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Graceland? Never been, don’t plan to go.

People come from around the world to visit the most famous house in Memphis, yet there are plenty of locals who wear their indifference to The King’s home as a badge of honor.

On my first trip to check out Memphis, I met a couple of curmudgeons who had lived here forever and embraced that “not-in-your-life” view of the home Elvis Presley bought in 1957.

After hearing so much about it, I was curious about this legendary landmark and after settling into my new life in the South, I went back to those two and issued this invitation: “Why don’t we all take that first trip to Graceland together?”

One guy rolled his eyes, but I had caught the second, former city editor Charles Bernsen, in a weak moment and he agreed to make the trip.

Now, even if you’re no big fan of Presley - yes, I know this is dangerous talk during Elvis Week - visiting Graceland seems like an essential part of getting to know Memphis.

Even if you don’t appreciate The Jungle Room or the glittery jumpsuits or the hall full of gold records, couldn’t you just put on your cultural anthropologist’s hat and admire the way this place so perfectly reflects another era?

For a diehard Graceland boycotter like Bernsen, the answer was no. Getting the man to commit to a date was like trying to bake a souffle in a construction zone.

Finally, last February, we headed down Elvis Presley Boulevard to that famous mansion that’s much more humble than the hype would lead you to imagine.

As we drove, Bernsen explained his reluctance to go to Graceland. He felt that Elvis was a good person, a nice person who had been taken advantage of by the people running his career. He didn’t want any part of that.

We pulled to the parking lot and it was empty. It was then that we learned Graceland was closed Tuesdays during the winter months.

“But you’re welcome to go to the Lisa Marie,” the security guard cheerfully suggested. “And the gravesite is open.”

I was immediately suspicious, but Bernsen insisted that he had not picked this date knowing that he wouldn’t have to do Graceland after all.

I insisted that we climb aboard the Lisa Marie, The King’s private plane that’s got a stuck-in-the-70s look similar to that in some of the rooms in Graceland.

For $7, we got to see the lavish entertainment system and wet bar - but more importantly, the bed where he slept during long flights. (No, it’s not round. And, no, there are no mirrors on the ceiling.)

After deplaning, we wandered up the driveway to the “Meditation Garden,” the spot where Elvis and his family are buried.

It was hardly the circus-like scene I had anticipated. The markers were so simple and solemn, even though they were covered with flowers and banners and letters from fans. People snapped photos and talked in hushed tones. It was peaceful.

Though we hadn’t been inside the house, I considered it a small victory that I had shared this experience with another Graceland neophyte.

In the months since, I’ve been back twice to tour Graceland with out-of-town visitors. (It’s the first stop after I pick them up, just minutes from the airport.)

I’ve enjoyed the self-guided tour with the folksy audio. I loved looking at his clothes and peaking into the kitchen, trying to imagine Elvis standing at the counter with one of those famous fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches.

My favorite moment on the tour is out in the old garage-turned-office, where a video plays an interview from when the young Elvis returned from his tour in the Army. He looks so happy to be home and when someone asks him what he missed most about Memphis, he doesn’t miss a beat: “I missed everything about Memphis.”

Maybe that clip alone wasn’t worth the $18 admission, but somehow hearing that sincere declaration gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling about a place I had only recently decided to call home, a land of grace indeed.

- Leslie Kelly: 529-2594