A Sad Day for Parrotheads

(The Life and Music of Jimmy Buffett)

One of my favorite musicians and long-time icons, singer-songwriter Jimmy Buffett, passed away a few days ago on September 1.  From the first time I heard his songs in the mid-1970s, Jimmy has had a big impact on my life.  Over the years, his music carried me, both figuratively and literally, to places and lifestyles I didn't know existed. 

If you've been reading my website, you know that music has always been a big part of my life.  Wherever I am and whatever I'm doing, I'm almost always listening to music.  Other people have spouses and children, and that's fine for them.  But my constant companion in life has been music, and Jimmy's songs were (and are) always near the top of my playlist.  For many decades, his laid-back Caribbean-themed tunes sent me and millions of his fans to tropical places we wanted to be, living lifestyles we wished we had.  Jimmy's songs provided us with a brief but often-needed respite from the hassles and stress of everyday life.  In his honor, therefore, I decided to post this story to describe Jimmy Buffett and how he influenced my life.

	Above:  Jimmy Buffett entertaining his Parrotheads.

It's ironic that Jimmy was so important to me because I never met him or even saw him in person.  I'm sad to say that I never attended one of his crazy-yet-delightful concerts, so I guess I’m just a “closet Parrothead."  That’s a reference, of course, to his legions of faithful fans who dressed up in wacky tropical outfits and attended his concerts while proudly calling themselves Parrotheads, a takeoff on the Grateful Dead’s fans, known as Deadheads.

The closest I ever came to Jimmy Buffett was standing in line at a Tower Records store (look it up, Gen Z-ers) in 1993 to buy a ticket to his upcoming concert in Portland.  But at the last minute I decided to instead spend that $50 on his four-CD boxed set called “Boats, Beaches, Bars & Ballads," an apt title that summarized his life.  Sure, I wish I’d gone to the concert back then, but I’m glad I bought the CDs because I’ve listened to those 72 songs numerous times over the last 30 years, including last week – and right now as I’m writing this (and most likely again next week).  And I’m sure I’ll still be listening to those songs when I’m old and gray.  That's next month.

Jimmy's Life

Jimmy Buffett, the real-life son of a son of a sailor (like his song), was born on Christmas Day in 1946 and grew up in Mobile, Alabama.  He started busking on the streets of New Orleans in the late 1960s while he was in college.  The New Orleans thing didn’t work out though, so he – now newly married – moved to Nashville in 1970 and tried his hand at writing songs for country singers.  That didn’t work out either, but he met country music legend Jerry Jeff Walker (“Mr. Bojangles”) there and they became fast friends. 

	Above:  My first visit to Key West was in 1964, seven years before Jimmy arrived.  It was a sleepy little town back then and so different than today.  I'm on the right with my mom and brother.  Apparently I was impatient to board the Conch Train.  I'm still that way when it comes to Conch Trains.

Jerry had a house in Miami, Florida, and in 1971 he invited Jimmy down to stay with him.  Jerry even lined up a gig for Jimmy to play at a club in Miami.  The gig didn't start for a few weeks, though, so one afternoon they hopped in Jerry's 1947 Packard and drove down through the Florida Keys, stopping at the end of Highway 1 in a sleepy town called Key West.  Jerry introduced Jimmy to this tropical paradise (which it was back then, though sadly no longer) and Jimmy was hooked. 

Jimmy instantly fell in love with the tropical vibe of the place and decided to make Key West his home.  Sadly, his marriage was falling apart around then, but shortly after his divorce a while later, he met a young woman at a bar there where he'd been singing for drinks. 

He made a few albums in the early 1970s but they didn’t take off, so with his career going nowhere he decided to travel around the country a bit, singing in bars and small venues to pay the bills.  He was performing some gigs near San Francisco in 1974, despondent over his floundering career and personal life, even considering suicide, when he wrote a song called “Come Monday” about the woman he’d met in Key West (and whom he'd later marry).

"Come Monday" became his first hit, then he followed it up in 1977 with his breakthrough and career-defining song “Margaritaville” (which he wrote in less than 10 minutes), an upbeat tune about an American in the Caribbean reflecting on a failed relationship.  He released that song on his album "Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes," which also had several smaller hits.  With the success of the song and album, Jimmy realized that he’d tapped into something big:  people wanting to escape their mundane lives and, through his music, vicariously travel to the tropics to lay on sunny beaches or sail in the warm breezes while sipping rum drinks (or margaritas) – even if just for a while.

	Above:  My third visit to Key West was in 1987 after I moved to Florida.  I think everyone should visit Key West at least once in their lives.

But there was nothing phony or contrived about Jimmy's music because he simply sang about the people and places he knew.  That included "The Wino and I Know," written about his busking days in New Orleans; "The Captain and the Kid" which was about his beloved grandfather who had been a sailor; and "A Pirate Looks at 40," which he wrote about a drug smuggler he knew in Key West.

He released several less-successful albums over the following years, including "Son of a Son of a Sailor" in 1978, and by the early 1980s his career was starting to wane.  However, in 1985 he copyrighted the term “Margaritaville” and turned it into a franchise of related businesses, including bars, restaurants and gift shops.  He marketed his Margaritaville theme, his songs, and the escapism to a growing legion of fans who thronged to his concerts, and over the next few decades he became one of the most popular touring artists in the nation.  And all of it was based essentially on just one hit song, something that astonished even himself.

Along with being a smart businessman – he was worth over $1 billion when he died, making him one of the richest singers in the world – Jimmy was also an incredibly gifted songwriter who enjoyed tweaking his lyrics with clever wordplay, such as “The weather is here, I wish you were beautiful.”  His bouncy tunes and catchy lyrics brought joy to countless fans, including me.  

That’s the word I use to describe Jimmy’s music:  joyful.  He was a decent and humble person and, given his easygoing manner, was someone I could've easily become friends with.  That's probably how all of Jimmy's fans felt about him, which reflected the one-on-one connections he'd made with millions like me who'd never met him.  We all felt like he was our good friend.

When I read about Jimmy's passing (of skin cancer) a few days ago, strangely I wasn't saddened.  Instead, all I could do was smile with gratitude because he'd brought so much joy to so many people.  Through his wonderful music and the laid-back Caribbean lifestyle he dangled so tantalizingly in front of us, Jimmy had made the challenges we face each day easier to handle.  If life becomes too difficult, heck, I can always do what Jimmy did and head to the tropics – at least in my mind.

My Life with Jimmy

I instantly liked “Margaritaville” when I first heard it on the radio in 1977 and I've never tired of it, despite having listened to the song hundreds (or perhaps even thousands) of times.  But I didn’t become a diehard Jimmy Buffett fan until a year later, in 1978.  I was in college then and one evening I visited a friend, Troy, at his house in San Jose.  Troy played a raucous live album by Jimmy called “You Had to Be There” and I was hooked.  I recorded it on cassette tape and listened to that tape many times over the next few years.  I even got my then-girlfriend Katy hooked on Jimmy’s music.  She had never heard of him but I played that album for two days while driving up the Oregon coast with her.

Most people could never pursue the "life's a beach" lifestyle Jimmy championed in his songs, but for several months I actually did.  After graduating from grad school in 1986, I decided to follow in his footsteps. 

I'd been working as a BLM ranger in Colorado during the summers and falls, and now graduated, I didn't have much to do that winter.  So in January 1987, I packed up my truck in Oregon and drove clear across the country to Florida.  I didn't know anyone in Florida, I didn't have a job or a place to live there, and I certainly didn't have much money.  All I knew is that I wanted to be near a beach and live like Jimmy Buffett because it looked like fun.  Throughout my life I've basically always done just two things:  work hard and do what I want to do, and somehow it's always worked out for me.

	Above:  Anna Maria Island in Bradenton, Florida, my hangout back in 1987.  I spent many afternoons here being one of those little specks

After reaching Florida in the winter of 1987, I spent a couple weeks driving around the state looking for a nice place to live while sleeping in the back of my pickup truck or in a cheap motel room each night.  Jeez, I still remember those sketchy places.  But I finally found a wonderful town, Bradenton, a gorgeous city on the Gulf Coast south of Tampa.  I immediately fell in love with Bradenton, just like Jimmy had instantly fallen in love with Key West 16 years earlier. 

I got a small apartment there (for $365 a month – I still remember the rent) and a few weeks later I landed a job at the Bradenton Herald newspaper, working swing shift and creating advertisements with a fun crew.  Each morning I'd sleep in and have breakfast, then I'd drive down to nearby Anna Maria Island in the late morning and lay on the beach for a few hours.  Then I'd put on my dress shirt and drive over to the Herald, where I worked until midnight.  I was having a blast and living just like Jimmy.  Well, sort of.

It was a great lifestyle, but after a few months I got tired of the Florida heat and humidity, so I quit my job and packed up once again and headed to Colorado to work another summer as a ranger.  For a few months, though, I lived Jimmy's lifestyle.  Over 35 years later, I still think back occasionally on my crazy-but-wonderful Florida adventure with great fondness.  And it was mostly thanks to Jimmy Buffett.

	Above:  Caye Caulker in Belize in 2008, a real-life Margaritaville

For the next many years I continued enjoying his laid-back music about places I knew I'd probably never visit.  But in 2008 I traveled to Belize in Central America to do volunteer construction work for a non-profit.  At the end of a long and tiring week of working on elementary schools in the mountain villages of Belize, I headed down to the Caribbean to relax and I stumbled across a mellow tropical island there called Caye Caulker.

I walked down the sandy streets while enjoying the aroma of chicken being barbequed on the open grills.  As I watched folks sip drinks under the palm trees that swayed in the tropical breezes, I realized that I’d found my own Margaritaville.  I visited Caye (pronounced "Key") Caulker several more times during the next few years and hope to go back there again someday.  It's a small slice of tropical heaven that I know Jimmy would've enjoyed, perhaps even more than some of the places he sang about.

Thanks for your wonderful songs, Jimmy, and for all the joy you brought to your many fans.  Your music will always be a part of me.