Elvis Presley’s Luxurious Jet Finds a New Home
Elvis Presley, the legendary King of Rock ‘n’ Roll, is remembered not only for his groundbreaking music and iconic voice but also for his impeccable sense of style and flair for the extraordinary. While many fans know about his love for blue suede shoes and his eclectic palate, fewer are aware of his keen eye for interior design—a talent that extended even to his private jet.
In 1962, Elvis purchased a Lockheed JetStar, customizing it to reflect his lavish tastes. The interior features elegant wooden paneling, plush red velvet seats, and luxurious carpeting, creating an ambiance that perfectly encapsulates his larger-than-life persona.
Elvis treasured the JetStar for over 35 years. After his passing in 1977, however, the aircraft was left idle. Among his collection of planes, the Lockheed JetStar held a special place, though he also famously owned a customized Convair 880—dubbed the “Lisa Marie” with the call sign “Hound Dog 1”—and another JetStar known as “Hound Dog 2.” These aircraft symbolized his extravagant lifestyle and passion for aviation.
For decades, the Lockheed JetStar sat stationary in Roswell, New Mexico, exposed to the elements. Its vibrant red paint has faded, but the aircraft remains in remarkable condition, considering its long dormancy. Recently, the jet found a new owner when a devoted Elvis fan purchased it for $260,000 at the Florida Mecum Kissimmee Collector Car Sale on January 8th. The sale was conducted via phone bids, with the winning offer securing a piece of rock-and-roll history.
The jet’s interior is a testament to Elvis’ distinctive taste. Its spacious cabin includes cozy red velvet seats and wooden accents, exuding the charisma synonymous with the King of Rock. An advanced television—state-of-the-art for its time—is integrated into the design. The cabin also features a compact kitchenette, complete with vintage appliances, where one might imagine Elvis preparing one of his iconic peanut butter, banana, bacon, and mayonnaise sandwiches.
Even the lavatory reflects his penchant for luxury, with its velvet accents and opulent sink. Compared to today’s cramped commercial planes, this jet offers a glimpse into the grandeur of Elvis’ preferred mode of travel.
For over three decades, the jet remained a silent relic of a bygone era. Now, it embarks on a new chapter, preserved by a fan dedicated to honoring Elvis’ legacy. Whether you’re an aviation enthusiast or an Elvis devotee, this plane stands as a fascinating artifact of the King’s enduring influence.
If you know an Elvis fan, don’t hesitate to share this story and celebrate a piece of rock-and-roll history!
My Rich Husband Forbade Me from Entering One Room in Our House – I Could Not Stop Crying When I Saw What He Was Hiding
When Alexis’ parents forced her to marry Robert, she had no idea what she was getting herself into. Later, Alexis broke the one rule her husband gave her and entered the room he warned her about, unleashing secrets she wasn’t prepared for.
I couldn’t understand why my parents wanted me to get married before I found someone myself.
“Alexis,” my mother said, “Robert is a catch. He’s a wealthy man who will take care of you. You wouldn’t even have to work.”
I couldn’t refuse. My father had made it clear.
“You marry Robert, Alexis,” he said, puffing on his cigar. “Or you can figure out your own living arrangements.”
In a sense, Robert was my prince charming. Our family had a bakery, which was losing customers because we had no gluten-free options on the menu.
“We will continue to bake what we know,” my father insisted.
Our marriage was definitely an arranged one. Robert’s demeanor was cold, and he refused to let me get to know him properly. I don’t know how my father arranged our connection.
Our wedding was a spectacle of Robert’s affluence, nothing short of extravagant. Robert’s wedding planner had thought of everything.
My wedding dress was a custom piece that he commissioned for me. But even through our wedding planning, we barely spoke.
“I’m looking forward to being married,” he admitted one evening, a few days before the wedding.
“But I don’t know what I’m doing,” he added.
That was the closest Robert had gotten to letting me in.
Two days after our wedding, I moved into our new home.
“Come, I’ll show you around,” Robert said.
He took me around our home, a mansion boasting luxuries I’d never imagined before: sprawling golf courses, a shimmering swimming pool, and a fleet of staff at our beck and call.
“It’s beautiful,” I said when we got to the kitchen. “Everything is beautiful.”
“Now, Alexis, this house belongs to you too,” he declared with a hint of pride.
I smiled at the stranger standing in front of me. Maybe we were going to make something of our marriage.
“But one thing, Alexis,” he said. “There’s one rule. The attic. Never go in there.”
I nodded at Robert. I couldn’t fathom why I wouldn’t be allowed anywhere in the house. But I also recognized that I didn’t know my husband well enough yet. So, I had to obey.
A few days later, Robert went to a meeting, leaving me alone in our massive home.
Driven by curiosity stronger than any warning, I found myself ascending the stairs to the attic. My heart pounded with a mix of fear and excitement. I knew I didn’t have a lot of time.
A quick in and out, I thought to myself.
Pushing the door open, I was met with a sight that sent me to my knees, tears streaming down my face. I didn’t know why I was crying. I didn’t know why I felt confusion and relief at the same time.
The attic, dimly lit, seemed to be a vault of my husband’s hidden memories. Childhood toys lay scattered, each carrying untold stories. Old postcards and photographs of Robert’s life before me. Among the relics were letters from a young boy to his father, a soldier away at war.
“How dare you come in here? Now, I have to change the locks in my own home because my wife does not respect my requests?”
Robert’s face turned red with rage.
“I just want to understand,” I stammered. “I just want to know you, Robert.”
Slowly, his rage dissolved, and he seemed to see me as a companion in his world, instead of the intruder he had made me out to be.
“Alexis,” he said, “Come, let’s sit.”
Robert led me to the living room.
“My father was a stern man. He was a soldier and he believed in keeping emotions locked away. These are the only things I have of a time when I felt loved,” he confessed.
My heart caught on his every word as his voice broke.
What followed was a revelation of his soul. Stories of a lonely childhood, of a boy yearning for his father’s approval, unfolded in our home.
In those vulnerable moments, I didn’t see the distant, cold man I had married but a boy who had never stopped seeking love and acceptance. He just didn’t know how to go about it.
In those few hours, things changed. Robert started letting me in. And now, years later, our home is filled with the cries and laughter of our daughter, April.
Through our daughter, Robert healed. He healed for himself, and for our daughter.
We’ve packed away everything from the attic, so it is no longer a shrine to Robert’s past but is now my little reading nook.
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