Mexican Million
by Lee Wilbur
Early eighties. Congress in its unfathomable way had allowed the Russians and other countries time to vacuum the waters of fish, and then finally passed the 200-mile limit. There was now a law and with this new “us-only” area came hope that American fisherman would find something swimming within once fertile boundaries. Our boat business was soon taking orders for, and building small draggers, gill-netters, and offshore lobster boats based on a 46' hull designed by Royal Lowell and moulded by Jarvis Newman. With a few boats now working, word had spread. This was a good hull and one to be seriously considered.
Being young and ambitious and having read an ad in a trade publication looking for someone interested in exporting workboats, I called the number. We talked about various possibilities, about our experience, and about how this gentleman had been in exporting and had been contacted by a company to set up an export branch with the goal of selling boats and expertise to other countries. By the end of the call I had agreed to assist in any way I could and that we would stay in touch. I also mentioned I would talk with Eric White at North End Marine in Rockland who was doing a lot of fiberglas work for us at the time and see if they might be interested as well.
A few weeks went by before I received another phone call. John, the export salesman, had been in contact with a “Mexican industrialist” interested in setting up a boatbuilding operation in Mazatlan, on the west coast of Mexico, who would like to fly to Maine and spend some time with us. We agreed on some mutually open dates and John set up the visit. By now it was late fall and temperature was dropping fast. I assumed anyone coming to Maine would know it would be cold and neglected to mention bringing warm clothing. Plans were made to not only show them our shop and North End Marine’s, but to also go to Portland and spend a few hours on a gillnetter. Father, two sons and a fishing captain arrive in summer clothes. I showed them around the shop, introduced our crew, and took them aboard a few of the boats in progress. From the production area we looked at some blueprints I thought might be of interest. The youngest son proceeds to pull out of his jacket a holstered and loaded revolver and sets it on the table. I’m thinking “What the hell is this all about and how did he manage to carry a gun on an international flight?”
“Protection for my father. He’s a wealthy man you know.”
No, I didn’t know. Our wealthiest didn’t need armed bodyguards. A kernel of doubt began to form in my innocent mind.
In the course of the week they were with us, we soon took them shopping for parkas, wool hats and warm pants. We toured North End’s shop and with Eric in tow, went to Portland for a short trip on the gillnetter. It was cold, really cold. They could hardly walk for the warm clothing they’d continued to buy and put on. I was wearing a light parka and freezing. Guy running the net hauler had his sleeves rolled up.
From the time we’d already spent together, it was quite apparent they enjoyed eating. So on our last night in Portland, Eric and I decided we’d take them to J’s Oyster Bar for dinner and drinks. In the meantime Eric and I, because of the apparent interest, had also agreed we would fly to Mexico City and then out to Mazatlan and see if we could work out some ideas how to either supply them with boats and /or expertise. (hundreds of dories on up to draggers and gillnetters.) Dollar signs began to sparkle. At J’s that night the drinks flowed and our new Mexican friends proceeded to order everything on the menu. Course after course after course. I think Eric and I stopped eating, hoping to somehow keep the final check down. We’d have some explaining to do with bookkeeping.
Our trip to Mexico was to be a big deal. Owner of the export operation went with us to lend credence to the monetary side, showing this wasn’t some fly by night venture and might have backing through the International Monetary Fund. We flew into smog-shrowded Mexico City to be picked up in two bulletproof Suburbans and from there flew to Mazatlan where we showed plans to fishermen and an architect who worked for Manuel, the father. We looked over the proposed boatbuilding site which was next to a steel boatbuilding yard Manuel was already involved with.
We’d get up, wash our teeth in Heineken beer, (DON’T DRINK THE WATER) and Manuel would insist we have a big breakfast. Then we’d take a break around one, have a lavish noon meal of seafood, which usually began with mounds of fresh shrimp. One noon meal prepared overlooking the water and served under a canvas awning, Manuel decided the half-consumed baked fish wasn’t prepared just right and had the cooks do another. After the noon meal was siesta. Then we’d gather again around five, work a few more hours and go out around nine for another huge meal. We, in the American contingent, were soon stuffed and spent siesta breaks running or swimming, trying to work off a few calories to pretend again we were hungry.
Returning to Mexico City, we had meetings with several representatives from the Ministry of Fisheries and the minister himself. It was apparent that the people in the Ministry offices were trying to look busy doing nothing. Some were cutting articles from publications. Others, simply reading. No one talking on telephones. Strange, and slightly disconcerting. During our conversation with the Minister, he was constantly dialing his telephone trying to place a call outside the building. The Minister thanked us for coming; however, nothing was resolved. We agreed Manuel would continue to explore possibilities in Mexico. We would go back to Maine and our day jobs.
Mid-winter and I’m at the Miami Boat Show. Manuel calls. “Can you come to Mexico. We’ll go to Acapulco. I want to introduce you to an acquaintance in the shrimp business who may need some boats.”
Perhaps this was the big break. With little hesitation I agreed to fly down and meet the shrimp packer. I saw his plant, we talked briefly about his needs for boats and what size and flew back to Maine. Something just didn’t feel right. Throughout the entire process had run the thread that the Mexican Government would have plenty of money available from the sale of oil to pay for projects such as the ones we’d been discussing. However, we’d have to find an international bank willing to handle the initial loans.
In an effort to keep the proposition alive, I phoned one of our boat owners, an ex-assistant Secretary of Commerce, who was able to set up an appointment with the IMF about funding. I flew to Washington for more meetings. Great learning experience. Not only did the law firm we’d hired bill me $150 for the lunch they’d invited me to, but within a few months, the Mexican government was forced to devalue the peso and my “Mexican Million” had been flushed down the toilet.
We all know summer in Maine can sometimes feel like an illusion as it passes soon by. This year promises no better. Hence, if a warm sunny day should be forecast we need to be armed with some terrific new recipes for an outdoor party. Here’s a winner I found in “Cuisine at home.”
* R E C I P E *
8 oz. Feta cheese crumbled
8 oz. cream cheese
1/2 cup mayo, or Plain Yogurt
1/2 cup pickled peppers
1/4 cup scallions, sliced and chopped
1/2 tsp. lemon zest, minced
Black pepper to taste
extra virgin olive oil
BBQ potato chips and/or toasted pita triangles
(Pickled peppers can be sweet cherry peppers, peppardelles, or pepperoncinis or halapenos. Whatever your heat tolerance. I prefer peppardelles-from the deli sections- and pepperoncini combo)
Blend feta, mayo, and cream cheese in a food processor until smooth. Transfer to a mixing bowl. Fold in peppers, scallions, lemon zest and black pepper. Chill for at least one hour. Drizzle good Extra Virgin olive oil over and serve with the chips.