He had the looks of a scruffy Santa Claus, so let’s call him C. The long white beard, a head of full white hair, a weathered face in between. When I first met C. he lived in a low rent appartment in small town New Jersey. His alcoholism made him a frequent customer of our volunteer rescue squad.
There was something odd about C. When sober, he spoke a very elaborate English, completely out of line with his social status of the day. He would show up at church potluck dinners and engage the pastor in lengthy theological discourse. Occasionally, he would relate to the life he had had, graduating from Brown University, and working for a TV advertising agency in Manhattan. We did not take that seriously at the time, we heard too many similar stories from the homeless, even though his demeanor provided some credibility.
Some of us called him the Reverend.
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