The old man sat in his gas station on a cold
Christmas Eve. 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; he 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
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 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 gun away."
Christmas Eve. 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; he 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
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 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 gun away."
| Christmas at the Gas Station Author Unknown (according to www.snopes.com) A gift to us from Dewey |
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 cop asked. "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. 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 good 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."
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 cop asked. "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. 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 good 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."
