Farewell to the original “parrothead,” Jimmy Buffett: The true story of the music legend with a South Dakota connection
The shocking and sad news of the death of the great Jimmy Buffett at 76 — it is painful to even type those words — causes us to repost this recent column.
Buffett was, temporarily, a South Dakotan, and his affection for our state was obvious when Tom Lawrence met him in Houston in the 1980s.
So farewell to a son of a son of a sailor, and a son of South Dakota. Thanks for the music and good times, Jimmy.
“Come Monday” is an ideal song for a hot summer day. The video of this Jimmy Buffett classic, one of the few songs he recorded that got serious radio airplay, is worth seeing as well.
In it, Buffett is shown with the long blond hair and droopy mustache he wore when he was younger. His wife and some friends, a beat-up old pickup and a fire on a beach are all he needed to create a memorable promo clip.
This is the image I had of a hirsute Jimmy Buffett when I was backstage at a concert he gave in Houston in the summer of 1986. I walked right past a stocky man in shorts, his thinning hair close-cropped and his face clean-shaven. When I asked a security guard if Mr. Buffett was around, he said I had just passed him.
I turned and hustled after him, calling his name as the security guard tried to chase me away. Jimmy turned, saw my notepad and pen, with a camera slung over my shoulder, and said he had a little time to talk.
“One question,” the unctuous guard insisted.
“Did you ever live in South Dakota?” I asked.
A few years earlier, a friend at SDSU had attended a concert in the Twin Cities featuring Pablo Cruise, Jimmy Buffett and the Eagles. He said when the crowd roared approval at a song, Jimmy said, “Ya’ll sound like you’re from South Dakota.”
My buddy and his group screamed out their SD roots. Jimmy then explained he had lived in Brookings once, and this was dedicated to his South Dakota friends.
I had never been able to confirm that story, and I figured this was my best chance. I asked the question and waited.
He smiled. “Yeah, it was in some town named …”
“Brookings,” I offered.
“That’s it!” he said.
I told him it was my hometown and he threw his arm around me, shooing off the guard. We were Brookings buddies!
We ambled to the stage, talking and laughing. His band The Coral Reefers were already playing, but my pal Jimmy was in no hurry to join them. We kept talking for a few more minutes before he said he needed to get to work. He told me to enjoy the show from the side of the stage, and then he walked on, drawing a roar from the Parrotheads (seen above in concert at Clemson University in 1977) in the audience.
Over the next few minutes, Jimmy turned several times to catch my eye and smiled and nodded when he saw I was loving the music. It was an amazing experience.
Finally, the guard returned to nudge me off the side of the stage and back to the crowd. I floated away, and not because of any pre-show preparations. Well, mostly not.
In 2008, I did a story about Jimmy’s time in Brookings for South Dakota Magazine. I confirmed his stories about Brookings with people who knew him back then, including my longtime friend Donnie from Jim’s Tap, and Sen. Tom Daschle, who was an SDSU student when Buffett played at the old Town House, where he got into a bit of trouble for ordering shots of tequila for the audience during his shows.
In addition, Jimmy wrote about it in his memoir, “A Pirate Looks at 50,” a takeoff on his song “A Pirate Looks At 40.” In the book, he said a tornado rampaged through Brookings, tossing around the trailer he lived in.
Along with an ongoing dispute with the people who booked him in nightclubs across the Upper Midwest, it was enough for Jimmy to pull up stakes, drive to Kansas City to marry his girlfriend, and return to his beloved South.
I contacted his staff, who were kind enough to send me photos to use. I didn’t get a second interview, but maybe someday. Some smart promoter needs to bring Jimmy back to his old hometown of Brookings for a return show. Maybe avoid tornado season, although it’s always summer when he plays.
And this time, he shouldn’t have to buy tequila for the house!
Tom Lawrence has written for several newspapers and websites in South Dakota and other states and contributed to The New York Times, NPR, The Telegraph, The Daily Beast and other media outlets.
