I would like to share with you a story that was printed in this month’s Sept 2020 current issue of a magazine.

The magazine is named The Sun Magazine and the story is under the title of Strangers.

It is a nice magazine with lots of nice stories from people, with no ads in the magazine at all.

My friend M wrote and submitted the story to the Sun Magazine about 6 weeks ago and she got a call saying that they liked the story and were going to publish the story in the Sept edition.

You will see the link to the story below as well as a copy of “Our Story” at the end of this mailing..


It is a very true story of how I met a woman named M on my way home to Boston in a big snowstorm.

Ever since that day the “Taxi Angel” and I have been friends and she along with her family help me with Children are Angels from Heaven.

Both M and I like to call the story “OUR STORY” …….

I hope that you enjoy reading the story and it makes you smile.
Ray O


I WAS TRAVELING home to Boston during a snowstorm, and when I finally landed at the airport, hundreds of people waited in line at the taxi stand.

The attendants started calling out town names so we could share taxis and all get home quicker. I secretly hoped I wouldn’t have to share a ride with a stranger, but when the attendant hollered the name of my town, a hand shot up from the back.

The crowd parted to allow a tall, broad man to approach. He looked tired and disheveled. I got in the back seat and politely asked him to sit in front with the driver.

Normally I am ready to chat with just about anyone, but that night I was tired and missed my husband and three young sons and just wanted to get home. We each gave our address, and the stranger asked the driver to drop me off first.

As I reached for my headphones to block out any chance of conversation, my fellow passenger asked where I was coming from.

“Lincoln, Nebraska, a day ago,” I said. To be polite, I asked him the same.

“Calcutta, India, three days ago.”

“You win,” I said. Curious, I asked what he’d been doing in Calcutta.

Years earlier, he said, he had adopted three children from an orphanage in Calcutta and raised them in Boston. He had never been to India himself — the agency had delivered the children to the U.S. — and thought it was important for him, as their father, to understand their heritage. So years later he went to Calcutta. The poverty and lack of resources there moved him deeply, and he started a nonprofit dedicated to helping orphans. He now spends a few weeks each year visiting several orphanages throughout India, bringing supplies, treats, and donations for the children.

At this point in his amazing story, the driver interrupted to explain how a “shared” cab fare worked: I would pay the full fare and tip to my house; then the stranger would pay the full fare and tip to his house, plus a “double-occupancy charge,” which I’d never heard of.

Incensed, I jumped to the defense of the saintly stranger, who graciously said, “No worries, I am happy to pay the extra fare.”

When we pulled up in front of my house, I told the driver, “Do not charge this man any extra!” I was so loud that my husband came out. I paid both fares, and the taxi pulled away in the snow.

The next day my husband called me at my office to say the stranger from the taxi had stopped by with a gift. When I got home that evening, I opened the package to find two beautiful Indian scarves and a small, hand-carved elephant with a thank-you note addressed to “Taxi Angel.”

Fifteen years later we are still friends. He just made his twenty-fifth trip to India. Each year, without fail, I receive an e-mail letting me know that he has arrived home safely.

Brookfield, Wisconsin