Billy Applegate is dying.  There's no getting around that.  There is no understanding why.  God kills moms and dogs everyday because he has to.  It is not for us to understand.  Such is the nature of faith.  I believe that there is a heaven and that Billy will be there soon.  I weep not for Billy, but for those of us whose lives will be robbed of a pure and singular, uninterrupted beauty.   A whale of a heart so strong and noble, its absence will leave us all without one very large touchstone with which to reach for in the night.  I prefer, however, not to think of Billy's death, but his life. 

I first became friends with Billy as fellow residents of what came to be called "The Compound".  It was the summer of '01 or '02… those years are pretty hazy.  The River Road Icehouse was just opening up and Ken Jenkines and Mel Polk allowed us to… well… I don't think they realized exactly what we were going to do, but they put up with us.  What we did was circle the wagons so to speak.  In this case, wagons were 4 RVs of various shapes and sizes grouped to form a square with a real live adult musician's playground at its heart.  A very musical place to be sure. 

I lived in the western most camper.  To the south, Grant Tracy, who you may know as the bass player for The Stragglers, lived in the "Aqua Penis". To the east was Doug Moreland who, of course, is the grand impresario of RVing and had the largest, fanciest, and most expensive camper.  And to the north lived one Billy Applegate… the ambassador of the compound.  Together we wrote songs, played music, hosted jams, and told so many jokes, lies, and stories, I can no longer distinguish one from the other… I doubt I ever could.  And we laughed… we laughed a lot. 

Moreland and Billy were buddies back in Levelland, played in a couple of bands together, and enjoyed much success as itinerant chainsaw artists.  Billy was carving out in east ..:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />Tennessee when Doug convinced him to move back to Texas as he felt we were all on to something; musically speaking.  Billy came on down, moved on in, and instantly became one of us. 

I remember one time Billy went back to Tennessee, and ran into some money trouble before he could get back.  The air fare was one price, the bus fare was another price… and the sort of purple Pontiac Bonneville was the cheapest of all.  Billy bought the car and to seal the deal, whatever sort of "Appalachian American" he was dealing with threw a case of moonshine in the trunk to seal the deal.  Billy shows up in New Braunfels with a new/old car and a case of shine…. and a smile of course… always a smile.  We woke up with headaches the rest of the summer. 

Being a touring musician at the time, I had my weekdays mostly off and have many fond memories of trading both songs and stories with Billy.  He was one hell of a conversationalist.  In fact, he knows more about Billy the Kid than maybe anyone in the world.  Many people did not know this, but Billy was just a few hours short of a Master's degree in history from Texas Tech.  The old west was his specialty and anyone who ever got to take advantage of the great wealth of knowledge he had to bestow was blessed.  I would be sitting there reading some Larry McMurtry book and he would just sit down beside me and start rattling on about who the characters were based on and and how and why and the actual history behind it all.  I learned a lot from the man and repeated a lot of this knowledge without giving him credit. 

Another area where Billy has not gotten enough credit is his songwriting.  Billy Applegate is a gifted lyricist with a profound country sensibility and a keen eye for the hook.  Anyone familiar with Doug Moreland or Kevin Fowler's catalog can be sure that Billy's influence is in there somewhere.  Billy was also a very prolific songwriter and will leave behind him stacks and stacks of songs.  If something is not done with these, it will surely be a travesty.  Billy had a deep, rich, baritone voice and had something bottomlessly sad in the delivery.  In a world of trite beer anthems, Billy Applegate was a sad, sad, country song. 

Most of all, Billy was a friend.  I dare you to find somebody with an ill word to say about the man.  I wrote of that heart earlier.  What a heart… what a huge, big, bear of a heart.  Billy was a demonstrative man.  He was a hugger, and a kisser, and a baby picker-upper.  He is that friend you have that after a few beers won't quit hugging you and telling you how much he loves you. I love you to Billy… I love you to. 

The Compound eventually met its demise… nothing gold can stay, Ponyboy, nothing gold can stay…   but Billy and I were to be neighbors once again.  Roommates this time actually.  When Marci and I separated I had no where to go, so I started bunking with Billy at Mel's hotel.  I was not a good roommate.  I was a depressed, deflated, completely destroyed, emotional wreck.   I would have driven most people completely insane inside of 2 hours.  I stayed in that room with Billy for 2 months.  That's when I truly discovered how much wisdom was in that big heart.

Being the veteran of 3 divorces, Billy had more insight, advice, council, encouragement, and genuine old fashioned brotherly love to give than I could ever ask for or even deserve.  God put Billy in my path.  Billy, for what seemed like a long, dismal, time, was my angel.  A big, burly, hairy, old, scruffy, west Texas cowboy looking angel, but an angel all the same.  I would be laying there on my bed just staring at the ceiling feeling sorry for myself and in would come Billy.  Invariably, he would have a sonic cheeseburger and a foot-long coney… that or fried chicken.  He would get us a couple beers from the little dorm fridge we had in there and just start talking.  Telling stories about what all he had gone through.  Talk about feeling humbled… I felt like a pussy.  His stories are his business, but I can tell you that the man has seen his share of heartache.  And he knew exactly how to be there for me. 

He started having headaches.  That was the start of it.  Migraines he thought.  Billy is a tough old goat and like most of his kind did not favor doctors.  Finally the completely debilitating pain drove him to make an appointment and that is when the word cancer was first spoken.  I saw Billy the next day and he was joking and jocular about the whole ordeal; trying to put everyone else at ease.  "Oh I don't know" he said, "First they're going to open up my head and check and see if I have a brain first, then maybe if I do, they'll look for the brain cancer".  Funny. 

I don't see how writing of the details of his decline serve Billy or his memory so I'll just say that once it started, it came on fast.  He eventually just grew weaker and more tired. He could be found most mornings in the lobby of the Gruene Outpost River Lodge drinking coffee.  We went to breakfast a couple of times.  He talked about finishing his Master's degree; maybe teach junior college history somewhere.  Always smiling.  Always joking.  Always trying to make me feel better. 

I don't want to start thinking about all the things I should have done for this good man.  My soul is wounded with his loss.  Anyone who ever knew Billy Applegate can attest to the sincerity, integrity, and virtue of his character.  I am proud to count him among my friends.  I'm gonna miss you Billy… I'm gonna miss you a lot.  Love ya man…