- Joined
- Dec 16, 2004
- Location
- Palm Bay Florida
Octogenarian
A man is struck by a bus on a busy street in New York City. He lies dying on the sidewalk as a crowd of spectators gathers around."A priest. Somebody get me a priest!" the man gasps.A policeman checks the crowd----no priest, no minister, no man of God of any kind."A PRIEST, PLEASE!" the dying man says again.Then out of the crowd steps a little old Jewish man of at least eighty years of age."Mr. Policeman," says the man, "I'm not a priest. I'm not even a Catholic.But for fifty years now I'm living behind St. Anthony's Catholic Church on First Avenue, and every night I'm listening to the Catholic litany. Maybe I can be of some comfort to this man."The policeman agreed and brought the octogenarian over to where the dying man lay.He kneels down, leans over the injured and says in a solemn voice: "B-4. I-19. N-38. G-54. O-72. . ."
A man is struck by a bus on a busy street in New York City. He lies dying on the sidewalk as a crowd of spectators gathers around."A priest. Somebody get me a priest!" the man gasps.A policeman checks the crowd----no priest, no minister, no man of God of any kind."A PRIEST, PLEASE!" the dying man says again.Then out of the crowd steps a little old Jewish man of at least eighty years of age."Mr. Policeman," says the man, "I'm not a priest. I'm not even a Catholic.But for fifty years now I'm living behind St. Anthony's Catholic Church on First Avenue, and every night I'm listening to the Catholic litany. Maybe I can be of some comfort to this man."The policeman agreed and brought the octogenarian over to where the dying man lay.He kneels down, leans over the injured and says in a solemn voice: "B-4. I-19. N-38. G-54. O-72. . ."
