In 1935, when I was 10 years old, my family lived on the first floor of a walk-up apartment on 43rd Street in Brooklyn, New York. A few days before Christmas, I looked out the kitchen window to see my father sitting on the stoop, dejected and depressed, with tears in his eyes.
A mailman, approaching our building, asked my father what was wrong. I heard my father say that he had used up his food vouchers and that the rent was past due. He had tried to work as a laborer through the Works Progress Administration, but he wasn’t a very strong man, and the work had been too hard for him.
I was scared, having seen newspaper pictures of people being put out on the street with all their belongings. Just then, the mailman, looked at my father and asked, “Ike how much do you need?” My dad said he needed $33 for the rent, and without hesitation, he took $50 from his wallet and handed it to my father. My dad said, “I don’t know when I’ll be able to pay you back.” He put an arm around my father and said it would be okay if he paid him back or he didn’t pay him back.
He noticed me looking through the window and said, “Isaac, things will not be this way forever. If you or your son will remember this day, there will be times in the future when someone needs your help. Help them within your means and tell them what happened this day. This will be my payback.”
As long as he lived, my father helped others when he could, and I’ve done my best to do my part in paying forward, same generosity. The kindness and compassion shown by the mailman, a complete stranger, during our difficult time, left indelible prints on our family. His kindness and concern not only helped us in our time of need but also inspired us to pay it forward and help others whenever possible.
Together, we can make the world better. Let’s keep T.A.L.K.ing