Posted by When I look back at the rock posters that once covered my bedroom walls, I’m amazed it took me so long to discover a passion for preserving the stories behind the music.
Like so many kids growing up, my walls were filled with larger-than-life heroes—Ann and Nancy Wilson, Randy Rhoads, Kevin DuBrow, Eddie Van Halen, KISS, and, of course, the bearded blues-rock legends of ZZ Top. I never imagined that one day I’d have the opportunity to meet so many of the musicians who inspired me. Sadly, some passed away before that opportunity ever presented itself.
Fortunately, one of those heroes was Billy Gibbons, and over the years I had the pleasure of crossing paths with him on more than one occasion.
The first meeting taught me a valuable lesson.
Walking backstage before a performance, I noticed Dusty Hill sitting quietly by himself. I smiled, said hello, and continued walking.
Nothing.
No smile.
No acknowledgment.
I’ll admit, I thought the response was a little unfriendly.
A short time later I mentioned the encounter to Billy.
He couldn’t help but laugh.
With that unmistakable Texas drawl, he smiled and said,
“That boy’s deaf… don’t take it personal.”
We both laughed, and suddenly what I had mistaken for indifference made perfect sense.
That brief exchange reminded me how easy it is to misread someone when you don’t know the circumstances.
The second encounter took place at Seneca Allegany Resort & Casino.
The tour manager asked if I would accompany her to Billy’s hotel suite to escort him to the Event Center. Naturally, I was happy to help.
As we walked through the hotel, she shared something I’d never expected to hear.
No matter how luxurious the accommodations were, Billy preferred sleeping on the floor in a simple bedroll at the foot of the bed.
When we reached his suite, she asked me to wait at the door while she retrieved him.
A moment later, Billy stepped into the hallway carrying a cellophane-wrapped plate with half of a tuna fish sandwich.
As we made our way back toward the venue, he enthusiastically declared it to be one of the best tuna fish sandwiches he’d ever eaten.
Trailing just a step behind him, I couldn’t resist.
I leaned forward and said,
“Billy… you need to get out more.”
He slowed ever so slightly, glanced back over his shoulder with that unmistakable grin, and answered in the only way Billy Gibbons possibly could—
“A-haw, haw, haw, haw…”
If you’ve ever heard “La Grange,” you can probably hear it perfectly in your head.
That moment still makes me smile.
After decades of watching Billy Gibbons command stages around the world with his unmistakable guitar tone, signature beard, and larger-than-life persona, what I remember most isn’t the concert.
It’s a quiet walk through a casino hallway, a conversation about a tuna sandwich, and a laugh that sounded exactly like the records I grew up listening to.
Sometimes, the moments that stay with us aren’t the ones under the stage lights.
They’re the ones that happen beyond the spotlight.
Long Island Sounds 