Graham Reid: Billy was blue

Billy and I met while he was having his lunch. I joined him with the sandwiches and coffee. Billy didn't even glance at the view of Sydney Harbour and the Opera House outside. He had a house on New York's Long Island - in the Hamptons, I think - so I guess he was used to great vistas.

Billy wasn't exactly down on his luck - I think we could have described him as very well off - but things weren't going well.

For the second time he was involved in litigation to retrieve lost earnings, and both times the money had disappeared thanks to someone he had trusted and known for years.

He was also coming to terms with his divorce, which still troubled him.

He had married above his station, some might say. He had been a tough kinda guy - did some amateur boxing in the Bronx, even - but she was a model and very well known.

Their separation and divorce had played out across the media, and that's what troubled Billy.

Their daughter had to see the headlines in the scummy tabloids about her mother and her new partner every time he went to the supermarket.

As he spoke about this he was just another dad caring about his daughter's feelings, not the guy who had also commanded headlines.

He was also a bit sick of what he was doing - knocking himself out with work - and was considering giving it all up. But what to do? This was all he knew. Maybe some kind of teaching position to pass on what he'd learned? He didn't know.

We ate the sandwiches in silence for a while, then he perked up.

He was still the hard-edged pragmatist who had been knocked about on the tough streets of the Bronx, had made a half-hearted suicide attempt in his early 20s and been screwed around by lawyers and former friends, so he knew he could take all these blows.

Things would improve, it was just that right now ... "well, it gets you down, you know". I said I did, but I didn't. I'd never lost two fortunes and spent months with lawyers and in courtrooms, had my private life splattered across newspapers, or even gone through a career crisis.

We talked some more. He seemed in no rush to go anywhere, but a guy came up and said they needed him for something else. We shook hands and he disappeared off through the gleaming lobby of the fancy hotel.

Later that night I saw him again. He was laughing and at the top of his game. Thousands of people who didn't have a clue or care about his financial and personal problems bayed in appreciation.

From where I sat it looked like for those two hours he didn't care about them either. He was having fun.

I've never much liked his music but that night watching him put everything aside to do his job I came away with a great deal of respect for the piano man, Billy Joel.