I watched TV a lot yesterday and retired feeling better about things. A country that produced a man like John Lewis can change, and for the better.

 It reminded me of December 1968 when I returned from overseas. I was stranded in Dallas and my brother and Sainted Mother drove there to bring me home. On the way back, we stopped at a small café in southwest Arkansas for breakfast at a classic redneck “greasy spoon.” Burley men with ball caps on their heads and hardness in their eyes gave us a glance and continued eating. My blue Navy uniform with the four ribbons didn’t impress them at all.

 Just as the waitress served us, the door opened and a man in overhauls entered. Holy race riot! Had I survived a year in a war zone to be killed in a brawl in the American South? I searched for a place for us to dive, but the waitress turned and called the intruder by name. “Have a seat, I’ll be right with you. Your usual?” The man answered, “Yes,” nodded at the other men at the room, and took a seat.

 A relaxing warmth of relief and joy flowed through me. I had returned from the war to a different Arkansas. No breakfast has ever tasted as good, and I long to enjoy that feeling once more. Maybe, just maybe.

 Thank you, John Lewis.