Still a newcomer, I continue to marvel at Durango – the people, the place – and sometimes ask myself why it is so unique. I gained an insight into that question recently.
The evening began prosaically, just another get-together downtown with friends. One friend was leaving early so we walked her to her car. As we approached the parking lot, we saw a family waiting for their Dad. A burly guy who could have been a linebacker for the Broncos, he had just parked their car, and missed (or ignored?) the parking signs. Our friend was blocked in.
A driver happened by, a random Durangoan. He stopped and palavered with the Dad and before we could yell out “Thanks!” her car was unblocked, the random Durangoan took off and life went on, smiles and handshakes all around. Very Durango! Good people, and another helpful, kind stranger.
Relaxed, we made small talk as our friend stored her walker in her car and prepared to leave. I Iearned that the family of five were from out of town and had spent the day riding horses. The scenery was beautiful, they told me, and I could tell that the flow of the relationship they had with their animals had been notable for each of them. They’d been back to their hotel and now, showered and in comfortable attire but hair still damp, were deciding how to spend the evening downtown.
Our friend left and the family headed downtown, joining the swirl of pedestrian traffic, looking around, deciding whether to shop for T-shirts or souvenirs, or to listen to music, or have a meal.
As they turned to leave, I was charmed by what I saw. Of course, the family group in and of itself was a pleasure to see. They held hands and had a beatific look as they walked down the street, looking this way and that in store windows and at music venues and food vendors. The oldest girl set the tone: She was wearing red denim jeans and a fringed vest, and best of all, she’d put her dark blond hair in a pony tail, perfectly mimicking the real thing.
I lost sight of them. Downtown got dense with pedestrians. The sky looked like it wanted to prove something – perhaps that sunset was the most beautiful time of the day, bars of gold, red, deep blue, and the mountains ringing the world.
The crowd moved along, and there was a sense of leisure as folks stopped here and there, beguiled by a wonderful store or restaurant or gift shop or finding a curbside table or an eye-catching display or unique scent or aroma or irresistible music. I noticed it all; storefronts were inviting, proprietors welcoming.
Watching and helping customers was familiar to me. My grandfather owned stores, and all of us in the family, at one or another time, worked there. The stores then were different from today’s, as the times are different – Grandpa and Grandma were European immigrants who came to America in 1906 – but the dynamic of running a store hasn’t changed much.
For us, my Grandpa was the driving force, the boss. True, he never mastered the English language, but he understood capitalism and was successful in earning his part of the American dream, eventually owning grocery stores and a butcher shop. Our family worked hard, and Grandpa made sure we knew our businesses were vital. He reinforced his central message to us one by one: “You always gotta be better than the other fellow!”
While the other half his mantra regarding how to run a business – “Always be nice to the other fellow!” – was left unsaid, he lived it. He lived it when he forgave debt or extended credit for families, our neighbors, who could not afford their groceries; and when young men and women came to the United States from his village, he made sure they had work and a place to stay; and one time when a fine artist came from the Old Country, Grandpa commissioned a painting from him.
All in all, Grandpa isn’t so different from today’s Durangoans. They and he both know there are no guarantees and your heart may get broken no matter what. But it’s worth it.
The through-line is there, 1906 to 2026: equal parts hard work, love and just plain being nice.
Jo Gibson is a former English department adjunct faculty member at Cleveland State University and a freelance writer with the Cleveland Plain Dealer.
