It has taken me a while to be able to write this. There is so much to say. I don’t want to wear you out, dear and faithful reader, but here goes:
On September 1st the announcement was made that Jimmy Buffett had died – peacefully and surrounded by family.
It came as quite a blow.
Not completely unexpected (more about that in a moment), but unwelcome news nonetheless.
I became a Jimmy Buffett fan (aka Parrothead) in the mid-1990’s. The teenage daughter of my secretary came bopping into the office one day singing,
“Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa, Mea Maxima Culpa”.
We weren’t Catholic, so I wanted to know what that was about.
She said it was a song.
Again, not Catholic…
I tracked it down to Jimmy Buffett’s newly released “Fruitcakes” album.
I fell in love with the music. It was fun. It was laid back.
Where others might have chosen the title track as their favorite, songs like “Lone Palm” and “Delaney Talks to Statues” and “Love in the Library” captured my imagination.
As luck would have it, the Fruitcakes Tour came to town and we went.
The show began with Buffett and the Coral Reefers dancing a Conga Line through the crowd, blowing whistles and beating drums, wearing colorful costumes made of that foam stuff we use for crafts at Vacation Bible School.
The stage decorations were equally simple.
I loved every minute of it! I even bought the t-shirt.
Needless to say, I bought many more t-shirts, and almost every other album Buffett produced. I found “Margaritaville” and “Cheeseburgers in Paradise” restaurants to eat at wherever we traveled. I bought and read all the books he wrote. We attended as many concerts as possible. We stayed at Margaritaville hotels whenever we wanted to splurge.
One concert we attended was on May 1, 2010, the night Nashville flooded. Fortunately, the brunt of the storm came after the concert, but we ended up having to stay in Nashville an extra day because all the roads to home were flooded.
Buffett was kind enough to schedule another concert there the next year, for which we returned!
Later on, their concerts were broadcast online, so instead of traveling I simply plugged my laptop into my big-screen TV. Almost like being there!
Another concert we attended was in Anaheim, California. Because we were late getting tickets we had to sit high up behind the stage. But we were there.
Along with the woman smoking a cigarette a few rows in front of us.
Indoors.
In Southern California.
Another concert-goer got irritated by the smoke and threw her beer “toward” the lit cigarette, hoping to extinguish it. It doused the smoker instead and a fight broke out.
Right there in front of us.
At a Jimmy Buffett concert!
And then there was the drunk guy behind us shouting “Play Son of a son of a son of a… Whoohoo!”
And how could I forget the teenagers having sex in a stall in the men’s room while their friends guarded the door!
In 2014 Buffett broadcast a concert from a Drive-In Theater in Texas, beaming it out to Drive-In Theaters across the country. It was a novel concept, but not as fun as being in a crowded auditorium filled with Parrotheads. But we were there.
In 2019 Buffett’s Broadway musical “Escape to Margaritaville” came to town. We were there.
And I must admit, it was a huge disappointment. I had read Herman Wouk’s book “Don’t Stop the Carnival”. This was not that.
After attending all these concerts and other shows, I did begin to notice a pattern. There were ten songs he felt obligated to perform at every concert: “Margaritaville” was a must; “He Went to Paris” was another. At most concerts he performed about 16 songs, one usually a cover of local artists like Neil Diamond or the Grateful Dead. That didn’t leave a lot of room for new material. But the concerts were fun if for no other reason than being a massive Sing-A-Long!
About five years ago I wrote a blog about Jimmy Buffett and the Coral Reefers, noting how they were all growing older. Buffett was in his 70s and most of the band were also approaching their golden years. And the flocks of Parrotheads (myself included) were likewise showing grey feathers. I knew the party couldn’t last much longer. But Jimmy Buffett and the Coral Reefers continued to tour, “Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays”.
Then a few years ago I noticed Jimmy Buffett actually started to look old. He grew a mustache and goatee, which made him look even older. I became concerned.
I also became suspicious when his daughter, Delaney, began recording interview videos with him in their home studio, asking him to reminisce about some of his more famous songs, how he got the ideas for them; then he played them for her on his acoustic guitar.
In September 2022 Buffett canceled three shows because of unstated health reasons.
In May of 2023 he canceled another tour, again due to “undisclosed medical reasons that needed immediate attention”.
The Coconut Telegraph fell silent.
Promotional shots on social media showed him fishing and surfing, but without commentary.
Then in late August I saw two posts on Facebook from country music stars. The performers covered Buffett songs, sending them to him “to encourage his recovery”.
That sounded ominous, but still nothing was said.
When I awoke on the morning of September 2nd, I opened my Facebook page first thing, as I usually do. The first post I saw was from Captain Whitebeard announcing Buffett’s passing.
I cried.
I felt silly for crying over the death of a celebrity – one I did not know personally.
But then again, I felt – through his music and public life – that I did know him personally. At least, I knew about him personally.
I knew the names of his wife and kids.
I knew his parents had wanted him to attend the Naval Academy or become a Jesuit priest.
I knew he got his first recording contract after Jim Croce died. Buffett assumed the recording company could only have one “long-haired, pot-smoking, guitar player” on their label.
I knew Margaritaville only reached #8 on the Billboard charts, but it launched his career into orbit.
I knew he sailed ships and flew airplanes/seaplanes; on one flight to Jamaica, authorities shot at his plane because they thought he was a drug runner; another time a rogue wave caused his seaplane to flip while trying to take off – Navy survival training saved him that day.
I knew he gave up the drugs and party lifestyle he sang about so convincingly and became a serious businessman, crossing over the $1 billion net worth mark shortly before his death. With the help of a business partner he turned the Margaritaville brand into an international phenomenon, covering everything from tequila to frozen food to restaurants to hotels to his latest venture – a retirement community in Orlando!
I mean, those aging Parrotheads have to live somewhere, right?
In 2006 Buffett gave up a lucrative concessions contract with Corona Beer in order to launch his own label, “Landshark Lager”, brewed by Anheuser-Busch.
There’s even a Margaritaville cannabis on the market now, thanks to a licensing agreement with the Wrigley Company!
Jimmy Buffett was anything but a slacker. This former altar boy worked harder than most in an ongoing effort to convey permission to his fans to occasionally shake off the rules and embrace a laid-back island escapism.
It worked.
I will miss my friend Jimmy. But he lives on through his music.
The soundtrack of my life.
