The old man sat in his gas station on a cold Christmas Eve.(1)
He hadn't been anywhere in years since his wife had passed away.
It was just another day to him. He didn't hate Christmas, just
couldn't find a reason to celebrate. He was sitting there
looking at the snow that had been falling for the last hour and
wondering what it was all about when the door opened and a
homeless man stepped through.
Instead of throwing the man out, Old George as he was known
by his customers, told the man to come and sit by the heater and
warm up. "Thank you, but I don't mean to intrude," said the
stranger. "I see you're busy, I'll just go."
"Not without something hot in your belly," George said. He
turned and opened a wide mouth Thermos and handed it to the
stranger. "It ain't much, but it's hot and tasty. Stew. Made
it myself. When you're done, there's coffee and it's fresh."
Just at that moment he heard the "ding" of the driveway
bell. "Excuse me, be right back," George said. There in the
driveway was an old '53 Chevy. Steam was rolling out of the
front. The driver was panicked.
"Mister can you help me!" said the driver, with a deep
Spanish accent. "My wife is with child and my car is broken."
George opened the hood. It was bad. The block looked
cracked from the cold, the car was dead. "You ain't going in
this thing," George said as he turned away.
"But Mister, please help ..." The door of the office closed
behind George as he went inside. He went to the office wall and
got the keys to his old truck, and went back outside. He walked
around the building, opened the garage, started the truck and
drove it around to where the couple was waiting. "Here, take my
truck," he said. "She ain't the best thing you ever looked at,
but she runs real good."
George helped put the woman in the truck and watched as it
sped off into the night. He turned and walked back inside the
office. "Glad I gave 'em the truck, their tires were shot too.
That 'ol truck has brand new ." George thought he was talking to
the stranger, but the man had gone. The Thermos was on the desk,
empty, with a used coffee cup beside it. "Well, at least he got
something in his belly," George thought.
George went back outside to see if the old Chevy would
start. It cranked slowly, but it started. He pulled it into the
garage where the truck had been. He thought he would tinker with
it for something to do. Christmas Eve meant no customers. He
discovered that the block hadn't cracked, it was just the bottom
hose on the radiator. "Well, shoot, I can fix this," he said to
himself. So he put a new one on.
"Those tires ain't gonna get 'em through the winter either."
He took the snow treads off of his wife's old Lincoln. They were
like new and he wasn't going to drive the car anyway.
As he was working, he heard shots being fired. He ran
outside and beside a police car an officer lay on the cold
ground. Bleeding from the left shoulder, the officer moaned,
"Please help me."
George helped the officer inside as he remembered the
training he had received in the Army as a medic. He knew the
wound needed attention. "Pressure to stop the bleeding," he
thought. The uniform company had been there that morning and had
left clean shop towels. He used those and duct tape to bind the
wound. "Hey, they say duct tape can fix anythin'," he said,
trying to make the policeman feel at ease.
"Something for pain," George thought. All he had was the
pills he used for his back. "These ought to work." He put some
water in a cup and gave the policeman the pills. "You hang in
there, I'm going to get you an ambulance."
The phone was dead. "Maybe I can get one of your buddies on
that there talk box out in your car." He went out only to find
that a bullet had gone into the dashboard destroying the two way
radio.
He went back in to find the policeman sitting up. "Thanks,"
said the officer. "You could have left me there. The guy that
shot me is still in the area."
George sat down beside him. "I would never leave an injured
man in the Army and I ain't gonna leave you." George pulled back
the bandage to check for bleeding. "Looks worse than what it is.
Bullet passed right through 'ya. Good thing it missed the
important stuff though. I think with time your gonna be right as
rain."
George got up and poured a cup of coffee. "How do you take
it?" he asked.
"None for me," said the officer.
"Oh, yer gonna drink this. Best in the city. Too bad I
ain't got no donuts." The officer laughed and winced at the same
time.
The front door of the office flew open. In burst a young man
with a gun. "Give me all your cash! Do it now!" the young man
yelled. His hand was shaking and George could tell that he had
never done anything like this before.
"That's the guy that shot me!" exclaimed the officer.
"Son, why are you doing this?" asked George. "You need to
put the cannon away. Somebody else might get hurt."
The young man was confused. "Shut up old man, or I'll shoot
you, too. Now give me the cash!"
The cop was reaching for his gun. "Put that thing away,"
George said to the cop, "we got one too many in here now." He
turned his attention to the young man. "Son, it's Christmas Eve.
If you need money, well then, here. It ain't much but it's all I
got. Now put that pee shooter away."
George pulled $150 out of his pocket and handed it to the
young man, reaching for the barrel of the gun at the same time.
The young man released his grip on the gun, fell to his knees and
began to cry. "I'm not very good at this am I? All I wanted was
to buy something for my wife and son," he went on. "I've lost my
job, my rent is due, my car got repossessed last week ..."
George handed the gun to the cop. "Son, we all get in a bit
of squeeze now and then. The road gets hard sometimes, but we
make it through the best we can."
He got the young man to his feet, and sat him down on a
chair across from the cop. "Sometimes we do stupid things."
George handed the young man a cup of coffee. "Bein' stupid is
one of the things that makes us human. Comin' in here with a gun
ain't the answer. Now sit there and get warm and we'll sort this
thing out."
The young man had stopped crying. He looked over to the
cop. "Sorry I shot you. It just went off. I'm sorry, officer."
"Shut up and drink your coffee." the cop said.
George could hear the sounds of sirens outside. A police
car and an ambulance skidded to a halt. Two cops came through
the door, guns drawn. "Chuck! You ok?" one of the cops asked the
wounded officer.
"Not bad for a guy who took a bullet. How did you find me?"
"GPS locator in the car. Best thing since sliced bread.
Who did this?" the other cop asked as he approached the young
man.
Chuck answered him, "I don't know. The guy ran off into the
dark. Just dropped his gun and ran."
George and the young man both looked puzzled at each other.
"That guy work here?," the wounded cop continued.
"Yep," George said, "just hired him this morning. Boy lost
his job."
The paramedics came in and loaded Chuck onto the stretcher.
The young man leaned over the wounded cop and whispered, "Why?"
Chuck just said, "Merry Christmas boy...and you too, George,
and thanks for everything."
"Well, looks like you got one doozy of a break there. That
ought to solve some of your problems."
George went into the back room and came out with a box. He
pulled out a ring box. "Here you go, something for the little
woman. I don't think Martha would mind. She said it would come
in handy some day."
The young man looked inside to see the biggest diamond ring
he ever saw. "I can't take this," said the young man. "It means
something to you."
"And now it means something to you," replied George. "I got
my memories. That's all I need."
George reached into the box again. An airplane, a car and a
truck appeared next. They were toys that the oil company had
left for him to sell. "Here's something for that little man of
yours."
The young man began to cry again as he handed back the $150
that the old man had handed him earlier. "And what are you
supposed to buy Christmas dinner with? You keep that too,"
George said, "Now git home to your family."
The young man turned with tears streaming down his face.
"I'll be here in the morning for work, if that job offer is still
good."
"Nope. I'm closed Christmas day," George said. "See ya the
day after."
George turned around to find that the stranger had returned.
"Where'd you come from? I thought you left?"
"I have been here. I have always been here," said the
stranger. "You say you don't celebrate Christmas. Why?"
"Well, after my wife passed away, I just couldn't see what
all the bother was. Puttin' up a tree and all seemed a waste of
a good pine tree. Bakin' cookies like I used to with Martha just
wasn't the same by myself and besides I was gettin' a little
chubby."
The stranger put his hand on George's shoulder. "But you do
celebrate the holiday, George. You gave me food and drink and
warmed me when I was cold and hungry. The woman with child will
bear a son and he will become a great doctor. The policeman you
helped will go on to save 19 people from being killed by
terrorists. The young man who tried to rob you will make you a
rich man and not take any for himself. That is the spirit of the
season and you keep it as well as any man."
George was taken aback by all this stranger had said. "And
how do you know all this?" asked the old man.
"Trust me, George. I have the inside track on this sort of
thing. And when your days are done you will be with Martha
again." The stranger moved toward the door. "If you will excuse
me, George, I have to go now. I have to go home where there is a
big celebration planned."
George watched as the old leather jacket and the torn pants
that the stranger was wearing turned into a white robe. A golden
light began to fill the room. "You see, George ... it's My
birthday. Merry Christmas."
George fell to his knees and replied, "Happy Birthday,
Lord."
Amen!
1. From a widely distributed short story, "Christmas at the Gas Station," author unknown
click and send us mail