Chapter 12

 He made arrangements to return to Himitangi beach for the funeral, as Benny had been the first person to welcome him to New Zealand and feel comfortable in his new home. He was more than that though. An adviser. A father figure. A source of wisdom. 

He thought of Benny’s wife Sally and how devastated she must be by the news. Opening the bar in the country had been their shared dream, and he could only imagine how blindsided by life she must be. It was feeling he was intimately acquainted with. 

 He decided to take the long way to Himitangi through something called “the forgotten world highway” between Auckland and the west coast of New Zealand. It was a gorgeous, winding drive through some of the most lush countryside John had even seen. He had driven back and forth across America numerous times in his life, but he’d never seen anything like this. It was a sunny afternoon and he had the road almost completely to himself. He thought back to a quote from Wayne Dyer that he reflected on from time to time over the years. “You can’t be lonely if you like the person you’re alone with.”

 

 He reached the city of New Plymouth by late afternoon, and decided to press on. This side of the New Zealand coast offered spectacular views of the ocean, and he found himself feeling the familiar excitement of being by the sea again. 

 He stopped at a little town called Patea an hour or so from his destination for the night, and walked down a long, lonely pier to watch the sunset and smell the salty ocean air. It was hard to believe he was so alone with such a spectacular view. 

  The next day at the Wines was a spectacular party celebrating all of Benny’s life and times. He was thrilled to share stories with all of Benny’s friends, and it occured to him that this was the end of a life well lived. Although he didn’t know Bennie nearly as well as some of the people here, he prepared a little speech to give anyway. After three or four beers and a lot of laughter and tears, he took his turn at the podium.

“Picture this.

A man dusts off the old “which way to the beach?” line in a bar. Except there’s no pretty girl. Or muscles. 

Those are the circumstances I first met Bennie Dillon. I was new to New Zealand fresh off the boat from America. He welcomed me into the bar with open arms, got me a beer, and made me a pizza. 

I never did make it to the beach that day.

But I did stay up pretty late talking to Bennie and his wife Sally that night. They told me all about their lives, how they came to open The Wines (Bennie’s lifelong dream) and their travels to America. He showed me some videos of his motorcycle trips to the south island. He had his bar, his wife, and his harley.

He was the picture of a happy man.

Over the next couple of months I returned to The Wines more than once. Often Bennie and I would stay up late into the night talking about different things. I really came to value his advice, his friendship, and his stories about the open road. It was a great introduction to New Zealand for me. As a new guy here I didn’t know many people, and he always introduced me around whenever he got the chance. Not a lot of people would have cared. But he did. He even let me stay in his home after being “overserved” a time or two. 

I based my first impressions of the people of New Zealand at least in part on my time with Bennie and Sally. I figured if the people were all as nice as this, then maybe I’d come to the right place. 

Eventually I left my first New Zealand home in Himitangi Beach, but I’ll never, ever forget these wonderful people who took in a stranger, showed him around, and welcomed him. 

Malcolm Forbes said, “You can easily judge the character of a man by how he treats those who can do nothing for him.” That was the kind of guy Bennie was. The kind that would give a total stranger the shirt off his back. When I walked in The Wines the first time I was a lost, scared, lonely dude completely out of his element. 

An hour later I was one of the guys.

That was the guy of guy Bennie was. The kind that made everyone feel like one of the guys.

If I can draw these conclusions from only a few meetings with Bennie, I can’t imagine the stories those that have known him his whole life must have to tell about him. My guess is they’ll ripple on for a long time though. 

So sorry to hear you’re gone Bennie. I’ll always remember you as someone who made a weary and wary traveler completely at home.

It really mattered to me.

You were one of the good guys…