His songs made him sound like the definition of "laid back." In reality, Jimmy Buffett, who died Friday at age 76, was something of a workaholic. Our contributor Bill Flanagan has an appreciation:
Jimmy Buffett was a good friend of mine. And I was not the only one. Jimmy had friends all over the world, from Savannah to Havana, from Mali to Bali.
He was a pilot and a sailor, a traveling man who felt at home in a fleabag in Timbuktu or a five-star hotel in Paris.
Jimmy was equally comfortable in the company of philosophers and pirates – maybe because he was a bit of both.
I don't think I ever knew anyone with more positive life force. Even when he was in treatment for cancer this last year, Jimmy would come out of the hospital and, instead of resting like he was supposed to, he would jump on one of his planes and fly across the country to play a show. He got something out of his audience that was better than medicine.
He started out playing bars in New Orleans and working as a journalist. In his songwriting he combined those two vocations. He specialized in writing about misfits and shady characters, folks who did not fit into conventional society.
Jimmy was allergic to taking himself seriously. He said his audience worked hard all week; he owed them a two-hour vacation.
Jimmy said he started his first Margaritaville restaurant and bar in Key West because he figured if he owned his own saloon, he would always have a place to play. It was a fallback in case his musical career fizzled out.
Jimmy Buffett was the most positive person I ever knew. Everything was an adventure, and if the adventure went sideways, well, we'd come home with a good story.
In his final days he assured his friends he would be back on his feet in a couple of weeks.
Jimmy Buffett spent his life putting joy into the world.
Bubbles up, Captain. You're going home.
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Story produced by Alan Golds. Editor: Steven Tyler.
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