It's 1969.
China and the Soviet Union are on the brink of open hostilities. The war would kill us all. And only the pope can save the day.
Well, so thinks Richard Nixon.
See, he'd been up all night watching *The Shoes of the Fisherman*, and it was such a harrowing vision that he was determined that the pope, and only the pope, could broker a deal between two hostile nations. If you've not seen *The Shoes of the Fisherman*, it's a fine film with Anthony Quinn and there's international problems solved by the pope.
Anyways, Nixon rings up the Vatican and convinces the pope that he has to come to New York to visit the UN. Due to the tenuous situation, this visit has to be utterly secret. "It's *brrrrrrrrrrr* gotta be secret your holiness!" They've got a room for him at the Waldorf, it'll be a one day visit. Get in, get out, get a t-shirt.
The pope, who hadn't been to America in a good long while, accepts this mission. He throws on his red hat and cape, and he hustles to a cab stand.
"Where to?" asks the cabbie. The pope stammers, "just...just get me to Roma International please."
They drive in silence, and the cabbie looks in his rearview.
"Heyyyy...now wait-a minute! (the cabbie has an Italian accent. This isn't easily explainable) I a-know you! You..you're a famous man!"
The pope, terrified of breaking his cover before he's even left Rome, looks away and mutters, "No, no I'm not, must be someone else."
"Noooo! I a-seen you on the tv! Red hat...red cape...OH! You are Elvis Presley!"
"I assure you, I am not Elvis Presley!" says the pope, feelings a little hurt.
"Yes-a you are! You do the shuffles and the music, oh my wife gonna be so jealous!"
The pope scuttles out of the cab at the airport and hurries to the ticket counter. He orders a round trip to JFK, and the man at the ticket counter looks up and gasps.
"Signore! Don't I know you? Mama mia, I seen you on television last night!"
"No, sir. I assure you I'm nobody of any importance."
"Yes you are! You got the cape...you got the hat...oh madonna you are ELVIS PRESLEY!" He starts to squeal and hit the counter.
"SIR! PLEASE! Just...just get me a ticket to JFK!"
On the plane.
Pope's got his bible out, going over some choice passages, and the stewardess bringing coffee nearly drops it in his lap, crying, "Elvis! Elvis Presley is on my plane!"
The pope hisses at her to be quiet and could she please bring some more peanuts.
Harried and exhausted, he gets a cab at JFK. "Waldorf Astoria, please."
The cabbie, and we're talkin' the quintessential Brooklyn cabbie here, chews on his cigar and lifts his cap and says, "Sweet Jesus on a bus to Greenpoint! You're famous, ain't ya?"
The pope is nearly reduced to tears at this point. The cabbie continues. "You got dat red hat! You got the fancy uptown lady cape, only one man has the balls to carry that off, you're Elvis Presley!"
At the Waldorf, it all happens again. The clerk says, "here's the key to your room!" And in a sotto vocce whisper that echoes across the lobby, "*..mister Presley*!"
The pope goes up to his room. He wishes the president had never watched *The Shoes of the Fisherman*. He turns the key in the lock.
Two young chambermaids are making up his room. They spin to face him and erupt in shrieks. "Oh my god! It's....it's....ELVIS!" One flops on the bed and the other starts to slowly unlace her uniform.
The pope looks down, buries his head in his hands, comes up and says,
.
.
♫ Wiiiiiise...
mennnn.....
sayyyyyyyy...♫
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