We kids used to love to go to Herfy’s restaurant and devour as much food as we could consume. One hot summer day, we were there having fun when I noticed a man eating individual packets of ketchup and mustard. He had a beard, mustache, and long hair in a ponytail. It was the first time I ever saw a man with hair like that. Before long, the entire family was around him asking questions. My father asked him, “When was the last time you had a meal?”
He responded in a very low tone, “I haven’t eaten for three days.”
No wonder he was eating those packets! I wanted to help him. I could not imagine having no food for three days. I was looking at my father saying to myself, “Please help this man.” This man liked the attention. He went on about all the cities he had been to and how he loved to travel, “seeing the sights.” I felt a strong affection toward this humble soft-spoken stranger. My father asked, “Where will you sleep tonight?” The pony-tailed man said he did not know, but his destination was Canada.
We were all looking at this man and at my father, and wondering what my dad would do. My dad reached into his wallet, took out a dollar bill, and handed it to the
man under the table. We saw what happened but no one else in the restaurant did. Our new friend instantly went to order as much food as he could consume with that dollar. This was in 1970 and you could get a good meal for a dollar. I don’t think I ever saw a man eat like that. While he was eating his meal, we talked and laughed and for a little while, I believe he felt like he was part of our family. Then it came time to say goodbye. My dad wished him good luck and this stranger thanked him for his generosity and kindness.
We all crammed into the Plymouth station wagon and I was in the very back seat facing the back window. I kept looking at the restaurant and wondering about my new friend. I asked my dad, “Where will he go? Where will he sleep? How will he buy food with no money?”
“He’ll be okay son; that’s the life he’s chosen; some day you’ll understand.”
I started crying, realizing I would never see this stranger again.
It has been over five years since my father died and I still think about what he did that day. I now understand completely the gesture of kindness he gave a total stranger. It wasn’t the money he gave him; it was the way he gave it to him—passing it under the table so no one else could see it. In this way, my father not only provided food to a man who was desperately hungry, but also preserved his dignity. Although it was only one dollar, my father showed me at a young age how to treat “a man’s feelings.” In all my years since that day at the restaurant, I have never witnessed such an act of kindness. God bless you Dad and thanks for the great lesson.
