“A page a day man, that’s what Herman Wouk told me. Then at the end of the month you have something to work with, a beginning.”
Spoken in a mellifluous, semi-slight Mississippi drawl.
“Some days you might write more than one - but a page a day will get you there. Trust me.”
Those were the first words Jimmy Buffett ever spoke to me and I have never forgotten them.
It was backstage at the Beacon Theater in New York City for Comedy Central’s ‘Night Of Too Many Stars’ benefit; Jimmy was attending with his lovely wife Jane.
“A page a day!” became a greeting of sorts in the following years when I would be lucky enough to find myself working on an event or a concert that Jimmy was performing on. (Which was quite frequently, as he and his family always seemed down to pitch in for a worthy cause).
Jimmy brought the same energy - whether it was to a black tie affair at Lincoln Center, peopled with billionaires and A-list celebrities, or to a gig on the back deck of the Surf Lodge in Montauk when he was sitting in with his friends, Lukas Nelson & The Promise of The Real (which was the last time I heard him sing, on a brilliant summer evening, barefoot and smiling).
Swells and ‘swells’, Jimmy Buffett knew how to navigate both kinds.
Jimmy came to mind last Friday, as I sat on Cisco Beach in Nantucket watching surfers ride the remains of the hurricane that hit about thirteen hundred miles south in his beloved ‘Sunshine State’ a few days prior.
On tour in Florida a decade ago, I turned down an invite to spend a day off as a guest on Jimmy’s boat in Miami by his daughter Savannah, who was close with the Nash family; Graham and his son, Will, and CSN’s B3 organ player, Todd Caldwell all went along.
I stayed back at the Hard Rock Casino in Hollywood, Florida (in a lifetime of idiotic decisions that sits near the top).
I ran into them when they returned - Nash was wearing a beautiful Panama hat that had belonged to Jimmy and a giant smile on his face.
There was an infectious joy that seemed to surround Jimmy, his band & crew - that clearly extended to his amazing family.
As I sat on the beach in Nantucket, a few miles from Madaket Harbor where Buffett had infamously crashed his sea plane on takeoff in the early 90’s and swam to shore and safety, as the nose sank into the salty and cold waters of the Atlantic.
Only adding to his legend as a pilot, a captain and all around adventurer - the man’s plane was once shot at by Jamaican authorities who mistook him for a drug smuggler after he landed his seaplane with Bono and friends on board.
Sitting in the sand, while Jimmy was spending his final hours in the sunlight of this realm, I thought of a conversation I had with him backstage in Paris.
Back then, I was living in a house on Madison Street in Sag Harbor when not on tour and would often see Jimmy drive by in a mint VW bus, full of surfboards, on his way out to Montauk.
I said, “I can always tell when the waves are good - when I hear your van coming, Jimmy”.
He then smiled and waxed philosophic about the intricacies of the famed surf break known as Ditch Plains near the tip of Long Island.
He then pivoted back to his Herman Wouk advice and seemed genuinely interested in any progress I had made as writer (the rented house I was living in belonged to the family of Peter Matthiessen).
His interest and generosity astounds me as much now as it did then.
Jimmy’s first novel ‘Where is Joe Merchant’ had a tremendous effect on me when it came out in 1992.
I had been a fan of Jimmy’s music since my uncle came home from college with a copy of one of Buffett’s albums in the late 70’s.
I can still recall propping the album up against the carpeted stairs of a suburban Maryland house and staring at the picture of the man with the bushy mustache, Hawaiian shirt and twinkle in his eyes.
The music itself felt a little bit like contraband.
Like something I wasn’t necessarily supposed to have my hands on and was perhaps too young for but that sentiment also describes most of my childhood.
I was born in 1971 to a 19 year-old college student - who named me after Jimi Hendrix’s bass player - if that gives you any clues as to what it was like.
Those songs may have been the first novels I ever read in a way.
Fanciful tales of modern day pirates and smugglers and the promise of adventure, while living the good life on a beach somewhere - with a cold drink, sand between your toes and a guitar on your lap.
Sign me up.
The sound of steel drums and a better life somewhere over the horizon.
It sounded like a carnival and felt like a rainbow - and was much appreciated by a little kid living in the grey and smoggy Baltimore/Washington suburbia of the 1970’s.
Gas lines and post-60’s disillusionment were no match for his music.
When I read his first novel those feelings came back and I decided to try my hand at writing and adventure myself.
I had already spent a couple of seasons in Vail, Colorado where more than a few ‘Parrotheads’ resided; it wasn’t uncommon to walk down Bridge Street and hear several different Buffett songs coming out of separate saloons and troubadours.
I moved to Daytona Beach, Florida on New Years Day in 1993 and rented an apartment a block from the beach.
I had an acoustic guitar, a few blank notebooks and a cassette copy Jimmy Buffett’s ‘Songs You Know By Heart’.
When I hit town I got a free library card and started consuming books.
Unfortunately, I also started consuming too much of ‘that frozen concoction that helps me hang on…’
Turns out I’m allergic to Margaritaville. By April I had flamed out and headed back to D.C. but the adventure had begun.
Once I put down the booze for good my life picked up speed.
It also turns out Jimmy was right when he said, “Margaritaville is a state of mind. It’s wherever you want it to be.”
And it most certainly doesn’t require ‘booze in the blender’.
When I met him for the first time backstage I had my own collection of memories and adventures accumulated. I was now in my mid-thirties and ready to start writing them down.
But I was daunted and blocked and I said as much to Jimmy.
He responded with time and tutelage delivered with the air of a hip professor.
He had that sparkle in his eye and what felt like a genuine desire to mentor and encourage. Even to someone he had just met.
It was kindness in action and something a man of his stature certainly didn’t need to do.
But he was willing to take a few minutes to pass on some wisdom and inspiration.
He also seemed very excited about the musical he was writing at the time with Herman Wouk, which in and of itself was beyond cool to me.
Jimmy was the kind of guy to give the same attention to a roadie one minute and a VIP the next - and that is not a common trait in my experience.
I have seen him do it on several occasions and to me it really says something about the measure of the man.
To possess the kind of charisma and charm to light up any room you walk into but to always remain humble enough to share it liberally is virtue in action.
It is also a legacy that will live on through his millions of fans and all the lives his music and words have touched.
I did not know him well and he made a tremendous impact on me - imagine the gifts to come from all those much closer that he has inspired.
The picture that accompanies this remembrance is from a concert Jimmy played in Paris in 2015.
It was tradition for him visit that city in September and play a concert for his European fans.
His band and crew could bring their families along and they all seemed to make a bit of a holiday out of it.
A thank you of sorts after a long summer of touring.
His guitar tech, who Buffett had loaned out to Stephen Stills on a solo tour I road managed in 2011, texted me the day before Graham and Stephen were to sit in with Jimmy and the Coral Reefer Band.
He wanted to know the exact time of our arrival and if they wanted to borrow some guitars for their performance of ‘Southern Cross’ (A Buffett song if ever there was one, written by Stills of course but a mainstay of Jimmy’s setlists).
As we pulled up to the stage door and poured out of a Parisian taxi we were greeted at the stage door by Jimmy himself.
He stood there beaming with a giant oversized Margarita glass filled to the brim.
“Anybody wanna drink?” Joyfulness and hilarity ensued, Jimmy’s sense of humor was another one of his infectious attributes.
Jimmy returned the favor the following night and sat in with Crosby, Stills & Nash on what would be their final tour.
It was as epic as one would expect - especially since Buffett’s decades-long friend and collaborator, Russell Kunkel was in the CSN band on that tour.
Russ and I both shared Stills’ tour bus. After the gig, as we rolled towards Switzerland, I said to him, “so you know Buffett too?”. To which he replied, “umm, I produced two of his albums,” flashing me the same wry smile Jimmy possessed.
Good times.
As I sat on the beach in Nantucket last Friday I thought of that night.
I remembered telling Jimmy that ‘a page a day’ was finally paying off and that I was grateful for such simple and profound advice which I have since found can be applied to many other things both creative and otherwise.
I recall seeing Jimmy make his way across the backstage lobby of the iconic Olympia Theater (it has its own bar backstage) - that smile and sparkle in his eye as he headed for the exit.
At the last moment he seemed to catch me out of the corner of his eye and turned and said, “See you in the water.”
Safe travels, Jimmy.
I needed no further verification, but it seems to me that a Friend of Jimmy who’s also a Friend of Bill would indeed be a cool guy. Great tale(s). We have a few mutual friends and acquaintances. I’ll
hope to meet you one of these ol’ days!
Thank you so much for this backstage pass illuminating the reason why we all love Jimmy Buffet.