Sr. Miguel González

Thereafter (see Calle Cantera), I've been visiting the Dominican Republic every few years. When you've lived at a place as a child, had friends and went to school there, it feels like a second home. My dad, who lives in Israel, has been jealous of me every time I fly to Santo Domingo. He used to always ask me to look up a Señor Miguel González, a gentleman he worked with closely during our two-year stay in the Dominican Republic. Alas, Miguel González is as common a name in the Dominican Republic as David Cohen is in Israel. There are hundreds if not thousands of them. Several whole pages in the Dominican phonebook.

My Dominican childhood friends said they had no recollection or knowledge of the man, so while preparing for my 1995 visit, I posted a message on usenet, asking if anyone knew of this Señor Miguel González, who was an engineer with the Dominican ministry of agriculture back in the 60's. I wasn't expecting any serious response. A few days went by and suddenly an amazing email popped into my mailbox from a James Bazan of North Carolina: "We were neighbors in the Dominican Republic, although I'm sure you don't remember me. I was in 7th or 8th grade when you arrived in Santo Domingo. My father, Joaquin, worked at the US embassy, and my mother and yours were friends. I would be very interested in any of our former neighbors with whom you are in contact. They probably remember me as Jimmy."

I immediately phoned my parents and read the email to them. They certainly remembered Jimmy, his parents and sister. It was very exciting to have run into an old acquaintance like that on the Internet back in 1995, at its infancy. Regretfully, 13 years later, I've yet to actually meet with James for the first time since we left the Dominican Republic back in 1970.

So still no information about Señor González. Once in santo Domingo, I paid a visit to the Israeli embassy, thinking that they might have a record or contact information, because when my dad was working with Señor González it was on a mission sponsored by the Israeli Ministry of Foreign Affairs. No luck there either.

Five years later, in June 2000, my parents came to the USA for the birth of their grandson (my sister lives in California). I thought to myself, my dad has never been back to the Dominican Republic since we had left it 30 years prior, and he turns green with envy every time I go there. He is now just a 7-hour flight away from there, and I have all these TWA frequent-flyer miles sitting in my account.

A week later we landed in Santo Domingo. We picked up a rental car and drove to the Hotel Hispañola - the same hotel that we had lived in for a few weeks when we first arrived in the country back in 1968. My dad was beside himself.

The next morning we got in the car and headed out to Azua - the province where my dad used to work. At the time, this trip took him the better part of the day. 30 years later, it took us 2 hours. The roads are much better but the drivers are even crazier. We drove around some villages and stopped by some people to ask if they knew where "Proyecto El Sisal" was. That was the name of the project that my dad had worked on at the time. No one knew anything about it, but they were nonetheless happy to chat with people from the holy land who spoke Spanish with a funny accent. They don't get too many tourists around there.

We drove around some more, when my dad noticed some houses built in Israeli style. That was it, his project. We stopped by a house where people were sitting in the yard. We were invited in for coffee. The tenants did not know of the project but were very excited to hear a foreigner tell them about how their neighborhood was built and their local agriculture developed many years ago.

Dad was happy and satisfied so we figured we would head back to Santo Domingo. We tried to find the way back to the highway, but didn't quite know how to get there. When we saw a group of men sitting near another group of Israeli-looking houses, I pulled over. Dad got out of the car and approached them. He asked them for directions to the road. One of the men got up and came up very close, looking at dad in a really funny way. He then pointed his finger at dad and said to him: "¡Usted es Arie!" ("you are Arie!"). My dad's name is Arie, and he turned red having heard that. These men had all worked on the old project and had recognized dad after 30 years. It was stunning. Someone shouted something to the boys in the yard and soon people came out to greet the person who had built their village and showed them the way out of poverty more than a generation ago. We were seated at a table and treated to delicacies, a celebration to honor my father. This must have been one of his most amazing and memorable days.

I don't remember nearly as much Spanish as my dad does, but I could gather that he was asking the men about Señor González. No, they didn't know his whereabouts, but someone had an old telephone number for him. It was a 5-digit number, whereas these days all numbers were 7-digits. Still, we thought we'd give it a try. We thanked everybody for the wonderful hospitality and set off on our way back to Santo Domingo. Back at the hotel, we tried the telephone number, but as anticipated - it was old and out of service. Oh well, we didn't really have much hope to ever find Señor González, and dad was completely in heaven already due to what had happened.

The next evening we were invited over to Leticia's, a sister of my childhood friend Guaroa. We were sitting in the living room with Leticia, Guaroa and their mom, Doña Amanda, telling them the story of our amazing day in Azua. We told them about the old telephone number and that we had given up any hope of finding Señor González. They agreed with us that it was a lost cause. Leticia asked what at all we knew about him, but all we really had was 30-year-old information about his employment at the time. What about his wife, Doña Amanda asked? Yes, he was married, dad answered, but his wife, Carmen, had passed away many years ago. Then, sounding excitedly surprised yet doubtful, Leticia said "could you be talking about the father of my friend Caridad...?"

Sí! -- dad and I jumped off the couch when we heard the name Caridad.

I seldom get excited or emotional about anything, but that must have been one of the most enchanted and exhilarating moments of my life. For years I had been asking Guaroa how to go about finding Señor González, only to eventually discover that he is no other than the father of Guaroa’s sister’s friend.

The surprises did not end there. Leticia then went on to inform us that it so happens that later in the evening they are invited to a party at Caridad’s house: Señor González’ birthday! She phoned Caridad and recanted the amazing saga. Of course dad and I were immediately invited to the party.

No one said anything to Señor González or the guests. We walked in with the Noboa family. Everybody stared at dad and me, wondering to themselves what these two tourists could be doing there. Caridad called her father over to see who had come to congratulate him. He stared at dad for a moment before recognizing who was standing in front of him. They fell into each other's arms, astonished.


Señor González and dad spent the next day touring the city together and catching up on the events of the three decades that had passed. I was happy to spend the day solo baking in the Dominican sun by the hotel's pool.

Amazing coincidences, eh? I wish I could find Yoram too.