35 years ago I was new to New York City: young, poor, hungry, ready to make my mark.
My first night there I was sleeping in my car on Brother Island when I heard a knock on my window.
In the pouring rain, a man handed me a sandwich in silence, tipped his hat, and walked away. It was the best and only meal I had eaten in weeks.
That man? Mikhail Gorbachev.
I'll never forget his kindness.
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