The place was Charleston, South Carolina. The year was the winter of 1958.

I was not yet 20. Another five years would pass before I would be stationed in California and marry Barb.

Several of us were winding up a Saturday night. Weekend nights were often memorable in Charleston what with air force, army, marines, navy, and coast guard all in one town.

A couple of miles shy of the base someone mentioned food. I swung into a no-name bar. Duane Eddy’s “Rebel Rouser” was echoing off the walls.

I asked the bartender what kinds of sandwiches he had.

“People rave about my ham and cheese on rye.”

“Please fix me one,” I said.

 

Fifty-six years have passed since he fixed that sandwich and I’m still raving about it.