Dewey and the Town That Kindness Built

During the post WWII occupation days in Japan, General MacArthur called on the skills of many brilliant young men and women to help build what successfully became modern Japan. Some would argue, too successfully.  My parents were part of that effort…Dad as a chemical/mechanical and civil engineer travelled the length and breadth of Japan for purposes of turning munitions factories back into fertilizer plants. Mother, along with another American woman, opened a school in Tokyo called Western Customs and Manners, and taught many curious Japanese women how to walk in high heels, use a knife and fork, understand something of how an American woman operates. From the stories I heard over the decades from my parents and foreign friends of theirs who were also in Japan at that time, it was clear that great pains were taken by them, through learning the language, reading the literature, looking at art work, etc., to gain an understanding of the Japanese. It was from the well spring of that knowledge-based respect that cross cultural bridges were built and as a result, all boats rose in the tide. The ethos of that post war effort stands in stark contrast, for instance, to how Americans dealt with Iraq after the war there. One got it right, the other did not. 

Of late, I’ve been reminded of that moment in time I’d learned of over my childhood, coming to know a remarkable fellow named Dewey.  If I have it right, he was from the Pacific NW and had worked from there up into Alaska for years as fisherman turn businessman, braving the elements until one day he set sail for points south in order to find a spot that offered alternatives to the cold and the gray. Thus, he came to a tiny, subsistence level living, fishing village on the Pacific coast of Mexico who’s bay and nearby mountain range afforded shelter from storms. The pueblo’s long flat beaches spoke to him of a possibility of controlled tourism and few restaurants spoke to an untapped, welcoming spirit.  By the time I met Dewey, he had been living in the village for some 30 years and the miracle of what that little village has become is in no small part due to his efforts. To hear him tell it, soon after finding the village he set up a modest bar on the beach, learned the language and began to observe, catch the vibe, began conversing with the local elders, he learned and obeyed their customs and respected their priorities. He also handpicked some pals to come down. If Dewey didn’t like you, you weren’t invited. If you saw a piece of beach property and started talking about building a mega mansion…somehow it just was never possible to build one. He learned about Mexican property ownership laws. If what he needed didn’t exist, he with the help of a new coterie of smart Mexican associates, would create necessary regulations in order to protect everyone involved. He found ace accountants, architects, builders and gradually, carefully introduced them to the village. All the while though he was doing something even more important. Here’s an example of what that something was all about and why I am so in awe of this person.  

Dewey and his partner at the time, Bobby, made friends with a local family.  One of their young daughters had, before Dewey came along, met with a terrible accident and was paralyzed.  In the fullness of time Dewey learned of this most unfortunate circumstance and stepped in. He brought a wheelchair in from out of town. He had a ramp built into her house and various other adjustments made so as to make this young woman’s life manageable. He saw a need, opened the floodgates of his heart and made someone else’s life better. He did not muscle his way into town…he nurtured its evolution through kindness, serial kindnesses. He did not mow down what was here…he learned it, respected it, sublimated his own way of doing things to create a symbiotic system that works.  

I have a girlfriend in her late 40’s who grew up here, in this village.  Speaking of her childhood she explained that potable water was accessed by walking the one mile up the hill.  People died of dysentery on a regular basis. School only went to 6^th grade, most inhabitants were illiterate, there was no electricity and people labored hard to live off the land. She now speaks fluent English as does her husband and their children, runs a business, drives a car, her son will soon graduate and begin his career as a dentist, her teenage daughter is one test away from becoming a black belt. All that change in one lifetime….and she too points to Dewey as being responsible for having ushered in most of the change. 

Today, there are multiple family run restaurants, a dedicated recycling effort, stray dogs are seen to, all village students who want them have laptops, there is a school bus, organic gardens thrive. Astonishingly there are houses built all up and down the beaches but not so as you would know it. None of them are taller than the palm trees, all of them draw their design and materials from the area. Lives of many of the locals and foreign residents are deeply intertwined to the point of being chosen family. People smile here. So do the dogs. There is no crime. 

To go down the main street with Dewey is an experience. As the unofficial Mayor, he is friend to everyone. I think there is no one here he does not know. A wave, a conversation about a relative who is feeling better, a joke…laughter, always laughter…that is part of his considerable currency. He’s got a two way bullshit meter…he doesn’t BS folks and folks don’t BS him.  That’s useful kind of meter to have anywhere. I’d like one. 

This is the town that kindness built.  It can be done. It works. It’s working.