For Pierre Washington, a good mayor is a mentor
Before becoming mayor of American Canyon, Pierre Washington, 62, kept a relatively low profile in his four years on the city council, often in lockstep with fellow reps and deferring to the leadership of 18-year mayor Leon Garcia. In November of 2024, he was voted in by a narrow 51.7%, making him the city’s second elected mayor.
Locals weren’t exactly sure what to think. Some were skeptical, some hopeful. Vice Mayor Mark Joseph told the Current, “The question was, OK — he’s a good people person. But is he going to be a good leader?”
In some ways, Washington is uncontroversial. Like his peers, he’s pro-development — with guardrails — and pro-law enforcement; a retired police officer, he said one of the reasons he moved to American Canyon was its safety.
What makes Washington different is his dogged commitment to what he calls “trust and communication” among city officials locally and in nearby counties, and his push to diversify the city staff.
“My first year on city council, I think we only had one African American female working here,” Washington, who is African American, said in an interview with the Current. “That doesn’t resemble the community.” Now, he said, there are more African Americans, more Latinos and more women on staff than years past.
And, unlike American Canyon’s mayor of 18 years, Washington has an exit strategy. “I don’t think I’m Leon 2.0,” he said, flashing a dimpled smile. “He’s my mentor.”
When Washington was on city council, his biggest disagreement with Garcia was around term limits. He remembers telling the then-mayor, “Hey, look, term limits are what we need.” Garcia worried term limits would deter mayoral hopefuls.
“I said, ‘But if we mentor people, then we mentor people to run.’ At every job I’ve had, I’ve always thought succession planning was important as well. You are replaceable,” Washington said.
The mayor and city council members each make $950 a month. Many have other gigs — on top of 40 hours a week as mayor, Washington holds down a full-time role in security for biotech giant Lonza, from which he will be retiring this year. All this, while keeping aside quality time for his wife, seven children and four grandkids.
The pay is low, but some say American Canyon runs itself: A majority of residents agree on matters of safety, education and family needs, and issues that divide residents center around land-use debates and inter-parental conflicts. American Canyon’s biggest challenges come from outside, like lawsuits from Vallejo over water rights and petty crimes by people passing through.
The mayor’s vision, as he describes it, is to strengthen what works in American Canyon.
“It’s all based around the core values of why I moved here,” he said. “I want some place safe. I want some place that can grow in a positive way, that can benefit the senior citizens of our community and benefit the youth of our community, and is a place where you want to do business.”
With year one of Washington’s term down, feelings about the new mayor boil down to “pleasant surprise,” with few exceptions, based on the dozen-odd people polled by the Current.
People like that he listens to them. People like that he texts back. They like his hugs; that he’s a man of faith.
Washington is also a man about town. He and his wife, Cherylyn, raised seven kids here after moving to American Canyon in 2006, meeting friends through sports and choir events at American Canyon High School. Whether he is out on a date night at One Ten, hiking with his two yorkie-chihuahuas at Newell or sipping ponche at last year’s posada, you’re guaranteed to cross paths with Washington at some point.
“Do me a favor. When you talk about American Canyon, visualize me. Don’t visualize a city. Make it more personal.”
All agree he is up for talking about anything, but note that the powers of a mayor only go so far. For some, Washington’s keep-the-peace attitude means that urgent problems get overlooked.
“Where was he in the time when nobody was getting food stamps?” asked Lydia Embry, a former Democratic delegate for Napa County and an American Canyon resident. “Even if there isn’t the budget [for food aid] — just like you reached out to get voted for, you could’ve reached out to the community.”
Even so, the results of Washington’s diplomacy as American Canyon’s representative are impressive. Relationships with officials in Napa and Vallejo have eased. And, according to Washington, three out of four drawn-out lawsuits with Vallejo are poised to be settled within the first half of 2026, which will clear the way for hundreds of new housing units in the city.
Part of that is thanks to the hiring of civic attorney Teresa L. Highsmith, who, in 2025, replaced longtime City Attorney William Ross (Ross is still on retainer with the city). Like Washington, Highsmith is only the second city attorney to serve American Canyon. Councilmember Brando Cruz said the move “changed [things] dramatically for our council.”
“He’s a peace officer,” said Cruz, a double reference to Washington’s 22-plus years as a police officer in the East Bay. The new mayor has been “a breath of fresh air for a lot of folks,” Cruz said.
In past years, American Canyon has been just as litigious as its southern neighbor. With Washington, the practice of sue first, ask questions later might come to an end.
“Vallejo’s too close to us for us not to be collaborative,” Washington said. For so many years, it’s been “’those people in Vallejo,’ and ‘those people in American Canyon,’” he said. “Instead of having that attitude of I’m going to bring a baseball bat to a meeting, I’m willing to come talk to you guys about anything you want to talk about.”
Listening is a skill Washington says he picked up from his four daughters. “I started off by trying to tell them what they needed to do,” he said. But they brought him up to speed.
“All four of them have told me on different occasions: ‘Dad, all we want you to do is listen’ … I realized that what made me even closer to them was when I stopped telling them what to do, just started listening.”
Listening helps him in public life, too. “I think elected officials tend to want to tell everybody, ‘We know everything’” Washington said. “[But] we don’t. It’s up to the residents to let us know how you feel.”
Historically, the city has gotten something of a cold shoulder from neighbors. Washington is set on changing that. He has monthly lunches with reps in Benicia and Vallejo. He ends meetings by telling them: “Do me a favor. When you talk about American Canyon, visualize me. Don’t visualize a city. Make it more personal.”
The making of a peacekeeper
Washington attributes his ability to navigate troubled waters to one specific childhood misadventure where prankster tendencies collided with a need for stability.
The mayor grew up a mischievous kid in North Philadelphia, in and out of the principal’s office. Part of that, he said, came from growing up in the middle: a middle child and the mixed son of a white mom and a Black dad.
“I held on to some anger,” said Washington. “I constantly got in fights. It wasn’t because I thought I could beat everybody; it was more so because I wanted to have an identity. I wanted to be accepted.”
As a 15-year-old, Washington accompanied his history class on their annual visit to the Liberty Bell. The 30-odd kids wandered around Independence Hall, home of the Liberty Bell, which back then was still outside in the open. Washington walked up and scrawled “PW” in permanent marker on the bell’s bronze surface.
“There’s not a lot of PWs with a permanent marker,” laughed Washington. He still remembers an Officer Constantine taking him downtown to jail, known as the “Philly Roundhouse” to locals. But instead of jail time, Officer Constantine called Washington’s dad. For Washington’s dad, the auspiciously named George Washington, the Liberty Bell incident was the last straw. A silent car ride led straight from the roundhouse to the airport.
At the gate, his father told a stewardess: “His aunt will be waiting for him at the other end.” Washington realized that he was being sent to San Antonio, Texas, to live with his aunt. “I always thought it was country cowboys, horses and buggies, stuff like that. I was like, well, what about my friends? He said, ‘That’s what got you here.’”
That would be the last time Washington saw his friends for almost a decade. In Texas, Washington learned something about southern hospitality. He started responding: “yes sir,” or, “no sir” and “yes ma’am,” or “no ma’am.”
He finished high school in San Antonio and joined the Navy, hoping to be stationed back in Philadelphia with friends. His plan backfired: The Navy sent him to the Mediterranean for four years.
Afterward, he visited Philadelphia for the first time. But something felt off. “Four of five of my best friends were all in prison,” said Washington. The fifth friend had a serious illness.
“Nothing really changed there. But I changed,” he said.
Washington was sent to Oakland to recruit for the Navy. Oakland Police tapped him for hire, and he soon joined ranks at the Richmond Police Department, where he spent 22 years working in the city’s tough Iron Triangle neighborhood.
It was there Washington was able to meld his youthful adventures with his Texas-learned discipline, using an approach he calls “community policing.”
“I was able to repeat what Officer Constantine did for me as a kid,” he said. When he encountered youths in rough areas, he would think of his friends in jail, and of the Liberty Bell, telling himself: “Hey, look, instead of booking this guy, let me talk to their parents.”
“What goes around comes around,” said Washington. “I take that same philosophy as the mayor now. How can I do things differently than the status quo? Doing what I’m doing now with no ulterior motive is a good feeling.”
