gathered, devoted tornhis memory, weird manifestations arernpossible.rnSome years ago I bought a pair ofrnblack leather pants in an after-Christmasrnsale, even though the fit wasrnsuspect. I found one dry cleaner inrnRoanoke, Virginia, where the seamstressrnwillingly altered leather. As I stoodrnbalancing on the stool with the smallrnwoman at my seams, I heard her mumblernsomething through pins that soundedrnlike it contained the word “Elvis.” Asrneveryone knows, this word, along withrn”Jesus” and “Coke,” is one of the bestrnknown English words in the world.rn”What did you say?” I asked, withoutrntaking a breath. I did not want to disturbrnthe line of pins taking shape from myrnhips to my ankles. In fact, I was probablyrnobliged to hold my breath to achieve therndesired effect. The black pants had tornlook poured on or they would prove arnbad in’estment.rn”I said I do all of the Elvis Lady’srnpants.”rn”Who’s that?”rn”Kim Epperly. The Elvis Lady. Irnthought you’d know her, with the leatherrnand all that.”rnBelieving me ripe for the pilgrimage,rnthe seamstress gave me directions to a localrnshrine called Miniature Graceland.rnBuilt by Kim and her husband, Don Epperly,rnwho suffers from MS yet still managesrnto construct detailed models, thernexhibit now includes Elvis’s childhoodrnhome, his father’s home, the church hernattended as a child, Heartbreak Hotelrnand Restaurant, Presley’s AutomobilernMuseum, as well as the Roanoke CivicrnCenter, and, of course, Graceland.rnA trip around the Epperlys’ side yard,rnwith Elvis singing in the background,rnbegins at the Graceland model. SometimesrnElvis waves from the front steps,rndressed in seasonal attire. On summerrndays, perhaps he wears a cleaned andrnpressed white coat over a fancy, ruffledrnshirt, blue slacks, and bow tie. But onrnmy last visit, August 15, the I6th anniversaryrnof his death, Elvis was notrngreeting the visitors, who brought candlesrnby which to see their way.rnUp the sloping yard, inside the CivicrnCenter, Elvis perpetually sings to an audiencernof decked-out Barbie dolls. Arntelevision screen inside the car museumrnhas played cosmic static every time I’verntoured, yet each time 1 find myself gra’-rnitating toward the screen’s light show. 1rnpeer into the rolling disturbance ofrn”snow” where anything or anyone mightrnmaterialize. Even though his face wouldrnonly be a projection, an illusion of presence,rnisn’t this what it’s all about? Overrnthe whole of the Epperlys’ creation, suspendedrnon very noticeable wires, cruisesrnElvis’s Lear jet. I know better, yet the jetrncreates an aura of anticipation.rnYou’ll want to go there. Even formerrnPresident Carter and Rosalynn have. Nornwonder. The Epperlys’ construction projectrnsomehow overlaps with the Carters’rninspired work on behalf of Habitat forrnHumanity. Miniature Graceland remindsrnus not so much of Elvis as of thernhuman capacity for devotion, of hoyvrnthat devotion can materialize intent. Irnam convinced that if even one familyrnAPRIL 1994/5rnrnrn