He hadn’t always been known as “Old Forty-Five.” Once he had had a name—a future—a life before him. Only sixteen years old, he left his home in Providence, Rhode Island, and “rode the rails” west. One night he came into the city of Tacoma, Washington, in a boxcar. That night, in that city, a murder was committed. In the roundup of suspects, this young man was taken. Friendless, with no alibi and none to speak for him, he was charged, tried and sentenced to twenty-five years of hard labor.
It was a merciless life that he had been sentenced to, a life that crushed out all previous identity—almost all humanity. Known only by his number, Forty-Five suffered—and survived. At last he came out and, without a friend in the world, he took the train for Portland. For four days he wandered about looking for work. He had nothing to eat, and his only place to sleep was down among the lumber piles.
In despair, he started down to the old Burnside Bridge to throw himself into the river. The bridge-tender seeing him, pulled him down from the railing and said, “You cannot do that!”
As he moved slowly away he saw a light in a nearby building, and he felt compelled to stop and turn and go into a gospel service.
The speaker was preaching that night about the Prodigal Son. At the close of the meeting Forty-Five held up his hand for prayer. He knelt and prayed that God would “wash his sins as white as snow.” Then he fainted from hunger. But now he was among people who cared, and soon he was strong again.
He kept on attending the meetings, and often told of his experiences and of God’s great kindness in saving him at the last. One night as he was telling the story of his life and conversion, a man sat listening in the back of the room. Suddenly he burst into tears and ran outside. A few days later someone who had talked with the stranger told Forty-Five that this stranger knew something about him. Eager to learn something about his long-forgotten people, he obtained a description of the man and found he had gone to San Francisco.
Forty-Five followed him there and, after long searching, learned that he was in the County Hospital, dying of tuberculosis. So anxious was he to talk to the man that Forty-Five went to the superintendent of the hospital and asked for work. When asked where he had been previously employed, he breathed a prayer to God and told his story. The superintendent listened with tears in his eyes. He held out his hand to Forty-Five and told him to report for duty that night at eight o’clock.
It was almost a month later that he had the opportunity to talk with the stranger. He found him suffering from tuberculosis of the spine. Forty-Five was able to read to him from the Bible the story of the Prodigal Son. While they were talking, the man held out his hand to Forty-Five and said, “Can you forgive me for the wrong I have done you?”
The ex-convict answered, “You have done me no wrong. Can you tell me about my mother?”
The man answered, “I know nothing about your people, but I am the man who did the crime that sent you to the penitentiary. I want you to forgive me for all those years you spent behind bars.”
Then he confessed that he was the one who had shot the man who was found dead that night, so long ago, when Forty-Five had ridden a boxcar into the city of Tacoma. Here was the real murderer for whose crime Forty-Five had spent those long years in prison. And he was asking Forty-Five to forgive him!
The thoughts of the old convict went back to all those dreadful years. He thought of the ball and chain he had carried for two years. He thought of the thirty lashes he had received at the whipping post, and of the weeks spent in solitary confinement deep underground. How could he forgive?
He left the sick man and went into a little room alone. Kneeling down on the concrete floor, he prayed. For nearly three hours he forgot everything else and talked and prayed and begged God for a real spirit of forgiveness. At last the thought came, “Forgive him for My sake.”
He went back and put his arms around the man and said, “I forgive you all the injuries you have done me, for Jesus’ sake, but you will have to ask God to forgive you too.”
The criminal was dying. He could not get upon his knees, but Forty-Five could hear him say, over and over, “God, be merciful to me a sinner.” And God had mercy and saved him.
Three days later the criminal died. Just before he died he asked Forty-Five if he would send his body back to his family in Massachusetts. This was done, and Forty-Five provided part of the money to pay to send the body back to the East.
Many years have passed since then, and Forty-Five too has gone on to be with the Lord. In eternity, with a new name—and no longer just a number—he will meet the man in whose place he suffered those many long years. Both will praise God that their sins were washed away by the blood of the Lamb. The wronged and the one who did the wrong—each called upon God for mercy and received the pardon of a merciful God.
“If we confess our sins,
He is faithful and just to
forgive us our sins, and
to cleanse us from all
unrighteousness.”