Jimmy Buffett at Bonnaroo
photo by Fil Manley
Senior year of high school, I was in my room listening to Jimmy Buffet’s live album “You had to be there” and I heard this line:
“I wrote this song sittin' sandin' the ol' main mast sittin' in the Hurricane Hole, in Nassau, Bahamas. About to throw up and the only thing that could get me through was a bottle of Perrier and a Jackson Browne album. So, this is called Perrier Blues.”
Since hangovers – and the amazing events that lead to each of them - were an experience I had first learned about several years earlier, it was not hard to picture that story making pain but I distinctly remember being able to feel the heat and smell the smells that he must have experienced as he nursed his hangover in the Bahamas.
It seemed amazing to my 17-year-old self that someone could put you in another time and place just by the words he used in the form of a story. Jimmy Buffett was the master of doing so.
Fast forward to my Sophomore year at Auburn. At that point in my life, Buffett was pretty much all I listened to.
The middle of winter quarter that year, my roommate and I went to Buffett’s concert on campus. After it was over, we went to the War Eagle Supper Club (one of the best, GPA lowering, bars ever). Once the bar closed, we were driving home and passed the Best Western; at the time Auburn’s only large hotel. As we drove by, I noticed a huge double bus sitting in the lot and told my roommate to do a 180 and pull into the parking lot.
We pulled up next to the bus. By now it was about 1:30 in the morning, it was quiet except for the sound of the bus’s engine running. I noticed a cute girl standing by herself, and I asked her if it was Buffett’s bus. She nodded and said yes, but that she hadn’t seen him. I made a joke and asked if she scared him off. She smiled and said, “Actually he’s standing about 10 feet behind you looking at you”
I assumed she was joking and laughed but then heard a male behind me clear his throat. I turned and there stood Buffett; by himself, hands in his pockets, staring at me, and grinning.
I said “Holy shi#, is it you? Jimmy Buffett?!?”
He smiled and said “Yep…that’s what my driver’s license says.”
I ran through the topics that likely most fans would run through when given a chance to meet someone they liked. I ended up shooting the shi# with him for about 15 minutes with no one there except me, my roommate, and the cute girl (unfortunately I never did get her name).
He told me about learning to play guitar in order to meet girls. He said the guy at the end of his dorm at Auburn always had a stream of girls going in and out of his room and finally asked the guy why girls were always there. The guy told him that the girls liked that he could play a guitar so Buffett said he did the same; learned to play it, got good at it, and it worked for meeting girls. In retrospect, I guess the world owes a debt of gratitude to some random, horn dog dude in a dorm in Auburn, AL and his quest to meet girls.
He told me that a few nights earlier, he had done a concert at UAT (the other large college in Alabama) and that someone there threw an empty bottle of Jack Daniels at the stage. He shut down the concert and left the stage. He said the Auburn concert was much different. He said the fans that night had been fantastic and that he had had a great time playing there.
Auburn 1
UAT 0
We talked for about 10 more minutes. He finally told me it was time to shut it down for the evening. Before he left, I asked for his autograph. I couldn’t find anything to write on so I had him sign one of the checks in my check book (remember…this was the pre credit card era). He asked if it was ok to sign a check and I told them they were all bad anyway; he laughed and said his too had been bad in college. He signed the check, shook my hand, turned, and walked around the corner to his room.
Just before he signed my check, a couple of other people walked up but no one said a word. They were pretty much just standing there watching us talk.
When he left to go to his room, my roommate and I got ready to walk back to the car when people began to get off Buffett’s bus. I can only assume they were members of the band, the crew, etc. About the 15th person that got off the bus was a young female and she looked at us and said, “Would y’all get the ---- out of here and leave us alone!!!!“
When she said it, we hadn’t been saying anything to anybody, everybody was leaving, and we were sort of shocked.
She then said something like that again when all the sudden I heard this voice behind us say “Hey! What did you just say to them?!?“ and with that Buffett came wheeling back around the corner.
He looked at her and said, “Why would you say that to them, they weren’t bothering anybody including us? Besides, who do you think pays your salary?”
She sheepishly looked at him and said, “Well….. you do.”
He looked at her, pointed at us, and said, “No….they do. The fans pay our salary.”
He then turned to us and said, “Sorry about all that. Thanks so much for coming out tonight. Have a good evening. “ and he left. All of us still standing there, jaws agape, thought that he was the coolest person that had ever walked the planet.
Many years have gone by since that night. I don’t listen to his music as much as I once did but I can still recite the lyrics from many of his songs. I used to sing “Trying to Reason With a Hurricane Season” with my daughters Izzy and Sara as they were going to bed as little kids. To this day, I can’t listen to the live version of “He went to Paris”, “The Captain and the Kid” or “A Pirate looks at Forty” without ruining a set of contacts.
This past Saturday morning, when I heard the news that he was on his final sailing trip, it kicked my ass. Subsequent texts from Izzy, Sara, family, and friends reminded me of what a gift he was to so many people.
I’ll conclude with this portion of one of his songs:
“He's somewhere on the ocean now
A place he outta be
With one hand on the starboard rail
He's wavin' back at me”
Archie Willingham