Author’s Note

This story spans eight years. It was made possible by the
cooperation of two unique men, Albert Lewis and Henry Covington ---
who shared their histories in great detail --- as well as their
families, children, and grandchildren, to whom the author expresses
his eternal gratitude. All encounters and conversations are true
events, although for purposes of the narrative, the time line has,
on a few occasions, been squeezed, so that, for example, a
discussion held in October of one year may be presented in November
of the next.

Also, while this is a book about faith, the author can make no
claim to being a religion expert, nor is this a how-to guide for
any particular belief. Rather, it is written in hope that all
faiths can find something universal in the story.

The cover was inspired by Albert Lewis’s old prayer book,
held together by rubber bands. Per the tradition of tithing,
one-tenth of the author’s profits on every book sold will be
donated to charity, including the church, synagogue, and homeless
shelters in this story.

The author wishes to thank the readers of his previous books, and
welcome new readers with much appreciation.

**

In the Beginning...

In the beginning, there was a question.

“Will you do my eulogy?”

I don’t understand, I said.

“My eulogy?” the old man asked again. “When
I’m gone.” His eyes blinked from behind his glasses.
His neatly trimmed beard was gray, and he stood slightly
stooped.

Are you dying? I asked.

“Not yet,” he said, grinning.

Then why---

“Because I think you would be a good choice. And I think,
when the time comes, you will know what to say.”

Picture the most pious man you know. Your priest. Your pastor. Your
rabbi. Your imam. Now picture him tapping you on the shoulder and
asking you to say good-bye to the world on his behalf.

Picture the man who sends people off to heaven, asking you for his
send-off to heaven.

“So?” he said. “Would you be comfortable with
that?”

***

In the beginning, there was another question.

“Will you save me, Jesus?”

This man was holding a shotgun. He hid behind trash cans in front
of a Brooklyn row house. It was late at night. His wife and baby
daughter were crying. He watched for cars coming down his block,
certain the next set of headlights would be his killers.

“Will you save me, Jesus?” he asked, trembling.
“If I promise to give myself to you, will you save me
tonight?”

Picture the most pious man you know. Your priest. Your pastor. Your
rabbi. Your imam. Now picture him in dirty clothes, a shotgun in
his hand, begging for salvation from behind a set of trash
cans.

Picture the man who sends people off to heaven, begging not to be
sent to hell.

“Please, Lord,” he whispered. “If I
promise...”

This is a story about believing in something and the two very
different men who taught me how. It took a long time to write. It
took me to churches and synagogues, to the suburbs and the city, to
the “us” versus “them” that divides faith
around the world.

And finally, it took me home, to a sanctuary filled with people, to
a casket made of pine, to a pulpit that was empty.

In the beginning, there was a question.

It became a last request.

“Will you do my eulogy?”

And, as is often the case with faith, I thought I was being asked a
favor, when in fact I was being given one.

Excerpted from HAVE A LITTLE FAITH: A True Story ©
Copyright 2011 by Mitch Albom. Reprinted with permission by
Hyperion. All rights reserved.