Tue 29 Oct, 2002 09:00 pm
A man is struck by a bus on a busy street. He is lying near death on the sidewalk as a crowd of spectators gathers around.
"A preacher. Somebody get me a preacher!" the man gasps.
A policeman checks the crowd and yells, "A PREACHER, PLEASE!"
Out of the crowd steps a little old Jewish man of at least 80 years of age.
"Mr. Policeman," says the man, "I'm not a preacher. I'm not even a Christian. But for 50 years now I'm living behind the Catholic church on First Avenue, and every night I'm overhearing their services. I can recall a lot of it, and maybe I can be of some comfort to this man."
The policeman agrees, and clears the crowd so the man can get through to where the injured man is. He kneels, leans over the prostrate man and intones in a solemn voice: "B-7.I-19. N-38. G-54. O-72. . . ."