The legend of Backdoor Billy

In the true tradition of folk hero’s Backdoor Billy deserves to stand alongside legends such as The Scarlet Pimpernel, Dick Turpin and Casanova. His escapades are second to none and it’s only through the telling of his adventures shall he take his rightful place amongst the worlds most infamous characters. It was his nocturnal exploits that first brought Billy to prominence and made him a household name in the City of Churches. His reputation spread like syphilis through a brothel and soon he became the centre of attention in more ways than one. The strange thing is Billy is not your average folk hero, he isn’t tall or indeed good looking by any stretch of the imagination in fact he is rather on the short side, no more than 5’5” on tip toes and rather puny. A mass of grey hair like snow on a mountain adorns this rather drawn and wrinkled man who looks every bit of his 50+ years (no-one actually knows his real age). So what is it about this migrant from the emerald isle that makes people adore or intensely hate him with such vigour that he is the topic of everyone’s dinner table conversations within a hundred miles? True he has all the charm that you associate with the Irish and he has obviously been blessed with the sweet melodic tones of the blarney and in true Gaelic tradition could charm the birds from the trees. So how and what has occurred to turn this leprechaun replica into South Australia’s most revered resident and place him deep in local folk lore? After all South Australia has a rather tainted reputation and in no way would a lack of dinner table conversation be an issue, sadly over the years South Australian dinner debates had been fuelled by such cases as the missing Beaumont children, Truro and more recently the Snowtown murders. Although Billy’s misgivings were not as traumatic as those senseless serial killings it still resonated with the local population, sure it never ended with the loss of life but it did reach deep into the psyche of many members of the Adelaide community. After all juicy gossip is fascinating as long as it’s about someone else, we all crave titilation and can’t resist hearing about other peoples misfortunes. Backdoor Billy’s story did change the lives of so many, a story that leaves in its wake broken homes, wrecked marriages and shattered reputations. Amazingly in the aftermath and through the ashes of this disaster a legend was created and this story is about one such hero, a true enigma and a man that the ‘bastards’ of the world admire and look up to, a true ‘Son of a Bitch’ a man that makes mother nature nervous and yes a man that would shag the ‘crack of dawn’ if he had half a chance. I first met Billy by accident in the summer of 98 on a rather barmy Friday evening after finally leaving my office and the worries of work behind me. I had been strolling along the banks of the River Torrens heading north towards my apartment were I found myself preoccupied watching the Swans as they settled gracefully on the glistening water and thinking how lucky I was to be living in such a beautiful City. As I looked back over my shoulder I could see the City of Adelaide bathed in the early evening haze and the lights of the famous Adelaide Cricket Oval which I thought were quite impressive stretching skyward like four fingers pointing to the heavens as if giving the bird to the city that surrounds them, could they be making a statement to all the doubters I thought to myself especially after all the controversy they caused when being erected and how people were up in arms saying they would ruin the skyline of the city, maybe this was the cricket Gods way of having the last laugh? As I continued my walk towards my apartment on this perfect evening I approached the gates of the Zoo and that’s when I first set eyes on Billy, there he was larger than life trying to wave down a taxi without success. He was obviously agitated and as I neared I could hear him talking to himself “Wankers” he muttered as our paths crossed and another taxi ignored his pleas, “beautiful evening” I said as I acknowledged him with a nod not wanting to agitate him further. “Taxi drivers, they are all Wankers” he responded angrily “should be bloody shot the lot of them,” I just gave a wry smile as if to confirm in the positive and continued on with my journey leaving him in my wake still shouting abuse to no-one in particular and as I turned the corner to cross the university playing fields making my way to the pub his rantings faded into the distance and all was peaceful once more. A nice cold beer was my reward for walking home from my office in the city and was my way of thanking myself from making the wise decision not to take the bus, after all I definitely could do with the exercise and to be honest it took away the guilt of enjoying a few cold refreshing beverages, and with that thought in my head I swiftly ordered another pint of nectar after the first one had disappeared down my throat without touching the sides. No sooner had I taken a sip of my second pint when in through the door walked my outraged Gaelic acquaintance I had met earlier looking totally bedraggled, dripping in sweat and I swear his red face looked as if it was ready to explode, “Fucking Taxi drivers” he yelled in a thick northern Irish accent as he made his way to the bar. Apparently as I found out later he had left the Irish club in the city a little worse for wear and tried to flag down a Taxi but none would stop and pick him up due to his rather unsteady and wavering gait believing he was drunk, which in all honesty was blatantly clear. So I decided to offer to buy him a drink and sat him down before any of the bar staff could see what condition he was in and once settled I introduced myself and it was then that I learned his name, “Billy” he said offering his hand for me to shake “nice to meet you mate” he continued while apologising for his behaviour, he then began to off load the details of his experience to me. To be honest he was more angry than drunk as the long walk from the club had sobered him up slightly, and he was just thankful he had someone he could whinge to about his ordeal. We chatted for ages discussing a myriad of topics from football to whether Australia should become a republic but there was one topic we kept reverting back to or should I be more precise a topic he kept wanting to revisit. With the enthusiasm of a pubescent teenager his eyes lit up with the mention of women and sex in particular, he seemed a little obsessed as he constantly glanced around the room while displaying a rather unhealthy interest in his sexual fantasies about what he would like to do with the women who were in the pub. “I’d like to give her one” he whispered to me gesturing towards a rather pretty but extremely young lady sitting alone reading a magazine which made me feel very uncomfortable so I decided it was time to offer my excuses, shake his hand and explain unfortunately I had to leave and hopefully we will catch up again sometime, what a strange man I thought to myself as I made my way home leaving him to scrutinise the female clientele and ponder over his devious thoughts. The following Friday I again called in to my local pub for a serving of my usual liquid refreshment following a hard week at the office, and as it was the end of the month and there had been the dreaded end of month meeting to sit through my throat now needed clearing of all the bull dust it had swallowed. So while being served by my favourite barmaid Sophie who began her usual exchange of professional pleasantries as she skilfully deposited the perfect head to the top of my delightfully chilled beer. “How has your day been” she enquired as I emptied half that delicious beverage down my throat, licking my lips before responding with “you don’t want to know” and continued to drain the rest of the glass “another” she asked with a wry smile and without waiting for an answer proceeded to skilfully fill another perfect pint of amber fluid and resting it on a beermat in front of my approving eyes. Sophie has all the skills needed to be employed in the hospitality industry, she always has a welcome smile on her face, will acknowledge you with a glance even when serving another customer and will always try to engage in conversation no matter how brief whether she is interested in your topic or not, she is the epitome of a good customer service. She is amazingly mature for someone so young and couldn’t be more than 25 years old, a very pretty young lady slim with jet black shoulder length hair who portrays a zest for life. I admire her tenacity and professionalism and I have to admit she does brighten up what can only be described as a dull and boring day, when suddenly and discreetly she leaned across the bar and quietly whispered “who was that Irish chap you were in here with last week?“ Explaining that I had just made his acquaintance that afternoon and all I knew about him was his name, well, that dirty bugger made a pass at me she informed me and he’s old enough to be my Dad, no Grandad she continued and I had to call the night manager after he moved on to pester other ladies who were in the bar and eventually he was asked to leave and escorted off the premises before any serious trouble began when one of the ladies boyfriends came back from the toilet to witness him slouching across the table trying to chat her up whispering in her ear with one arm draped across her shoulder and as you can imagine he was understandably upset and looked like he was about to knock the living shit out of him. What could I say apart from how sorry I was that he harassed you and caused such chaos, but please understand he is not a friend of mine and now I’m intrigued to discover more about this Irish Casanova and I think I know were to start my search? I recall the first time I met Billy when he told me he had been trying to hail a cab from the Irish club and how they refused to pick him up because he had been slightly worse for wear after his usual Friday afternoon session. So with this in mind I decided if I was going to uncover what makes this emerald green Romeo tick then the best place to start would have to be the Irish club in the city. I decided I would visit the club next Friday after work and hopefully run into him there or at the very least speak to someone who can fill me in on what drives his obvious over reactive and chaotic libido. Was it just a one off occurrence at my local brought on by alcohol or was he a serial womaniser, these questions intrigued me and I was now obsessed with knowing the answer. So the following Friday I finished work early hoping to extend my weekend if only by a few hours, after all any extension to the weekend is a welcome one and precisely at 12 noon I left my office and headed towards Victoria Square and proceeded to head down Carrington Street in search of my destination which I found without hesitation as the clubs orange, white and green flag fluttered and waved as if beckoning all to it’s door. Once inside I headed to the bar, ordered a pint of Guinness and while I waited for my glass to settle with it’s half filled black gold I casually asked the barman if he knew of a chap called Billy, I knew it was a long shot and he looked a little puzzled as he continued to pour the remainder of my beer and while he expertly drew a harp with the nozzle of the tap into it's creamy white head he looked up at me and said do you mean backdoor Billy? As I explained that I didn’t know his full name I proceeded to described what he looked like and about how old I thought he was and how I first met him “Oh that’s backdoor Billy all right, the dirty little bugger is notorious around here, there are some folk that would swing for him” he told me before moving along to serve another customer. I took my pint and made my way to a vacant table to sit and ponder over what the barman had just said and also to finally wrap my lips around this majestic pint of pure black smooth Irish gold. As I neared the bottom of my glass with the thought of a refill in mind and before I could raise myself from my chair a rather large middle aged gentleman sat himself down opposite to me and stretched out his hand for me to shake, he introduced himself as Michael “but everyone calls me Mick” he continued “I believe you have been asking after backdoor Billy” he said with a stern look on his face “you a friend of his” he enquired and after explaining my story yet again he accepted my reasons for being there, he then began to pour his heart out to me as if he was at church in the confessional box and talking to his priest, he went on to explain that Billy had ruined his marriage which caused him considerable ongoing health problems. “That little shit totally messed up my life”. He went on to explain that he is a shift worker at Holdens Elizabeth plant and apparently the little Irish Casanova would lay in wait as he left the house to head to work Billy would nip round to the back door and let himself in, he later found out that this had been going on for years and he was not only having an affair with Mick’s wife but he found out later she was just one of many, the exact number is still not know to this day but those of which came to light were all wives of Holden workers and all with the same MO, hubby leaves through front door to go on night shift and Billy enters via the backdoor. The rumours that circulated throughout the factory were there was more than twenty but nobody really knows the true extent of this nocturnal philanderer and how much damage he has caused to families of so many, but it seems everyone who works at Holdens Elizabeth knows someone who’s wife or partner has been or still is being seduced by this Gaelic Casanova. Mick eventually finished his beer after pouring out his deepest dark secrets and left me alone to try and make sense of what I had just heard, surely if everyone knows who Backdoor Billy is and the damage he has caused amongst the workers of Holdens then why hasn’t someone done something about it? After all I found it easy to locate him and if it was my wife he was servicing behind my back I would lay in wait and break his fucking legs. While in deep thought and now well into my third pint I couldn't believe my eyes for who came walking in and up to the bar was the man himself, Backdoor Billy and as he glanced around the room while ordering a pint he spotted me “I’ll be right over” he said and sure enough within a couple of minutes he was over to my table with a pint in hand and declaring “good to see you again, cheers” while proceeding to sit himself down next to me. I explained to him that as I left work early I decided I would visit the Irish club after hearing the stories you told me about how good it is and hopefully catch up with you as you did say you always called in every Friday. We continued to swap small talk between us before I picked up the courage to bring up my earlier conversation with Mick and the shock I felt from what he had told me and as I went on to explain the real reason why I was visiting the club, he just sat there rubbing his hand up and down the outside of his glass while staring down deep into his beer like a naughty boy who was being told off by his mother as I passed on what Sophie had told me. He just sat there for a few minutes in silence obviously reflecting on what I had just told him when he raised his head, looked me straight in the eye and said “yes I have a high libido, yes I’ve slept with hundreds of women and yes I made them all happy”. He continued on to tell me and how the word had gotten around between all these frustrated ladies who’s partners were not satisfying them and that he was willing to service them on a needs basis and as his employment with Holdens was a 9 to 5 office job which therefore allowed him plenty of scope for fulfilling his nocturnal duties. He went on to say he has no regrets and he is still visiting his liaisons via the backdoor of the nightshift workers of Holdens and will continue to do so while there is a need. I've never been approached by anyone to stop, no husband or partner has ever confronted me and I still get propositioned every day by new, lets call them clients. Yes I have made mistakes he continued and yes he regrets upsetting the regulars of my local pub but his last words to me before he finished his pint and disappeared out of the club were “don’t blame me for ruining peoples lives, I'm not the problem just think of me as a tradesman someone who is there only to service a need, remember if there is wasn't a need then there would be no service” and with that he was gone. I never saw him again after that afternoon and in hindsight and the passing of time I grew to actually like him and never again thought of him as a womaniser of philanderer, to me he will always be remembered as a bloody good tradesman and we all know how hard they are to find.