A con artist. A manipulator. A bully. Elvis Presley’s manager, Colonel Tom Parker, has long been seen as the ultimate example of a deceitful talent manager—someone who prioritized profit over artistry, leaving the artist with the short end of the stick.
It’s easy to see why. Born Andreas Cornelis van Kuijk, even his name, “Colonel Tom Parker,” was a fabrication. So, the assumption goes, was everything else about him. But in The Colonel and the King, a new biography of Parker, Peter Guralnick challenges these assumptions, painting a far more complex picture of a man who operated with a strong moral code.
Guralnick knows this story better than almost anyone—aside from Parker and Presley themselves. He’s the author of two massive biographies on Elvis (Last Train to Memphis in 1994 and Careless Love in 1999). His book on Parker is just as thorough, stretching nearly 600 pages.
The biography is divided into two parts: the first half tells Parker’s life story, while the second half compiles a selection of the tens of thousands of letters, memos, and telegrams Parker wrote and preserved throughout his career. Guralnick had full access to these documents, giving him rare insight into the real man behind the myth.
While researching, Guralnick reconsidered everything he thought he knew about Parker, aiming to give him “his rightful place in history.” He describes the challenge of writing a balanced biography: “I intended not to excuse him, nor to condemn him.”
Parker was born in Breda, Netherlands, in 1909 and entered the U.S. illegally in the 1920s without documentation. He reinvented himself, claiming to be from Huntington, West Virginia. After serving in the U.S. military, he worked in carnivals before managing musicians like Hank Snow, Gene Austin, and Eddy Arnold. His life changed when he saw Elvis perform on the Louisiana Hayride in January 1955—he instantly recognized Elvis as a new kind of star and knew he should guide him.
Officially taking over as Elvis’s manager in March 1956, Parker represented a new kind of manager—one who valued artistry over pure commercial gain. Their fates became intertwined, through success and tension, until Elvis’s death in 1977.
“This is a completely different person than people assume,” says Guralnick, who first met Parker in 1988 and corresponded with him regularly. “He was brilliant and funny,” he adds, describing Parker’s mix of playful self-mythologizing and shrewd self-protection. “He had the ability to either disarm me or keep me at a distance. He was always five steps ahead.”
Parker understood his role perfectly: to turn “the boy” (as he called Elvis) into a star while shielding him from record labels, promoters, and Hollywood executives who wanted to water him down. Elvis made his own creative decisions—Parker rarely gave input on performances or song choices. “Elvis was his artist. He embraced the music because he embraced the artist.”
Artist management often involves shaping an image. Brian Epstein put the Beatles in suits. Andrew Loog Oldham roughed up the Rolling Stones. Malcolm McLaren saw himself as the mastermind behind the Sex Pistols. But Parker rarely interfered. “Elvis was someone Parker saw as capable of endless growth,” says Guralnick. Parker worked tirelessly—16 to 18 hours a day, seven days a week—for Elvis. His dedication was absolute.
I asked Guralnick if Parker’s carnival background (historically…People often viewed Parker with suspicion as a wandering outsider or immigrant, which shaped the public’s prejudiced perception of him. However, he seemed to embrace this image rather than shy away from it. As one observer noted, “Nobody was either more American or more self-made than Tom Parker.” His entire life in America was built on crafting his own myth.
For example, when renegotiating one of Elvis’s Las Vegas contracts, Parker refused an under-the-table deal offered to him in a hotel coffee shop. “Everything is on top of the table or forget it,” he insisted. “We don’t do business that way.”
Parker’s reputation only turned negative after Elvis’s death. From the 1950s to the mid-1970s, he was widely respected in the music and film industries. Many who worked with him said he was completely trustworthy. He believed in conducting business with strong ethics, even lecturing associates like Hank Saperstein—who handled Elvis’s merchandise—on fair treatment of staff and manufacturers.
Parker negotiated shrewdly for Elvis, convincing RCA to pay well above market rate to buy out his Sun Records contract in 1955. He also renegotiated Elvis’s RCA deal early when the hits started pouring in, securing better terms within just 11 months. Knowing Elvis’s reckless spending habits and heavy tax burden—both saw high taxes as patriotic—Parker set up a $1 million emergency fund to bail him out if needed. He also quietly fixed problems for Elvis’s inner circle, the “Memphis Mafia,” to shield the star from fallout.
However, Parker had his own vices—he was a compulsive gambler, once losing $800,000 in a single Vegas session. Both he and Elvis loved spending rather than saving. “Elvis wasn’t interested in accumulating money—he just spent it,” one source noted. “And the Colonel was no different—he lost his at the gaming tables.”
Parker remained devoted to Elvis long after his death, even after being cut from the estate’s business dealings in 1983. He never managed another artist, though he did advise a young Celine Dion. To him, no other act could compare to what he had achieved with Elvis.
Recent letters reveal that Parker had seriously considered global tours for Elvis as late as 1960 and explored a possible Japanese tour in 1973. Contrary to popular belief, Elvis’s reluctance to tour internationally wasn’t due to Parker’s fear of deportation—he could have easily obtained a U.S. passport through his marriage or his friendship with President Lyndon B. Johnson. The real reason was simply that Elvis wasn’t interested.
These insights offer a more balanced view of Parker—not as a villain, but as a complex figure whose legacy deserves reevaluation.Elvis’s troubles largely stemmed from his addiction to amphetamines and other drugs, along with his habit of carrying guns, which made international travel impossible. Parker worried about finding the right security team to protect Presley. “He was talking about security to keep Elvis from getting arrested,” Parker explained. “Who would carry the drugs—which Elvis always had with him? Who would handle the guns?”
“An introvert who acted like an extrovert” … Parker with his second wife, Loanne. (Photo: Graceland Archives)
Presley and the Colonel were deeply intertwined, but Guralnick uncovered letters where Parker admitted he was never part of Elvis’s inner circle—yet seemed content with that. They nearly parted ways in 1973 after a dispute in Las Vegas, but Parker’s letters from that time calmly laid out how they could cleanly end their partnership. “I have no hard feelings,” he wrote, “but I’m also not a puppet on a string.”
The split never happened because their reliance on each other was too strong, as was their mutual respect. In a rare telegram after signing the original RCA deal, Elvis told Parker: “I love you like a father.” But their bond went beyond paternal. Guralnick believes there was a deeper psychological connection.
“I came to see their relationship as a kind of shared tragedy,” he says. “Each had their own addictions. Parker was deeply vulnerable—not just then, but from childhood traumas we’ll never fully understand. He couldn’t stand being touched by strangers.”
Loanne, his second wife, described him as “an introvert who had to learn to act like an extrovert to survive.”
Parker died in 1997, taking some secrets with him, but Guralnick’s book provides the most complete, nuanced, and myth-free portrait we’re likely to get. The Colonel and the King by Peter Guralnick (White Rabbit, £35). To support The Guardian, order your copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply.
