Not being a Parrothead, all I knew about the late Jimmy Buffett until a few weeks ago was that he was a popular musician famous for his big 1977 hit, “Margaritaville.”
I recently discovered Buffett’s round-about connection to San Pedro, and how I learned about that is another Pedro story.
It began in 1996 when Buffett took a family vacation through the Caribbean and Central and South America to celebrate his 50th birthday. While on that trip, the Buffetts, during a stop in Costa Rica, found their way to the Pacific Coast resort of Si Como No, owned by San Pedro native Jim Damalas.
That visit turned into several pages in Buffett’s 1998 bestseller chronicling the trip, A Pirate Looks at Fifty.
I would never have heard of that book if I hadn’t attended last month’s memorial service for Sandy Radmilovich, who I worked with in the late ‘80s at the News-Pilot. There, I ran into an old acquaintance, Tony Cordero. The Cordero family grew up next door to the Radmiloviches, and directly across the street was the Damalas home.
The cover of ‘A Pirate Looks at Fifty’ by Jimmy Buffett.
This was on Santa Rena Drive in the Rolling Hills Riviera, and I spent much time there as a teenager. Jim was one of my best friends throughout Dodson Junior High, San Pedro High, where he was president of our W‘69 class, and Harbor College and was one of the groomsmen at my wedding. The Cordero children were much younger than us teens then, but they all knew Jim well. So, when I mentioned to Cordero about being friends with Damalas, he mentioned Si Como No, which he has visited. Today, it is a world-famous resort and wildlife refuge; Damalas was a pioneer in the ecotourism movement.
Buffett’s book is still in print, so I quickly ordered it. I picked it up at Barnes & Noble and, that night, read how Buffett had heard about Si Como No from a friend’s friend who worked there.
“It was owned by an American who happened to be a big fan of mine,” Buffett wrote. “The owner, Jim Damalas, was out of town but due back on New Year’s Eve. He had faxed the hotel when he learned we were around and had offered us his house. I like the idea and the owner already…”
On traveling from the airport at Quepos to Si Como No in Manuel Antonio, Buffett wrote: “I spot Jane [Buffett’s wife] and Kino at the desk talking to a tall, middle-aged man with curly dark hair. Jane introduces me to Jim Damalas. I shake his hand and thank him for his hospitality, feeling an instant ease and familiarity. Jim takes care of business first. He tells us that we have our room at the hotel to crash in for the night, and then offers Jane and me a bedroom at his house across the street. We go to take a look.
“Jim’s house is one of the coolest tropical residences I have ever seen. It reminds me of Hugh Kelly’s mountain hideout on Moorea, where I wrote ‘One Particular Harbour.’ It reminds me of the favorite fictional island home that appeared in my marlin dream. It is like a giant tree house, and it’s very obvious that it had been a labor of love and time. There had been no master plan, architect, or contractor. Yet there couldn’t be a more perfect structure in a more perfect surrounding.”
Later, “Jim comes over and we chat while he fields a series of interruptions from employees and a mixture of Tico and American hotel guests. He possesses that magic ability to operate calmly in the middle of turmoil, and he switches from Spanish to English as easily as changing a channel on a remote control.”
Buffett’s conversation with Damalas, in which Damalas tells the story of how he ended up in Costa Rica, takes up an entire section. The Buffetts celebrated New Year’s Eve at a nearby beach club. “The next morning,” Buffett writes, “we have breakfast with Jim, and then he drives us to the airport, where we exchange numbers and E-mail addresses. Quepos is now another place, and Jim Damalas another name to add to my songline.”
After reading the sections on Damalas, I started the book at Chapter 1, learning what Parrotheads all know: Buffett was not only a gifted music writer but a bestselling author, astute businessman, and licensed pilot with a fleet of planes. Knowing the book was 25 years old and not knowing much else about him, I checked Google to see if he was still alive. He was 76, and there was nothing about him being ill.
Two days later, I woke up to the news alert that world-famous musician Jimmy Buffett had died. I hope you believe in serendipity, because the very next day, I received a message from Damalas. It turns out he had just contacted Cordero the day before and asked how he could reach me. (I had tried to call him after my wife’s passing but hadn’t heard from him. Now semi-retired, he said he spends a lot of time off the grid.)
We talked for a long time, but the best part is he already had scheduled a trip to the States, including a stop in San Pedro, which will take place after this column publishes.
Stand by for an update on that reunion. As he was for Buffett, Damalas is part of my songline. spt
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