Jerry Falwell dies

I confess to having a sort of a sneaky liking for Falwell. You see, I (alone in the world, it seems) read his autobiography. It seems Falwell's daddy was a flamboyant, rip-roaring drunk, who advised the younger Falwell:

"Don't be a preacher, sonny. Folks will talk funny when you walk into a room."

True enough. I had a dear friend, who I will call the Reverend Alfie. Alfie joined the Rotary or Kiwanis or some such organization, to get away from his congregation, who tended to talk funny when he came into a room, and be an ordinary guy among the guys. One day, however, he was seated at a table with a couple of men he did not know, one of whom was boasting about his extramarital affairs. The man next to the braggart kept poking his in the side, but he did not take the hint, until his neighbor whispered in his ear and looked meaningly at Alfie. The man then blushed and changed the subject. Of the entire crowd, Alfie was the only one who was not embarassed.

As Alfie said, he gave the gift that keeps on giving, guilt.