• Auther image

  • IN MEMORY OF BILLY BOY

    |
    0 comments

    My father Billy, whose father was Billy, named me Billy, like America ain’t enough awash in Billy: Joel, Graham, Bob Thornton. But I’m not just any Billy. I’m “Billy,” keyboard drifter, 57th Street, Central Avenue, Route 66, flophouses, roadhouses, whorehouses, the Mandalay Bay Hotel and Casino along a Las Vegas strip (old town). Now a gray-haired man and his piano, fakebooks for the exotic one-act dancers, the Saturday night comedian at Billy’s Castle, bar rooms, dives and beer halls, no longer playin’ the moneyed high society ballrooms for phony smiles, movers, shakers layin’ an oily sheen on a slippery dance floor. Now just a wizened heart twisted in some antediluvian memory of . . .  sound swallowed up by a life playing stride, Erol, Red and Trane that rang in my ears.

    Join the Mailing List

    Enter your email address below to sign up for the JOE CARVALKO Mailing List.

    eBooks

    Read Joe Carvalko's releases as eBooks. You've enjoyed his work in print and now-for the first time- digitally on Kindle or Nook. Read More »

    Facebook

  • facebook social pluins