The lights dim. Poker chips clatter to the tables in the background and a tense expectancy falls over the casino. Suddenly, devil horns blaze from the speakers. Flash bulbs fight with the spotlights, and, like a sequined magic trick, he’s there in powder-blue jumpsuit and the obligatory blue suede shoes …

I have a confession to make, and I’m sorry if this offends some, but for me, there is only one Elvis Presley. It’s not the angelic beauty of the ’50s, nor the leather wearing, post-military, lip-curling comeback King of the ’60s, but the ’70s Elvis.

Nothing Presley did before matches, for me, the poignant, sweat-soaked beauty of the glitter King, throwing all the right karate shapes and cheeseburgering his way toward — well, we all know the final chapter of that story.

But the legend lives on. And on and on.

Bruce Nye is one of the people who keeps that legend burning. Unassuming in his civvies — open-necked blue sports top, jeans and loafers — Nye looks like he could be a bank manager enjoying a quiet weekend around the house. And indeed, until recently, he was a vice president at KeyBank. Unassuming and affable, there is little hint that, come the weekend, Nye is a changed man.

Born in 1959 and raised in the Bangor area, Nye has always been a singer — if at times a somewhat reluctant one. His mother, herself no slouch with the vocal chords, would hammer out songs on her piano, from gospel to traditional to country.

“And of course Elvis was popular, so we sang Elvis songs,” says Nye.

And that’s where his singing career might have ended, excepting a warble in the shower or car, were it not for a fortuitous household purchase in the mid-’90s: a karaoke machine.

Nye was a natural at his weekend house parties, rattling through numbers by Engelbert Humperdinck, Frank Sinatra, Roy Orbison, and a poor little white boy from Tupelo, Miss.

It was at one of these parties that one of his friends uttered the fateful words: “You know, you sound like Elvis Presley.”

The leg that has been shaking, vibrating through the song, winds down. “That was my first single,” Elvis murmurs into his mike, flicking away a bead of sweat that has run from beneath his oil-black fringe. The lights bounce at angles from the inscrutable lenses of his dark glasses. A teddy bear, swathed in black leather, sits impassively on the speaker from which the opening notes of “Don’t Be Cruel” are beginning to drift. And Elvis winds up his left leg …

Nye decided he could spice up his lounge act further with a little practice. He watched some of Elvis’ live performances on videocassette, and worked a little on some of the finer points of Presley’s vocal manner and movements.

His act became fairly polished, and when friends suggested he take part in the Bangor Rotary Club’s 1998 talent contest, he decided to give it a shot.

“So, with a flare for the dramatic, I went to rent a costume,” says Nye; a costume that turned out to be very expensive. So, he contracted a friend to make one for him — a white, sparkling affair with the obligatory cape.

Nye ran through a couple of Elvis favorites at the contest and, “lo and behold, I won the talent show,” he says with a chuckle, pulling out the small trophy.

And that was that. Nye’s future as an Elvis impersonator, or tribute artist, was assured.

Since that auspicious talent-show victory, Nye has built for himself what he hopes will eventually be a minor second career when he retires in 10 or 12 years.

For now, it is simply a fun pastime that sees him hitting more parties each month than many a hardened night crawler. And, to his amazement, earns him money.

But why Elvis? Why is Nye Elvis? Why do people want to see Nye-Elvis? Why not Orbison, Sinatra or Humperdinck?

“Elvis is a personality that really seems to get the crowd,” Nye says. “I’ve played to crowds where women will come up to the front of the stage and swoon and fall over. I’ve left crowds where women are trying to whip my belt off and asking me to sign their backs.”

Elvis steps, no, almost swaggers to the rear of his stage, and slowly bows his head as if in supplication. A young woman, one of his entourage, drapes two ribbons around his neck. The King is among us. We can’t see the eyes, but as he works among the tables, the audience, we know those eyes are scouting for ladies. He locks onto one, slides towards her, draws one of the ribbons from around his neck, and reverentially drapes it around her shoulders …

This is a strange thing to say, but the odd thing about Nye is that he isn’t odd. His house in Bangor looks much like those of his neighbors. Inside, there is a surprising lack of clues to his part-time occupation. Miss the costumes tucked in a corner of the hallway and the only hint is the karaoke system in his front room-rehearsal studio. And he’s never even been to Memphis. While he admits to being an Elvis fan, Nye certainly doesn’t worship Elvis.

“I wouldn’t say he’s a big hero so much as a phenomenon,” he said. “I just love his voice, I really do.”

Before I leave Nye to his practice — he’s currently working on the old George Jones song “She Thinks I Still Care” — I have to ask Nye the big question.

Is Elvis alive? If I go way down South, is there a chance that the sideburned attendant at the small-town gas station is … you know who?

“No, I don’t think Elvis is still alive,” Nye says.”But he’s alive through the hearts and souls of a lot of people.”

“If you don’t dance to this, then you ain’t dancin’,” says Nye from the stage, the imitation Elvis in the imitation casino, as he swoons into “Can’t Help Falling In Love.”

As the last notes drift over the couples skating among the tables, his arms rise, slowly, spreading his cape wide, a beatific look upon his face as he is massaged by the crowd’s roar. Then the horns that have now bookended the show take off once more, and Nye breaks into motion. He succumbs to the public, arms held high in triumph, high-fives all around. The lights swirl, the flash bulbs strobe and I lose sight of him. I look around, but he’s gone.

And from the speaker boom those immortal words: “Elvis has left the building.”

For information about appearances and booking, Bruce Nye can be contacted at Elvis Alive Productions, 942-2605 or 843-5723. He will perform at the Variety Show May 12 at the Spectacular Event Center (941-8700), Griffin Road, Bangor.