Summer is over and it has been raining to the point where I am thinking of building an ark. Save for the fact that it is followed by Winter, Fall would be my favorite season by far. Given, though, that Spring is followed by Summer, it has the slight edge. And while there was a merciful lull in losses of life in July and August, that merciful run has ended. Thus, we will get right to it.
Parrotheads are mourning the death of a “Son of A Son of A Sailor,” Jimmy Buffett, who sailed off into the sunset this month at 76. While no relation to Warren (Mr. Berkshire Hathaway related that when Jimmy first made contact with him, he referred to him as “cousin Warren” and that is how they remained), he created an empire based on the concept of loafing, day-drinking and living a stress-free life. Oh, how that all sounds appealing but somehow unattainable to those of us who love the adrenaline rush of life. I am assuming the stress-free life also evaded Mr. Buffett as he oversaw a wide-range of businesses from bars to restaurants, casino interests, clothing and tequila, to name a few. His Margaritaville’s were in many beach towns and New Orleans, where he once lived and played in a cover band on Bourbon Street. Forbes pegged his worth at a billion dollars, so he was hardly your drugged-up rock star. His was a business profile that Sammy Hagar has worked hard to replicate. With his Coral Reefer Band, Buffett toured the world preaching the musical gospel of tropical living where a cheeseburger and frozen concoction will solve all the ills of the world. Buffett, in addition to being an avid sailor, was a pilot who once crashed his plane soon after taking off from Nantucket airport and was able to swim to safety. In another incident, in 1976, Jamaican authorities were told that the occupants of a certain plane (which turned out to be Buffett’s seaplane) were drug smugglers and as Bono, his wife and kids debarked, they were shot at. Luckily no one was hurt but the plane got pretty shot up. Bono was shaken but Buffett took it in stride quipping that there were times in his life when he would have deserved that treatment, so the event was sort of karma. Like many things in his life, he got a song out of it entitled “Jamaica Mistaica.”
Aside from being a businessman, songwriter and performer, he was an author; writing three New York Times, number-one bestsellers; one fiction and two on-fiction. “When reality looks too ugly,” he wrote in one, “fantasize.” Not bad advice. By all accounts I read he was nice to everyone. The one aberration to that was a story I once heard that he did not like the harmonica player in Zachary Richard’s (a Cajun singer-songwriter) band and made it a condition of Richard’s touring with him that he fire the harp player which did occur. Shit happens. I also generally don’t provide the cause of someone’s death, because I rarely find relevant, but here, Mr. Buffett, who sold the virtues of the sun and sand, died from a rare skin cancer (Merkel cell carcinoma) which is somewhat ironic. The lesson here is that sun-tan lotion actually does work and everyone (myself included because I don’t use the stuff often enough) needs to apply it liberally. As for Mr. Buffett, all I can say is that I hope that his next cheeseburger is in paradise. As for the rest of us, it is five o’clock somewhere so the next time you sip a cocktail give a toast to Mr. Buffett.
The man who was the gold standard at the hot corner for the Baltimore Orioles, Brooks Robinson, died at 86. I am more a fan of referring to legends as the greatest of their time rather than the greatest of all time and Brooks was certainly the greatest third baseman of his time as well as my time. Did I use ‘time” enough in that sentence? Ugh. Sports change so much over the years that it is hard to compare athletes from different eras. That said, Brooks is in the mix for the greatest ever. He was known as the human vacuum cleaner and some of the plays he pulled off during his 23-year career defied the laws of physics. He won sixteen gold gloves. Only pitcher Greg Maddux won more (18), but Maddux wasn’t Brooks. Robinson was named to the All-Star team every year from 1960 to 1974 and that was when your peers voted you in, not the fans. Today it’s a popularity contest, back then it was an honor. He was the American League MVP in 1964 and the World Series MVP in 1970. That was one of two world champion Oriole teams he played on having made it to the Series four times. His trophy case had to be a wing in his house for all the hardware he accumulated during his career. He was a first ballot Hall of Famer garnering 91.98% of the vote. One has to wonder what was in the minds of those sportswriters who chose not to vote for him. Ludicrous. In Baltimore, he is their most revered athlete and that is saying something from the town that gave us Unitas, Ripkin, Murray and Palmer. Sportswriter Gordon Beard noted that “In New York they name a candy bar after Reggie Jackson. Here in Baltimore, we name our children after Brooks Robinson.” That pretty much says it all.
Lately I have noticed a lot of highways signs importuning us to be aware of signs of terrorism and to say something if we see something. I was wondering why that might be and realized it is probably because one of our major protective agencies has become greatly diminished. The United Network Command for Law Enforcement lost its main agent, Illya Kuryakin, when David McCallum died at 90. McCallum, as Illya, defined cool in his black turtlenecks in “The Man From U.N.C.L.E.” television series where he played opposite Napolean Solo, portrayed by Robert Vaughn, who died in 2016. McCallum was a classically trained actor (Royal Academy of Dramatic Art in London) who was born in Scotland. Who cares about art though when you can make boatloads of money on American TV. The series made him huge sex symbol and according to his New York Times obit, McCallum’s motorcades were ordered by police chiefs not to slow down because there could be carnage in the streets caused by his adoring fans. Try to get that sort of acclaim working the London stage. Later in his career he played the somewhat offbeat medical examiner in “N.C.I.S.” Perhaps he liked shows with abbreviations. He met and married Jill Ireland (he asked her to marry him after knowing her for seven days) and together they had three kids before she left him for Charles Bronson. Aside from acting, McCallum was an accomplished musician. His dad was the first violinist for the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra in London. In the 60’s McCallum was signed by Capitol records and put out a few albums. Notably, Dr. Dre sampled the McCallum tune “The Edge” (well before U-2) on his hit “The Next Episode,” which featured Snoop Dog. Cool till the end.
Okay, back to music. Gary Wright has weaved his last dream at 80. A Jersey kid who grew up in Cresskill and attended Tenafly High School. As a child (think 10-12) he was appearing in Broadway plays, singing and dancing. He left that behind for a normal adolescence where he played in rock bands. He attended NYU (after a stint at William & Mary) and for a short time attended medical school. He studied psychology in Berlin and ultimately fell back into music. Moving to England he helped form Spooky Tooth and that is where I first encountered him. Not really a fan of the “Dream Weaver” Wright, I was a Spooky Tooth fan. Their cover of Janis Ian’s “Society’s Child,” still evokes good feelings in my soul. They put out an album, entitled, “You Broke My Heart So I Busted Your Jaw,” which title would never make it out of legal today. It can’t be Rock n’ Roll if it is politically correct. Rock needs to be the antithesis of politically correct. Oh well. Maybe that’s why most music today sucks. Sorry Swifties. Wenner might say, we don’t have any good, “articulate” musicians anymore. Back to Wright, he played keyboards on George Harrison’s “All Things Must Pass,” and Harry Nilson’s “Without You,” and with lots of other players before honing his own, keyboard-only sound. Dream Weaver, the album, contained only keyboards and drums save for a single guitar solo by Ronnie Montrose. If your gonna have one guitarist on your album, Ronnie Montrose is not a bad choice. Later in his career he did movie soundtracks (think “Endangered Species” and “Fire and Ice”). In discussing the meaning of Dream Weaver with Howie Klien of Huffington Post, he said, “’Dream Weaver’ is really a song whose musical content is about the consciousness of the universe. God moving us through the night -- delusion and suffering – into the higher realms.” I sort of like the “You Broke My Heart So I Busted Your Jaw” guy better.
Last month we lost David LaFlamme who wrote “White Bird.” This month we lost Terry Kirkman at 83. Kirkman was one of the founders of the Association and wrote “Cherish,” which I am sure is often rolling off your tongues. A guy who played some 25 instruments, he is said to have written the tune in about 30 minutes. Started writing it sometime during the 11:00 news and had it done before Johnny Carson was done with his monologue. He started a band called the Inner Tubes which featured a rotating cast that included at one time “Mama” Cass Elliot and David Crosby. Eventually they whittled the 20 members of the Inner Tube down to four and the Association was born. In addition to “Cherish,” the group put out tunes such as “Along Came Mary,” “Never My Love,” and “Windy.” Kirkman wrote some lesser tunes for the band but it was “Cherish” that he is known for. He left the band in 1972 and was a drug counselor. He occasionally reunited with his bandmates, probably when the money was good. When Jimmy Webb wrote the classic “MacArthur Park” he first shopped it to the Association and while they liked the tune, they rejected it. Would have worked really well for them.
Katherine Anderson Schnaffer (who?) one of the founding members of the Marvelettes, whose hit “Please Mr. Postman,” was the first number 1 hit for Motown records, died at 79. The Beatles covered the tune a few years later and made it a hit all over again. Ms. Anderson, who sang backup, along with Gladys Horton, Georgiana Tillman, Juanita Coward Motley, and Georgia Dobbins, friends from Inkster High School, a suburb of Detroit, started singing and named their group Casinyets, a play on can’t sing yet. They lost a talent contest but came to the attention of Tamla Records which was owned by Motown. Berry Gordy told them to bring in an original tune to sing. They came in with “Please Mr. Postman,” Gordy re-named them the Marvelettes and put out the company’s first number 1 hit in 1961. They followed that up with other hits such as “Don’t Mess with Bill,” “Beechwood 4 – 5789” and other lesser tunes. They disbanded in 1970 and when they re-formed later in the 70’s, Ms. Anderson Schaffner was working with at-risk kids and declined to join. She was present when the band was feted at Motown’s 50th Anniversary gala. “Rember the letter, the sooner the better.”
While we are in the way-back machine, Larry Chance (named Lawrence Figueiredo) of Earls fame, died at 82. I can’t sing a lick but I love do-wop. I can distinctly remember being in a hallway one night (acoustics as good as a bathroom) with a number of guys who were singing do-wop (Andy Sanchez was one) and it was magic. Chance and his band buddies were from the Bronx (He graduated from Evander Childs although he was born in South Philly, or not, depending on who you believe), which spawned a lot of do-wop and later gave us Rap. While the Earls, who started as the “Highhatters,” never had a huge hit, they did plenty of well-known tunes. Here is there rendition of “Life is But a Dream.” What the Earls had more than anyone is longevity. Chance and the Earls, in whatever configuration they were using, were going strong early this year. I have no doubt that Chance will be replaced by someone and the Earls shall live on. If they had a signature song, it would be “I believe.” Chance was also the voices of Rainbow Johnson and Giraldo Santana Banana on the Don Imus radio show. Lest you think they were small potatoes, the Larry Chance and the Earls fan club page on Facebook has over 45,000 followers. This blog has about six. I believe.
Ian Wilmut, the scientist who led the team that cloned Dolly the sheep and showed the world how far we had come in being able to create life in a test tube, died at 79. He apparently could create life but not necessarily elongate it. He went to college to be a farmer but found he was better working with animals than tractors. He got a doctorate in embryology and chose to work with sheep because they were cheap. Not quite sure what he meant by that but from what I have heard from sheep herders, sheep have their benefits. In any event, he and his research partner, Keith Campbell (who died in 2012), were able to clone probably the most famous sheep since the sock puppet Lamb Chops. Dolly, who is named for Dolly Parton (who thankfully is still with us) became known to the world in 1997. After the announcement of her, er, formation, the idea of cloning humans became real and Dr. Wilmut gave many a speech denouncing such a move. Now that we have AI, the need to clone a being that will eventually die has less allure as robots can last forever. As to Dolly, she had a normal life, was able to bear little lambs, but exhibited ailments of a much older animal at a younger age. She died in 2003 and was stuffed for display in the National Museum of Scotland. No word on whether Dr. Wilmut will have the same fate but there is something alluring about them being reunited.
Okay there were others who died this month who I chose not to write about. Not because their lives don’t merit ink, but in keeping with this blog, they didn’t strike me in the way that these others did. So we bid adieu to the lawyer Bob Bennet, Michael Gambon (Harry Potter has not touched my life) and Diane Feinstein. I will admit that the Senator had an interesting life and was far more middle-of-the-road than people will give her credit for. She was really on the bubble but just slid down the side. Good lives all.
That is it for September. Enjoy the changing season and sorry that the clocks will be falling back. I’ll be bitching about that next month. Be well.
Excellent discussion of Jimmy Buffett—a pleasure to read. I've generally forsworn alcohol, but I will raise my next mocktail to him.