Wednesday, January 29, 2025

"The Wagon Boss" Painting by Charles M Russell - Update

The synchronicities in my life are sometimes so astonishing that I have to write down the events to reflect back on the events at a later date. As I understand it, synchronicities occur because the connection between our individual psyche and the collective unconscious creates a sense of meaningful connection between our internal and external experiences. If one pays attention, seemingly random events line up and can be interpreted as signs from the Universe. These synchronistic events are part of the reason I write this blog. This post is going to touch on what appears to be a couple of different subjects that you will see actually all come together in the end.

In case you are new to my blog, the topics are largely about my profound connection to my ancestors, the majority of whom were the original Spanish settlers of New Mexico. I'm a first generation Texan... barely... I was born at St Antony's Hospital on Route 66 in Amarillo, just 50 miles east of the Texas/New Mexico border. Before my generation, both sides of my family had been in what is now New Mexico since Spain colonized the New Mexico region in 1598. Then, for 27 years between 1821-1848, New Mexico became part of Mexico when Mexico won its freedom from Spain. Then in 1848, the United States claimed the top 55% of Mexico which is now the western part of the United States including New Mexico, California, Arizona, Nevada, Utah and portions of Colorado and Wyoming.


Mexico also gave up its claims to Texas, hence recognizing the Rio Grande as the border between the United States and Mexico. It seems appropriate to be writing about borders right now since the newly appointed administration of the United States is trying to deport Mexicans and even Native Americans. Why? "Because they're not Americans." WHAT? Here we are again. As of inauguration day, January 20, those at the top are fighting the same old war. Not actually trying to take land but deporting people out of the United States. Call me crazy but Native Americans are just that. Native. According to archaeological and genetic evidence, Native Americans have been in America for at least 20,000 years. And as for the Mexicans... the western half of the United States used to be Mexico. Logically they have every right to be here. As for me... my family immigrated from Spain to New Mexico 427 years ago. I think it's safe to say this is my home.

My country is in an uproar yet, simultaneously, something really cool happened to me the other day. These synchronicities always happen when there is an uproar in our country, seemingly to help me process the madness and I am so very grateful.

A piece of artwork that had been in my family since the 1960's made it's way back to me on January 12. But first I have to tell the story about this piece of art and the artist who painted it and why it has anything to do with the uproar in the United States. 

The Fajardo's Thanksgiving dinner
1970 with "The Wagon Boss" 
on the knotty pine wall.
1804 Magnolia, Amarillo, TX

I had written about it in January of 2022 when I was in St Louis for my annual winter trip. But now I 
actually have the piece of art and I've learned more about the artist and his family. They were very much a part of the western states becoming a part of the United States in the 1800's. Here's a link to the blog from January 17, 2022 if you want to read it later.

https://christinafajardo.blogspot.com/2022/01/the-wagon-boss-by-charles-marion-russell.html

I wrote the above blog on a typical snowy winter day in St Louis. As I sat sipping mint tea, deep in thought, hundreds of miles away from my Central Texas home, I imagined that my son, grandchildren and I had been sent on a mission by our ancestors to this midwestern outpost in St Louis. The purpose? To heal some of our generational trauma. Why would I feel that? Well, a few male characters in my family tree came from the St Louis area in the mid 1800's and married into my large Spanish settler family. There was a big land grab going on out west after the United States had taken more than half of northern Mexico. It's always felt a little more than coincidental that my son would end up living right back in St Louis.

I had begun that day reading about the marriage of my cousin Josefa Jaramillo and her husband, the frontier legend, Kit Carson. They seemed to have a storybook romance. On the other hand, Josefa's older sister, Maria Ignacia Jaramillo was the common law wife of Charles Bent. He was equally as well known as his brother-in-law, Kit Carson. He was an American businessman who owned the most important trading post on the Santa Fe Trail called Bent’s Fort. It was the only permanent settlement that was not under the jurisdiction and control of the Hispanic or Native Americans citizens in the west. Charles Bent and his younger brother, William Bent started out as fur traders. Their father, Silas Bent was a prominent land surveyor and Supreme Court Judge for the Missouri Territory. The Bent brothers could have lived lives of ease in St. Louis but they saw the potential wealth in fur trading in the western territories.


It was common for men to "go west" to find fortune in the uncharted lands out west. It was also a known fact that to be successful out west, the protocol was to convert to Catholicism and to marry into a large, prosperous, land owning Hispanic family who had been well established citizens since the 1500's. In the case of Kit Carson, he converted to Catholicism and married Josefa Jaramillo. Charles Bent didn't want to convert to Catholicism so Maria Ignacia Jaramillo merely became his common law wife. 

I just discovered a book called "Blood in the Borderlands: The Rise and Fall of Charles Bent, 1829-1847" by David C. Beyreis. The book says that Charles Bent knew that he needed to be “plugged into” local power networks and "marriage" into a landowning Hispanic family was the best way in. But he just barely tolerated the people of New Mexico. On the surface his plan seemed to be working for him. The United States appointed him as governor in 1846 and his possibilities seemed limitless. But there was trouble brewing. The powerful Hispanic families and Native Americans of New Mexico felt that the new U.S. governor didn’t treat them with due respect. They feared that their land titles would become null and void and they’d lose their land. Only 4 months after Charles Bent became governor, a group of Native Americans and Hispanics gathered in the Taos plaza demanding the release of some Native Americans who had been jailed by U.S. troops. The Taos Revolt broke out and it ended with Governor Charles Bent being scalped and murdered.

Needless to say the Bent family was both powerful and controversial, depending on who recorded the history. Charles Bent and his brother William had been disowned by the Bent and Russell family. The Bent brothers had a sister named Lucy. Her full married name was Lucy Bent Russell. I found her grave at a cemetery in St Louis. 

Grave of Lucy Bent Russell

Of course that lead me down another rabbit hole and I discovered her grandson was the famous American artist of the American Old West, Charles Marion Russell. Also known as C.M. Russell, Charlie Russell or Kid Russell. Here's where my story comes full circle. When I was a child, my father worked as a furniture repairman at "Heath Furniture Store" in Amarillo, Texas. Our home was always decorated with the most fashionable Early American Furniture, upholstered with the most plush earth toned velvet fabrics. A large framed print of a Charles M. Russell painting "The Wagon Bosshung on the knotty pine paneled wall the living room above the couch. I never knew anything about the piece of art or the artist. To me it was just pretty piece of art from a nice furniture store. 

"The Wagon Boss"
Painted by Charles Marion Russell 

This masterpiece that I spent hours gazing at, was a print of a painting from 1909. The earth toned art matched the knotty pine paneling and the floral earth toned love seat, gold arm chair, polished end tables with gold lamps that were all perfectly arranged on the gold carpeted floors.

What a surprise to discovered as an adult that Charles M Russell was born in St Louis in 1864. He left home at the age of 16 and went west where he painted more than 2,000 paintings of cowboys, Native Americans and landscapes and created bronze sculptures set in the western United States.

Charles M Russell had been named after his Great Uncle Charles Bent but didn't follow in his footsteps. He was a gifted artist, storyteller, historian, writer and advocate for Native Americans. Totally opposite of his power and money hungry uncle.

This is where the story of the art by Charles M Russell and the uproar of the United States all come together. Earlier this month, I went to my step-daughter Sarah's birthday party. All of the women and kids were sitting around the dining room table talking and eating while the men were playing corn hole in the backyard. 


Ethridge Family
Dylan Ethridge, Adriane Ethridge, Davis Ethridge, Sherry Ethridge, Christina Fajardo, Sarah Ethridge, Jeanette Parr
and Emerson Ethridge

My ex-husband, Davis' wife Sherry casually says to me "I have a surprise for you." I said "What is it?" She proceeded to remind me that when Davis and I got divorced, I had left the 
Charles M Russell "Wagon Boss" painting in the closet and it was still there. I was in shock. She told me I could drop by their house and pick it up. So Dylan and I dropped by and picked it up. I brought it home with the intention of giving it to Dylan because he has asked for it. My parents had taken it out of the frame some time in the 70's and I am guessing I brought it home to Austin with me around that same time. It may have even hung over my fireplace at one time, I can't remember. 


At any rate it seemed magically synchronistic that the "Wagon Boss" would make its way back to me at this time when the politics of our country's administration is mimicking the times when Charles M. Russell's power mongering Great Uncle Charles Bent had been appointed governor of New Mexico. A man who had lived a life of privilege and lacked empathy towards people who didn't look like him or speak his language or practice his religion. Sound familiar? Yeah... he probably would have made his way into the White House earlier this month. 

It warms my heart that Charles M Russell went his own way and lived a life of empathy and compassion. This painting represents the kindness in Charles Russell's heart. He chose to spend his life helping the disenfranchised after his great-uncles had played such a huge part in doing just the opposite. Charles M. Russell, often called "the cowboy artist," is recognized for his significant contribution to portraying the positive Native American life and culture in his art. He used his platform as an artist to depict Native Americans as strong, dignified people. He also advocated for their rights through his paintings and writings, even going as far as supporting land rights for tribes by lobbying for the establishment of a reservation for them. 

Charles M Russell

In closing it warms my heart that my father chose a piece of art to hang in our home that was painted by someone who wasn't just a 
"cowboy artist." He was related to my family by marriage and a hero of mine. He was recognized for actively helping Native American tribes by deeply immersing himself in their culture and portraying their lives with respect and accuracy in his art, preserving their history accurately through his paintings. 

With love to you Charles M Russell. May your kind spirit live on forever.

Saturday, June 15, 2024

My Dad - Felipe Montoya Fajardo - Part 2

I am writing a Part 2 blog about my dad, Felipe M Fajardo because earlier this month on June 6, 2024, the 80th anniversary of D-Day was celebrated. Approximately 10,000 people attended the ceremony at the Normandy American Cemetery in France. My father didn't talk about D-Day, in fact my brother took him to see the Steven Spielberg movie "Saving Private Ryan" in 1998 when my dad was 83 years old and he had to walk out of the theater in the first 5 minutes. I realized then that the veterans of D-Day were proud that they served but they didn't want to be reminded of the beaches of France in 1944.




It has taken my entire life to fully appreciate what my father did during WWII. A couple of years ago, a cousin of mine informed me that his shoulder patch shows that he was in the 2nd Infantry Division. His division fought the entire war from North Africa in November 1942, to Sicily in July 1943, to Italy in September 1943, then the Invasion of Normandy, also known as 'D-Day' on June 6, 1944. Then they fought until the end of the war, 'The Battle of the Bulge' was in 1945. The photo above was taken in 1945, at the end of the war. You can see the stress in my father's eyes. I am so grateful he was one of the lucky ones who came home after witnessing these crucial battles and more importantly, liberating Europe, ultimately the world. I know now it was a miracle that he came home to New Mexico to marry my beautiful mother.

The massive allied invasion of D-Day never crossed my mind. Why would it? My father didn't talk about the fact that he was one of the more than 160,000 soldiers to take part in the biggest air, land and sea invasions ever executed. Now I know my father was a part of the most crucial battle that liberated northwest Europe from Nazi Germany on June 6, 1944. It ended with approximately 20,000 casualties on both sides. D-Day is largely considered the successful beginning of the end of Hitler's tyrannical regime. So, ultimately they saved the world.

This now all hits home with me because as we have always heard, history repeats itself. My paternal grandmother died in the pandemic of 1918 when my father was only 3 years old. I am assuming this lead to a difficult childhood for my dad. Then he fought on Omaha Beach in Normandy, France during massive D-Day invasion. It now boggles my mind that I was so unaware of my father's hardships as a child and a young man. It hits way too close to home now that we have lived through a world wide pandemic and now I am feeling that our democracy is in very much in danger. For the first time in my life I realize what a miracle it is that my father came home from WWII and married my mom and had a family. 

A couple of days ago, I discovered a "Friends of the 2nd Infantry Division" page on Facebook so I decided to join and post a couple of photos of my dad. The photos started a conversion. It's a community that wants to further preserve the heritage of our fathers and grandfathers who served in the famous 2nd Infantry Division during WWII. Most of them never talked about their service in the Army. So many questions were left unanswered.

There are now memorials for the 2nd Infantry Division.



Normandy American Cemetery Where almost 10,000 brave American soldiers

So again, on this Father's Day weekend, I would like to thank my father for his bravery, he remains a hero. Happy Father's day Daddy. I love you. Your spirit remains strong amongst your descendants. You will live forever in our hearts.



Sunday, February 25, 2024

My Dad - Felipe Montoya Fajardo

This blog that I have been writing about my family has been a blessing to me in so many ways. I started writing it years ago for my children and grandchildren to have after I'm no longer here to answer family questions. Meanwhile, about once a month I get an email from a distant cousin who has run across my blog while doing ancestry research. It seems that if anyone does a Google search on Puerto de Luna, New Mexico, my blog is likely to appear. This month it was a cousin named Anna Madrid. She lives in Los Angeles, California, however, her family is from Puerto de Luna, NM. I should mention that nobody who still lives in New Mexico  reaches out to me with questions about their family tree. Those who still live in New Mexico are pretty much uninterested in meeting even one more cousin. It's always those of us who are the first or second generations to have left our homeland after our ancestors had been there for 400 years. We are sort of like fish out of water. So Anna told me she was researching her father's side of the family because she didn't know much about that branch of her family and noticed they were in my family extensive family tree on Ancestry.com. I totally relate to that. The majority of my blog has been written based on the parts of my family history that were once a mystery to me. Unfortunately, I didn't realize until my parents were gone, that I had not ask enough questions or listen long enough to our family stories. I started listening when I sat down with my mother to create a slide show for her memorial service about a month before she passed away. I realized then that I should have been asking those questions all along, as she joyously told me about each photo from her past.

My mother and father were both born to well established families of the small community of Puerto de Luna, New Mexico which was a prosperous little town at the turn of the century (1900 that is) 


My dad's mother, Josefita Labadie Fajardo, was from the very affluent Labadie family. Sadly, she died of the Spanish Flu in 1918, when my father was only 3 years old. I have three photos of him as a child, but oddly there isn't much of a paper trail of his childhood. I have always assumed it was because after his mother death he may have been shuffled around to relatives when he was a very young child. Below is a photo of my dad when he was a baby before his mother died, then another with his dad, Doroteo Fajardo, step-mother, Perfecta and sister, Anita and then there's one of him and his sister, Anita with his father, Doroteo and their half siblings Joe and Consuelo. I always assumed that his mom's maiden name was Montoya because he was named Felipe Montoya Fajardo but I discovered that his mother's father had died when she was young and she was raised by a stepfather named Antonio Montoya. I still don't know much about him except that he worked a the store in Puerto de Luna. I also assumed that he spent a lot of time with his step-Montoya cousins because they were close but I have since discovered from the census forms of those families that they were in Kansas and Oklahoma and my dad wasn't on any of those forms.

My father, Felipe Montoya Fajardo
as an infant

My father, Felipe Montoya Fajardo,
his step-mother Perfecta Rivera Fajardo,
his father, Doroteo Fajardo and
his younger sister Anita Fajardo


My father's full sister, Anita, my father, Felipe, my father's half brothter Jose Fajardo, Doroteo Fajardo and my father's half sister Consuelo Fajardo

Like me, my mother, was born and raised in the same house and like me, both of her parents lived long lives. I was able to go to my maternal grandparents house and visualize what her life may have been like as a child. I cherish my childhood memories on that farm. I am also extremely grateful to have the memories with my own children and grandchildren that have been kept alive with thousands of photographs and videos. 

My paternal grandparents, Doroteo Fajardo and Josefita Labadie got married in May 12, 1915, 14 days before the birth of my father. I have wondered if that was because the priest only came around on occasion. I have found documents showing 160 acres in New Mexico being owned by by my grandfather, Doroteo Fajardo, dated November 18, 1916 and another dated December 6, 1920. I don't know where this land is and I don't remember ever hearing about this land.


I also found a military enlistment card for my grandfather showing that he went to the service June 5, 1916. My father would have only been a year old.


Now we've come to the whole reason I am writing this chapter of my blog. My recent conversations with my new found friend/cousin Anna Madrid helped me to remember my father's colorful stories when he went to the army. He loved to tell the story that he and his friend, Livy Madrid were the first ones to enlist in the army from Guadalupe County, New Mexico. This week I went down the "MADRID" rabbit hole of my family tree and last night I had a light bulb moment and realized that both my father and Livy Madrid's registration cards were dated October 19,1940. I wish my dad were here to see this! I guess he is here in spirit or I wouldn't have found this gem!

Military Registration
Felipe Montoya Fajardo

Military Registration
Livy Romero Madrid

I also found a census taken in 1940 showing that Livy was living in Santa Rosa, NM with his sister and brother-in-law. Unable to find a census with my father's name on it in 1940, I found one with my grandfather, Doroteo Fajardo and his second wife Perfecta (my dad's step-mother) and their 6 children. My dad didn't have a good relationship with his step-mother so he was long gone from that scene and I am sure the army seemed like the perfect way to "get out of Dodge" and go see the world.My dad and Livy were both 25 years old, both of them were living in Santa Rosa and both of them unemployed. Time to hit the road! He did his basic training in San Antonio, or as he called it "his old stomping grounds." On the day of my dad's funeral, his 2 half sisters told me and my sister that our dad dated Lydia Mendoza while he was stationed in San Anton.... as he called it. Lydia was a guitarist and singer considered to be "The Mother of Tejano Music." She was a year younger than my dad, born May 31, 1916. Interesting. My mom's birthday was May 31 as well.




My dad, being the positive force that he was, only talked about the good times in the service. I discovered much later in life that he was in the 2nd Infantry Division. Below is the route of the 2nd Infantry Division. He fought at the Invasion of Normandy, also known as D-Day in 1944, he fought until the end of the end of the war, The Battle of Bulge in 1945.

When my dad returned from the war, his 1st cousin Jose Fajardo and my mom's younger sister, Connie Padilla Fajardo had been married and they got my mom and dad to go out on a date. They married shortly there after and they were married for 56 years.


My grandson Dylan Ethridge
now proudly has his great-grandfather, Felipe M Fajardo's flag.

This blog post was inspired by a few text messages, emails and conversations I had with my cousin, Anna Madrid. When we first started communicating, I was sure that the closest DNA connection we had would be through the Madrid family, but as it turns out we are related through the Padilla lineage and that is a whole other blog post!
I will close with a story about the day my father died. He and my mother had just bought a new stove. It was delivered to their house in Amarillo and was being installed. My mother insisted  that he sit on the couch while it was being installed because he had not been feeling well that morning. But he insisted on going in the kitchen saying " I need to make sure they aren't doing a Mickey Mouse job." He went in the kitchen and was watching the installation. He suddenly had a heart attack and died. My sister, Nita called me at work to let me know my father had passed. I had been house sitting for friends who lived in Travis Heights, just about a mile from the newspaper. I went to gather my belongings to make the trip to Amarillo for my father's memorial service. I opened the front door and walked into the house and asheaf of wheat gently fell in front of me as I walked into the house. I picked it up and leaned it against the wall behind the door, where it seemed to have fallen from. I was too distraught to even think about it. When I returned from Amarillo, my friend that I had been house sitting for called me at work and said she was bringing my personal belongings that I had left at her house when I left in a hurry. She showed up at my office with some clothes and this tall sheaf of wheat. I looked at her oddly and told her it wasn't mine, but she insisted it wasn't hers so I took it home. I put it in the corner in my living room and didn't think about it for a while. Months later I did a little research and discovered that a sheaf of wheat represents abundance, resurrection, sustenance, harvest, fertility and the cycle of life. Wheat being sown is used as a symbol of remorse.


Tuesday, September 19, 2023

He Built It With His Hands - My Tio Guillermo Padilla

Most of the time I write posts about ancestors, who I never had the pleasure of meeting because they lived long ago. Today I am writing about my Tio Guillermo Padilla. AKA Maquela, Maquel, Mac or Max McGee. He had so many nicknames because he was a character. I think Maquel liked flying under the radar, living in Puerto de Luna, however, he wasn't hard to miss. 

The other day I wrote a poem about Maquel, inspired by a conversation I had with my cousin, Tony Dodge while having lunch with him and his wife Sharon in San Antonio. He described how Maquel built his rock walls and as he told me, I could just see Maquel creating his magic. He would place a rock on top of the wall he was building and sit back, light a cigarette and look at the placement of the rock. Then he would ever so slightly move to rock and take another puff off of his cigarette. I as an artist truly understand that form of meditation.

Guillermo Padilla
AKA 
Maquela, Maquel, Mac or Max McGee

Guillermo Padilla was born June 8, 1913 in Puerto de Luna, New Mexico. He died March 10, 1985. He was an eccentric man with many talents. He was a musician, an artist and a rock mason. I didn't like him as a child because I didn't understand him. He was quiet and he snored and talked in his sleep. Now I understand. Now I think he probably would have been described as being neurodivergent because of his social preferences and the fact that he was very talented in certain creative areas. I recognize this because I too am neurodivergent. I am thinking there could be a genetic element. I am glad that in my lifetime society has finally concluded that people experience and interact with the world around them in many different ways; there is no one ‘right’ way of thinking, learning and behaving and differences are not viewed as deficiencies. 

This is a painting I did of the adobe house in Puerto de Luna
where Guillermo lived most of his life.

Maquel was my mom's older brother. He never married. He lived 12 miles from Santa Rosa in Puerto de Luna most of his life, except when he was in the army. He was stationed at Fort Bliss, Texas for basic training, then he went to Egypt and Italy, where he was honorably discharged due to medical issues. From what I understand, he came back from WWII with what is now known as post traumatic stress disorder. I have a feeling many returned from WWII with PTSD.

The other day after I wrote the poem about Mac, I posted it on Facebook and I was surprised at the response I got from cousins who had memories of him when they were young. My cousin, Patrick Padilla said that my post brought back fond memories. One summer Patrick's father, Floyd Padilla, forced him to help Tio Maquel build a rock wall around their yard. He said he'd never forget riding with Maquel to Puerto de Luna in his old flatbed truck to gather the rock for the job. Patrick said he was amazed at how Mac knew just where to hit the large sandstones near the river with his pickaxe to break off chunks of rock for the wall. Patrick also said he had always wished he could have learned more about masonry from Maquel but it was hard work and he was too young to care. I didn't know until then that Maquel actually quarried his one stones! He quarried sandstone, smooth river granite stones and even petrified wood. He was an amazing mason.Watching him piece together a wall was a beautiful thing. I remembered that we had a pile of petrified wood on the side of our house that my dad was sort of proud of. He would move the pile to mow the grass and carefully place it back in the middle of the side yard. To anyone else, it was just a pile of rocks.


This is my grandson Dylan standing in front of my
parents house in Amarillo, TX in 2010.
This is the only photo I could find of the
rock flower bed Maquel built in front of the porch.

This is one of Maquel's walls at the entrance of Park Lake
in Santa Rosa, New Mexico

Guillermo Padilla on the left playing accordion


Guillermo Padilla playing accordion in Puerto de Luna

My dad Felipe Fajardo and Guillermo Padilla

And the beauty of it all was that he wasn't just a rock mason. He was also an artist and a musician. I started painting horses in the early 1990's and it wasn't until my brother Phillip saw one of them and told me it looked like one of Uncle Mac's that I remembered his horsed that drew and mine look just like his.

My daughter Adriane wearing one of my
"Two Ladies on Horses" T-Shirt at an art show in 1993.


"Two Ladies on Horses" T-Shirt painted by Christina Fajardo 1993 

I've been told that the wait staff put a black ribbon around the booth where Mac used to sit and drink coffee at his favorite restaurant in Santa Rosa. I don't know that for a fact because I was living in Austin with 2 children in 1985. It's good to know that your DNA lives on Uncle Mac. My son's nick name was Big Mac for a little while and he wore it proudly and used to make Instagram posts of Mac that were pretty funny.



Saturday, September 9, 2023

Bubbles Up! RIP Jimmy Buffett

A week ago today I received the sad news that Jimmy Buffett had passed away peacefully on the night of September 1st surrounded by his family, friends. Reading the tributes to him this week has been heart warming and inspiring. I read a post on Facebook that said "Wouldn't you know that Jimmy would go out in pure Jimmy Buffett style at the beginning of the the long Labor Day weekend?"


I don't remember exactly what day it was this week that I was out on my patio watering my plates, cutting back dead leaves and talking on the phone to Christian. I looked up and there was a bright yellow parrot flying around in front of my patio and landed in the tree and sat there for a while. I came back inside and then thought to myself "That was a yellow parrot! OMG was that Jimmy's spirit making his rounds, telling everyone goodbye?

Synchronicities always call my attention to what I am doing in the moment and gives greater meaning to life. On Sunday, September 3, I was preparing food for Adriane's birthday party. I was reminiscing about that hot day in 1977, at the end of the summer, September 3rd. It was 5 days past my due date. What were the chances that I would go into labor on the Labor Day weekend? So on Sunday, as I was preparing food, listening to Spotify, Jimmy Buffett's song "Come Monday" randomly started playing. I was floored since Jimmy passed away just 2 days prior. I have heard that song a million times since its release in 1974, the year my brother, Phillip became Jimmy's drummer. I mindlessly sang along with the song for over 40 years. On Sunday it had a whole new meaning. Still in shock that Jimmy passed away, I heard the lyrics in a whole new light. The song was written on the Labor Day weekend, 3 years before Adriane was born. There I was cooking and I singing along:

Headin' out to San Francisco
For the Labor Day weekend show
I got my Hush Puppies on
I guess I never was meant for glitter rock 'n' roll
And honey,
I didn't know that I'd be missin' you so
Come Monday, it'll be alright
Come Monday, I'll be holdin' you tight
I love the way the Universe gives us gentle little nudges as reminders that we do in fact carry on and remain. I love my life.

Jimmy Buffett

Jimmy built an amazingly successful career with his stellar upbeat, colorful live performances with a devoted fan base of "Parrotheads" equal to the "Grateful Dead's" fan base of "Dead Heads." The nickname originated at a 1985 concert. What does it mean to be a "Parrothead?" It means you are probably a baby boomer, a fan of Jimmy Buffett's music and the laid-back, beachy lifestyle he promoted.He became a billionaire because he recognized something big was happening amongst his fans before, during and after his shows and capitalized on it. Women with coconut bras and men with parrot hats and Hawaiian shirts. He capitalized on it by building a lifestyle brand around the attitude his artistry encompassed. It was genius!

In 1975, Jimmy formed the first Coral Reefer Band. My brother, Phillip was the drummer in that band. This is a video of the first Coral Reefer Band that year.

Jimmy Buffet and the Coral Reefer Band

My favorite part of this video is at the beginning when Jimmy gets off of the bus and tries to kiss my brother, Phillip. RIP Jimmy.

Jimmy Buffett in Austin 1975

The band was the opening act for the Eagles in August of 1975. The album "Havana Daydreamin'" was released in January 1976. My brother played drums on that album.

In January 1977, "Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes" was released. It featured his breakthrough hit song "Margaritaville" Jimmy said he wrote most of the song in six minutes.

Jimmy opened his first successful "Margaritaville" retail store in Key West, Florida in 1985. There are now restaurants, vacation clubs, hotels, casinos, restaurant chain, casinos, liquor, a musical and retirement communities with the "Margaritaville" brand. I'm pretty sure I would love living at a "Latitude Margaritaville" retirement community.


Jimmy was one of the world's richest musicians, with a net worth of about $1 billion. He was also a bestselling author. Over and above his ability to spread the love and show his gratitude, he cared about the environment. He donated funds and time to "Singing for Change," "The Manatee Club," "Last Mango Boatworks" and more. Jimmy Buffett was a true artist, inspiring millions to sing, dance, and take it easy.