I took Deweys key off the string around my neck, the one I had not removed since the funeral, and the fin box opened on the first try, and inside was a photograph of Dewey at twenty-five on this same sand, holding a paper with a gold seal, next to a man in a suit whose portrait hangs in the town hall, and one sentence on the back that stopped the whole beach access plan.
The town manager had parked sideways across two spots and told me the town was putting a public beach access and parking lot right here, that theyd condemn my lot for public use, that a surf shop from 1970 was not the look they were going for, that the porch was coming down one way or another.
He did not know what Dewey was handed on this sand in 1970.
When Dewey opened the shop in 1970, the town, grateful that he was keeping the old beachfront alive, granted him and his heirs a permanent deeded beach access easement and a covenant protecting the shop, signed by the mayor whose portrait now hangs in town hall, and the sentence on the back of the photograph told me where the recorded deed was kept.
Dewey shaped surfboards in the back room and sold them for less than they were worth, and the town in 1970 wanted him there, an anchor for the beach. So the mayor of the day deeded him a permanent public-access easement that runs through Deweys own lot, already serving the public, and a covenant protecting the shop, and Dewey kept the recorded deed where the photograph pointed.
The town wanted to condemn my lot for a public beach access that Deweys lot has legally provided since 1970. They cannot condemn for public use a property that already grants the public that very use, and the covenant protects the shop itself besides.
The sentence on the back of the photograph, in Deweys hand, said, the access is already the peoples, they only have to remember they gave it to me to keep. I read it to the old boys on the bench, and Bobby took off his cap and said, Dewey told me about that day once, I thought he was pulling my leg.
When the town manager came back, I did not argue. I handed him a copy of the recorded 1970 easement and covenant and the photograph and I said, think about it, you said. Heres the thing to think about. The mayor gave my husband a permanent public beach access through this lot in 1970. The public already has it. You cannot condemn for a use my husband has provided for fifty-five years, and the shop is protected too. Park straight next time.
He looked at the photograph of the young mayor and the young Dewey and did not have his look-were-going-for speech anymore. The town built its access using the easement Dewey already gave, and the shop stayed.
A surf shop from 1970 isnt the look, he had said. It is exactly the look this beach was built on. I sell wax and T-shirts now, and the old boys still sit on Deweys bench and talk about waves, on a porch the mayor himself made sure would stay.