Methylated Mort

Here's a true and tragic tale from my father's ministry. There was, back in the day, a single vagrant in the suburb of Sea Point. Today, there are hundreds. This man entered the grounds of the Congregational Church, and sat on a bench under a tree. In the morning, my father found him there and told him to get moving -- but he didn't respond. My father put a hand on his shoulder, and with a "Hey" gave him a gentle push to wake him. The man keeled over dead. OBSERVATION: Apparently -- as I remember it -- the vagrant died of drinking methylated spirits (basically, ethanol).