Flip-flops on, fins up

“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-of-Margaritaville-turned-mayor-of-Margaritaville-turned-mogul-of-Margaritaville.

To put his well-earned wealth in perspective: JB reached a point of being so rich that a lost shaker of salt no longer shook him – he could afford an entire salt mine to solve his seasoning problem. Or he could just run next door and borrow a shaker from Paul McCartney.

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. I couldn’t care less about the magazine, but it reappears in my mailbox weekly because the previous inhabitants of the house I now live in never canceled their subscription.

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 new album Volcano was about to erupt.

Photo provided by Scott Saalman

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 Buffett in ghostwritten prose. Our former President didn’t release a statement, too smart to shine the spotlight on a person who actually achieved a billion dollars without smoke and mirrors.

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 song lines. 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. I’m still baffled though about how some fans erroneously spell his last name with only one “T” and cite Parrot Head as one word. Walk the plank, thee! But I’m not a perfect Parrot Head either. 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 thru 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, Va., 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 Scott at scottsaalman@gmail.com.