Bob Marley was driving through rural Alabama when he saw something that pained his soul. A diner with a handwritten sign in the window: No Jamaicans, no Blacks, Whites only. His bandmates begged him to keep driving. But Bob had other plans.

Earl’s hands were trembling.

—I don’t know how to change. This is all I’ve ever known.

“You start,” Bob said gently, “by taking down that sign.”

For a long moment, Earl Watson remained frozen, staring at the handwritten sign that had defined his coffee shop for decades. The words his father had written, that his grandfather would have approved of, suddenly seemed ugly and small.

Mary tugged on her father’s sleeve.

—Dad, the sign makes the music sad.

Those innocent, pure words broke something inside Earl Watson. He walked slowly to the window, reached out, and tore down the sign that had kept so many people away. He crumpled it in his hands, walked over to the trash can, and threw it away.

When she turned around, tears were running down her face.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry for that sign. I’m sorry for the things I said. I’m sorry for being a hateful man.”

Bob stood up and walked over to Earl. Instead of gloating or lecturing, he simply placed his hand on the older man’s shoulder.

“That’s the bravest thing I’ve seen all week,” Bob said. “And I’m performing in front of thousands of people.”

The cafeteria erupted in applause. People were crying, laughing, shaking their heads in amazement. Mary Watson clapped with delight.