He appeared in our midst suddenly one Sunday morning. Hopped off a double decker bus across the road from Waynes Bakery just as they were pulling the first buns, five cents apiece, from the oven. Although, hopped is not exactly the word. More like he shuffled his little black body across the street and up the seven stairs outside the Mowbray Chapel, corner of Grove and Main, Cape Town, South Africa. Our problem was that he shuffled up those stairs, his three-piece suit folding dove gray around his ankles about two years before the priesthood was restored to all worthy members, and twelve years before apartheid ended.