“But it wasn’t the money. Like manure, that stuff was better spread around.”

That’s a line from near the end of a novel I wrote. It refers to the life-changing infusion of funds won by the book’s heroine, an Iowa farm woman whose dreams collide with a trans lounge singer in Las Vegas. It’s a goofy storyline, in some ways, and I can elaborate on it another time.

Its point, though, is crucial: It wasn’t about the money; it was about what she would do with it.

With that in mind, I sat down with Dean Bowden the other day to ask him what makes him tick. Many of you know him as the guy that gave $1 million to endow the Wilson Brewer Park Foundation.

I surprised him by describing his passion for donating to the community as “giddy.”

“Giddy?” he responded.

“Joyful,” I suggested.

Bowden grinned and offered a Winston Churchill quote: “Do your giving while you’re living. Then you’re knowing where it’s going.”

Should I have told him Churchill’s my distant cousin? Heck no. Why interrupt a man on a roll?

“We came here with two young kids and no money and took a chance on starting a business that we thought was a good niche business,” he said. “It turned out to be a good niche business. I was president of the company for 35 years.”

The “we” in that statement includes Bowden’s late wife Adele, who passed not that long ago.

The “niche business” is Webster City Custom Meats, a company on the east end of Webster City that many of you know makes perhaps the best bacon you can find around here. It also, during Bowden’s tenure, became known for its corporate philanthropy. Many a local fundraiser somehow incorporated a meat package from Custom Meats, be it on the menu or as an auction item.

So, giving isn’t new to Bowden.

In fact, on the day we talked, he wore a stained Iowa Arboretum t-shirt, a clue, I suspected. Late in the interview he casually dropped the staggering figure he and Adele gave to build a new playground down there.

But, as much as I am talking about Dean Bowden, this piece isn’t about him, though his example is crucial. Instead, this is a long introduction into the idea that more of us should share his mindset.

This community needs each of us to stand up and give.

Bowden’s giving, I learned this week, is driven by his acknowledgement of need. He’d see a project that needed that last effort to cross a finish line, so he’d give.

He’d see a big project that couldn’t get off the ground without an initial important donation and he’d give.

He would track ideas and think they should become reality. So, he’d give.

When you look at this community, it’s not hard to find the legacies of people whose desire to enrich it ignited their philanthropy. Kendall Young Park. Kendall Young Library. Jane Young House. Wilson Brewer Park. Fuller Hall. Brigg’s Woods. Van Diest Medical Center. Prem Sahai Auditorium.

Of course, not all of us will be remembered by an institution that bears their name and that’s just fine. Still, we must acknowledge that communities do not build themselves. Their development and improvement hinge on need; we all benefit when we meet those needs.

So, whether we’re well off or not-so-well off, it’s our responsibility to embrace Dean Bowden’s philosophy – even if it’s just a sliver of it – because that’s what building a community takes.

Yes, money is important.

But like manure, it’s a lot more effective when you spread it around.

Jane Curtis is interim editor of the Daily Freeman-Journal. The novel she cites here is “Pigs Must Fly” published using her pseudonym, Edna Flannigan. She is a 2024 Iowa Newspaper Association Master Columnist.