The Secret of The Sandwich Man

Hearts. Stick figures. Kids holding hands. One drawing showed a sandwich floating like a gift, passed along a line of children. Another had a speech bubble: “I’m not hungry today. Thank you, Mr. Paul.”

It stunned me.

Paul never talked about kids. No photos, no stories, no nieces or nephews. Just his routine, his quiet kindness, and those simple sandwiches. When I asked about the drawings, he didn’t explain. He simply said, “Ever been to the West End Library around six? Come by sometime. You’ll see.”

A few days later, curiosity got the better of me. I went to the library and found Paul by the side entrance with a cooler bag, neatly packed brown paper sacks inside. Fifteen children — some homeless, some barely getting by — were waiting. One by one, he handed out a bag with gentle words and steady hands. No speeches, no attention-seeking. Just presence.

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