It's hard not to have a suspicious mind when a rumor runs through the park.

The king is here.

Huh?

Surely they're pulling my leg.

But if there's a big hunk-a burnin' love out in the park, by golly, I was going to snap a photo.

But where to look? On The Freedom Train? At the glass-blowers' shop? In with Santa?

I stopped short of calling on the two-way radio: All units on Channel 1: Has anyone seen Elvis?

But I did consider it.

I saw a friend over by Eagle's Flight and he tipped me off: Elvis is eating at Plymouth Rock Cafe.

My heart was pounding (yes, I was all shook up) as I approached the Thanksgiving section.

I scanned the group of diners, and didn't see the promised star ... when suddenly the glare of sunshine reflecting off a sea of rhinestones nearly blinded me.

I'd found him.

A little known fact: Elvis takes off his rings while dining. He was quite courteous when I asked if I could take his photo -- even put his rings back on.

His outfit is quite impressive. The zebra belt is remarkable.

It seemed a little too rude to ask Elvis to interrupt his meal to give me a full-body pose, so I thanked him and walked away.

Luckily, I saw him again later. So I did the stalker thing and took a shot from afar.

Elvis has left the gift shop.

Look at those slacks!

Those bell bottoms!

That belt!

Bless him, Elvis put a smile on everyone's face.

I kept an eye on him to make sure he was getting plenty to drink. It
would be easy to get dehydrated on such a warm day, all dressed in
black.

And I was hoping, frankly, I could earn some brownie points by bringing him a refill.

But that, of course, would have made me ... a pop-a-razzi.