A Story Of Rambunctious Youth In Which Jimmy Buffett Gives Me the Knowing Look And I Take My Leave.

Life is as kooky as you make it, dawg.

I don’t know what year it was - time is an abstract construct anyway. Possibly 1982. Or ‘81. I was in my early twenties, a late bloomer always, so the mind of an 18 year old and the body of a 14 year old, a bespectacled catch of unparalleled pimply beauty.

Jimmy Buffett was about to play the fabulous Paramount theatre in Seattle and a group of us decided we should go. That day, because the concert was that night. No, we didn’t have tickets. But we didn’t see that as a problem.. any excuse for a road trip, right?

We piled into a car and headed for the USA. Remember how easy it was to cross the border? Some sketchy ID and a promise not to do crimes and that was it.

We got down to Seattle and realized we’d have to try and buy tickets from a scalper or sneak in. That was our plan.

Meanwhile, as the concert time approached, activity began to build around the Paramount and we arrived on the scene, a little gunned from many drinks and many, many oysters at FX McRory’s. One of our party purchased a small supply of ‘cocaine’ from a parking lot dealer and that may have been the catalyst to the rest of the night’s events.

Getting tickets was proving to be harder than obtaining illegal recreational substances. Hanging around in a sizeable crowd, we noticed staff and others going in and out of some big double doors at the back of the theatre.

“We should just go in there” said one of us and there was the inevitable discussion about the chances of success and what ifs. One of my friends and I decided to give it a whirl. I mean, the worse that could happen would be a prompt ejection by security staff. There were worse outcomes in retrospect but I digress. So when the door opened from the inside, we held it open for a crew member and then slipped into the dim backstage. We were so early, there was no security in sight. Just roadies and musicians and a few unidentifiable folks.

Like us.

We were in a wing, possibly below stage level, it’s tough to remember. I recall suddenly being directly stage left adjacent. Lights were up, sound checks were starting. My friend got a little panicky and headed for the general seating by way of a little stairway at the front of the stage but I stayed behind. (Found out later he was apprehended about 10 minutes later and spent the night listening through the theatre wall out in the parking lot)

Back in the wings, nobody bothered with me. I was just anonymous-looking enough to blend in with the other five or six people drifting around the stage edge, some looking like they had purpose, others, not so much.

But what I didn’t have was the large backstage pass printed on some kind of textile paper and very adhesive. You could put it on your jacket and, if you took that off, transfer it to your thigh or t-shirt.

I saw a jacket hanging on a hook and on the jacket was a pass.

I borrowed it.

Just the pass, not the jacket.

Emboldened with the backstage pass, I started looking around. Remembering what a colleague of my Dad’s had said about serving in the Navy administration in Halifax during the war, “Just grab a clipboard and walk quickly and with purpose and nobody will bother you”. I found some packing slips or such in a trash can and took on my clerk persona.

Things are blurry. I can’t remember the opening act but soon enough it was time for the main act. I enjoyed the entire show from stage left. It was great. I was careful not to look too much like a fan.

I managed to peek out at the crowd and I locked eyes with another two of my amazed friends who had finally scored some overpriced tickets. I even helped out during the encores guiding a few band member around the curtains, ‘legs’ as I now know they’re called, so they could regain the stage without obstacles.

Suddenly the show ended and almost everyone jogged towards a staircase that led up to a green room in the guts of the building.

So I went too.

About 50 people including Jimmy and the band were all crammed in there and there was plenty of food set out and tubs of refreshing beverages under the tables. I helped myself to a ham sandwich and a Heineken. I enjoyed Buffett’s buffet. Sorry. I then chatted with some nice people.

Then I walked over to Buffett where he conversed with a handful of people and promptly blew my cover.

I basically gushed about the great show and this being my second time I saw him and how cool it was and everything. He just smiled a little and the smile got increasingly broad and then he said,

“You’re not really supposed to be here, are you?” in that Florida accent.

I didn’t answer. But that was as good as an affirmation. Jimmy just smiled some more and instantly a big fellow tapped me on the shoulder, took my borrowed pass and let me know it was time to leave. He escorted me down the stairs and out the door I had come in.

No cell phones in those days so I just wandered around the parking lot and the block looking for my friends. Who I found and we began to travel home full of stories for the ages.

Goodbye, Jimmy. Thanks for contributing to our youthful soundtrack. Thanks for helping to plant or encourage the travel and sailing bugs. Thanks for all the tunes that approached life philosophy on good days and bad. And thanks for the ham sandwich and the greenie.