I
met Gina in the waiting area of a departure gate in Salt Lake City Airport’s
terminal 2, prepared for an hour of airline boredom. The female traveler seated
to my immediate right was occupied with a magazine featuring
colorfully-illustrated food dishes and recipes. I couldn’t help but notice the
page on which she was focused and commented off-handedly about my fondness for
a version of that particular menu specialty I had recently prepared in my own
kitchen. Thus began what became a passionate and animated discussion
surrounding our shared love of food and food history. A native New Orleanian
with Italian roots, she ended up writing down a series of recommendations for
my stay in that city, and we eventually made our way down the companionway to
the waiting aircraft, chatting like lifelong friends. I spotted her once again
in the baggage area at New Orleans, and she waved happily to me across a crowd
of busy travelers.
Seated with some friends at a picnic
table beside the fabled Battenkill River and my favorite covered bridge in
southwest Vermont recently, I noticed a lone fly fisherman eating his own lunch
at the only other table in that green and lush historic setting. After a
shouted comment or two, Kevin introduced himself as a visitor from Australia
and joined us. In minutes he and I had discovered a half dozen shared
interests, from the Battle of Britain and the varying capabilities of the
Spitfire and Messerschmitt, to the development of the Rolls Royce Merlin
engine, and the merits of fly fishing on various Montana trout streams. Since
then we have established an email connection between our respective continents
and I have gotten to know his wife Jennifer as well.
I struck up a conversation with a
tall, good-looking father of three young children at a Burger King restaurant
in Central Utah, after observing the loving way he entertained his
obviously-mixed-race young family as they finished their meal-on-the-run. On
the pretext of asking him why he wore no wrist watch (a recent phenomenon in
this age of “handheld” devices which I have been exploring), I learned that he
was a surgeon, and as his Korean-American wife joined us, we found a special
connection arising from my wartime experience in her homeland, and my
continuing efforts to build cultural bridges between our two countries.
Shirley and I were enjoying an
old-fashioned “comfort food” meal in a 1950s-era diner in Manchester, New
Hampshire just a month ago, when our attention was drawn to and held by a group
of four 30-something women at a nearby table who were regaling each other with
flying hands and nearly-continuous laughter. Although too distant to make out
their exact words, it seemed obvious to me that some third-party person guilty
of some kind of buffoonery was the victim of their salacious but delicious
ridicule. As we were leaving, I told Shirley that I was going to “have a word”
with them. “Don’t you dare!” my horrified wife warned. But I couldn’t restrain
myself. “You ladies are having
altogether too much fun” I said as I interjected myself into their
conversation, “but I would really like to meet the poor lady you are talking
about”! My sly, but sympathetic comment threw them into more gales of delighted
laughter, and I dare to believe they would have invited me to join them if
circumstances had been different.
And I can’t forget Earl, the
dedicated Black taxi driver who picked us up at New Orleans International and
delivered us to our downtown hotel, talking to us about his beloved city. “When
will you be leaving?” he asked before letting us off. We told him the day, but warned him “Oh, but
that will be at five AM in the morning”.
“That’s okay. I will be here to pick you up at that time if you like.”
And he was, even though he had to borrow his wife’s cab, since his was not
available. It was not just about the “fare”; with Earl it was all about keeping
his word. He was one of a memorable handful of African-American cabbies, hotel
porters and restaurant waiters, who went out of their way to make us feel
welcome and “cared for” while guests in their home town.
In keeping with a long-time habit of
writing down the things that happen around me almost daily, I have become particularly
aware of how regularly my life is enriched by, and how thankful I am for the
goodness of everyday people.
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