The Presley phenomenon exists in a series of paradoxe. When Elvis Presley first came to the public eye during the '50s, it was as a scruffy young man, possibly indecent in his shivering torso and exemplifying the worst of a post-jitterbug generation. Whjat was actually happening was a change in society as the adolescent part emerged as a culture unto itself.

Presley was likewise the first to live the legend that anyone has the potential to become an overnight star. His slur, his wide-legged stance, his floppy forelock, his gyrations - all were widely imitated though never duplicated. This basic formula remains Presley's stock in trade and lived again Tuesday night in the Denver Coliseum.

The man himself has and hasn't changed. There is the same thick black hair replete with forelock, the same wide-legged stance, the same pelvic maneuvering, the same husky slur. But Presley is 35 now, and he is far from being the same ingeunous young man who rock 'n' rolled his way to stardom, accepted a hitch in the Army and then virtually retired. Rather, Presley is defined by his legend, something different from the slick performer of today.

The face is familiar, but what ever happened to Elvis? He is hardly his own man as he sings the Righteous Brothers ("You've Lost That Lovin' Feeling"), Tony Joe White ("Polk Salad Annie") or Simon & Garfunkel ("Bridge Over Troubled Waters").

True, he works in his old hits such as "Heartbreak Hotel," "Blue Suede Shoes" and "You Ain't Nothin' But A Houn' Dawg." And resplendent in white he emerges as the focal center in a sea of black-clad assistants.

Things have slowed on both sides of the stage. Neither Elvis nor his audience enters the state of frenzy that once governed his appearances. Indeed, his 11,000 assembly seemed eminently respectable. Are these the former bobby-soxed girls? The former greasy-haired boys? In looking about even moustaches seemed in the minority, let alone flamboyant sideburns.

This respectable crowd came to renew a legend, but no longer to participate in it. Perhaps that's why comedian Sammy Shore's Agnew jokes fell flat.

Backing Elvis and preceding him in solo spots were the Imperials, a clean-cut quartet that leans to gospel style, and the Sweet Inspirations, four lovely ladies with naturals and orange velvet jump suits and who move in choreographed synchronomy. They echoed in chorus in familiar Presley format.

In short, Tuesday night was a staging of Presley legend, a very different thing from what it was. Nothing has changed except everything.

Courtesy of the Denver Public Library