When someone pointed out the photo of John Williams hanging in the hallway of City Hall, I didn’t believe it.

Unlike all of the other mayors, in their suits or neatly pressed shirts (and in two cases, dresses), hair neatly combed and looking official, there was John, a younger John by 28 years, standing in front of the ocean, with long, straggly hair and full beard and wearing a wool jacket. I would never have recognized him, except for the eyes, maybe, or the smile.

It was his first term as mayor, a term he filled after the death of Mayor Joe Police in 1980. He had been in town only three years, but it was long enough to be appointed to the City Council and then as mayor. In this town, people accept their new residents easily, and, as someone said to me recently, there just aren’t enough people to fill all the committees and do all the volunteer work that needs to get done here.

So when John bought the McBee Motel and settled into town in 1977, it probably wasn’t long before he made friends. His background as a Presbyterian minister and counselor must have drawn people to him immediately.

My first encounter with John was at a City Council meeting in February 2007. It was the same night that Jerome Arnold was being sworn in as the new councilor, filling the term John had left vacant when he was elected mayor. This John was nearly bald and clean-shaven – no sign at all of those long-hair days.

Now, I’ve covered many City Councils and have dealt with many mayors in cities large and small, and John was among the most accessible. He was always good for a few comments on any question posed to him, and while the topic might not have been comfortable, he would willingly discuss it if asked.

I always got a kick out of the way John kept meetings moving along – even to the point of maybe too quickly asking for a vote before the councilor offering the motion had a chance to defend it (not something Robert’s Rules of Order would approve of). The only time that John seemed to take a little more time was during public hearings. He made sure everyone who wanted to speak could, sometimes two or three times.

Even during the last City Council meeting, when the audience filled the room to discuss the proposed 96-gallon recycling cart, he let people testify as long as they wanted. John himself had criticized the carts in past work sessions for being too large and too ugly, but during the vote, he put the environment over the ugliness and supported the carts.

People I’ve talked to this week often cite his love for the community. He often personally greeted visitors at the Cannon Beach Visitors Center. As president of the history center, he took a keen interest in keeping the town’s past alive.

Personally, I appreciated his action to reinstate the community potlucks, which he had recalled from former years. The potlucks offer a chance to make new friends, meet the neighbors and have an old-fashioned conversation around the dinner table. They also gave John a chance to talk to people about what was going on in town. Maybe, during the next potluck on June 2 in the history center, we will take a moment to remember John.

It was at the last community potluck that I saw the connection between John and his wife, Jean, which touched me. We were all introducing ourselves, and at the end of the introductions, John turned to Jean. He urged her to tell everyone about the community classes she was taking. She was reluctant, but he gently insisted. “They’re something you have always wanted to do,” he reminded her.

And when she rose to tell us about the classes – including one where she played the ukulele — she beamed. John’s love for his wife, and his interest in her well-being was evident.

John’s quiet compassion played out in many lives in this community throughout the years.

Two of those he helped were Jerome Arnold and his wife, Janet. In 1991, Jerome recalled, they sought John as a counselor. “It was an awful dark period of my life,” Jerome said. “But in one session, he sent us off on a search that was very healing. He loaded us with some books, and we took them home and devoured them. We came away looking at each other and all of humanity in a different light.

“He let each person discover their own path and direction,” Jerome added.

John probably won’t be remembered for his long hair and full beard. The smile and twinkle in his eye, maybe. But the physical marks he left on the community – from the recycling center to the history center – and the personal contacts he made will always be part of Cannon Beach.