On Life's Journey With Jimmy and Bruce

My 50th summer came to a close this past Labor Day weekend.

Even though the Julian calendar tells me I have until September 22 for the autumnal equinox, moving Lauren back to Rider this week hinted at the ending of summer; recent cooler mornings, the sun setting a little bit earlier each night, and ads for Halloween only confirmed this undeniable fact. Cue up some melancholy music—summer’s (almost) gone.

Of the last 14 weeks playing outside between the two big holidays, Memorial Day and Labor Day, my personal summer highlight was my family and I traveling to California for two weeks for our first-ever visit to the West Coast. The rest of my summer was filled with a couple family trips down the Shore, a few outdoor concerts and some golf.  All of these adventures were happily enjoyed with my family and closest friends. I feel amazingly blessed with my capacity to do these things at this stage of my life. But two of my favorite memories from summers past were missing: I had not yet seen my friends Jimmy or Bruce this summer. Much to my childlike delight, this past week they both finally arrived in my neck of the woods. It was like the first week of school was temporarily postponed.

Okay, I realize I don't know Jimmy Buffett or Bruce Springsteen personally—even though I feel like it—but with all the hard-earned cash I’ve spent in my lifetime on records, then tapes, then CDs, not to mention concerts and merchandise, I should be entitled to a brief chat backstage to say hello each time they visit on tour. However, I’m certainly not complaining. In fact, I’m very thankful these two musicians—now midway into their 60s—continue to record and tour. I’m thankful I can take my 20-year-old daughter to these shows and enjoy our time together, reliving some old musical memories and making new ones. 

I can’t believe it’s been 23 summers since my first Buffett show. In our mid 20s, me and my high school buddies, wives and girlfriends headed to Mann Music Center one hot summer night to see Little Feat open up for Jimmy and the Coral Reefer Band. We only knew the “hit” songs from both bands. Looking back, I (laughingly) blame Jim Johnston for my early Buffett addiction. My buddy went to UVA and Buffett was big down there. In fact, Jim’s dad used to play Jimmy Buffett tunes when it was closing time at his family’s swim club. In our 20s, we loved to drink and party and this guy’s music was a pleasant tropical diversion from the standard straight-ahead rock and roll WMMR would play on a regular basis. I cut my teeth on songs like"Margaritaville," "Fins," "Boat Drinks" and "Cheeseburger in Paradise." But it was other songs like "Son of a Son of a Sailor" and "Changes in Attitudes, Changes in Latitudes" that started to seep into my newly forming Caribbean consciousness.

Suddenly my buddies and I entered our 30s and we became married with kids. We were also starting to become entrenched in our careers, with kids in diapers and mortgages to satisfy; the call of escapism beckoned. An occasional ski trip, golf outing or night out with the “boys” was not enough. Around this time, they built the Tweeter Center amphitheater in New Jersey and Buffett and his band moved from playing the suburbs of Philly to the Camden waterfront. My buddies and I would strategize getting tickets on Saturday mornings, standing in line at the now defunct West Coast Video store on Main Street or Boscov’s at the Moorestown Mall. Vacations and business trips were arranged or put on hold to allow our annual summer gathering to happen. My friends and I got together for a few precious hours of uninterrupted summer recess from the obligations of duty and responsibility. It was musical medicine for my ailing soul. Soon the Buffett box set entitled Beaches, Bars, Ballads and Boats took up permanent residence in my car’s CD player. 

After a vacation cruise to the Western Caribbean for Marie and I's 15th wedding anniversary, followed by a family vacation to Marco Island, including a daylong trip to Mecca (Key West), my causal interest in his music turned into an epic obsession. I was hooked. I now routinely escaped with Jimmy to the island of "Tin Cup Chalice," "Biloxi," "Floridays" and "One Particular Harbor." I started purchasing his back catalog of individual CDs, as well as his novels of pirates, buried treasure and sandy beaches. Regardless of the month displayed on the kitchen calendar, I started to pray in the church of endless summer pastimes and escapism leisure activity. It was only when my daughter heard the original "Brown Eyed Girl" (sung by Van Morrison) on the radio, turned to me and said “Hey dad, that guy is singing a Jimmy Buffett song,” that I knew I was doing the right thing from a parental point of view.

Suddenly this pirate turned "40." A full-time teenager took up residence in our home. Job changes brought more responsibility, demands and stress. The corporate world seemed an illusion, with people who suddenly did not resemble me. My parents and my friends’ parents continued to age. Everyone seemed to grow busier. I lost touch with some friends. Slowing down the responsibility carousel became a tougher challenge. By now, "Cowboy in the Jungle," "Oyster and Pearls," "Growing Older But Not Up" and "School Boy Heart" guided me through this decade as I faced family and career challenges, relatives dying, and dreams vanishing over some age-defined horizon.  

My friend Jimmy me taught me many things. I’ll always remember him telling me "24 hours, maybe 60 good years ... really is not that long of a stay."

I’m not sure what the 50s will bring this part-time sun-baked and salt-water-soaked beachcomber. However, as long as I have "My Little Miss Magic" and the "Lady I Can’t Explain" companions by my side…..my forecast should be filled with mostly sunny days.

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If Jimmy was my good-time, always-out-for-an-adventure, let’s-get-into-some-minor-mischief "pal," my friend Bruce was a much different cohort.

Just like me and Jimmy, me and Bruce hung out in our 20s and partied with dreams of fast cars, cool chicks and an open highway, which would serve as our getaway from this "Radio Nowhere" suburban New Jersey life. Bruce hung out with Crazy Janey, Hazy Davy and Killer Joe. My friends at roughly the same age when Bruce wrote that song were Doc, Brian, Jim, Daraius and Joe. All of us were youthful "Spirits in the Night." At 18, we swore we would live forever and conquer the world when high school ended. We envisioned the world Bruce sang about would last forever.

I can’t believe it’s been 31 summers since my first Springsteen show. It was the summer of 1981. I was 19. My girlfriend (future wife) and I had floor tickets to the sixth and final show of The River Tour at the old Spectrum. To describe finally hearing these songs live as a truly religious experience would not be stretching the truth. One year later we would marry and start living the songs that were played on The River album on a daily basis. We were only in our early 20s, breaking away from our parents, friends and familiar surroundings; we moved to North Jersey, trying to scratch out our joint existence in an us-versus-them world. Given the early choices we made as husband and wife, songs like "Born to Run," "Prove it All Night," "Two Hearts" and "Independence Day" soon seeped into my young adult consciousness.

The next decade, Marie and I became a family, welcoming Lauren into this world four days before I turned 30. I started working for a company I would be with for more than a decade. I didn’t know it then, but it would be the best employer of my young professional career. My buddies caught up to Marie and I, in terms of marriage and kids. Thankfully, we still made the effort to enjoy our adolescent hobbies: golf and beers at a local bar when our schedules allowed. We laughed about our "Glory Days," but we all agreed we were right where we were destined to be. We were getting older, but our kids kept us young and our parents were not yet "old."

My 40s started with such great promise. The world embraced a brand new millennium. One year later, we all woke up one morning to an "Empty Sky." Would this be a harbinger of things to come? The world was changed forever on that fateful day. We could never go back to those days of "Rosalita" and "Thunder Road." It was our generation’s Pearl Harbor. Technology advances continued and we moved forward. However, by the end of the decade, economic markets crashed, companies closed their doors, and U.S. jobs were shipped overseas so big corporations could make bigger profits. Marie lost her job and I was out of work for a few months. Then a few years later, my current employer began outsourcing jobs to India.

The struggles of our early years of marriage looked surprisingly easy compared to these challenges as we stared down 50. We continued to remain hopeful as Bruce sang new songs about this changing landscape: "This Life," "Working on a Dream," "Jack of All Trades."

My friend Bruce me taught me many things, but I’ll always remember him telling me "This is our kingdom of days."

I’m not sure what the next decade will bring this part-time writer and photographer still trying to capture the "Growing Up" life experience in words and celluloid. 

However, as long as I have my "Jersey Girls" by my side, my forecast should be filled with mostly hopeful days.