SANDWICHES

SANDWICHES A pretty lady shared her sandwich with me in a hallway when I was a boy at the annual Annie Malone Parade In St. Louis and quite hungry. So when I saw her walking swiftly down the hall, of some building associated with the parade, eating, I stopped her. And I asked “where do you get the sandwiches?” She stopped when she heard me . Looked inquiringly at me, she divided her sandwich in half, gave a piece to me, and kept right on moving swiftly. Another pretty woman, decades later , did the same thing aboard a flight from Washington, D. C. She had flown from Nashville to pick up her daughter who was a Howard University student. The mother had exchanged glances with me in the terminal as we awaited boarding. I was reading a book, as usual. She was a professor at Tennessee State. We sat side by side until they disembarked in Nashville. But the simple dignity and beauty attending her person was amplified, when she pulled out a carefully wrapped sandwich from her bag, offered half to me, that I graciously accepted. Lord! It was heavenly delicious! The quickest way to a man’s heart and memory is to feed him! I know!