Remembering Billy Wingate

 

 

 

I'm not drawn to many people...but Billy Wingate was someone I couldn't get enough of.   With a colorful past, full of funny stories and colorful life experiences, I spent many hours sitting with him and always left wanting to hear more.

 

 Received the sad news this morning that Billy passed away last night, losing his battle with cancer, and I find myself hoping above all hopes that someone was holding his hand as he entered his next journey.  A man SO full of life, he spent his last few months lonely and pissed off that he could no longer do the things he loved the most.  Walking down the to the OD Pavilion to see old friends.  Traveling with a dear friend to visit old stomping grounds.  Holding court with the younger ones who loved to hear his stories about Charlie's Place. Playing jazz piano with some of the old black groups, where he would be the only white boy in the place.  His love for beautiful women, all colors of the rainbow.   Sharing his artwork, poetry and music with folks, hoping to ensure that it would carry on after he was gone.  Dancing at the ODP with Janet Morris, classy cane and all.



 

Yep, I'm gonna miss this special man...and time didn't allow me to get the stories that were never told. 

 

Billy was a PROUD man....so proud that he would do without before asking someone to help him.  And when he did allow you to do something for him he would try to repay it twofold with whatever he might have to give.   He didn't want folks to know how sick he was....didn't want to dim the image we all had of him as a strong, full of spit and vigor, pioneer for the lifestyle planted in Ocean Drive that brought so many of us here to live and play.  It broke my heart to see his face when he had to start asking for a little help from his friends.  I saw him starting to break down and fade once this became a necessity.

 

 

So many folks my age would pass him by at the "World Famous" Od Pavilion, sitting on a bench outside...dressed in his starched bermudas, alpaca sweater, fancy eye patch...leaning on his cane in deep conversation with whoever was sitting around him.  And, let's not forget those purty shoes!  Little did they know, or seem to care, that if it wasn't for him, and some of others sitting outside with him, we wouldn't be in OD today fas' dancin' at the ODP.  Please, folks, when you see some of these older guys and gals at the OD Pavilion it is YOUR loss if you don't introduce yourself and sit down to hear a story or two.  You're missing out on why you are REALLY here!

 

 

I never visited Billy at the nursing home in Conway that he didn't either have on his purty shoes or have them conveniently by his feet.  Didn't find him in old boring PJs...last time I saw him he had on his bermudas and a tee shirt proudly stating "I've Survived Damn Near Everything".  No bedroom slippers for Billy...He was dressed to impress and hoping for a reprieve to get outta there.  On my last visit he told me he wouldn't be leaving.  He wouldn't look me in the eyes like he always had, with that dare to defy me strength.  He just sat quietly and let me talk, making a comment every now and then to let me know he wanted me to keep talking.  He was in a lot of pain...but he didn't mention it.  The phone rang several times and he would pull himself together and answer...once again I'd hear that strong, deep voice of his trying to let whoever was on the other end think that he was doing just fine.  On hanging up he'd go back to the frail, quiet man he had become.  My heart was just breaking.

 

 

Somehow I knew that I might not see him again.  All the way home visions of Billy flew through my mind.  Laughing...dancing...telling his stories.  He could tell a story and you would envision him in younger days and see the scoundrel he could be, the fun he had had, the gigs he had played, the people he had met.  When you looked up you'd feel like he was still that young, carefree man.  Billy had a knack for storytelling and unlike some you always wanted "more". 

 

I still want "more".  I hadn't scratched the surface of hearing what he had to say....and I know that he hadn't scratched the surface of telling me.

 

Billy Wingate - tennis player, jazz pianist, artist, poet, fas' dancer, sharp dresser, master storyteller.  I'll miss you, my friend!

 

Until we meet again, Sweet Bill....I'll just keep dancin'

 

 

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