| When I was in my thirties, I attended a school for Commerial Art in center city, while at night, I drove a pizza truck in northeast Philadelphia to keep myself alive. My day began at seven in the morning and ended about one A.M. I then jogged for a half hour or so before I went to bed. All this I did, six days a week! On the seventh day, I rested.
You can't imagine what a crazy world it was in the nineteen seventies in Northeast Philadephia. When the sun went down and darkness stole in like thunder, every crazy that ever walked God's earth -in one form or another- came wandering out to play. And me? I had no choice but to join in - like it or not.
Once I had my pizza orders though, tucked safely in my truck, I could - for a brief time -sit back without a care in the world, light up an Italian stoggie, and ponder the deeper things of life. Life could be good driving a pizza truck, or it could be down right hilarious like it turned out this one night in July of seventy three.
I had just passed the burned out remains of a home on Drumore street that had caught fire the night before, killing a father and his two sons, when suddenly, while thinking about this serious turn of events I thought to myself, In all of this, does God maintain some sense of balance, maybe even a sense of humor?
I finally reached Waldimer Street and parked my truck across from my next delivery, a basement apartment. As I walked up the driveway I could hear the T.V. blaring and wild, franic laughter following each sound emitted from the boob tube. There was a party in progress, I thought, and tips will need to be harvested! I rang the bell. The door swung wildly open. A rush of pure unaduterated columbian (not to be confused with coffee) filled my unsuspecting nostrils with it's sweet smell. Now I could hear Groucho's voice plainly above the din. It was the Marx brothers, staring in "The Big Restaurant". (In the scene playing out on the T.V., Groucho was about to get up from eating and ask for a check.)
The guy standing before me looked as stoned as Mount Rushmore as he slowly, politely asked me, "How much is it, Dude?" "That'll be $6.98," I snapped back, breathing in every ounce of rich columbian I could, without raising an ounce of suspicion. "$6.98? Why that's outragious!" came back a ringing reply, straight from the mouth of Groucho who had just recieved his check from the waiter. I stood there flabbergasted, then started to laugh. My customer, with eyes as big as walnuts, gave me a blank stare. I think he thought I'd lost it, and slam-dunked a ten dollar bill in my open palm, saying, "Keep the change, Dude." With this he slammed the door, leaving me standing there in the dark with a wide grin on my face, smiling at no one in particular.
Now think about all this. Think of the timing involved! I had to be there right down to the second, for Groucho to answer me. I'm not sure the check amounts are exact, but they were exactly the same amounts right down to the penny! Well I got my answer to my most pressing question, within minutes of asking it. Weither it was God or one of his angels, or simply a wonderful Spirit, it does not matter. It was a miracle just the same!
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