Bon voyage, Becky
One of the most courageous people I ever met stood somewhere
below my shoulder, even in the sensible shoes she favored.
Bon voyage, Becky
One of the most courageous people I ever met stood somewhere below my shoulder, even in the sensible shoes she favored.
She went about life with energy and determination, even after circumstances removed one of her lungs.
As often as not, I disagreed with Becky McGovern just as ardently as she disagreed with me.
But I never got over the sting I felt when she’d peer over her signature black half-glasses to slowly shake her head and say, “I’m disappointed in you this time, Mark.”
Becky McGovern died unexpectedly last weekend at her home in a historic brewery building on San Juan Bautista’s main drag, Third Street. That is to say, she died unexpectedly if anyone can be expected to survive long after conquering cancer and undergoing heart surgery.
To all of us who made her acquaintance after she moved to San Juan Bautista, it might be easy to think that her life began in her 40th year, when she moved to the town she loved with her lifelong partner, the late Wanda Styron.
That would be wrong.
McGovern grew up over the coal mines of Illinois, where her father worked. She came by her activism naturally. Her father helped organize miners, and the family counted famously radical activist Izzy Stone among its friends. Ahead of her time – always – McGovern earned a master’s degree and enjoyed a career as a writer and publicist.
If she and Styron sought refuge and a quiet life in San Juan, McGovern ensured they would not find it. They came to town and opened a fine restaurant in one of its historic Victorian cottages. Mariposa House became a gathering spot for more than a generation, even after the two moved on.
The name of the restaurant – “mariposa” means butterfly in Spanish – was ironic, one of the few ironies that seemed to escape McGovern’s keen wit. It would have been more apt to have called it the Bulldog Bistro.
Not long after McGovern settled in San Juan, she adopted it the way some would adopt a wayward child.
San Juan needed saving, she believed, and she went about the task with energy and single-mindedness that none of us had seen.
She was soon appointed as executive director of the San Juan Chamber of Commerce. Local wags soon began calling it the “Chamber Against Commerce,” thanks to McGovern’s tireless anti-growth, pro-preservation tirades.
For two generations, she was a consistent presence at San Juan City Council meetings.
Council members would come and council members would go, but she was there to chide them, always.
Dressed always in slacks, a neat men’s dress shirt, a jacket and trademark Greek fisherman’s cap, she would rise to speak at council meetings until her opponents could bear it no more.
I never heard McGovern raise her voice or engage in name-calling, and that’s where her courage came in.
Frequently, as she began another carefully considered oration, a handful of those gathered at city council meetings would begin to mutter disparaging, even slanderous remarks. She consistently ignored the jibes, displaying patience and perseverance of the rarest kind.
For that alone, she had as much class as anyone I have ever known.
McGovern was the force behind the creation of San Juan’s Cultural Resources Board, upon which she served. The panel functions as another layer, one with a mission of seeing that the rich history of the village is honored and preserved.
Naturally, that led to friction. But she was never apologetic, and never doubted the honor of her cause. She took pride in her role in defeating a ballot initiative earlier this month that would have lifted San Juan’s 1 percent annual growth cap – a restriction that means only six homes per year can be built within the town limits. That cap may lock the city out of state funds for a number of projects, but McGovern did not care. She knew she was right, and she knew the right thing to do.
Even when she was wrong.
McGovern never changed her opinion that Windmill Plaza, the barn-like complex at the entrance to San Juan, was the ruination of the town’s historic integrity.
When I opined that to my eye it was both appropriate and one of the most attractive commercial centers in the region, and that, moreover, it saved local people the trouble of leaving town for a basketful of groceries or a pizza, I got the look.
She was disappointed.
So be it. It’s a testament to the character of a person. Eventually, McGovern disagreed with everyone. But even many of the people she vilified – the people she campaigned against and even those elected officials she sought to recall from office – hold an abiding respect and love for McGovern.
Like many longtime couples, Styron and McGovern came to look superficially alike. Both had fierce intellects. Both were readers. Both enjoyed good music. But it was McGovern’s spirit that fueled Independence Day parties at their home. That’s fitting. Her love for the country and her love of independence made it all right. Everyone in town knew where McGovern lived, not only because even as a solitary woman of 73 she insisted that her address be listed in the phone book, but because before every election her front yard blossomed into a riot of red, white and blue trumpeting every liberal cause she advanced.
As tough as she seemed to those who knew her casually, McGovern was one of the most compassionate people I’ve ever known.
She melted in front of children. She was the only person who could get away with calling me “Hon.”
McGovern came to San Juan in 1974, and set about working for the next 33 years setting things right. Today, I’m not worried at all about the Other Side. I know by the time I get there that Becky will have it squared away.
