Column: ‘The Fantastic Trip’ that was Jimmy Buffett
For the first half of this month, I found myself immersed in all things Jimmy Buffett (JB).
That tends to happen to fans when a favorite entertainer representing a big chunk of time in their lives passes away.
Sigh.
The amount of media reaction since JB’s death on Sept. 1 has been incredible. Countless major magazines and newspapers published heartfelt tributes about our favorite beach-bum-balladeer-of-Margaritaville-turned-mayor-of-Margaritaville-turned-billionaire-mogul-of-Margaritaville.
JB actually made the cover of People (I Don’t Know) magazine a few days after dying. I’m guessing it was the first time that his face graced its cover during his 50-some-year career. Why he never appeared on the cover when alive is beyond me. For once, though, I actually recognized a name and face on the magazine’s cover. At some point, pop culture passed me by—say around the start of this century.
There’s JB on the cover smiling that sunny smile of his, in memoriam. It’s the first People issue that I didn’t drop, unread, into the recycling bin. Still, I prefer JB’s smiling face in all its mustachioed glory on the cover of the Oct. 4, 1979, Rolling Stone. He was alive then. His album, Volcano, was about to erupt.
His wife, Jane, released a public statement referencing his smile: “Thank you for creating the world’s most joyful community. The smile that Jimmy beamed at you from the stage was sparked by your spirit. I think that’s why he loved performing so much . . . He was so grateful to the community you built around him.”
The President wrote glowingly of JB: “A poet of paradise, Jimmy Buffett was an American music icon who inspired generations to step back and find the joy in life and in one another.
His witty, wistful songs celebrate a uniquely American cast of characters and seaside folkways, weaving together an unforgettable musical mix of country, folk, rock, pop, and calypso into something uniquely his own . . . Jimmy reminded us how much the simple things in life matter – the people we love, the places we’re from, the hopes we have on the horizon.”
My favorite story recently written about JB is by Chris Dixon for Garden & Gun magazine, headlined “My Wild Ride with Jimmy Buffett.” Search it online.
JB’s daughter, Delaney, penned a lovely tribute.
“I knew my dad my whole life, but in his final days, I saw who he was: a man whose spirit could not be broken. Despite the pain, he smiled every day. He was kind when he had every excuse not to be. He also told us not to be sad or scared, but to keep the party going,” Delaney wrote, adding that her dad wanted everyone “to enjoy the fantastic trip that life can be.”
Over the past two weeks, I developed an earful of JB while revisiting his expansive discography. JB hooked us with many great songlines. My current favorite is from his wisdom-soaked song, Carnival World. “Watch your step at the wishing well,” he advises. It’s profound.
Thousands of fans continue posting their feelings about JB on the BuffettNews – Jimmy Buffett Facebook page, reminding me again of the community that Jane Buffett alluded to. I love the comments and likes and hearts.
The most shocking thing I learned after JB’s death was that “mustard” is not a Cheeseburger in Paradise ingredient. It’s actually “Muenster.” I’ve been singing the cheeseburger song wrong for 45 years.
I wrote a column about JB last week. Readers provided favorable feedback through email. Posthumously, JB still brings strangers together. We are better people for it.
A woman named Connie emailed, in part, “With tears in my eyes, I thank you for sharing this with me . . . I’m 78 and in the last stages of my cancer. I can’t wait to meet JB and tell him all about your beautiful piece about him.”
Connie’s anticipated heavenly meet-up reminded me of the one and only personal encounter I (almost!) had with JB. On July 30, 1989, as a reporter in Williamsburg, Virginia, I found myself standing six feet away from JB, who was walking a beagle in the grass of the outdoor venue while The Neville Brothers opened. It was a dream come true, a moment I had been awaiting since eighth grade, the chance to shake JB’s hand and tell him how he inspired me to become a journalist. It was just me and JB and his dog. Beneath the blazing Tidewater sun, I froze. I could not form syllables. All that emitted from my mouth were seal barks and froth. JB looked back at me, the strange, foaming seal boy possessing a likely bogus press pass, and then walked his hound away to safety. I have remained stuck in that star-struck moment for 34 years. Someday, I might get a do-over, I thought, and not seem like a stalker.
Who knows, maybe one day “Connie” will introduce me to JB. If that do-over does come, I hope I don’t bark like a damn seal.
Contact: scottsaalman@gmail.com
