A Toast For Jimmy Buffett

Dusk, 1 September 2023: Offering a toast to Jimmy Buffett. May you enjoy a cheeseburger in Paradise, good sir.Photo bySuzy Jacobson Cherry

I raise a glass to the ultimate beach bum

My first introduction to the “beach bum” trope was Kahuna, a character played by Martin Milner on the 1966 television show Gidget. Sally Fields played the title character in the series. I later watched the original films with Sandra Dee, in which Cliff Robertson played Kahuna, but it’s the television show that sticks in my memory. I can almost hear Gidget talking about her boyfriend “Moondoggie” in Field’s sweet teenage voice even now.

In the movies and on television, beach bums were the folks who spent their days hanging out at the beach, living a life of leisure in and out of the ocean. If they didn’t surf themselves they hung out with surfers and partied around bonfires at night.

The Beach Boys sang about the beach life in songs like Surfin’ USA, Catch a Wave, and Surfin’ Safari. Jan & Dean did Surf City and the Surfaris helped popularize the genre of Instrumental Surf Rock with songs like Wipe Out.

For most people, the beach life is at best a dream vacation. Even those who live near the ocean might only hang out at the beach on weekends or after work. It’s usually an escape from the workaday world or a vision inspired by the songs we dance to.

Then came Jimmy Buffett, the singer-songwriter who made the beach bum lifestyle into a career. The Jimmy Buffett website tells the story of a young college man who learned a few guitar chords when he realized that a man with a guitar would inevitably catch the attention of the ladies.

With a knack for storytelling, he started busking in New Orleans, soon moving on to playing clubs on Bourbon Street. After college graduation, it was Nashville for Jimmy, but it was a trip to Key West with his friend Jerry Jeff Walker that gave Buffett the stories that would make him famous.

Jimmy Buffett was a true storyteller, and he found the stories he wanted to tell among the “smugglers, con men, artists, and free-spirits” he met in the southernmost point of the contiguous United States. He found himself at home in the laid-back lifestyle away from the “brown LA haze,” as he sang about in his 1974 hit, Come Monday. Of course, it was Margaritaville that shot him to fame and started the phenomenon known as Parrot Heads.

I’m not a Parrot Head, but I am a fan. I’ve always enjoyed his music, the singable lyrics, and the relaxed attitude the songs evoked. I had one chance to see him in concert, but at the last minute, a true Parrot Head was able to use the ticket that I was offered. I didn’t mind letting it go. Knowing what I know now about Mr. Buffett’s philanthropy and the “party with a purpose” theme of the official Parrot Head organization, I am glad I let that opportunity go to someone who would appreciate it more than I would have at the time.

Jimmy Buffett will be missed by all of his fans, both the Parrot Heads and those like me, who love the music but never got caught up in the fandom. I believe Buffett’s music transcended genre. It wasn’t country and it wasn’t rock. Others would deem his combination of country, pop, rock, and calypso styles “tropical rock,” while Jimmy himself referred to it as “drunken Caribbean rock ’n’ roll.” Whatever it is, it’s recognizable, catchy, and pleasing.

On the day he died, September 1, 2023, I made a special trip to the store to purchase margarita makings.

That night at dusk, with the palm trees in my yard silhouetted against a deep blue sky, I raised a glass to Mr. Buffett, thanking him for the gifts of music and story that he gave to us all. He will be remembered fondly.

What is remembered, lives.