Rick Anderson was about the first person I met when I moved to Salisbury. It is a story that I believe captures just who Rick is and what he has meant to me as a transplant.

Prior to our move, I had not spent much time in Salisbury. My wife Abby grew up here, yes, and her family still lives in Rowan County, but parental visits usually took the form of long weekends at their farmhouse and intermittent boating on High Rock Lake. Succumbing to a wild spell on one of those occasions, Abby and I ventured downtown for a little taste of city life. We walked Innes Street, Main Street, and several other streets that, like any good Southern town, bore the names of generals from the Civil War’s second-place team.

She showed me New Sarum and the consignment shop. We walked by Bell Tower Green, and although I did not know it at the time, my future employer, the Salisbury Post. I still remember passing Sidewalk Deli. It was not the time of day and we did not have an appetite for food, but something about the deli stood out to me. The iron fence, the unassuming sign. I have subscribed to the school of thought that quality establishments don’t need to spend on advertising. Their food speaks for itself and word of mouth is a far better reference than a TV spokesperson with perfect skin and teeth.

Fast forward to 2022. We moved to town on a Monday. It was Halloween. We were unpacked and in our East Fisher Street apartment by Wednesday. We did not move with much but the process of unpacking is still enough to work up one’s appetite. Well now was finally my chance to try the Sidewalk Deli.

Abby and I brought our dog Ernie. The outside patio presented a great place for the three of us to sit without breaching any social contracts that dictate a pup’s proximity to food preparation.

I went in to order so that my copilots could stay outside. She wanted the club and a Cheerwine in the bottle. I landed on the reuben. Jason took the order and I returned outside. Our food was delivered and we dug in.

It might have been November, but it was unseasonably warm that day and Ernie was heating up. It was the middle of lunch rush, but somehow, from his place at the sandwich station, Rick detected that Ernie needed to cool off. He emerged through the glass doors with a big bowl of cold water and set it down at our feet. As Ernie lapped it up, Rick introduced himself and asked how sandwiches were.

As we’re talking, I reveal that Abby and I had just moved from Nashville. Rick chimed in that he would be going to Nashville in two months to watch Widespread Panic’s New Year’s Eve show, a concert I have seen multiple times. It was an instant friendship and it confirmed in my mind that Abby and I had made the right decision to move to Salisbury.

Rick’s sandwiches became a fixture in the backdrop of my new life. I feverishly tried every sandwich, attempting to collect them all like a wayward youth obsessed with Pokemon. On the day before our wedding, Rick’s menu provided the sustenance my family needed to keep decorating the train depot. I was so proud to take my father into Sidewalk (our deli) and show him how I knew everyone there and that they all knew me. That’s just how Sidewalk was. It felt like dropping by a friend’s house every time.

When I found out Sidewalk Deli was closing, it hurt. Turns out, I was not the only one who felt that way. Scrambling to get their favorite sandwiches one last time, several customers clamored into the deli last week.

East Spencer Alderman Shawn Rush was enjoying my favorite reuben in town. Timeless Wigs co-owner Dileika Wilson savored a Philly cheese steak.

Carol Gamble’s favorite sandwich was the Hot SOB (spring onions and buffalo) and she loved the tomato basil soup. Susan Thomas got the broccoli salad one last time, and talked me into it and out of my usual bag of chips.

District Court Judge Beth Dixon, who lives by Rick, wanted her go-to, tuna salad on rye with red-skinned potato salad.

“He’s been such a wonderful neighbor at home and downtown,” Dixon said.

Alisha Byrd-Clark confessed that she always went to Sidewalk with ambition to try something new but like clockwork, she always returned to her comfort, the Bert’s Best Club with no bacon. Nick Means would go with the Yadkin, no veggies.

Watching the regulars pour in, I observed Rick calling out their sandwich before they even ordered it. You just don’t get that customer service at any old place.

Sidewalk Deli opened in 1996. I have no doubt that since that time, Rick wiggled his way into the fond memories of countless others. His contagious smile and warm demeanor made him feel like a lifelong friend — a lifelong friend who could make a mean reuben.

Well now Rick needs our help and he deserves it. The man who has brightened up countless days is going through an extended bout of poor health. A GoFundMe was started to help offset his medical expenses.

“Treasured friends of Rick Anderson, most of you know that Rick poured himself and his resources into The Sidewalk Deli since he fell ill in February 2020,” it says. “He leveraged assets to stay open since COVID, but business has not returned to previous levels, nor has his health. After nearly 30 years, he needs to step away. Please help us support him as he focuses on his health.”

The GoFundMe continues, “Every contribution-big or small-makes an enormous difference. If you’re unable to contribute financially, sharing this campaign widely also means the world to us.

“We warmly encourage you to leave words of support, love, and encouragement here. Together, as a community, we can lift Rick up and help him navigate this difficult chapter.”

The link to the GoFundMe can be found on the web version of this column.

The GoFundMe can be found here.