I Just Killed Billy Joel

by Homicidally Philly…

Oh, my God. I just killed Billy Joel.

The Piano Man. The Stranger. Captain Jack. He was lying right there in the middle of the road, his motorcycle in ruins. Dead as a doornail.

At least, I think he’s dead. He’s not moving. He’s not responding. There’s blood everywhere. Sweet Jesus, what have I done?

I was just driving down the road in Huntington, Long Island, at the intersection of New York Ave. and W. 9^th Street, when all of a sudden, out of nowhere, comes this motorcycle screaming by. I’m not sure if he was the one who ran the red light, or me; but at this point I don’t really care. All I know is I just killed my boyhood hero, Billy Joel. Billy the Kid.

I got out of my car and ran to his rescue as fast as I could. I removed his helmet and that’s when I realized who it was. Being from Long Island myself, Billy Joel was as familiar to me as my own family. Even more so.

Growing up, Billy Joel’s music was everything to me. I came of age listening to Piano Man and The Stranger, but it was his live album from 1981, Songs in the Attic, that I treasured most. Billy was always at his best when he was LIVE and in concert. You know the difference between LIVE, and LIVE and in concert, right? If you don’t, I don’t have time to tell you, because I just killed Billy Joel.

LIVE performances not only captured the true essence of Billy and his music, it saved him from bankruptcy in 1989 when his business manager and former brother-in-law, Frank Weber, stole $30 million and left him not only destitute, but millions of dollars in debt. So what did Billy do? Cry about it? Go find the nearest safe room? Not on your life. The Streetlife Serenader got right back on his horse and hit the road, digging his way out of financial ruin with a concert tour that put him right back on top. But all that was meaningless now, because I just killed Billy Joel.

Billy Joel has had his brushes with death before, not only surviving several car crashes and even kidney stones, but even attempting suicide back in his early twenties by drinking furniture polish. According to Joel, it was either that or bleach, and Billy thought furniture polish would probably taste better.

So what did he do about that? Sit around and mope? No sir. He got right up out of that hospital bed and marched straight out of the place. But he wouldn’t be getting up and marching anywhere now. Why? Because I just killed Billy Joel.

Billy Joel, my hero, has been through so much in his life, surviving a broken home, three failed marriages, financial ruin, and God knows how many dances with death. The man who came from humble beginnings to go on and sell over 150 million albums, but none of that is going to do him any good now, because I just killed Billy Joel.

This was it, the end of the line for the man from Cold Spring Harbor, the Big Shot from Oyster Bay, Long Island. This was Goodnight Saigon, Say Goodbye to Hollywood, and a permanent New York State of Mind. No Famous Last Words for the Piano Man.

But then, all of a sudden, his head began to move. He started breathing again and he was trying to say something. Oh my God! He was alive. He was fighting for his life. That’s when I realized, I hadn’t killed Billy Joel after all. In fact, now I had the chance to save his life. When all was said and done, I was going to be the one who saved Billy Joel.

Just then, another car pulled up and a woman jumped out.

“Oh, my God,” she screamed. “You’ve killed him.”

“You know him?” I asked.

“Know him?” she said. “Of course I know him. I’ve lived on Long Island all my life. Did you call 911?”

“Not yet,” I said. “The whole thing happened not even a minute ago.”

The next thing I knew, I was on the phone with an emergency operator.

“Yes. I need an ambulance, at the corner of New York and W. 9^th.

“Yes. In Huntington.

“What happened? I just ran over Billy Joel.

“Okay, I’ll be here.”

I hung up the phone and that’s when the woman said to me, “Billy Joel? What are you talking about?”

“Billy Joel,” I said. “I ran over Billy Joel.”

“That’s not Billy Joel,” the woman said. “That’s Jimmy Seaver.”

“Jimmy Seaver?” I said. “Who the fuck is Jimmy Seaver?”

“He works down at the Ace Hardware. We went to high school together.”

“Any relation to Tom Seaver?”

“No that I’m aware of.”

Tom Seaver was the ace pitcher for the Miracle Mets of 1969, the year they won the World Series. He was my hero growing up.

Jimmy Seaver, I thought as I got up and went back to my car. WTF? Not only did the asshole wreck my car, he got blood all over my new shirt. The car could be fixed; but the shirt, the shirt was ruined. I lamented all the way home.

Boy, was my wife gonna be pissed when she saw the mechanic’s bill. Not to mention the shirt. Jimmy Seaver. What an asshole.

On April 15, 1982, Billy Joel was riding his 1978 Harley-Davidson in Huntington, Long Island. When he came to the intersection of New York Avenue and West Ninth Street, he was struck by a passing car. He was helicoptered to Columbia Presbyterian Medical Center in Manhattan, where Dr. David L. Andrews performed a two-hour surgery on the pianist’s busted wrist and thumb. Many feared the Piano Man would never play again. As we all know, he did play again.

I Just Killed Billy Joel is the latest in the Flashbytes series from worst-selling author T Philly Loyd. Based on a true story. Sort of…

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T Philly Loyd loves fat chicks and cheap beer, though not necessarily in that order. Loyd has worked for Forbes and McGraw Hill, each time running for his life as if waking up from a nightmare. He dreams of one day moving to Hollywood and winning a Razzie. Loyd lives in Dumbass, Texas.