In the summer of 1992, when I landed at Kennedy Airport, I carried with me a travel bag filled with books. In New York, I hauled it down the jet bridge and through passport control, my hands blistering from the effort. I remember thinking: What kind of a heartless place is this? I began to doubt whether I would make it to the terminal from which my flight to California was scheduled to leave. This wasn’t a heartless place after all, I thought; Americans were more than willing to lend a hand to a stranger.

Source: New York Times March 17, 2019 18:56 UTC