Us Cliffs

There’s a good little sandwich shop in downtown Buffalo. You slip them the order and they’ll make you a fresh sandwich in five minutes.

Always perfectly made.

They also have a sandwich card program - you get your 11th sandwich free.

Through the years I’ve probably had about twenty completed cards.

I swung by there the other day and filled out my slip and stepped off to the side to wait. The sandwich maker was busy, and barely acknowledged me.

Three minutes later he yelled out:

“Order is ready for Cliff.”

I stepped up, but an elderly black man brushed by me, and collected three full subs.

Then the sandwich maker picked up my slip and looked at the name.

“What are the chances that I serve back-to-back Cliff’s?”

I laughed and so did the older black man, and of course, he came over.

“Hi, Cliff. I’m Cliff,” he said.

We shook hands and he asked me how I got my name.

“My grandpa Clifford,” I said. “He was a good man.”

I told the man a Cliff’s notes version of my Grandpa’s life and he whistled when I said that Grandpa worked on the railroad.

“My Dad, who was also named Clifford, did too,” he said. “Two Cliff’s on the railroad. Wouldn’t it be something if they knew one another?”

That kind of blew my mind a little!

We continued chatting. My new friend Cliff had a Dad who lived to 108 years of age.

“Mom died earlier,” he said. “She was only 105!”

I laughed.

“A blessing and a curse,” Cliff said. “I’m 81 and I can’t imagine going another 20 + years, but you get to see your kids and your grandkids grow up.”

I was curious.

“Just good genes, or did Mom and Dad have a secret on living clean?”

Cliff laughed.

“Ah, hell no! My Dad drank and smoked to the day he died. We used to laugh about the fact that he smoked for 90 years!”

Cliff and I drifted off to other subjects. He wasn’t too worried about all the societal arguments that seem to be raging now. He played professional football ‘back when they didn’t pay Jack-shit for playing.’

“Life’s too short to worry about what someone else is up to as they live their own life,” he said. “But this is a good thing.”

At first, I thought he was talking about the sandwich.

“Community,” he said. “Chewing the fat with a total stranger just because we have the same name. That’s a good thing. You’re a busy white man. I’m a tired old black man, but here we are, we made a connection.”

I liked that.

“Mom and Dad might tell you that they hung around so long because they made a lot of connections.”

The sandwich maker called out my name and we both turned.

Black and white Cliff shared a laugh.

We shook hands and walked out of the store together.

“I enjoyed talking with you,” I said.

“Same here.”

We turned in different directions but I stopped him.

“Hey, my Grandpa used to always say, “Us Cliffs have to stick together.”

He laughed.

“I wonder if he knew my Dad and once said that to him.”

We parted company and I smiled as I opened my car door.

I truly hope that Grandpa knew his Pop.