Clipped From The Galveston Daily News
Jim Bishop: Reporter The desperate haunt 'healing'man He is a handsome, modest young man with a whisper of a brogue. He heals with a touch of his hand. Finbarr Nolan doesn't know why, and he doesn't care. Medical scientists scientists have examined him, and they don't know why or how. Scoffing reporters have written written about him, and some of them are believers. I questioned young Nolan for two nights. Who, in this sophisticated age, believes in Faith Healers? If one can judge from the European newspaper clippings, (Ix>n- don, Berlin, Dublin, Paris), a lot of sober editors do. The stories of miraculous cures are almost scandalous. Nolan is 27. He is the seventh son of a seventh son. His mother, recalling the ancient ancient stories of Dublin, believed believed that such a boy had curative powers in his hands. He had just passed his second second birthday when Mrs. Nolan placed Finbarr's hand on a little girl of 5 who had chronic ringworm. She also recalled that the laying on of hands must be done on three separate occasions between sunrise and sunset. The ringworm disappeared. A physician examined the girl and shrugged. "U just happened," happened," he said. Mrs. Nolan placed placed the youngster's hand on an arthritic woman. The woman began to walk. Finbarr's father, a police sergeant, didn't like the notoriety. His son's picture was in the Dublin newspapers. Crowds of cripples jammed the sidewalk, begging the little boy to come out. A Roman Catholic bishop order the Nolans to stop arousing false hopes. A medical society hollered "Fake." By the time Finbarr was 7, he was famous. London television television asked the boy to cure Deborah Brooke of Peckham. She had been practicaly blind for seven years. Doctors watched watched the laying on of hands. The boy said he wasn't aware of any power, and, if he had any, had no idea where it came from. When Miss Brooke's sight returned, everybody knew because she began to sob and cover her eyes. Nolan never asked for money for his services, services, but the donations became so great that the Irish government billed the kid for $170,000 in income taxes. Newspapers referred to Finbarr's Finbarr's house as the "Mini- Ix)urdes." They got a photo of a old cripple pushing his wheelcliair out of the young man's house. Bishop Cahill Daly objected to Nolan "using religion for superstitious ends." Donations passed $2,000 a day. Finbarr bought a house for his parents. He became a school dropout and drove a Jaguar at speed over the old county roads. He said he would rather dance at a disco than cure the sick. The crowds were so dense that he fled to Athens. Two thousands sick waited at the Greek airport. He checked into into a hotel. In the morning, police said he would have to leave: 18,000 people were waiting in the street. He fled to Cyprus, ana made the mistake of touching a taunting, mocking editor suffering suffering from spinal arthritis. The editor felt so much better that he wrote a page one story about it. Nolan took a plane to Amsterdam. There he met Dick Cami, owner of "Top O' The Home" restaurant in Hollywod, Florida. Cami is a skeptic. Still, he read the hundreds of newspaper clippings and brought Finbarr Nolan to the United States. On the way, Nolan stopped in Long Branch, Branch, N.J., and cured a doctor of skin cancer. Finbarr thinks a lot of his cures are of the psychosomaticaly sick. "Forty "Forty percent of the half million people I have treated," he says. The rest? "I can't account account for it. I don't understand any power I can't see." He was introduced to Roberta Roberta Davis, of N.W. Miami Court. She is 56, diabetically blind. She had no vision in the left eye, dimness in the right. Finbarr completed but two visits. He says she has full vision vision in the right eye, some sight in the left." He sits quietly in his room at a Holiday Inn Civic Center in Miami. He is unmarried. Finbarr Finbarr devours books. His passion passion is still the driving of fast cars. He also enjoys golf. After examining all the evidence, I told Nolan that I too have trouble believing what I canot comprehend. ©1980 King Feature! Syndicate, Inc.