Dying Confession

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 THE DEFENDER!!!!

Mr. Policeman, says the defender, Im not a priest. Im not even a Catholic. But for many years now Im living behind St. Elizabeths Catholic Church on First Avenue, and every night Im listening to the Catholic litany. Maybe I can be of some comfort to this man.

The policeman agreed and brought the defender 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. . .

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