Paul was a quiet, unassuming coworker who ate the same plain sandwich every day. His routine drew light teasing, but he never minded. When he resigned, a colleague helping him clear out his desk found a stack of children’s drawings and thank-you notes—pictures of a man handing out sandwiches filled the pages.
Intrigued, the colleague later visited the West End Library, where Paul handed out brown paper lunch bags to a line of hungry kids. The sandwiches he made for himself each morning weren’t just his lunch—they were practice for the meals he prepared for children in need.
Paul shared that growing up in foster care, he often went hungry. Making sandwiches wasn’t charity; it was his way of healing and making sure no child felt invisible or starving the way he once did. His quiet dedication inspired the coworker to join him in preparing and distributing meals.
When Paul collapsed from exhaustion, his colleague—his emergency contact—took over, and the effort grew into a workplace tradition called “Sandwich Fridays,” uniting employees in feeding those who needed it most.
Paul eventually left his old job for good, founding the nonprofit One Meal Ahead, guided by his foster father’s words: “You don’t need a full plan, kid. Just be one meal ahead of the worst day.” His humble mission continued, reaching countless children and inspiring others to act with kindness.
Paul’s story is a quiet testament to heroism: sometimes it’s just someone in a brown jacket, a paper bag in hand, and a heart full of compassion.