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One of my outside locksmith service calls introduced me to foreign diplomacy. Back about the year 2000, Mary Elmendorf phoned my shop, summoning me to the former Van Wezel house on Lido Key.

In 1937, the Van Wezels had been described as "foolish enough to build the first family residence on desolate Lido Key." There were guest cottages and tourist cabins, some of which survived the storm of 1932 when the tidal surge floated away the wooden bridge over Longboat pass to Bradenton beach and covered Lido Key with 3 feet of water.

The Elmendorfs had lived out there beginning in 1965 while John was president of New College.  Now, widow Mary had returned with her new husband and her daughter. 

Upon my arrival I was greeted by a barking, yapping, growling medium-sized, mixed breed dog. While the daughter went looking for a leash, I squatted down and began talking to the dog in Spanish; "Hola, perrito, que pasa?  Que lindo eres, vena ca, estamos amidos, verdad?"

When the daughter returned and saw me petting her dog she was dumbfounded.  She said the dog had frightened off the plumber, the electrician, the drapery guy and the telephone man.  "What was my secret?", she asked. I had read in the newspaper that they had just returned from a diplomatic assignment in Honduras so I figured the dog might only understand Spanish. After all two years living in Puerto Rico should've taught me something. La vida es buena.

Rusty (the dog) shaking hands with Pete Esthus in 1939.