From Bill Anderson

Hi Gang:

My assistant, Judy, was on vacation last week, so I took over her job of going to the post office to pick up the mail while she was gone.

On Wednesday afternoon, the day before Thanksgiving, I was returning to my car with a handful of cards and letters when I heard a man's voice carrying across the parking lot. "Sir....Sir!" he called, and I turned around.

I found myself face to face with a man whom I would say was in his mid to late fifties. I couldn't recall having ever seen him before. He was wearing jeans and a denim jacket over a t-shirt with a message on it that I couldn't quite make out. His silver hair was combed down almost bang-like over his forehead. I didn't think his calling out to me was anything unusual. I'm used to people recognizing me in public, wanting to speak, shake hands, or get an autograph.

[More:]

But this man had no idea who I was. He extended his right hand, but not to shake mine. In his hand was a knife.

Before I could react he said, "Would you buy this knife from me?" I glanced at it. It was a pocket knife about five inches long with what appeared to be a two-toned brown and tan body. I know very little about knives, but it seemed to be a nice one.

I replied, "I don't have any use for it," and moved toward my car. I had no interest in pursuing the conversation any farther.

"Please," he urged, matching me step for step. "Buy this knife from me." Again I told him calmly that I had no use for his knife. He lowered his gaze.

"Sir," he began, "I'm really hungry. I just got out of jail, and I haven't had anything to eat all day." It was approaching three o'clock in the afternoon. "If you'll buy this knife, I can get me something to eat."

I didn't say a word. I reached into my wallet and took out a twenty dollar bill. I handed it to him. He didn't even look at it, just said a quiet, "Thank you," and turned to walk away. I guess he assumed that I had given him a dollar.

He took about two steps, and I suddenly heard him exclaim, "Oh, my God....oh my God!! Sir...Sir..." and he began running back toward me.

His face had turned a deep crimson and tears were streaming down both his cheeks. "Please, sir," he cried, "Can I give you a hug?" And his short, burly arms grabbed me across my shoulders. He squeezed me as if he were trying to break me in two. His tears were falling across my sweatshirt.

"Thank you....thank you SO much," he said. And he tried to hand me the knife. "Here...please take this," he offered. For the third time I told him that I didn't need his knife. Not even if it was free. He continued to thank me, and I whispered, "You're welcome."

I unlocked the door to my car, climbed inside, and through my rear view mirror I saw him walk across the parking lot and up the steps of a small strip mall next to the post office. There was a tiny restaurant and a beer store at the top of the stairs. I didn't see which one he walked into.

It really didn't matter. Maybe he was a con artist looking for a handout. Maybe he was hungry, maybe he was simply thirsty. Maybe he had just gotten out of jail, maybe he hadn't. I figured it wasn't my job to judge.

I started my engine and pulled away from the building. When I came to the stop sign, I realized my own eyes were watering. I turned around to see if I could spot him again, but he was gone. 

I don't believe in happenstance. I think God put that man in my path for a reason, although I have no idea what that reason was. I pulled back onto the main road, and glanced one more time toward the restaurant and the beer store.

"Happy Thanksgiving," I said to nobody in particular. And I drove back to my office.