King Billy

A Tribute To The Greatest Man I Ever Knew

Authors Note

For the last nine months, I’ve had the absolute pleasure of discussing each and every one of my articles with Billy and my mother after they’d read or listened to them. It became a small ritual I looked forward to so much each week. It’s conversations that I will never forget until I draw my last breath.

Conversations about words, ideas, life and meaning. Billy was my number one fan throughout this whole journey, and for the last thirty-seven years, he’s been my hero.

As we laid him to rest, I felt compelled to try and pay tribute to him here. No easy task. He was genuinely the greatest man I’ve ever met, and I am endlessly grateful that he was such a huge part of my life.

Billy, I know you loved to listen to these each week and I promise I will come to read this one by your graveside real soon.

You loved discussing some of the philosophical quotes and I remember, you particularly enquired about Viktor Frankl and I bought his book for you.

Well, here’s a quote from him that is perfect for you:

“The meaning of life is to give life meaning.”
— Viktor Frankl

King Billy. Billy Hughes. The greatest man I ever met.

You gave so much meaning to life. You embodied this quote.

I love you so much. You’ve played a million requests for me over the years. Being the menace I was, sometimes I’d wake you up on the phone on the middle of the night just to hear you sing…

This time I get to say, “This one’s for you”.

King Billy: A Tribute to the Greatest Man I Ever Knew

My “stepdad”. A word I still struggle with, because for the past thirty-seven years he has simply been my dad. And… that’s what he is… My Dad.

He arrived on the scene in 1989. Shortly after, during the 1990 World Cup, Ireland was buzzing. Tricolours and bunting filled the windows of Finglas, Poppintree and Ballymun where I was raised, a country alive with David v Goliath enthusiasm that summer.

Billy was just starting to date my Mam back then. I remember him buying me a World Cup collector magazine, the one where you collected coin embroidered faces of the players. A smart move. He knew exactly what he was doing. He gave us something to bond with and discuss straight away, which I imagine made my mother happy. We were the best of friends within a short period of time. I’d love following him around, whether it was caddying for him on the golf course or attending his gigs. It would always be great to see him live on stage in action.

The Greatest Showman

In those early days I’d come home from school and Billy would be sitting on the couch watching the horse racing or golf, immaculately dressed in a shirt and tie. I’d look at him, genuinely puzzled, and ask what are you so dressed up for.

He’d smile and say, you never know who might show up. That was Billy. Always ready. Always presentable. Life was a stage. And his home was on stage. It’s where he belonged.

Life at our house, of course, wasn’t always so polished. There were domestic power struggles. My sisters wanted to watch Home and Away and Neighbours. Billy wanted to watch sport. The remote control became a battleground and negotiations were frequent. Billy was many things, but a man who surrendered the remote easily was not one of them.

My sister, Nicola remembers those days well. She spent endless hours with her tape recorder, pressing play, pause, play, pause, recording songs off the radio and carefully writing out every lyric by hand. Billy loved her handwriting, and she would write out his new songs for him after catching them from the radio. Music was always part of the house. Even in the middle of disagreements over what was on the television, there was creativity, encouragement, and love.

My other sister, Karen remembers when she was pregnant with her first child, Louise. She often borrowed Billy’s jumpers because they were comfortable. As the months went on, Billy would open his wardrobe and find his jumpers no longer quite the shape he remembered. He’d shake his head, look over at our Mam and exclaim , “There are boob shapes in my jumpers that don’t belong there.”

It was classic Billy. Mock outrage, delivered with a grin. Even his clothes became part of family life, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

I didn’t tidy my room, so I came home from school one day to find every toy and every item of clothing scattered across the front garden. The message was clear. Clean your room. Lessons were learned. It was Billy’s way. Firm, fair and memorable. And, always with a hint of mischief.

The King

Billy was the king of Dublin cabaret, and before long he was my hero. When I really began to see who he was, the showman, the entertainer, the man with that effortless charisma, I could never come close to his charm, but he never made me feel like that mattered.

He saw something in me that I didn’t.

I remember nights when Billy and my Mam would come home from his shows and end up in animated disputes in the kitchen. Passionate, harmless, full of fire. At some point Billy would throw his hands up and exclaim “you just don’t understand showbusiness…. you’ll never understand showbusiness, Ann!”

Even as a kid, I knew exactly what he meant. When something is the making of you, when it lives in your bones, it’s almost impossible for others, even the people closest to you, to fully understand it. That wasn’t arrogance. That was identity. I still tell that story to my girlfriend today. She’s a musician and now she gets to make a joke and tell me that “You just don’t understand showbusiness, Stephen.”

Full circle.

I also remember making Billy and my mother laugh harder than I ever realised at the time. I used to mimic my maths teacher, Johnny Kane, pacing the kitchen and putting on a high pitched, lispy voice “Alright Keating, Daly (my best friend John). This school isn’t big enough for the three of us. I’ve got me bloody pension and you two are gonna end up pushing bleedin’ shopping trolleys.”

Billy would beg me to do it again. Mam would be crying laughing.

Then came the parent teacher meetings. Billy and Mam sat there listening politely until the math teacher, Johnny Kane spoke and they couldn’t help but burst out laughing. My impression was so spot on. The poor guy was a passionate soul and would jump up and shout “I can see where he bloody gets it from now.”

Billy and Mam laughed their heads off all over again. Any negative talk about me by the teacher ended being overshadowed by the laughs.

I remember the small moments as clearly as the big ones. The first lunch Billy ever took me out for, where I ordered the most expensive thing on the menu (salmon sandwich) just to test him. He didn’t flinch. After that, he took me for a driving lesson far too early in life at 8 years of age in his Mercedes in a car park, me flooring it into reverse and Billy clambering outside the driver’s window in sheer panic “Hit the brakes!!!!” “Which one is the brake?’ It was an automatic car “The only other pedal” We came screeching to a halt… somewhat safely but no more driving lessons for me. We would laugh about it for years later.

We all remember the songs he sang that stayed with us long after the music stopped. Daddy, Don’t You Walk So Fast. First, Last, Everything. And of course, My Way. He didn’t just sing those songs. He inhabited them. My whole family loved them, and they became part of our family soundtrack. Even now, the younger generation still sing them.

Every one of us… my mother, me, my sisters, our partners… nieces and nephew, my daughter…. my great nieces and nephews… all have amazing memories with him. That, in itself, speaks volumes. The list extends to aunties, uncles, cousins, friends… it really is endless.

He travelled to Vegas for my thirtieth birthday to perform there without a second thought, as if there was nowhere else on earth he’d rather be. He came to Australia (where I have lived) many times over the years and every time he did, he owned the stage here too, much to the delight of my musician friends who couldn’t believe what they were witnessing. Different country. Same magic. Billy was Billy wherever he stood.

He really was the King. Wherever he was…

No matter what I did in life, success in business, the fall from grace, prison, rebuilding, he always lifted me in a way nobody else could. I’d often walk away from a chat with him with tears coming down my face. When he looked me in the eye and told me he believed in me, it stayed with me. His belief never wavered. He told his friends, anyone who would listen, that I was something special. Over the last nine months, as Unshackled took shape, he was there for every word, every idea, every step forward. Despite not being able to physically give him a hug or hang out the way we did in the past, the conversations more than compensated for that.

His Queen Ann

Above all else, he made my Mam happy. For over three and a half decades they shared a love that was rare, fun, steady, playful and deep. They still acted like teenagers sometimes. Still cheeky, still madly in love. A couple any man or woman would aspire to be like.

The King and Queen of Dublin in their own right. I will be forever grateful for the love he brought into her life. He cherished her fully. The kind of love that made a house feel safe and a family feel whole.

He loved my Mam, he loved me, he loved my sisters, our daughters and son, their children, and anybody lucky enough to be part of his world. He made our lives better simply by being in them.

My darling niece, Laura said to me this week “Billy doesn’t speak to your face. He speaks to your heart and soul. He makes you feel so worthy and joyful after speaking with him, he’s truly magic. One of a kind.”

That pretty much summed him up. That’s how he made us all feel. He touched the heart of anybody he came in contact with.

Every one of us.

His Way

The outpouring of love for King Billy has been overwhelming. A packed church. Stories shared in every corner of social media and loudly through laughter in pubs and clubs.

People from every chapter of his life lining up to tell us how he helped them, inspired them, lifted them or simply made them feel seen. He left his mark wherever he went.

Billy was a treasure of Ireland.

He was a gift to us all.

He gave meaning to life.

And I will be forever grateful that you came into all of our lives.

I love you, Billy. We all do…

You were the greatest man we ever knew❤️

You lived the fullest life and… you did it Your Way…

Stay Unshackled My Friends,

Stephen

RIP Billy