Sure, I have a hero, Danny said. But it's no one 
you ever heard of.

I ask my friend Danny the other day what he's up to. He says he's helping some Sikh people in the Twin Cities who are being mistreated in the wake of the September 11 bombing.

You know how some people are, he says. Even though Sikhs had nothing to do with the attack, and hated it as much as we did, more even. Sikhs aren’t even Muslim, for Pete's sake.

That's Danny, all right -- always looking out for other people. I mean, I, too, had nothing against the Sikhs. But you don’t see me getting involved the way Danny does. So I ask him why he does things like this.

He thinks for a minute, then nods. Yeah, he says. There's a reason. I'm trying to be like my hero. My uncle, Fred Walder.

Fred Walder, I say. Wasn't he one of those guys who raised the flag on Iwo Jima?

No, Danny says. Fred's not a famous guy. He's -- just a guy.

Then why is he your hero?

Because he's the real thing, Danny says. My uncle Fred grew up a second-generation Jew in Minneapolis. By day he worked as a switchman for the railroad, and he also worked as a junkman, driving his truck up and down the alleys of the city looking for things to repair, reuse or resell. This was before recycling, but it was the same idea -- getting the most out of everything.

This happened when there were still an awful lot of ugly people around here. We see Minneapolis as this liberal, enlightened place, but in the 1920s and 1930s there was not a more anti-Semitic city. And some of the worst were cops here. They'd lie in wait for you, hand you a ticket for a violation of a law you never heard of, and then give you a few pokes with a nightstick.

They were the kind of people who'd knock you bleeding to the sidewalk, and then pick you up for making a mess. What could you do? Your blood boils, but you have a family to take care of.

Fred had lots of run-ins like this. To them it was a game. Racial profiling -- it's always been there.

Working for the railroad was no easier. The rail yards were a hard, dangerous place, and Fred was out there in every kind of weather, doing what had to be done, and getting no favors from the non-Jews he worked with.

But Fred hung in there, working long days, and putting up with everything. There was no glamour, and the pay was lousy. He never made two bucks at the same time his whole life. He took his shots and hung in there.

Fred never had it easy. Even as a boy his father was awfully hard on him. So he could have turned into a hard, damaged guy who never helped others because no one helped him.

But the opposite happened. He was the biggest believer in America and in the future. One dollar at a time, he put two kids through college.

And he opened his house to arriving Hasidic Jews. He's helped scores of people get off to a better start in this country. He's just a beautiful man, tolerant of everything but intolerance.

Now here comes the best part. When I was in my 30s, I got divorced and ran into trouble with my own family. I brought a lot of this on myself -- I was pretty full of myself. But now I felt cut off from the people I loved. It was a rough time in my life. Robin and I had each other, but I felt cut off from my famly.

But the night of Rosh Hashana comes and who calls to invite Robin and me over to celebrate? Fred and Gloria. I doubt whether Fred ever had anyone in his house to that moment who wasn't Jewish. But he took us in, the way a loving family does.

And that is why Fred Walder is my hero. He's cranky, and he's ornery. But he taught me everything about suffering, about family, and about holding on. He taught me what a great American is like, tolerant of everything but intolerance. He taught me about perfect love, and I love him right back.

And that's why I'm trying to help the Sikhs. Not because I'm a great guy. But because I know a great guy. And this is what Fred would have done. !