Jimmy Buffett

The loss of Jimmy Buffett brings a lot to mind: his songs, his legacies, and my Uncle Billy's time on Key West. First off, my first concert was 1976ish, a triple bill at The Omni in downtown Atlanta: Richie Furay opening; Jimmy Buffett; and the Marshall Tucker Band with special guest Charlie Daniels on fiddle and voice. My old pal Sam Bentley may have clearer memories of attending, but I remember Furay cheerfully and Tucker loudly: but who opened for whom? I think Buffett was in the middle and such a showdog.

I loved Buffett's top 40 hit, "Come Monday," particularly during the summer of 1974 at Camp Carolina. That song always gets me, with its discursive mellow tone. But Buffet leaves both big shoes to fill and interesting legacies. His music deserves more listens and more discussion.

In Florida, and the rest of the Gulf Coast, there is so much to say about Buffett. My late Uncle Billy Bryan lived in Key West roughly 1974-6 and his stories included the influence of our man Buffett, which Billy would pronounce: "Buf-FAY." When I moved to Florida in the 1990s, I heard constant tales of Buffett's work for Save the Manatee, important Florida politics and politicians, and good works. I enjoyed seeing him in the film of one of Carl Hiaasen's juveniles, I think Hoot.

My teacher at FSU for a Coastal Ecosystems course was the late Anne Rudloe, who I had already appreciated as a commentator on WFSU. Her husband Jack and their Gulf Specimen Marine Laboratory have posted to Facebook of Buffet's generosity and support, and that is characteristic.

In Atlanta, his Margaritaville empire bulldozed a keynote structure in music business history; here's part of that story. But Buffett had always included Atlanta appearances and fans in his plans. I seem to recall him as I would read headliner ads as a youngster at both the Great Southeast Music Hall and the Bistro. I got a little tired of the big hits getting overplayed, but that was part of growing up: songs you knew by heart. Even that lost shaker of salt...

There is a lot of writing, now, as well there should be, about Buffett in this moment of retrospect, without him. Retired Florida journalist Jeff Kinkenberg catches something I feel in his immediate reaction on Facebook: "...More than a talented musician, Jimmy Buffett wrote escapist songs that bolstered a Florida beach lifestyle of carefree days, drunken nights and casual sex. The great majority of his fans took the Margaritaville vibe all in fun, but many of us knew folks who took it seriously to death. We saw them at beach bars barely able to stand in those calloused bare feet..." You can balance this with the songs themselves, even "Margaritaville," with its changing refrain to, finally, "It's my own damn fault." Jon Pareles in the NYT puts it well: Jimmy Buffett Was More Than Beaches and Booze.

More happily, I have his songs in my brain for good. I have to re-listen to "A Pirate Looks at Forty" now I'm sixty. I love remembering that he shares "Banana Republics" with author Steve Goodman. But a special favorite, lyrics all mixed and personalized, is "It's My Job." As I graduated from Westminster in May 1981 I had two jobs, one at McDonald's and the other doing cleanup for the Shelter Company, and the latter I kept all summer. My pal Tim Cole (photographer) brightened our work with music and stories, including Buffett and this song, which he shared with our pals Jake and high school classmate Mark Wilson. Tim sang, "Because it's my job!/ To be cleaning up this house [or, fill in your favorite noun, here] / And that's what I'm gonna do." Memorable. Got me through, too. 

Here's Buffett and "It's My Job." Not just for Labor Day week. 

God bless, rest, and keep our man, Jimmy Buffett.

Review: A Man Called White

A Man Called White: The Autobiography of Walter White. Walter White. University of Georgia Press reprint.

Man, I loved reading this. Now, I'm on the hunt for the newly published biography of Walter White. It's  White Lies: The Double Life of Walter F. White and America’s Darkest Secret, by A.J. Baime  (Mariner, 2022). I first heard about the first chapters of this memoir fifteen years ago, on the anniversary of the 1906 Atlanta riots, which young White witnessed personally. He grew up not far from where my maternal grandfather was born; I wish he was alive to discuss this with me. White gets around, before and during his tenure with the NAACP. There is so much here. 

Recently, I read the great two-volume graphic novel series by Mat Johnson Incognegro, a historical fiction seemingly drawing from the experiences White narrates in the first part of this memoir, investigating hate crimes, lynchings, and jailed black people, by passing for white while investigating.  But the stories get quite deep, especially, to me, the negotiations for blacks in the armed services before the integration of the services, just after this was published.

Read this book. Highest recommendation.

View all my reviews: https://www.goodreads.com/review/list/1297492-brent

Once Upon a Time in Atlanta, by Raymond Andrews

From https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/48593831-once-upon-a-time-in-atlanta---the-chattahoochee-review

Once Upon A Time in Atlanta - The Chattahoochee Review (Volume XVIII, Number 2) Raymond_Andrews 

This is so fine, and deserves republication, together with the rest of Andrews' work.

I knew Raymond a little bit in Athens, just before he took his life, leaving behind this manuscript. This coming-of-age of exploration while staying at the YMCA is a joy to read. I started reading before the pandemic, had to return it to the library, and, upon starting again, reread the early chapters with pleasure. And it gets better... We lost a great one in Raymond Andrews. I want to find both Baby Sweets [harder than it used to be; may have to check ugapress.com] and The Last Radio Baby, soon.

Thanks to The Chattahoochee Review, part of GSU Clarkston, formerly Georgia Perimeter College, for publishing this as a Special Issue of The Chattahoochee Review. Thanks for the loan(s), Fulton County Public Library.

Highest recommendation.

View all my reviews: https://www.goodreads.com/review/list/1297492-brent

My Antonia

[clumsily reworked from my Goodreads review of my personal Summer reading favorite]

Why did I never read Willa Cather before? Reasons pale.  There is so much life here, so well described and portrayed. Nebraska farms and towns come to vivid life. In my most surprising moment of recognition, there is a traveling performer who appears under a different name, in a concert in a Nebraska hotel on tour, described as a Louisianan but a sure enough ringer for Blind Tom Wiggins, the Georgia pianist: refer to Wikipedia, here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blind_Tom_Wiggins . This is only one small chapter of a lovely book, in which a young male narrator and immigrant women including Antonia, all come of age together.

Got to read some more Cather.

Highly recommended. 

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Let's help Ellie F. of East Atlanta, Georgia

I'm a little late with this; still, this is going to keep being both needed and important. Do share; this is a great cause for a great soul. The oldest daughter of John & Audrey Ferguson, of Atlanta's Hair of the Dog band, Ellie needs help from a wider community as she heals. Ellie's Aunt, Amy, wrote this suggested test for sharing... 

 "My friend Ellie needs our help. Her family has organized a GoFundMe, and her full story is in the link, but the short story is that she has a long road ahead recovering from a brain hemorrhage in June. Ellie is only 26 so she needs all her parts to get rehabilitated so that she can keep playing music, painting, traveling, gardening, and sharing her beautiful smile and spirit with us. Let’s “Pay it Forward for Ellie” this Labor Day weekend [and after]! Thank you for anything you can give." https://gofund.me/6cb363f5

Uncle John Keeley Sullivan, of Cleveland Heights, Ohio

My Aunt Mary Lane's husband, my Uncle John, died a few days ago, at home. He leaves a fine set of memories, his children, my first cousins David, Wright, and Keeley, and their children, his grandchildren. He was sharp and fun. He loved an intelligent conversation. An early date with my wife involved a game of charades while John and Mary Lane visited Keeley. I envied their trips to Ireland while we were kids, put in context in this fine obituary, printed first in Cleveland then this Sunday in the Atlanta Journal-Consitution. When we can gather, we'll gather in Atlanta. My mom met my Dad, BAT, Jr., during the wedding of John And Mary Lane in Cleveland. God rest his soul.

Devil in the Grove: Thurgood Marshall, the Groveland Boys, and the Dawn of a New America by Gilbert King
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

This was so compelling and so important. As a resident of Florida, 1994-2004, I had heard some outlines of this, but understanding the complicity of law enforcement with white supremacy in these generations takes effort. This book is worth your effort.
This paperback edition, in the addenda, give the author more space, in which to both discuss his process, and cite a few quotations, and, even more important, share some particularly literate letters of comment from his reader mail.
Check the author website, here: http://www.gilbertking.com/devil/Devi...
Highest recommendation.

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Reuben McDaniel (Dan) Tuck, a great soul, age 58

We lost Reuben, known stateside as Dan, last Sunday to a heart attack at home in Phuket, Thailand. "Vootie." [From Harvey Kurtzman and Will Elder, MAD Comics] That's how we greeted each other since 1975-6, referring to Harvey Kurtzman's MAD. We met sometime in the late 1960s at the All Saints Episcopal Church Nursery and/or Sunday School, and the Coca-Cola machine, a bottle for a dime, where the All Saints Choir meets now. Dan's father, Reuben, a Choir longtimer, died a few years ago; I wrote about him in this blog here. Reuben, our man Dan, was super-talented: a mimic, a mime, a voice actor, a standup, a smartass, who, surviving many ups and downs, moodswings, and life changes, grew into a bit of a sage, and a certified sommelier. I can hear his voice alive in my mind. From a routine in Junior High about family reunions ("I haven't seen you since you were this tall [PUNCH to stomach] and now you're THIS big! [SLAP under chin.])" to the wisdom he absorbed from various esoteric sources ("One is taught in accordance with one's fitness to learn.") He transitioned from success as a voice artist to writing for print news in Thailand for the last year or so, happiness hard-earned. In the 1970s, Dan's mom Penny was Executive Secretary to the 2nd Headmaster of The Westminster Schools, Dr. A. Emerson Johnson. His sister sang in the Ensemble and worked in the school Bookstore. Dan, often hyperactive, repeated the Seventh Grade and joined my cohort at Westminster Junior High in September, 1975. With the other T-Z last names in the alphabet, we shared homeroom follies with teacher Billy Ray Schmidt in the 7th and Joanne Tysinger in the 8th. We also shared the comics, cinema, tv, and music of 1975-7: Jack Kirby and Steve Ditko; kung fu and martial arts; Durwood's speech class and George Carlin inaugurating SNL; skateboarding; Kiss, Alice Cooper, and Jethro Tull; mime at and observation of the customers of Cumberland Mall; and the game of Chickensh*t! (You say that word, in class, progressively louder, and the one who gets caught loses. That worked better in P.E., than, say, Coach Todd's American History class.) He transferred, first to public school, meeting lifelong brother Jeff Lankford, then to Berry Academy, where, upon his graduation, the admins put Ms. Martha Berry's school for Appalachian youth to pasture in favor of corporate rentals on the Berry College campus. In the 1980s, he started at LaGrange College, playing either Mercutio or Tybalt (I forget) in a production of Romeo and Juliet, where he worked with Alton Brown. Like me [and, kinda, Brown!] he transferred to UGA. We shared a weekly lunch at The Grill in downtown Athens, 1984-9, chewing the fat in more ways than one. He majored in communication, and moved from Georgia to Hong Kong as soon as he could, where he met his life partner, Normandy Madden. Dan was so funny, fun, and perceptive: still, he had great highs and lows. He went from being choosy with sodas like Tahitian Treat to becoming a certified sommelier. As Reuben, he treasured the last few decades, and he really looked forward to retiring with Normandy to Portugal. My prayer for my pagan friend is to continue sharing stories, memories, and reflections. I am confident he is at peace, beyond pain, though he wanted more time. God bless his loved ones. And bless all souls who miss him. Normandy has had to make memorial arrangements and her messages, like this one, shared with Penny, are full of grace. Quoting: "

As his wife and mother, respectively, we are deeply sorry to inform his friends and family that our darling beloved Reuben McDaniel Tuck III passed away around midnight on Sunday, August 30, 2020 -- a truly terrible year. He died peacefully at home in Phuket, Thailand. He was 58, which is far too young. We are devastated, shocked and incredibly sad. He was a wonderful husband and son and will be greatly missed. He will be cremated on Tuesday, September 8th, at a Buddhist temple in Phuket and later on, when world travel allows it, his remains will be spread on Pawleys Island in South Carolina, a favorite childhood spot, as was his wish. We will organize a Zoom memorial service to take place next week, the details for that will be shared in a few days, if you want to take part. This Facebook page [of Reuben's] will be memorialized and remain active. Reuben was generous, humble, warm, intelligent, kind, creative, always entertaining, a true bon vivant, a fun companion and a crazy character. He will be mourned for a long time. Let’s remember his spirit forever. His life was cut too short, but it was a good life, and he died happy and loved. -Normandy Madden & Penny Irby Lyle

"

A Game for Swallows: To Die, to Leave, to Return by Zeina Abirached
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

"Mourir partir revenir c'est/ le jeu des hirondelles.
To die to leave to return/ it's a game for swallows. Florian" [graffiti on Beirut wall, page 172]
I found used copies after checking this out of the library and overlooking it too long. I waited unnecessarily; don't make the same mistake: this book is captivating. The graphic simplicity of the cartooning draws the reader into the small differences in the repetition of panels and motifs: eye movements, wall hangings, game pieces, sound effects, and rhetorical flourishes, all in an increasingly small space in the Lebanese Civil War.
Abirached uses comics so well. Don't assume this is just one kind of thing: just for young people, just a memoir, just a family... Like many great works, it's more than the sum of its parts.
Thanks to the publisher, Lerner/ Graphic Universe, for this edition, translated from the French.
Highly recommended.


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