The World’s Unlikeliest Parrothead

My sister Kathy serves as my editor. As you will see, I taught her everything she knows, except sentence structure, what’s an adverb, when to use commas, date formats, and anything past third-grade grammar. The tables are turned this week, as my favorite Parrothead gets the podium. Enjoy.

If you don’t know that singer-songwriter Jimmy Buffett died on Friday, September 1, 2023, you must have been living under a rock for the last week. If you don’t even know who Jimmy Buffett is, then you have been living under a rock on the moon for about 50 years.

Just to familiarize those who aren’t in the know about Jimmy Buffett, I came up with the following list that I think most describes Jimmy’s interests and skill sets. Jimmy Buffett: Musician, Singer, Songwriter, Wordsmith, Storyteller, Caribbean Soul, Entrepreneur, Hard Worker, Astute Businessman, Sailor, Pilot, Family Man, Dog Lover, and much more.

The reason why I’m writing this is that my brother Kelly asked me to do it, knowing that I am a Parrothead—that is, one of Jimmy Buffett’s devoted, over-the-top fans. Jimmy’s biggest hit, Margaritaville (haven’t heard of it? You have now reached the status of Under a Rock on Mars), made it to number eight in the U.S. on the Billboard Hot 100 chart. It was his only Billboard Top Ten hit in what became a 50-year career that produced 30 albums, eight of which are certified gold and nine certified platinum or multiplatinum. In all, Jimmy sold more than 20 million albums—largely on the buying power and enthusiasm of the Parrotheads, who became a driving force in Jimmy’s success as a musician, and as the author of two fiction books that remained on the New York Times Best Seller list for seven months. His autobiography, A Pirate Looks at 50, went straight to number one on the New York Times Best Seller nonfiction list, making him one of the few authors to have reached number one on both the fiction and nonfiction lists.

You might have noticed that I refer to Jimmy by his first name rather than his surname, which is the proper journalistic way to refer to a celebrity. I guess that I think of him as Jimmy because Parrotheads think of him as a personal friend. He’s not, of course, but that’s the depth of our feelings for him.

Kelly can attest to the fact that as a young teenager, I was typical in my musical tastes; I leaned toward the pop songs that quickly came and went on the radio, a little bit of country, The Beach Boys, and John Denver. I’d heard a Jimmy Buffett song or two on the radio, I suppose, but his music wasn’t really on my radar. Kelly, who was not the rock ‘n’ roll maven then that he is now, considered his own musical style to be much more elevated and refined than mine and our sister Sharon’s were. He had an affinity for long-play bands like Yes (ugghhh!); he loved Chicago’s jazzy style, whereas I liked only their songs that made it into the Top 20; and, being Kelly, he made it clear that his tastes were much more esoteric than ours were. By the way, I don’t recall that he was as enamored of the Beatles back then as he is now.

So, how did I become a dyed-in-the batik Parrothead? Here’s the backstory: It was my senior year in high school. I was 17 and had an after-school job at McDonald’s. I didn’t much enjoy the work, but from the first time I got a paycheck, I was hooked! I couldn’t believe the amount of numbers to the right of the dollar sign. Wow! At 17, I was richer than I’d ever been before. Our dad—an accountant—required that anyone living in our household had to contribute a certain amount of money to certain “funds” he had created. One was automobiles: anyone who drove one of the cars in the family fleet had to give toward the maintenance, upkeep, and insurance of said cars. We also contributed toward a household fund. Dad paid for groceries, but we paid toward utility bills and an emergency account for things like when the water heater broke down, the sewer line in the front yard broke, and so forth. Given the amount of money that was left over from my McD’s check after I paid my share of the family expenses, I was still ecstatic about the amount of expendable income I had at my disposal.

I started buying all kinds of things that I hadn’t been able to afford previously, like record albums. I felt like I was rich!

One weekend, I was perusing the Atlanta Journal, and I came across a review by the local music critic. I don’t recall that I’d ever read a music review in the newspaper before that. The critic was reviewing the new (in 1978) Jimmy Buffett album, Son of a Son of a Sailor. The reviewer was quite enthusiastic about this new album from Buffett (I wasn’t on a first-name basis with Jimmy at that time), and recommended it with gusto! Well, being a member of the nouveau-riche, I knew that I would have to sashay on over to the local Turtle’s record store to avail myself of this album. And I’ve been hooked ever since.

Son of a Son of a Sailor was my first Jimmy Buffett album, but it wasn’t my last. I loved every song on that album, and I played it so many times that I just about wore it out. With my next paycheck, I again sauntered down to Turtle’s and bought another Buffett album, what the heck! Maybe I bought two. By the end of my senior year, I was in possession of five of the seven albums that Jimmy had recorded and released before Son of a Son.

That’s how I entered the ranks of the Parrotheads. But what makes me the world’s unlikeliest Parrothead? I’m what was called a “square” back in the day. I am not a party girl. Never have been; never will be. I don’t participate—and never have—in the recreational activities and lifestyles that are lauded in Jimmy’s songs. And, from remarks I’ve heard him make in interviews, it sounds like Jimmy himself didn’t participate in them nearly as much as is suggested in his songs. According to his daughter Delaney, he was a family man above all else.

Parrotheads are a big, loving family that will live on, thanks to Jimmy’s music, personality, and legacy. I’m glad that I got to go along for the ride, and I hope that I’ll be able to say this at the end:

Some of it’s magic, some of it’s tragic, But I had a good life all the way. (From “He Went to Paris”)

Kelly Burke, attorney, former district attorney and magistrate judge, writes about the law, rock’n’roll, and politics or anything that strikes him. Contact Kelly at dakellyburke@gmail.com to comment on this article or suggest articles that you’d like to see, and visit his website at www.kellyrburke.com to view prior columns.

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