Welcome Home

The marquee outside the Imperial Theatre in New York City had a message that stopped me in my tracks.

“Welcome Home.”

Three simple words. And by the end of the evening, I would understand just how powerful those words could be.

Tonight, Jules and I settled into Row T, seats 110 and 111, to watch my all-time favorite actor, Billy Crystal, perform his one-man show, 860.

Now, if you’ve been following Kiki’s tales from Suburbia for any length of time, you know that Billy Crystal and I go way back.

Well, technically, Billy doesn’t know that.

But we’ve had a relationship for decades. He just hasn’t been formally notified.

From his early days on Saturday Night Live to his unforgettable movies, his brilliant Oscar hosting gigs, and, of course, my beloved Fernando’s Hideaway, Billy has been making me laugh for most of my adult life.

And tonight? Tonight was different.

This wasn’t Billy Crystal the comedian, the actor, or the Hollywood legend.

This was Billy Crystal the husband. The father. The grandfather. The friend. And perhaps most poignantly, the little boy who never forgot where he came from.

The show’s title, 860, represents the house number of the Crystal family’s beloved home in Pacific Palisades, California. A home filled with decades of memories, laughter, celebrations, friendships, and the ordinary moments that eventually become the extraordinary fabric of our lives.

In January 2025, the devastating Palisades wildfires destroyed that home.

Gone.

In a matter of hours, a lifetime of possessions and treasured memories were reduced to ashes.

For 90 minutes, Jules and I had the extraordinary privilege of listening to Billy recount the events surrounding the fire while weaving together stories from his remarkable career.

And somehow, in true Billy Crystal fashion, he managed to take an audience from gut-wrenching sadness to hysterical laughter and back again.

I laughed. I cried. I laughed while crying.

Frankly, my tear ducts should have received their own billing in the Playbill.

But here’s what struck me most.

There I was, sitting mere feet away from someone who had entertained me for decades. Someone whose movies I’ve watched countless times. Someone whose characters and famous lines have become part of my everyday vocabulary.

And yet, the enormous theater somehow disappeared.

It felt as though Billy had pulled up a chair in my living room, poured himself a cup of coffee, and started telling Jules and me stories.

Just the three of us.

Okay, fine. There were several hundred other people in the room, but they were merely supporting cast members in my personal evening with Billy.

I listened, absolutely mesmerized, as he shared how Fernando came to life. How he worked with my idol, the incomparable Nora Ephron. How an unlikely and beautiful friendship developed between him and Muhammad Ali. How hosting the Academy Awards became another extraordinary chapter in his career.

These weren’t simply Hollywood stories.
They were pieces of his life.
Little windows into the experiences that shaped the man behind the laughter.

And then there were the moments when his voice cracked.

When he spoke about losing his dear friend Robin Williams, the pain was palpable. When he reflected on the loss of his best friend, Rob Reiner, the emotion in the room was almost tangible.

Suddenly, the man who had made millions of people laugh was standing before us simply being human.

Vulnerable. Heartbroken. Grateful.

And isn’t that something?

We spend so much time admiring people for what they accomplish that we sometimes forget they experience the very same things we do.

They love. They lose. They grieve. They remember.

And sometimes they stand in front of a theater full of strangers and allow themselves to be seen without the protective armor of fame.

That takes courage.

I kept thinking about the house at 860. About the photographs, the keepsakes, the scripts, the awards, the little treasures collected over a lifetime. Things that might mean absolutely nothing to someone else but represent an entire chapter of your existence.

I thought about my own home. The drawers filled with photographs. The things I’ve saved that my children will someday look at and wonder, “Why on earth did Mom keep THIS?”

Because, kids, there’s a story attached to it.

There’s always a story.

And that’s what Billy gave us tonight.

Not a performance about a house.

It was a love letter to his life.

A reminder that the walls of a home may hold our possessions, but the people inside those walls hold our hearts.

When the evening ended, I found myself looking at those words again.

Welcome Home.

At first, I thought they were simply welcoming Billy back to the New York stage.

But now I think they meant something much bigger.

Home isn’t always an address. Sometimes it’s a memory. A familiar voice. A person who makes you laugh when you desperately need it. A story that transports you back to a moment you thought you’d forgotten.

And sometimes, home is a theater in Manhattan, sitting beside your daughter, listening to a man you’ve admired for decades remind you that even when everything you own is gone, the stories remain.

Billy, thank you for opening your heart, sharing your memories, and reminding us that laughter and tears can occupy the very same seat.

As for me? I walked into that theater expecting an evening with a comedy legend.

I walked out feeling like I’d spent 90 minutes with an old friend.

And Billy, if you’re reading this, the invitation stands. Come on over. I’ll make the espresso. You bring the stories.

You look MAHVELOUS, dahling.

And tonight?

So did life.

— Kiki ❤️

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Author: KikiFikar

Kiki Fikar is a native New Yorker who is passionate about taking the day to day life we all experience and sharing it in her tales from Suburbia. She will often be found at the gym, writing snippets each day for future story lines, listening to her two children create their lives, and building the perfect beachfront home and writing retreat in her mind.

43 thoughts on “Welcome Home”

  2. Oh wow, the show sounds amazing Kiki. But better yet is your piece. Wow. “And somehow, in true Billy Crystal fashion, he managed to take an audience from gut-wrenching sadness to hysterical laughter and back again.” That’s what I love about great writing full of emotion— it drives us to tears and then back to laughter and back again. It gets us to take the next step and to build again. Thanks so much for sharing.

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  3. Twinnie 👏👏 I don’t know what I found more enjoyable, your amazing expository writing or your intimate evening with the one and only Billy C. Those times where the theatre vanishes… they’re rare, special, and only someone with Billy’s personality can do it. What a cool thing!

    Had to laugh about keeping junk. I’ve been on a tear with Operation Garage Cleanout… also holding junk the kids “might want someday.” Each kid was shown the stuff and 80-90% of it got a sniff and an “ehh.” 😂 I lugged the big garbage container in, and between it and Goodwill, I can now see the top of my workbench for the first time in years 😎🙏👌

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    1. You make me giggle (as usual). Thank you for this! Forgive me if we’ve discussed this but my next project is Swedish Death Cleaning. It’s a real thing. I swear!

      Yay on your clean out! 😊❤️

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  4. What an incredible evening. Thanks for sharing 😊I could feel Billy warmth through your words.

    You spotted it, sometimes home is simy where you feel you belong right in that moment .

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  9. i swear you mentioned it to me before but i didn’t recall that you liked Nora Ephron. you know, with all the leaves and stuff falling in Manhattan and the upcoming winter…it’s almost time for a When Harry Met Sally re-watch! 😀

    so glad you enjoyed the show. and yes, i can understand how seeing him was like coming home to a bygone age. but i reckon you’re still as much, if not more, of a firecracker now like you were back then and I’m glad to see/read it 🙂 have a great Saturday Kiki

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    1. Thank you so much my friend! Yes! I’m older but still the same for the most part. I adore Nora Ephron. The When Harry Met Sally script was perfection in my book. Billy featured his fave scene last night. I burst into tears because it was one of mine too. My daughter told me this morning that she loved watching me light up during the show. She knows that Billy Crystal is my favorite, but she had no idea as to how much until she saw my reaction last night!

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  10. These are the stories you tell your grandchildren—and your grandchildren’s children. Me? I tell mine to my dog Otis, and to my husband Steve when he’s listening.

    What an experience. I enjoyed every word, wholeheartedly.

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    1. Thank you so very much! I’m lucky to attend most shows with my daughter. She was a theatre kid and theatre minor in college. She knows Broadway inside and out so it’s a treat to listen to her knowledge of each theatre.

      Have the best week!

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  13. What a compelling story to anchor his new show around. Whether you’re a celebrity or an everyday person, a home is a home. And losing it is devastating. I’m not surprised he found a way to inject humour and levity into the show.

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  15. Beautiful recounting of a memorable night.

    Funny thing about childhood homes; it’s the one place we never stop dreaming about. Mine burned twenty years after I moved out and five years after my widowed father moved. Thankfully, it was salvageable. Rarely a year goes by that I don’t cruise past it.

    Incidentally, that’s a lovely picture of you and your daughter.

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