Big-Book-All

Alcoholics Anonymous World Services, Inc.

First Edition, sixteen printings, 1939 to 1955

Second Edition, sixteen printings, 1955 to 1974

Third Edition, seventy-four printings, 1976 to 2001

Fourth Edition, New and Revised 2001

First printing, October 2001

Eighteenth printing, August 2006

Personal stories on pages 407, 476, 494, 531, and 553 are

copyrighted © by The A.A. Grapevine, Inc., and are

reprinted here with permission.

This is A.A. General Service

Conference-approved literature

Alcoholics Anonymous and A.A. are registered

trademarks® of A.A. World Services, Inc.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2001094693

ISBN 1-893007-16-2

Printed in the United States of America

Preface

THIS IS the fourth edition of the book “Alcoholics Anonymous.”

The first edition appeared in April 1939, and in the following

sixteen years, more than 300,000 copies went into circulation.

The second edition, published in 1955, reached a total of more

than 1,150,500 copies. The third edition, which came off press in

1976, achieved a circulation of approximately 19,550,000 in all

formats.

Because this book has become the basic text for our Society and

has helped such large numbers of alcoholic men and women to

recovery, there exists strong sentiment against any radical

changes being made in it. Therefore, the first portion of this

volume, describing the A.A. recovery program, has been left

largely untouched in the course of revisions made for the second,

third, and fourth editions. The section called “The Doctor’s

Opinion” has been kept intact, just as it was originally written in

1939 by the late Dr. William D. Silkworth, our Society’s great

medical benefactor.

The second edition added the appendices, the Twelve Traditions,

and the directions for getting in touch with A.A. But the chief

change was in the section of personal stories, which was

expanded to reflect the Fellowship’s growth. “Bill’s Story,”

“Doctor Bob’s Nightmare,” and one other personal history from

the first edition were retained intact; three were edited and one

of these was retitled; new versions of two stories were written,

with new titles; thirty completely new stories were added; and

the story section was divided into three parts, under the same

headings that are used now.

In the third edition, Part I (“Pioneers of A.A.”) was left

unchanged. Nine of the stories in Part II (“They Stopped in

Time”) were carried over from the second edition; eight new

stories were added. In Part III (“They Lost Nearly All”), eight

stories were retained; five new ones were added.

This fourth edition includes the Twelve Concepts for World

Service and revises the three sections of personal stories as

follows. One new story has been added to Part I, and two that

originally appeared in Part III have been repositioned there; six

stories have been deleted. Six of the stories in Part II have been

carried over, eleven new ones have been added, and eleven taken

out. Part III now includes twelve new stories; eight were

removed (in addition to the two that were transferred to Part I).

All changes made over the years in the Big Book (A.A. members’

fond nickname for this volume) have had the same purpose: to

represent the current membership of Alcoholics Anonymous

more accurately, and thereby to reach more alcoholics. If you

have a drinking problem, we hope that you may pause in reading

one of the forty-two personal stories and think: “Yes, that

happened to me”; or, more important,“Yes, I’ve felt like that”; or,

most important, “Yes, I believe this program can work for me

too.”

FOREWORD TO FIRST EDITION

This is the Foreword as it appeared in the first

printing of the first edition in 1939.

WE, OF Alcoholics Anonymous, are more than one hundred men and

women who have recovered from a seemingly hopeless state of mind

and body. To show other alcoholics precisely how we have recovered is

the main purpose of this book. For them, we hope these pages will prove

so convincing that no further authentication will be necessary. We think

this account of our experiences will help everyone to better understand

the alcoholic. Many do not comprehend that the alcoholic is a very sick

person. And besides, we are sure that our way of living has its advantages

for all.

It is important that we remain anonymous because we are too few, at

present to handle the overwhelming number of personal appeals which

may result from this publication. Being mostly business or professional

folk, we could not well carry on our occupations in such an event. We

would like it understood that our alcoholic work is an avocation.

When writing or speaking publicly about alcoholism, we urge each of

our Fellowship to omit his personal name, designating himself instead as

“a member of Alcoholics Anonymous.”

Very earnestly we ask the press also, to observe this request, for

otherwise we shall be greatly handicapped.

We are not an organization in the conventional sense of the word. There

are no fees or dues whatsoever. The only requirement for membership is

an honest desire to stop drinking. We are not allied with any particular

faith, sect or denomination, nor do we oppose anyone. We simply wish

to be helpful to those who are afflicted.

We shall be interested to hear from those who are getting results from

this book, particularly from those who have commenced work with other

alcoholics. We should like to be helpful to such cases.

Inquiry by scientific, medical, and religious societies will be welcomed.

ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

FOREWORD TO SECOND EDITION

Figures given in this foreword describe the

Fellowship as it was in 1955.

SINCE the original Foreword to this book was written in

1939, a wholesale miracle has taken place. Our earliest

printing voiced the hope “that every alcoholic who journeys

will find the Fellowship of Alcoholics Anonymous at his

destination. Already,” continues the early text “twos and

threes and fives of us have sprung up in other

communities.”

Sixteen years have elapsed between our first printing of this

book and the presentation in 1955 of our second edition. In

that brief space, Alcoholics Anonymous has mushroomed

into nearly 6,000 groups whose membership is far above

150,000 recovered alcoholics. Groups are to be found in

each of the United States and all of the provinces of

Canada. A.A. has flourishing communities in the British

Isles, the Scandinavian countries, South Africa, South

America, Mexico, Alaska, Australia and Hawaii. All told,

promising beginnings have been made in some 50 foreign

countries and U. S. possessions. Some are just now taking

shape in Asia. Many of our friends encourage us by saying

that this is but a beginning, only the augury of a much

larger future ahead.

The spark that was to flare into the first A.A. group was

struck at Akron, Ohio, in June 1935, during a talk between

a New York stockbroker and an Akron physician. Six

months earlier, the broker had been relieved of his drink

obsession by a sudden spiritual experience, following a

meeting with an alcoholic friend who had been in contact

with the Oxford Groups of that day. He had also been

greatly helped by the late Dr. William D. Silkworth, a New

York specialist in alcoholism who is now accounted no less

than a medical saint by A.A. members, and whose story of

the early days of our Society appears in the next pages.

From this doctor, the broker had learned the grave nature

of alcoholism. Though he could not accept all the tenets of

the Oxford Groups, he was convinced of the need for moral

inventory, confession of personality defects, restitution to

those harmed, helpfulness to others, and the necessity of

belief in and dependence upon God.

Prior to his journey to Akron, the broker had worked hard

with many alcoholics on the theory that only an alcoholic

could help an alcoholic, but he had suc-ceeded only in

keeping sober himself. The broker had gone to Akron on a

business venture which had collapsed, leaving him greatly

in fear that he might start drinking again. He suddenly

realized that in order to save himself he must carry his

message to another alcoholic. That alcoholic turned out to

be the Akron physician.

This physician had repeatedly tried spiritual means to

resolve his alcoholic dilemma but had failed. But when the

broker gave him Dr. Silkworth’s description of alcoholism

and its hopelessness, the physician began to pursue the

spiritual remedy for his malady with a willingness he had

never before been able to muster. He sobered, never to

drink again up to the moment of his death in 1950. This

seemed to prove that one alcoholic could affect another as

no nonalcoholic could. It also indicated that strenuous

work, one alcoholic with another, was vital to permanent

recovery.

Hence the two men set to work almost frantically upon

alcoholics arriving in the ward of the Akron City Hospital.

Their very first case, a desperate one, recovered

immediately and became A.A. number three. He never had

another drink. This work at Akron contin-ued through the

summer of 1935. There were many failures, but there was

an occasional heartening success. When the broker

returned to New York in the fall of 1935, the first A.A.

group had actually been formed, though no one realized it

at the time.

A second small group promptly took shape at New York, to

be followed in 1937 with the start of a third at Cleveland.

Besides these, there were scattered alcoholics who had

picked up the basic ideas in Akron or New York who were

trying to form groups in other cities. By late 1937, the

number of members having substantial sobriety time

behind them was sufficient to convince the membership

that a new light had entered the dark world of the

alcoholic.

It was now time, the struggling groups thought, to place

their message and unique experience before the world.

This determination bore fruit in the spring of 1939 by the

publication of this volume. The membership had then

reached about 100 men and women. The fledgling society,

which had been nameless, now began to be called

Alcoholics Anonymous, from the title of its own book. The

flying-blind period ended and A.A. entered a new phase of

its pioneering time.

With the appearance of the new book a great deal began to

happen. Dr. Harry Emerson Fosdick, the noted clergyman,

reviewed it with approval. In the fall of 1939 Fulton

Oursler, then editor of Liberty, printed a piece in his

magazine, called “Alcoholics and God.” This brought a rush

of 800 frantic inquiries into the little New York office

which meanwhile had been established. Each inquiry was

painstakingly answered; pamphlets and books were sent

out. Businessmen, traveling out of existing groups, were

referred to these prospective newcomers. New groups

started up and it was found, to the astonishment of

everyone, that A.A.’s message could be transmitted in the

mail as well as by word of mouth. By the end of 1939 it was

estimated that 800 alcoholics were on their way to

recovery.

In the spring of 1940, John D. Rockefeller, Jr. gave a

dinner for many of his friends to which he invited A.A.

members to tell their stories. News of this got on the world

wires; inquiries poured in again and many people went to

the bookstores to get the book “Alcoholics Anonymous.’’ By

March 1941 the membership had shot up to 2,000. Then

Jack Alexander wrote a feature article in the Saturday

Evening Post and placed such a compelling picture of A.A.

before the general public that alcoholics in need of help

really deluged us. By the close of 1941, A.A. numbered

8,000 members. The mushrooming process was in full

swing. A.A. had become a national institution.

Our Society then entered a fearsome and exciting

adolescent period. The test that it faced was this: Could

these large numbers of erstwhile erratic alcoholics

successfully meet and work together? Would there be

quarrels over membership, leadership, and money? Would

there be strivings for power and prestige? Would there be

schisms which would split A.A. apart? Soon A.A. was beset

by these very problems on every side and in every group.

But out of this frightening and at first disrupting

experience the conviction grew that A.A.’s had to hang

together or die separately. We had to unify our Fellowship

or pass off the scene.

As we discovered the principles by which the individual

alcoholic could live, so we had to evolve principles by

which the A.A. groups and A.A. as a whole could survive

and function effectively. It was thought that no alcoholic

man or woman could be excluded from our Society; that

our leaders might serve but never govern; that each group

was to be autonomous and there was to be no professional

class of therapy. There were to be no fees or dues; our

expenses were to be met by our own voluntary

contributions. There was to be the least possible

organization, even in our service centers. Our public

relations were to be based upon attraction rather than

promotion. It was decided that all members ought to be

anonymous at the level of press, radio, TV and films. And

in no circumstances should we give endorsements, make

alliances, or enter public controversies.

This was the substance of A.A.’s Twelve Traditions, which

are stated in full on page 561 of this book. Though none of

these principles had the force of rules or laws, they had

become so widely accepted by 1950 that they were

confirmed by our first International Conference held at

Cleveland. Today the remarkable unity of A.A. is one of the

greatest assets that our Society has.

While the internal difficulties of our adolescent period

were being ironed out, public acceptance of A.A. grew by

leaps and bounds. For this there were two principal

reasons: the large numbers of recoveries, and reunited

homes. These made their impressions everywhere. Of

alcoholics who came to A.A. and really tried, 50% got sober

at once and remained that way; 25% sobered up after some

relapses, and among the remainder, those who stayed on

with A.A. showed improvement. Other thousands came to

a few A.A. meetings and at first decided they didn’t want

the program. But great numbers of these—about two out

of three—began to return as time passed.

Another reason for the wide acceptance of A.A. was the

ministration of friends—friends in medicine, religion, and

the press, together with innumerable others who became

our able and persistent advocates. Without such support,

A.A. could have made only the slowest progress. Some of

the recommendations of A.A.’s early medical and religious

friends will be found further on in this book.

Alcoholics Anonymous is not a religious organization.

Neither does A.A. take any particular medical point of

view, though we cooperate widely with the men of

medicine as well as with the men of religion.

Alcohol being no respecter of persons, we are an accurate

cross section of America, and in distant lands, the same

democratic evening-up process is now going on. By

personal religious affiliation, we include Catho-lics,

Protestants, Jews, Hindus, and a sprinkling of Moslems and

Buddhists. More than 15% of us are women.

At present, our membership is pyramiding at the rate of

about twenty per cent a year. So far, upon the total

problem of several million actual and potential alcoholics in

the world, we have made only a scratch. In all probability,

we shall never be able to touch more than a fair fraction of

the alcohol problem in all its ramifications. Upon therapy

for the alcoholic himself, we surely have no monopoly. Yet

it is our great hope that all those who have as yet found no

answer may begin to find one in the pages of this book and

will presently join us on the high road to a new freedom.

FOREWORD TO THIRD EDITION

BY March 1976, when this edition went to the printer, the

total worldwide membership of Alcoholics Anonymous was

conservatively estimated at more than 1,000,000, with

almost 28,000 groups meeting in over 90 countries.

Surveys of groups in the United States and Canada indicate

that A.A. is reaching out, not only to more and more

people, but to a wider and wider range. Women now make

up more than one-fourth of the membership; among newer

members, the proportion is nearly one-third. Seven

percent of the A.A.’s surveyed are less than 30 years of

age—among them, many in their teens.

The basic principles of the A.A. program, it appears, hold

good for individuals with many different lifestyles, just as

the program has brought recovery to those of many

different nationalities. TheTwelve Steps that summarize

the program may be called los Doce Pasos in one country,

les Douze Etapes in another, but they trace exactly the

same path to recovery that was blazed by the earliest

members of Alcoholics Anonymous.

In spite of the great increase in the size and the span of this

Fellowship, at its core it remains simple and personal. Each

day, somewhere in the world, recovery begins when one

alcoholic talks with another alcoholic, sharing experience,

strength, and hope.

FOREWORD TO FOURTH EDITION

THIS fourth edition of “Alcoholics Anonymous” came off

press in November 2001, at the start of a new millennium.

Since the third edition was published in 1976, worldwide

membership of A.A. has just about doubled, to an

estimated two million or more, with nearly 100,800 groups

meeting in approximately 150 countries around the world.

Literature has played a major role in A.A.’s growth, and a

striking phenomenon of the past quarter-century has been

the explosion of translations of our basic literature into

many languages and dialects. In country after country

where the A.A. seed was planted, it has taken root, slowly

at first, then growing by leaps and bounds when literature

has become available. Currently, “Alcoholics Anonymous”

has been translated into forty-three languages.

As the message of recovery has reached larger numbers of

people, it has also touched the lives of a vastly greater

variety of suffering alcoholics. When the phrase “We are

people who normally would not mix” (page 17 of this book)

was written in 1939, it referred to a Fellowship composed

largely of men (and a few women) with quite similar social,

ethnic, and economic backgrounds. Like so much of A.A.’s

basic text, those words have proved to be far more visionary

than the founding members could ever have imagined. The

stories added to this edition represent a membership whose

characteristics—of age, gender, race, and culture—have

widened and have deepened to encompass virtually

everyone the first 100 members could have hoped to reach.

While our literature has preserved the integrity of the A.A.

message, sweeping changes in society as a whole are

reflected in new customs and practices within the

Fellowship. Taking advantage of technological advances,

for example, A.A. members with computers can participate

in meetings online, sharing with fellow alcoholics across the

country or around the world. In any meeting, anywhere,

A.A.’s share experience, strength, and hope with each

other, in order to stay sober and help other alcoholics.

Modem-to-modem or face-to-face, A.A.’s speak the

language of the heart in all its power and simplicity.

THE DOCTORS OPINION

WE OF Alcoholics Anonymous believe that the reader will

be interested in the medical estimate of the plan of

recovery described in this book. Convincing testimony

must surely come from medical men who have had

experience with the sufferings of our members and have

witnessed our return to health. A well-known doctor, chief

physician at a nationally prominent hospital specializing in

alcoholic and drug addiction, gave Alcoholics Anonymous

this letter:

To Whom It May Concern:

I have specialized in the treatment of alcoholism for many

years.

In late 1934 I attended a patient who, though he had been

a competent businessman of good earning capacity, was an

alcoholic of a type I had come to regard as hopeless.

In the course of his third treatment he acquired certain

ideas concerning a possible means of recovery. As part of

his rehabilitation he commenced to present his conceptions

to other alcoholics, impressing upon them that they must

do likewise with still others. This has become the basis of a

rapidly growing fellowship of these men and their families.

This man and over one hundred others appear to have

recovered.

I personally know scores of cases who were of the type with

whom other methods had failed completely.

These facts appear to be of extreme medical importance;

because of the extraordinary possibilities of rapid growth

inherent in this group they may mark a new epoch in the

annals of alcoholism. These men may well have a remedy

for thousands of such situations.

You may rely absolutely on anything they say about

themselves.

Very truly yours,

William D. Silkworth, M.D.

The physician who, at our request, gave us this letter, has

been kind enough to enlarge upon his views in another

statement which follows. In this statement he confirms

what we who have suffered alcoholic torture must

believe—that the body of the alcoholic is quite as abnormal

as his mind. It did not satisfy us to be told that we could not

control our drinking just because we were maladjusted to

life, that we were in full flight from reality, or were outright

mental defectives. These things were true to some extent,

in fact, to a considerable extent with some of us. But we are

sure that our bodies were sickened as well. In our belief,

any picture of the alcoholic which leaves out this physical

factor is incomplete.

The doctor’s theory that we have an allergy to alcohol

interests us. As laymen, our opinion as to its soundness

may, of course, mean little. But as exproblem drinkers, we

can say that his explanation makes good sense. It explains

many things for which we cannot otherwise account.

Though we work out our solution on the spiritual as well as

an altruistic plane, we favor hospitalization for the alcoholic

who is very jittery or befogged. More often than not, it is

imperative that a man’s brain be cleared before he is

approached, as he has then a better chance of

understanding and accepting what we have to offer.

The doctor writes:

The subject presented in this book seems to me to be of

paramount importance to those afflicted with alcoholic

addiction.

I say this after many years’ experience as Medical Director

of one of the oldest hospitals in the country treating

alcoholic and drug addiction.

There was, therefore, a sense of real satisfaction when I

was asked to contribute a few words on a subject which is

covered in such masterly detail in these pages.

We doctors have realized for a long time that some form of

moral psychology was of urgent importance to alcoholics,

but its application presented difficulties beyond our

conception. What with our ultra-modern standards, our

scientific approach to everything, we are perhaps not well

equipped to apply the powers of good that lie outside our

synthetic knowledge.

Many years ago one of the leading contributors to this book

came under our care in this hospital and while here he

acquired some ideas which he put into practical application

at once.

Later, he requested the privilege of being allowed to tell

his story to other patients here and with some misgiving,

we consented. The cases we have followed through have

been most interesting; in fact, many of them are amazing.

The unselfishness of these men as we have come to know

them, the entire absence of profit motive, and their

community spirit, is indeed inspiring to one who has

labored long and wearily in this alcoholic field. They

believe in themselves, and still more in the Power which

pulls chronic alcoholics back from the gates of death.

Of course an alcoholic ought to be freed from his physical

craving for liquor, and this often requires a definite hospital

procedure, before psychological measures can be of

maximum benefit.

We believe, and so suggested a few years ago, that the

action of alcohol on these chronic alcoholics is a

manifestation of an allergy; that the phenomenon of

craving is limited to this class and never occurs in the

average temperate drinker. These allergic types can never

safely use alcohol in any form at all; and once having

formed the habit and found they cannot break it, once

having lost their self-confidence, their reliance upon things

human, their problems pile up on them and become

astonishingly difficult to solve.

Frothy emotional appeal seldom suffices. The message

which can interest and hold these alcoholic people must

have depth and weight. In nearly all cases, their ideals must

be grounded in a power greater than themselves, if they are

to re-create their lives.

If any feel that as psychiatrists directing a hospital for

alcoholics we appear somewhat sentimental, let them stand

with us a while on the firing line, see the tragedies, the

despairing wives, the little children; let the solving of these

problems become a part of their daily work, and even of

their sleeping moments, and the most cynical will not

wonder that we have accepted and encouraged this

movement. We feel, after many years of experience, that

we have found nothing which has contributed more to the

rehabilitation of these men than the altruistic movement

now growing up among them.

Men and women drink essentially because they like the

effect produced by alcohol. The sensation is so elusive that,

while they admit it is injurious, they cannot after a time

differentiate the true from the false. To them, their

alcoholic life seems the only normal one. They are restless,

irritable and discontented, unless they can again experience

the sense of ease and comfort which comes at once by

taking a few drinks—drinks which they see others taking

with impunity. After they have succumbed to the desire

again, as so many do, and the phenomenon of craving

develops, they pass through the well-known stages of a

spree, emerging remorseful, with a firm resolution not to

drink again. This is repeated over and over, and unless this

person can experience an entire psychic change there is

very little hope of his recovery.

On the other hand—and strange as this may seem to those

who do not understand—once a psychic change has

occurred, the very same person who seemed doomed, who

had so many problems he despaired of ever solving them,

suddenly finds himself easily able to control his desire for

alcohol, the only effort necessary being that required to

follow a few simple rules.

Men have cried out to me in sincere and despairing appeal:

“Doctor, I cannot go on like this! I have everything to live

for! I must stop, but I cannot! You must help me!’’

Faced with this problem, if a doctor is honest with himself,

he must sometimes feel his own inadequacy. Although he

gives all that is in him, it often is not enough. One feels that

something more than human power is needed to produce

the essential psychic change. Though the aggregate of

recoveries resulting from psychiatric effort is considerable,

we physicians must admit we have made little impression

upon the problem as a whole. Many types do not respond

to the ordinary psychological approach.

I do not hold with those who believe that alcoholism is

entirely a problem of mental control. I have had many men

who had, for example, worked a period of months on some

problem or business deal which was to be settled on a

certain date, favorably to them. They took a drink a day or

so prior to the date, and then the phenomenon of craving

at once became paramount to all other interests so that the

important appointment was not met. These men were not

drinking to escape; they were drinking to overcome a

craving beyond their mental control.

There are many situations which arise out of the

phenomenon of craving which cause men to make the

supreme sacrifice rather than continue to fight.

The classification of alcoholics seems most difficult, and in

much detail is outside the scope of this book. There are, of

course, the psychopaths who are emotionally unstable. We

are all familiar with this type. They are always “going on the

wagon for keeps.’’ They are over-remorseful and make

many resolutions, but never a decision.

There is the type of man who is unwilling to admit that he

cannot take a drink. He plans various ways of drinking. He

changes his brand or his environment. There is the type

who always believes that after being entirely free from

alcohol for a period of time he can take a drink without

danger. There is the manic-depressive type, who is,

perhaps, the least understood by his friends, and about

whom a whole chapter could be written.

Then there are types entirely normal in every respect

except in the effect alcohol has upon them. They are often

able, intelligent, friendly people.

All these, and many others, have one symptom in common:

they cannot start drinking without developing the

phenomenon of craving. This phenomenon, as we have

suggested, may be the manifestation of an allergy which

differentiates these people, and sets them apart as a

distinct entity. It has never been, by any treatment with

which we are familiar, permanently eradicated. The only

relief we have to suggest is entire abstinence.

This immediately precipitates us into a seething caldron of

debate. Much has been written pro and con, but among

physicians, the general opinion seems to be that most

chronic alcoholics are doomed.

What is the solution? Perhaps I can best answer this by

relating one of my experiences.

About one year prior to this experience a man was brought

in to be treated for chronic alcoholism. He had but partially

recovered from a gastric hemorrhage and seemed to be a

case of pathological mental deterioration. He had lost

everything worthwhile in life and was only living, one might

say, to drink. He frankly admitted and believed that for him

there was no hope. Following the elimination of alcohol,

there was found to be no permanent brain injury. He

accepted the plan outlined in this book. One year later he

called to see me, and I experienced a very strange

sensation. I knew the man by name, and partly recognized

his features, but there all resemblance ended. From a

trembling, despairing, nervous wreck, had emerged a man

brimming over with self-reliance and contentment. I talked

with him for some time, but was not able to bring myself to

feel that I had known him before. To me he was a stranger,

and so he left me. A long time has passed with no return to

alcohol.

When I need a mental uplift, I often think of another case

brought in by a physician prominent in New York. The

patient had made his own diagnosis, and deciding his

situation hopeless, had hidden in a deserted barn

determined to die. He was rescued by a searching party,

and, in desperate condition, brought to me. Following his

physical rehabilitation, he had a talk with me in which he

frankly stated he thought the treatment a waste of effort,

unless I could assure him, which no one ever had, that in

the future he would have the “will power’’ to resist the

impulse to drink.

His alcoholic problem was so complex, and his depression

so great, that we felt his only hope would be through what

we then called “moral psychology,’’ and we doubted if even

that would have any effect.

However, he did become “sold’’ on the ideas contained in

this book. He has not had a drink for a great many years. I

see him now and then and he is as fine a specimen of

manhood as one could wish to meet.

I earnestly advise every alcoholic to read this book through,

and though perhaps he came to scoff, he may remain to

pray.

William D. Silkworth, M.D.

Chapter 1

BILL’S STORY

War feverran high in the New England town

to which we new, young ofﬁcers from Platts-

burg were assigned, and we were ﬂattered when the

ﬁrst citizens took us to their homes, making us feel

heroic. Here was love, applause, war; moments sub-

lime with intervals hilarious. I was part of life at last,

and in the midst of the excitement I discovered liquor.

Iforgot the strong warnings and the prejudices of my

people concerning drink. In time we sailed for “Over

There.’’ I was very lonely and again turned to alcohol.

We landed in England. I visited Winchester Cathe-

dral. Much moved, I wandered outside. My attention

was caught by a doggerel on an old tombstone:

“Herelies a HampshireGrenadier

Who caught his death

Drinking cold small beer.

Agood soldier is ne’er forgot

Whether he dieth by musket

Or by pot.”

Ominous warning—which I failed to heed.

Twenty-two, and a veteran of foreign wars, I went

home at last. I fancied myself a leader, for had not the

men of my batterygiven me a special token of appre-

ciation? My talent for leadership, I imagined, would

place me at the head of vast enterprises which I would

manage with the utmost assurance.

Itook a night law course, and obtained employment

as investigator for a surety company. The drive for

success was on. I’d prove to the world I was impor-

tant. My work took me about Wall Street and little by

little I became interested in the market. Many people

lost money—but some became very rich. Why not I?

Istudied economics and business as well as law. Po-

tential alcoholic that I was, I nearly failed my law

course. At one of the ﬁnals I was too drunk to think or

write. Though my drinking was not yet continuous, it

disturbed my wife. We had long talks when I would

still her forebodings by telling her that men of genius

conceived their best projects when drunk; that the

most majestic constructions of philosophic thought

were so derived.

By the time I had completed the course, I knew the

law was not for me. The inviting maelstrom of Wall

Street had me in its grip. Business and ﬁnancial lead-

ers were my heroes. Out of this alloy of drink and

speculation, I commenced to forge the weapon that

one day would turn in its ﬂight like a boomerang and

all but cut me to ribbons. Living modestly,my wife

and I saved $1,000.It went into certain securities,

then cheap and rather unpopular.Irightly imagined

that they would some day have a great rise. I failed to

persuade my broker friends to send me out looking

over factories and managements, but my wife and I de-

cided to go anyway. I had developed a theory that

most people lost money in stocks through ignorance

ofmarkets. I discovered many more reasons later on.

We gave up our positions and off we roared on a

motorcycle, the sidecar stuffed with tent, blankets, a

change of clothes, and three huge volumes of a ﬁnan-

2ALCOHOLICSANONYMOUS

cial reference service. Our friends thought a lunacy

commission should be appointed. Perhaps they were

right. I had had some success at speculation, so we

had a little money, but we once worked on a farm for

amonth to avoid drawing on our small capital. That

was the last honest manual labor on my partfor many

aday. We covered the whole eastern United States in

ayear. At the end of it, my reports to Wall Street

procured me a position there and the use of a large ex-

pense account. The exercise of an option brought in

more money, leaving us with a proﬁt of several thou-

sand dollars for that year.

For the next few years fortune threw money and ap-

plause my way. I had arrived. My judgment and

ideaswere followed by many to the tune of paper mil-

lions. The great boom of the late twenties was seeth-

ing and swelling. Drink was taking an important and

exhilarating part in my life. There was loud talk in

thejazz places uptown. Everyone spent in thousands

and chattered in millions. Scoffers could scoff and be

damned. I made a host of fair-weather friends.

My drinking assumed more serious proportions, con-

tinuingall day and almost every night. The remon-

strances of my friends terminated in a row and I

became a lone wolf. There were many unhappy scenes

in our sumptuous apartment. Therehad been no real

inﬁdelity,for loyalty to my wife, helped at times by

extreme drunkenness, kept me out of those scrapes.

In 1929Icontracted golf fever. We went at once

tothe country, my wife to applaud while I started out

to overtake Walter Hagen. Liquor caught up with me

much faster than I came up behind Walter. I began

tobe jittery in the morning. Golf permitted drinking

BILL’SSTORY3

every day and every night. It was fun to carom around

the exclusive course which had inspired such awe in

me as a lad. I acquired the impeccable coat of tan

onesees upon the well-to-do. The local banker

watched me whirl fat checks in and out of his till with

amused skepticism.

Abruptly in October 1929hell broke loose on the

New York stock exchange. After one of those days of

inferno, I wobbled from a hotel bar to a brokerage

ofﬁce. It was eight o’clock—ﬁve hours after the market

closed. The ticker still clattered. I was staring at an

inch of the tape which borethe inscription XYZ-32.It

had been 52that morning. I was ﬁnished and so were

many friends. The papers reported men jumping to

death from the towers of High Finance. That dis-

gusted me. I would not jump. I went back to the bar.

My friends had dropped several million since ten

o’clock—so what? Tomorrow was another day. As I

drank, the old ﬁerce determination to win came back.

Next morning I telephoned a friend in Montreal.

He had plenty of money left and thought I had better

go to Canada. By the following spring we wereliving

in our accustomed style. I felt like Napoleon returning

from Elba. No St. Helena for me! But drinking caught

up with me again and my generous friend had to let

me go. This time we stayed broke.

Wewent to live with my wife’sparents. I found a

job; then lost it as the result of a brawl with a taxi

driver.Mercifully, no one could guess that I was to

have no real employment for ﬁve years, or hardly draw

asober breath. My wife began to work in a depart-

ment store, coming home exhausted to ﬁnd me drunk.

4ALCOHOLICSANONYMOUS

Ibecame an unwelcome hanger-on at brokerage

places.

Liquor ceased to be a luxury; it became a necessity.

“Bathtub’’ gin, two bottles a day, and often three, got

to be routine. Sometimes a small deal would net a few

hundred dollars, and I would pay my bills at the bars

and delicatessens. This went on endlessly, and I began

to waken very early in the morning shaking violently.

Atumbler full of gin followed by half a dozen bottles

of beer would be required if I were to eat any break-

fast. Nevertheless, I still thought I could control the

situation, and there were periods of sobriety which

renewed my wife’s hope.

Gradually things got worse. The house was taken

over by the mortgage holder, my mother-in-law died,

my wife and father-in-law became ill.

Then I got a promising business opportunity. Stocks

were at the low point of 1932,and I had somehow

formed a group to buy.Iwas to sharegenerously in

the proﬁts. Then I went on a prodigious bender, and

that chance vanished.

Iwoke up. This had to be stopped. I saw I could

not take so much as one drink. I was through forever.

Before then, I had written lots of sweet promises, but

my wife happily observed that this time I meant busi-

ness. And so I did.

Shortly afterward I came home drunk. There had

been no ﬁght. Wherehad been my high resolve? I

simply didn’t know. It hadn’t even come to mind.

Someone had pushed a drink my way, and I had taken

it. Was I crazy? I began to wonder,for such an ap-

palling lack of perspective seemed near being just that.

Renewing my resolve, I tried again. Some time

BILL’SSTORY5

passed, and conﬁdence began to be replaced by cock-

sureness. I could laugh at the gin mills. Now I had

what it takes! One day I walked into a cafe to tele-

phone. In no time I was beating on the bar asking my-

self how it happened. As the whisky rose to my head

Itold myself I would manage better next time, but I

might as well get good and drunk then. And I did.

The remorse, horror and hopelessness of the next

morning are unforgettable. The courage to do battle

was not there. My brain raced uncontrollably and

there was a terrible sense of impending calamity. I

hardly dared cross the street, lest I collapse and be run

down by an early morning truck, for it was scarcely

daylight. An all night place supplied me with a dozen

glasses of ale. My writhing nerves were stilled at last.

Amorning paper told me the market had gone to hell

again. Well, so had I. The market would recover, but

Iwouldn’t. That was a hardthought. Should I kill

myself? No—not now. Then a mental fog settled

down. Gin would ﬁx that. So two bottles, and—

oblivion.

The mind and body aremarvelous mechanisms, for

mine endured this agony two more years. Sometimes

Istole from my wife’sslender purse when the morning

terror and madness were on me. Again I swayed diz-

zily before an open window, or the medicine cabinet

wheretherewas poison, cursing myself for a weakling.

There were ﬂights from city to country and back, as

my wife and I sought escape. Then came the night

when the physical and mental torturewas so hellish I

feared I would burst through my window, sash and

all.Somehow I managed to drag my mattress to a

lower ﬂoor, lest I suddenly leap. A doctor came with

6ALCOHOLICSANONYMOUS

aheavy sedative. Next day found me drinking both

ginand sedative. This combination soon landed me

onthe rocks. People feared for my sanity. So did I.

Icould eat little or nothing when drinking, and I was

forty pounds under weight.

Mybrother-in-law is a physician, and through his

kindness and that of my mother I was placed in a na-

tionally-known hospital for the mental and physical

rehabilitation of alcoholics. Under the so-called bella-

donna treatment my brain cleared. Hydrotherapy and

mild exercise helped much. Best of all, I met a kind

doctor who explained that though certainly selﬁsh and

foolish, I had been seriously ill, bodily and mentally.

It relieved me somewhat to learn that in alcoholics

the will is amazingly weakened when it comes to com-

bating liquor, though it often remains strong in other

respects. My incredible behavior in the face of a

desperate desire to stop was explained. Understand-

ing myself now,Ifared forthin high hope. For three

or four months the goose hung high. I went to town

regularly and even made a little money.Surely this

was the answer—self-knowledge.

But it was not, for the frightful day came when I

drank once more. The curve of my declining moral

and bodily health fell off like a ski-jump. After a time

Ireturned to the hospital. This was the ﬁnish, the cur-

tain, it seemed to me. My wearyand despairing wife

was informed that it would all end with heartfailure

during delirium tremens, or I would develop a wet

brain, perhaps within a year. She would soon have to

give me over to the undertaker or the asylum.

They did not need to tell me. I knew, and almost

welcomed the idea. It was a devastating blow to my

BILL’SSTORY7

pride. I, who had thought so well of myself and my

abilities, of my capacity to surmount obstacles, was

cornered at last. Now I was to plunge into the dark,

joining that endless procession of sots who had gone

on before. I thought of my poor wife. There had been

much happiness after all. What would I not give to

make amends. But that was over now.

No words can tell of the loneliness and despair I

found in that bitter morass of self-pity. Quicksand

stretched around me in all directions. I had met my

match. I had been overwhelmed. Alcohol was my

master.

Trembling, I stepped from the hospital a broken

man. Fear sobered me for a bit. Then came the insidi-

ous insanity of that ﬁrst drink, and on Armistice Day

1934,Iwas off again. Everyone became resigned to

the certainty that I would have to be shut up some-

where, or would stumble along to a miserable end.

How dark it is before the dawn! In reality that was

thebeginning of my last debauch. I was soon to be

catapulted into what I like to call the fourth dimension

of existence. I was to know happiness, peace, and

usefulness, in a way of life that is incredibly more

wonderful as time passes.

Near the end of that bleak November, I sat drinking

in my kitchen. With a certain satisfaction I reﬂected

therewas enough gin concealed about the house to

carry me through that night and the next day. My

wifewas at work. I wondered whether I dared hide a

full bottle of gin near the head of our bed. I would

need it before daylight.

My musing was interrupted by the telephone. The

cheery voice of an old school friend asked if he might

8ALCOHOLICSANONYMOUS

come over. He was sober.It was years since I could re-

member his coming to New York in that condition. I

was amazed. Rumor had it that he had been commit-

ted for alcoholic insanity. I wondered how he had es-

caped. Of course he would have dinner, and then I

could drink openly with him. Unmindful of his wel-

fare, I thought only of recapturing the spirit of other

days. There was that time we had chartered an air-

plane to complete a jag! His coming was an oasis in

this dreary desert of futility. The very thing—an oasis!

Drinkers are like that.

The door opened and he stood there, fresh-skinned

and glowing. There was something about his eyes. He

was inexplicably different. What had happened?

Ipushed a drink across the table. He refused it.

Disappointed but curious, I wondered what had got

into the fellow. He wasn’t himself.

“Come, what’s all this about?’’ I queried.

He looked straight at me. Simply,but smilingly,he

said, “I’ve got religion.’’

Iwas aghast. So that was it—last summer an alco-

holic crackpot; now, I suspected, a little cracked about

religion. He had that starry-eyed look. Yes, the old

boywas on ﬁre all right. But bless his heart, let him

rant! Besides, my gin would last longer than his

preaching.

But he did no ranting. In a matter of fact way he

told how two men had appeared in court, persuading

the judge to suspend his commitment. They had told

of a simple religious idea and a practical program of

action. That was two months ago and the result was

self-evident. It worked!

He had come to pass his experience along to me—if

BILL’SSTORY9

Icared to have it. I was shocked, but interested. Cer-

tainly I was interested. I had to be, for I was hopeless.

He talked for hours. Childhood memories rose be-

fore me. I could almost hear the sound of the preach-

er’s voice as I sat, on still Sundays, way over there on

the hillside; there was that proffered temperance

pledge I never signed; my grandfather’s good natured

contempt of some church folk and their doings; his

insistence that the spheres really had their music; but

his denial of the preacher’s right to tell him how he

must listen; his fearlessness as he spoke of these things

just before he died; these recollections welled up from

the past. They made me swallow hard.

That war-time day in old Winchester Cathedral

came back again.

Ihad always believed in a Power greater than my-

self. I had often pondered these things. I was not an

atheist. Few people really are, for that means blind

faith in the strange proposition that this universe orig-

inated in a cipher and aimlessly rushes nowhere. My

intellectual heroes, the chemists, the astronomers, even

the evolutionists, suggested vast laws and forces at

work. Despite contraryindications, I had little doubt

that a mighty purpose and rhythm underlay all. How

could there be so much of precise and immutable law,

and no intelligence? I simply had to believe in a Spirit

of the Universe, who knew neither time nor limitation.

But that was as far as I had gone.

With ministers, and the world’s religions, I parted

right there. When they talked of a God personal to

me, who was love, superhuman strength and direction,

Ibecame irritated and my mind snapped shut against

such a theory.

10ALCOHOLICSANONYMOUS

To Christ I conceded the certainty of a great man,

not too closely followed by those who claimed Him.

His moral teaching—most excellent. For myself, I had

adopted those parts which seemed convenient and not

too difﬁcult; the rest I disregarded.

The wars which had been fought, the burnings and

chicanery that religious dispute had facilitated, made

me sick. I honestly doubted whether, on balance, the

religions of mankind had done any good. Judging

fromwhat I had seen in Europe and since, the power

of God in human affairs was negligible, the Brother-

hood of Man a grim jest. If there was a Devil, he

seemed the Boss Universal, and he certainly had me.

But my friend sat before me, and he made the point-

blank declaration that God had done for him what he

could not do for himself. His human will had failed.

Doctors had pronounced him incurable. Society was

about to lock him up. Like myself, he had admitted

complete defeat. Then he had, in effect, been raised

from the dead, suddenly taken from the scrap heap to

alevel of life better than the best he had ever known!

Had this power originated in him? Obviously it had

not. There had been no more power in him than there

was in me at that minute; and this was none at all.

That ﬂoored me. It began to look as though reli-

gious people were right after all. Here was something

at work in a human heartwhich had done the impos-

sible. My ideas about miracles weredrastically revised

right then. Never mind the musty past; heresat a

miracle directly across the kitchen table. He shouted

great tidings.

Isaw that my friend was much more than inwardly

BILL’SSTORY11

reorganized. He was on a different footing. His roots

grasped a new soil.

Despite the living example of my friend there re-

mained in me the vestiges of my old prejudice. The

word God still aroused a certain antipathy. When the

thought was expressed that there might be a God per-

sonal to me this feeling was intensiﬁed. I didn’t like

the idea. I could go for such conceptions as Creative

Intelligence, Universal Mind or Spirit of Nature but I

resisted the thought of a Czar of the Heavens, however

loving His sway might be. I have since talked with

scores of men who felt the same way.

My friend suggested what then seemed a novel idea.

He said, “Why don’t you choose your own conception

ofGod?’’

That statement hit me hard. It melted the icy intel-

lectual mountain in whose shadow I had lived and

shivered many years. I stood in the sunlight at last.

It was only a matter of being willing to believe in a

Power greater than myself. Nothing more was required

of me to make my beginning.Isaw that growth could

startfrom that point. Upon a foundation of complete

willingness I might build what I saw in my friend.

Would I have it? Of course I would!

Thus was I convinced that God is concerned with us

humans when we want Him enough. At long last I

saw,Ifelt, I believed. Scales of pride and prejudice

fell from my eyes. A new world came into view.

The real signiﬁcance of my experience in the Cathe-

dral burst upon me. For a brief moment, I had needed

and wanted God. There had been a humble willing-

ness to have Him with me—and He came. But soon

the sense of His presence had been blotted out by

12ALCOHOLICSANONYMOUS

worldly clamors, mostly those within myself. And so

ithad been ever since. How blind I had been.

At the hospital I was separated from alcohol for the

last time. Treatment seemed wise, for I showed signs

of delirium tremens.

ThereIhumbly offered myself to God, as I then

understood Him, to do with me as He would. I placed

myself unreservedly under His care and direction. I

admitted for the ﬁrst time that of myself I was noth-

ing; that without Him I was lost. I ruthlessly faced my

sins and became willing to have my new-found Friend

take them away, root and branch. I have not had a

drink since.

My schoolmate visited me, and I fully acquainted

him with my problems and deﬁciencies. We made a

list of people I had hurt or toward whom I felt resent-

ment. I expressed my entire willingness to approach

these individuals, admitting my wrong. Never was I

tobe critical of them. I was to right all such matters

tothe utmost of my ability.

Iwas to test my thinking by the new God-conscious-

ness within. Common sense would thus become un-

common sense. I was to sit quietly when in doubt,

asking only for direction and strength to meet my

problems as He would have me. Never was I to pray

for myself, except as my requests boreon my useful-

ness to others. Then only might I expect to receive.

But that would be in great measure.

My friend promised when these things were done I

would enter upon a new relationship with my Creator;

that I would have the elements of a way of living

which answered all my problems. Belief in the power

of God, plus enough willingness, honesty and humility

BILL’SSTORY13

to establish and maintain the new order of things, were

the essential requirements.

Simple, but not easy; a price had to be paid. It

meant destruction of self-centeredness. I must turn

inall things to the Father of Light who presides over

usall.

These were revolutionary and drastic proposals, but

the moment I fully accepted them, the effect was elec-

tric. There was a sense of victory, followed by such a

peace and serenity as I had never known. There was

utter conﬁdence. I felt lifted up, as though the great

clean wind of a mountain top blew through and

through. God comes to most men gradually, but His

impact on me was sudden and profound.

For a moment I was alarmed, and called my friend,

the doctor, to ask if I were still sane. He listened in

wonder as I talked.

Finally he shook his head saying, “Something has

happened to you I don’t understand. But you had

better hang on to it. Anything is better than the way

you were.” The good doctor now sees many men who

have such experiences. He knows that they arereal.

While I lay in the hospital the thought came that

therewerethousands of hopeless alcoholics who might

be glad to have what had been so freely given me.

Perhaps I could help some of them. They in turn

might work with others.

My friend had emphasized the absolute necessity of

demonstrating these principles in all my affairs. Par-

ticularly was it imperative to work with others as he

had worked with me. Faith without works was dead,

he said. And how appallingly true for the alcoholic!

For if an alcoholic failed to perfect and enlarge his

14ALCOHOLICSANONYMOUS

spiritual life through work and self-sacriﬁce for others,

hecould not survive the certain trials and low spots

ahead. If he did not work, he would surely drink

again, and if he drank, he would surely die. Then faith

would be dead indeed. With us it is just like that.

My wife and I abandoned ourselves with enthus-

iasm to the idea of helping other alcoholics to a solution

of their problems. It was fortunate, for my old busi-

ness associates remained skeptical for a year and a

half, during which I found little work. I was not too

well at the time, and was plagued by waves of self-

pity and resentment. This sometimes nearly drove me

back to drink, but I soon found that when all other

measures failed, work with another alcoholic would

save the day. Many times I have gone to my old hos-

pital in despair. On talking to a man there, I would be

amazingly lifted up and set on my feet. It is a design

for living that works in rough going.

Wecommenced to make many fast friends and a fel-

lowship has grown up among us of which it is a won-

derful thing to feel a part. The joy of living we really

have, even under pressure and difﬁculty. I have seen

hundreds of families set their feet in the path that

really goes somewhere; have seen the most impossible

domestic situations righted; feuds and bitterness of all

sorts wiped out. I have seen men come out of asylums

and resume a vital place in the lives of their families

and communities. Business and professional men have

regained their standing. There is scarcely any form of

trouble and misery which has not been overcome

among us. In one westerncity and its environs there

are one thousand of us and our families. We meet fre-

quently so that newcomers may ﬁnd the fellowship

BILL’SSTORY15

they seek. At these informal gatherings one may often

see from 50to 200persons. We are growing in num-

bers and power.*

An alcoholic in his cups is an unlovely creature.

Ourstruggles with them are variously strenuous,

comic, and tragic. One poor chap committed suicide

in my home. He could not, or would not, see our way

of life.

There is, however, a vast amount of fun about it all.

Isuppose some would be shocked at our seeming

worldliness and levity. But just underneath there is

deadly earnestness. Faith has to work twenty-four

hours a day in and through us, or we perish.

Most of us feel we need look no further for Utopia.

We have it with us right here and now. Each day my

friend’s simple talk in our kitchen multiplies itself in

awidening circle of peace on earth and good will to

men.

Bill W., co-founder of A.A.,

died January 24, 1971.

16ALCOHOLICSANONYMOUS

*In 2006,A.A. is composed of over 106,000groups.

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Chapter 2

THERE IS A SOLUTION

W e, of ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS, know

thousands of men and women who were once

just as hopeless as Bill. Nearly all have recovered.

They have solved the drink problem.

We are average Americans. All sections of this

country and many of its occupations are represented,

as well as many political, economic, social, and reli-

gious backgrounds. We are people who normally

would not mix. But there exists among us a fellowship,

a friendliness, and an understanding which is inde-

scribably wonderful. We are like the passengers of a

great liner the moment after rescue from shipwreck

when camaraderie, joyousness and democracy pervade

the vessel from steerage to Captain’s table. Unlike the

feelings of the ship’s passengers, however, our joy in

escape from disaster does not subside as we go our in-

dividual ways. The feeling of having shared in a com-

mon peril is one element in the powerful cement

which binds us. But that in itself would never have

held us together as we are now joined.

The tremendous fact for every one of us is that we

have discovered a common solution. We have a way

out on which we can absolutely agree, and upon which

we can join in brotherly and harmonious action. This

is the great news this book carries to those who suffer

from alcoholism.

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18 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

An illness of this sort—and we have come to believe

it an illness—involves those about us in a way no other

human sickness can. If a person has cancer all are

sorry for him and no one is angry or hurt. But not so

with the alcoholic illness, for with it there goes anni-

hilation of all the things worth while in life. It engulfs

all whose lives touch the sufferer’s. It brings misun-

derstanding, ﬁerce resentment, ﬁnancial insecurity,

disgusted friends and employers, warped lives of

blameless children, sad wives and parents—anyone

can increase the list.

We hope this volume will inform and comfort those

who are, or who may be affected. There are many.

Highly competent psychiatrists who have dealt with

us have found it sometimes impossible to persuade an

alcoholic to discuss his situation without reserve.

Strangely enough, wives, parents and intimate friends

usually ﬁnd us even more unapproachable than do the

psychiatrist and the doctor.

But the ex-problem drinker who has found this solu-

tion, who is properly armed with facts about himself,

can generally win the entire conﬁdence of another al-

coholic in a few hours. Until such an understanding

is reached, little or nothing can be accomplished.

That the man who is making the approach has had

the same difﬁculty, that he obviously knows what he is

talking about, that his whole deportment shouts at the

new prospect that he is a man with a real answer, that

he has no attitude of Holier Than Thou, nothing what-

ever except the sincere desire to be helpful; that there

are no fees to pay, no axes to grind, no people to

please, no lectures to be endured—these are the condi-

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19 THERE IS A SOLUTION

tions we have found most effective. After such an ap-

proach many take up their beds and walk again.

None of us makes a sole vocation of this work, nor

do we think its effectiveness would be increased if we

did. We feel that elimination of our drinking is but

a beginning. A much more important demonstration

of our principles lies before us in our respective homes,

occupations and affairs. All of us spend much of our

spare time in the sort of effort which we are going to

describe. A few are fortunate enough to be so situated

that they can give nearly all their time to the work.

If we keep on the way we are going there is little

doubt that much good will result, but the surface of

the problem would hardly be scratched. Those of us

who live in large cities are overcome by the reﬂection

that close by hundreds are dropping into oblivion

every day. Many could recover if they had the oppor-

tunity we have enjoyed. How then shall we present

that which has been so freely given us?

We have concluded to publish an anonymous vol-

ume setting forth the problem as we see it. We shall

bring to the task our combined experience and knowl-

edge. This should suggest a useful program for any-

one concerned with a drinking problem.

Of necessity there will have to be discussion of

matters medical, psychiatric, social, and religious. We

are aware that these matters are, from their very na-

ture, controversial. Nothing would please us so much

as to write a book which would contain no basis for

contention or argument. We shall do our utmost to

achieve that ideal. Most of us sense that real tolerance

of other people’s shortcomings and viewpoints and a

respect for their opinions are attitudes which make us

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20 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

more useful to others. Our very lives, as ex-problem

drinkers, depend upon our constant thought of others

and how we may help meet their needs.

You may already have asked yourself why it is that

all of us became so very ill from drinking. Doubtless

you are curious to discover how and why, in the face

of expert opinion to the contrary, we have recovered

from a hopeless condition of mind and body. If you

are an alcoholic who wants to get over it, you may

already be asking—“What do I have to do?’’

It is the purpose of this book to answer such ques-

tions speciﬁcally. We shall tell you what we have

done. Before going into a detailed discussion, it may

be well to summarize some points as we see them.

How many times people have said to us: “I can take

it or leave it alone. Why can’t he?’’ “Why don’t you

drink like a gentleman or quit?’’ “That fellow can’t

handle his liquor.’’ “Why don’t you try beer and

wine?’’ “Lay off the hard stuff.’’ “His will power must

be weak.’’ “He could stop if he wanted to.’’ “She’s

such a sweet girl, I should think he’d stop for her

sake.’’ “The doctor told him that if he ever drank

again it would kill him, but there he is all lit up again.’’

Now these are commonplace observations on drink-

ers which we hear all the time. Back of them is a

world of ignorance and misunderstanding. We see

that these expressions refer to people whose reactions

are very different from ours.

Moderate drinkers have little trouble in giving up

liquor entirely if they have good reason for it. They

can take it or leave it alone.

Then we have a certain type of hard drinker. He

may have the habit badly enough to gradually impair

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21 THERE IS A SOLUTION

him physically and mentally. It may cause him to die

a few years before his time. If a sufﬁciently strong rea-

son—ill health, falling in love, change of environment,

or the warning of a doctor—becomes operative, this

man can also stop or moderate, although he may ﬁnd

it difﬁcult and troublesome and may even need med-

ical attention.

But what about the real alcoholic? He may start off

as a moderate drinker; he may or may not become a

continuous hard drinker; but at some stage of his

drinking career he begins to lose all control of his

liquor consumption, once he starts to drink.

Here is the fellow who has been puzzling you, espe-

cially in his lack of control. He does absurd, incredi-

ble, tragic things while drinking. He is a real Dr.

Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. He is seldom mildly intoxicated.

He is always more or less insanely drunk. His disposi-

tion while drinking resembles his normal nature but

little. He may be one of the ﬁnest fellows in the world.

Yet let him drink for a day, and he frequently becomes

disgustingly, and even dangerously anti-social. He has

a positive genius for getting tight at exactly the wrong

moment, particularly when some important decision

must be made or engagement kept. He is often per-

fectly sensible and well balanced concerning every-

thing except liquor, but in that respect he is incredibly

dishonest and selﬁsh. He often possesses special abili-

ties, skills, and aptitudes, and has a promising career

ahead of him. He uses his gifts to build up a bright

outlook for his family and himself, and then pulls the

structure down on his head by a senseless series of

sprees. He is the fellow who goes to bed so intoxicated

he ought to sleep the clock around. Yet early next

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22 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

morning he searches madly for the bottle he misplaced

the night before. If he can afford it, he may have

liquor concealed all over his house to be certain no

one gets his entire supply away from him to throw

down the wastepipe. As matters grow worse, he be-

gins to use a combination of high-powered sedative

and liquor to quiet his nerves so he can go to work.

Then comes the day when he simply cannot make it

and gets drunk all over again. Perhaps he goes to a

doctor who gives him morphine or some sedative with

which to taper off. Then he begins to appear at hos-

pitals and sanitariums.

This is by no means a comprehensive picture of the

true alcoholic, as our behavior patterns vary. But this

description should identify him roughly.

Why does he behave like this? If hundreds of ex-

periences have shown him that one drink means an-

other debacle with all its attendant suffering and

humiliation, why is it he takes that one drink? Why

can’t he stay on the water wagon? What has become

of the common sense and will power that he still some-

times displays with respect to other matters?

Perhaps there never will be a full answer to these

questions. Opinions vary considerably as to why the

alcoholic reacts differently from normal people. We

are not sure why, once a certain point is reached, little

can be done for him. We cannot answer the riddle.

We know that while the alcoholic keeps away from

drink, as he may do for months or years, he reacts

much like other men. We are equally positive that

once he takes any alcohol whatever into his system,

something happens, both in the bodily and mental

sense, which makes it virtually impossible for him to

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23 THERE IS A SOLUTION

stop. The experience of any alcoholic will abundantly

conﬁrm this.

These observations would be academic and point-

less if our friend never took the ﬁrst drink, thereby

setting the terrible cycle in motion. Therefore, the

main problem of the alcoholic centers in his mind,

rather than in his body. If you ask him why he started

on that last bender, the chances are he will offer you

any one of a hundred alibis. Sometimes these excuses

have a certain plausibility, but none of them really

makes sense in the light of the havoc an alcoholic’s

drinking bout creates. They sound like the philosophy

of the man who, having a headache, beats himself on

the head with a hammer so that he can’t feel the ache.

If you draw this fallacious reasoning to the attention

of an alcoholic, he will laugh it off, or become irri-

tated and refuse to talk.

Once in a while he may tell the truth. And the

truth, strange to say, is usually that he has no more

idea why he took that ﬁrst drink than you have. Some

drinkers have excuses with which they are satisﬁed

part of the time. But in their hearts they really do not

know why they do it. Once this malady has a real

hold, they are a bafﬂed lot. There is the obsession that

somehow, someday, they will beat the game. But they

often suspect they are down for the count.

How true this is, few realize. In a vague way their

families and friends sense that these drinkers are ab-

normal, but everybody hopefully awaits the day when

the sufferer will rouse himself from his lethargy and

assert his power of will.

The tragic truth is that if the man be a real alco-

holic, the happy day may not arrive. He has lost

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24 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

control. At a certain point in the drinking of every

alcoholic, he passes into a state where the most power-

ful desire to stop drinking is of absolutely no avail.

This tragic situation has already arrived in practically

every case long before it is suspected.

The fact is that most alcoholics, for reasons yet ob-

scure, have lost the power of choice in drink. Our so-

called will power becomes practically nonexistent.

We are unable, at certain times, to bring into our con-

sciousness with sufﬁcient force the memory of the suf-

fering and humiliation of even a week or a month ago.

We are without defense against the ﬁrst drink.

The almost certain consequences that follow taking

even a glass of beer do not crowd into the mind to

deter us. If these thoughts occur, they are hazy and

readily supplanted with the old threadbare idea that

this time we shall handle ourselves like other people.

There is a complete failure of the kind of defense that

keeps one from putting his hand on a hot stove.

The alcoholic may say to himself in the most casual

way, “It won’t burn me this time, so here’s how!’’ Or

perhaps he doesn’t think at all. How often have some

of us begun to drink in this nonchalant way, and after

the third or fourth, pounded on the bar and said to

ourselves, “For God’s sake, how did I ever get started

again?’’ Only to have that thought supplanted by

“Well, I’ll stop with the sixth drink.’’ Or “What’s the

use anyhow?’’

When this sort of thinking is fully established in an

individual with alcoholic tendencies, he has probably

placed himself beyond human aid, and unless locked

up, may die or go permanently insane. These stark

and ugly facts have been conﬁrmed by legions of alco-

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25 THERE IS A SOLUTION

holics throughout history. But for the grace of God,

there would have been thousands more convincing

demonstrations. So many want to stop but cannot.

There is a solution. Almost none of us liked the self-

searching, the leveling of our pride, the confession of

shortcomings which the process requires for its suc-

cessful consummation. But we saw that it really

worked in others, and we had come to believe in the

hopelessness and futility of life as we had been living

it. When, therefore, we were approached by those in

whom the problem had been solved, there was nothing

left for us but to pick up the simple kit of spiritual

tools laid at our feet. We have found much of heaven

and we have been rocketed into a fourth dimension of

existence of which we had not even dreamed.

The great fact is just this, and nothing less: That we

have had deep and effective spiritual experiences*

which have revolutionized our whole attitude toward

life, toward our fellows and toward God’s universe.

The central fact of our lives today is the absolute cer-

tainty that our Creator has entered into our hearts and

lives in a way which is indeed miraculous. He has

commenced to accomplish those things for us which

we could never do by ourselves.

If you are as seriously alcoholic as we were, we

believe there is no middle-of-the-road solution. We were

in a position where life was becoming impossible, and

if we had passed into the region from which there is

no return through human aid, we had but two alterna-

tives: One was to go on to the bitter end, blotting out

the consciousness of our intolerable situation as best

we could; and the other, to accept spiritual help. This

*Fully explained—Appendix II.

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26 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

we did because we honestly wanted to, and were will-

ing to make the effort.

A certain American business man had ability, good

sense, and high character. For years he had ﬂoundered

from one sanitarium to another. He had consulted the

best known American psychiatrists. Then he had gone

to Europe, placing himself in the care of a celebrated

physician (the psychiatrist, Dr. Jung) who prescribed

for him. Though experience had made him skeptical,

he ﬁnished his treatment with unusual conﬁdence.

His physical and mental condition were unusually

good. Above all, he believed he had acquired such a

profound knowledge of the inner workings of his mind

and its hidden springs that relapse was unthinkable.

Nevertheless, he was drunk in a short time. More

bafﬂing still, he could give himself no satisfactory ex-

planation for his fall.

So he returned to this doctor, whom he admired,

and asked him point-blank why he could not recover.

He wished above all things to regain self-control. He

seemed quite rational and well-balanced with respect

to other problems. Yet he had no control whatever

over alcohol. Why was this?

He begged the doctor to tell him the whole truth,

and he got it. In the doctor’s judgment he was utterly

hopeless; he could never regain his position in society

and he would have to place himself under lock and

key or hire a bodyguard if he expected to live long.

That was a great physician’s opinion.

But this man still lives, and is a free man. He does

not need a bodyguard nor is he conﬁned. He can go

anywhere on this earth where other free men may go

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27 THERE IS A SOLUTION

without disaster, provided he remains willing to main-

tain a certain simple attitude.

Some of our alcoholic readers may think they can do

without spiritual help. Let us tell you the rest of the

conversation our friend had with his doctor.

The doctor said: “You have the mind of a chronic

alcoholic. I have never seen one single case recover,

where that state of mind existed to the extent that it

does in you.’’ Our friend felt as though the gates of

hell had closed on him with a clang.

He said to the doctor, “Is there no exception?’’

“Yes,’’ replied the doctor, “there is. Exceptions to

cases such as yours have been occurring since early

times. Here and there, once in a while, alcoholics

have had what are called vital spiritual experiences.

To me these occurrences are phenomena. They ap-

pear to be in the nature of huge emotional displace-

ments and rearrangements. Ideas, emotions, and

attitudes which were once the guiding forces of the

lives of these men are suddenly cast to one side, and a

completely new set of conceptions and motives begin

to dominate them. In fact, I have been trying to

produce some such emotional rearrangement within

you. With many individuals the methods which I em-

ployed are successful, but I have never been success-

ful with an alcoholic of your description.”*

Upon hearing this, our friend was somewhat re-

lieved, for he reﬂected that, after all, he was a good

church member. This hope, however, was destroyed

by the doctor’s telling him that while his religious

convictions were very good, in his case they did not

spell the necessary vital spiritual experience.

*For ampliﬁcation—see Appendix II.

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28 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

Here was the terrible dilemma in which our friend

found himself when he had the extraordinary experi-

ence, which as we have already told you, made him a

free man.

We, in our turn, sought the same escape with all the

desperation of drowning men. What seemed at ﬁrst a

ﬂimsy reed, has proved to be the loving and powerful

hand of God. A new life has been given us or, if you

prefer, “a design for living’’ that really works.

The distinguished American psychologist, William

James, in his book “Varieties of Religious Experience,’’

indicates a multitude of ways in which men have dis-

covered God. We have no desire to convince anyone

that there is only one way by which faith can be ac-

quired. If what we have learned and felt and seen

means anything at all, it means that all of us, whatever

our race, creed, or color are the children of a living

Creator with whom we may form a relationship upon

simple and understandable terms as soon as we are

willing and honest enough to try. Those having reli-

gious afﬁliations will ﬁnd here nothing disturbing to

their beliefs or ceremonies. There is no friction among

us over such matters.

We think it no concern of ours what religious bodies

our members identify themselves with as individuals.

This should be an entirely personal affair which each

one decides for himself in the light of past associations,

or his present choice. Not all of us join religious

bodies, but most of us favor such memberships.

In the following chapter, there appears an explana-

tion of alcoholism, as we understand it, then a chapter

addressed to the agnostic. Many who once were in

this class are now among our members. Surprisingly

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29 THERE IS A SOLUTION

enough, we ﬁnd such convictions no great obstacle

to a spiritual experience.

Further on, clear-cut directions are given showing

how we recovered. These are followed by forty-two

personal experiences.

Each individual, in the personal stories, describes in

his own language and from his own point of view the

way he established his relationship with God. These

give a fair cross section of our membership and a clear-

cut idea of what has actually happened in their lives.

We hope no one will consider these self-revealing

accounts in bad taste. Our hope is that many alcoholic

men and women, desperately in need, will see these

pages, and we believe that it is only by fully disclos-

ing ourselves and our problems that they will be

persuaded to say, “Yes, I am one of them too; I must

have this thing.”

Chapter 3

MORE ABOUT ALCOHOLISM

Most of ushave been unwilling to admit we

were real alcoholics. No person likes to think

he is bodily and mentally different from his fellows.

Therefore, it is not surprising that our drinking careers

have been characterized by countless vain attempts

toprove we could drink like other people. The idea

that somehow, someday he will control and enjoy his

drinking is the great obsession of every abnormal

drinker. The persistence of this illusion is astonishing.

Many pursue it into the gates of insanity or death.

We learned that we had to fully concede to our in-

nermost selves that we were alcoholics. This is the

ﬁrststep in recovery. The delusion that we are like

other people, or presently may be, has to be smashed.

Wealcoholics aremen and women who have lost

the ability to control our drinking. We know that no

real alcoholic everrecovers control. All of us felt at

times that we were regaining control, but such inter-

vals—usually brief—were inevitably followed by still

less control, which led in time to pitiful and incompre-

hensible demoralization. Weareconvinced to a man

that alcoholics of our type arein the grip of a progres-

sive illness. Over any considerable period we get

worse, never better.

Wearelike men who have lost their legs; they

nevergrow new ones. Neither does there appear to be

any kind of treatment which will make alcoholics of

our kind like other men. We have tried every imagina-

ble remedy. In some instances there has been brief

recovery, followed always by a still worse relapse.

Physicians who are familiar with alcoholism agree

there is no such thing as making a normal drinker out

of an alcoholic. Science may one day accomplish this,

but it hasn’t done so yet.

Despite all we can say, many who are real alcoholics

are not going to believe they are in that class. By

everyform of self-deception and experimentation, they

will try to prove themselves exceptions to the rule,

therefore nonalcoholic. If anyone who is showing

inability to control his drinking can do the right-

about-face and drink like a gentleman, our hats are

offto him. Heaven knows, we have tried hard enough

and long enough to drink like other people!

Here are some of the methods we have tried: Drink-

ing beer only, limiting the number of drinks, never

drinking alone, never drinking in the morning, drink-

ing only at home, never having it in the house, never

drinking during business hours, drinking only at

parties, switching from scotch to brandy, drinking

onlynatural wines, agreeing to resign if ever drunk on

the job, taking a trip, not taking a trip, swearing off

forever (with and without a solemn oath), taking more

physical exercise, reading inspirational books, going

tohealth farms and sanitariums, accepting voluntary

commitment to asylums—we could increase the list

adinﬁnitum.

We do not like to pronounce any individual as alco-

holic, but you can quickly diagnose yourself. Step

overto the nearest barroom and try some controlled

drinking. Try to drink and stop abruptly. Try it

MOREABOUTALCOHOLISM31

morethan once. It will not take long for you to de-

cide, if you are honest with yourself about it. It may

be worth a bad case of jitters if you get a full knowl-

edge of your condition.

Though there is no way of proving it, we believe

that early in our drinking careers most of us could

have stopped drinking. But the difﬁculty is that few

alcoholics have enough desire to stop while there is

yet time. We have heard of a few instances where

people, who showed deﬁnite signs of alcoholism, were

able to stop for a long period because of an overpow-

ering desireto do so. Here is one.

Aman of thirty was doing a great deal of spree

drinking. He was very nervous in the morning after

these bouts and quieted himself with more liquor. He

was ambitious to succeed in business, but saw that he

would get nowhere if he drank at all. Once he started,

he had no control whatever. He made up his mind

that until he had been successful in business and had

retired, he would not touch another drop. An excep-

tional man, he remained bone dry for twenty-ﬁve

years and retired at the age of ﬁfty-ﬁve, after a suc-

cessful and happy business career.Then he fell vic-

tim to a belief which practically everyalcoholic has

—that his long period of sobriety and self-discipline

had qualiﬁed him to drink as other men. Out came his

carpet slippers and a bottle. In two months he was

inahospital, puzzled and humiliated. He tried to

regulate his drinking for a while, making several trips

tothe hospital meantime. Then, gathering all his

forces, he attempted to stop altogether and found he

could not. Everymeans of solving his problem which

32ALCOHOLICSANONYMOUS

money could buy was at his disposal. Every attempt

failed. Though a robust man at retirement, he went

topieces quickly and was dead within four years.

This case contains a powerful lesson. Most of us

have believed that if we remained sober for a long

stretch, we could thereafter drink normally. But here

is a man who at ﬁfty-ﬁve years found he was just

where he had left off at thirty. We have seen the truth

demonstrated again and again: “Once an alcoholic, al-

ways an alcoholic.’’ Commencing to drink after a

period of sobriety, we are in a short time as bad as

ever. If we are planning to stop drinking, there must

be no reservation of any kind, nor any lurking notion

that someday we will be immune to alcohol.

Young people may be encouraged by this man’s ex-

perience to think that they can stop, as he did, on

their own will power.Wedoubt if many of them can

do it, because none will really want to stop, and hardly

one of them, because of the peculiar mental twist al-

ready acquired, will ﬁnd he can win out. Several of

our crowd, men of thirty or less, had been drinking

only a few years, but they found themselves as help-

less as those who had been drinking twenty years.

To be gravely affected, one does not necessarily

have to drink a long time nor take the quantities

someof us have. This is particularly true of women.

Potential female alcoholics often turninto the real

thing and aregone beyond recall in a few years.

Certain drinkers, who would be greatly insulted if

called alcoholics, are astonished at their inability to

stop. We, who are familiar with the symptoms, see

large numbers of potential alcoholics among young

MOREABOUTALCOHOLISM33

people everywhere. But try and get them to see it!*

As we look back, we feel we had gone on drinking

many years beyond the point where we could quit on

our will power. If anyone questions whether he has

entered this dangerous area, let him try leaving liquor

alone for one year. If he is a real alcoholic and very

faradvanced, there is scant chance of success. In the

early days of our drinking we occasionally remained

sober for a year or more, becoming serious drinkers

again later. Though you may be able to stop for a con-

siderable period, you may yet be a potential alcoholic.

We think few, to whom this book will appeal, can stay

dryanything like a year. Some will be drunk the day

after making their resolutions; most of them within a

few weeks.

For those who are unable to drink moderately the

question is how to stop altogether.We are assuming,

of course, that the reader desires to stop. Whether

such a person can quit upon a nonspiritual basis de-

pends upon the extent to which he has already lost

thepower to choose whether he will drink or not.

Many of us felt that we had plenty of character.There

was a tremendous urge to cease forever. Yet we found

itimpossible. This is the bafﬂing featureof alcoholism

as we know it—this utter inability to leave it alone,

nomatter how great the necessity or the wish.

How then shall we help our readers determine, to

their own satisfaction, whether they are one of us?

The experiment of quitting for a period of time will

behelpful, but we think we can render an even greater

service to alcoholic sufferers and perhaps to the medi-

34ALCOHOLICSANONYMOUS

*True when this book was ﬁrst published. But a 2003 U.S./Canada membershipsur-

vey showed about one-ﬁfth of A.A.’s were thirty and under.

cal fraternity. So we shall describe some of the mental

states that precede a relapse into drinking, for ob-

viously this is the crux of the problem.

What sort of thinking dominates an alcoholic who

repeats time after time the desperate experiment of

the ﬁrst drink? Friends who have reasoned with him

after a spree which has brought him to the point of

divorce or bankruptcy are mystiﬁed when he walks

directly into a saloon. Why does he? Of what is he

thinking?

Our ﬁrst example is a friend we shall call Jim. This

man has a charming wife and family. He inherited a

lucrative automobile agency. He had a commendable

World War record. He is a good salesman. Every-

body likes him. He is an intelligent man, normal so far

aswe can see, except for a nervous disposition. He did

no drinking until he was thirty-ﬁve. In a few years he

became so violent when intoxicated that he had to be

committed. On leaving the asylum he came into con-

tact with us.

Wetold him what we knew of alcoholism and the

answer we had found. He made a beginning. His

family was re-assembled, and he began to work as a

salesman for the business he had lost through drink-

ing. All went well for a time, but he failed to enlarge

his spiritual life. Tohis consternation, he found him-

self drunk half a dozen times in rapid succession. On

each of these occasions we worked with him, review-

ing carefully what had happened. He agreed he was

areal alcoholic and in a serious condition. He knew

hefaced another trip to the asylum if he kept on.

Moreover, he would lose his family for whom he had

adeep affection.

MOREABOUTALCOHOLISM35

Yet he got drunk again. We asked him to tell us

exactly how it happened. This is his story: “I came to

work on Tuesday morning. I remember I felt irritated

that I had to be a salesman for a concern I once

owned. I had a few words with the boss, but nothing

serious. Then I decided to drive into the country and

see one of my prospects for a car. On the way I felt

hungry so I stopped at a roadside place where they

have a bar. I had no intention of drinking. I just

thought I would get a sandwich. I also had the notion

that I might ﬁnd a customer for a car at this place,

which was familiar for I had been going to it for years.

Ihad eaten there many times during the months I was

sober.Isat down at a table and ordered a sandwich

and a glass of milk. Still no thought of drinking. I

ordered another sandwich and decided to have

another glass of milk.

“Suddenly the thought crossed my mind that if I

were to put an ounce of whiskey in my milk it couldn’t

hurtme on a full stomach. I ordered a whiskey and

poured it into the milk. I vaguely sensed I was not

being any too smart, but felt reassured as I was taking

the whiskey on a full stomach.The experiment went

so well that I ordered another whiskey and poured it

into moremilk. That didn’t seem to bother me so I

tried another.’’

Thus started one more journey to the asylum for

Jim. Herewas the threat of commitment, the loss of

family and position, to say nothing of that intense

mental and physical suffering which drinking always

caused him. He had much knowledge about himself

asan alcoholic. Yet all reasons for not drinking were

36ALCOHOLICSANONYMOUS

easily pushed aside in favor of the foolish idea that he

could take whiskey if only he mixed it with milk!

Whatever the precise deﬁnition of the word may be,

we call this plain insanity. How can such a lack of

proportion, of the ability to think straight, be called

anything else?

You may think this an extreme case. To us it is not

far-fetched, for this kind of thinking has been charac-

teristic of every single one of us. We have sometimes

reﬂected more than Jim did upon the consequences.

But there was always the curious mental phenomenon

that parallel with our sound reasoning there inevitably

ran some insanely trivial excuse for taking the ﬁrst

drink. Our sound reasoning failed to hold us in check.

The insane idea won out. Next day we would ask our-

selves, in all earnestness and sincerity, how it could

have happened.

In some circumstances we have gone out deliber-

ately to get drunk, feeling ourselves justified by

nervousness, anger, worry, depression, jealousy or the

like. But even in this type of beginning we areobliged

to admit that our justiﬁcation for a spree was insanely

insufﬁcient in the light of what always happened. We

now see that when we began to drink deliberately,

instead of casually, there was little serious or effective

thought during the period of premeditation of what

the terriﬁcconsequences might be.

Our behavior is as absurdand incomprehensible

with respect to the ﬁrst drink as that of an individual

with a passion, say, for jay-walking. He gets a thrill

outof skipping in front of fast-moving vehicles. He

enjoys himself for a few years in spite of friendly warn-

ings. Up to this point you would label him as a foolish

MOREABOUTALCOHOLISM37

chap having queer ideas of fun. Luck then deserts

himand he is slightly injured several times in succes-

sion. You would expect him, if he were normal, to cut

it out. Presently he is hit again and this time has a

fractured skull. Within a week after leaving the hos-

pital a fast-moving trolley car breaks his arm. He

tellsyou he has decided to stop jay-walking for good,

but in a few weeks he breaks both legs.

On through the years this conduct continues, accom-

panied by his continual promises to be careful or to

keep off the streets altogether. Finally, he can no

longer work, his wife gets a divorce and he is held up

to ridicule. He tries every known means to get the jay-

walking idea out of his head. He shuts himself up in

an asylum, hoping to mend his ways. But the day he

comes out he races in front of a ﬁreengine, which

breaks his back. Such a man would be crazy, wouldn’t

he?

You may think our illustration is too ridiculous. But

is it? We, who have been through the wringer, have

toadmit if we substituted alcoholism for jay-walking,

the illustration would ﬁtus exactly.However intelli-

gent we may have been in other respects, wherealco-

hol has been involved, we have been strangely insane.

It’s strong language—but isn’t it true?

Some of you are thinking: “Yes, what you tell us is

true, but it doesn’tfully apply.Weadmit we have

some of these symptoms, but we have not gone to the

extremes you fellows did, nor are we likely to, for we

understand ourselves so well after what you have told

us that such things cannot happen again. We have

notlost everything in life through drinking and we

38ALCOHOLICSANONYMOUS

certainly do not intend to. Thanks for the informa-

tion.’’

That may be true of certain nonalcoholic people

who, though drinking foolishly and heavily at the

present time, are able to stop or moderate, because

their brains and bodies have not been damaged as

ours were. But the actual or potential alcoholic, with

hardly an exception, will be absolutely unable to stop

drinking on the basis of self-knowledge.This is a point

we wish to emphasize and re-emphasize, to smash

home upon our alcoholic readers as it has been re-

vealed to us out of bitter experience. Let us take

another illustration.

Fred is partner in a well known accounting ﬁrm.

His income is good, he has a ﬁne home, is happily

married and the father of promising children of col-

lege age. He has so attractive a personality that he

makes friends with everyone. If ever there was a

successful business man, it is Fred. Toall appearance

he is a stable, well balanced individual. Yet, he is

alcoholic. Weﬁrst saw Fred about a year ago in a

hospital where he had gone to recover from a bad

caseof jitters. It was his ﬁrst experience of this kind,

and he was much ashamed of it. Far from admitting

he was an alcoholic, he told himself he came to the

hospital to rest his nerves. The doctor intimated

strongly that he might be worse than he realized. For

afew days he was depressed about his condition. He

made up his mind to quit drinking altogether. It never

occurred to him that perhaps he could not do so, in

spite of his character and standing. Fred would not

believe himself an alcoholic, much less accept a

spiritual remedy for his problem. We told him what

MOREABOUTALCOHOLISM39

we knew about alcoholism. He was interested and

conceded that he had some of the symptoms, but he

was a long way from admitting that he could do

nothing about it himself. He was positive that this

humiliating experience, plus the knowledge he had ac-

quired, would keep him sober the rest of his life. Self-

knowledge would ﬁx it.

We heard no more of Fred for a while. One day we

were told that he was back in the hospital. This time

he was quite shaky. He soon indicated he was anxious

tosee us. The story he told is most instructive, for

here was a chap absolutely convinced he had to stop

drinking, who had no excuse for drinking, who exhib-

ited splendid judgment and determination in all his

other concerns, yet was ﬂat on his back nevertheless.

Let him tell you about it: “I was much impressed

with what you fellows said about alcoholism, and I

frankly did not believe it would be possible for me to

drink again. I rather appreciated your ideas about

thesubtle insanity which precedes the ﬁrst drink, but

Iwas conﬁdent it could not happen to me after what I

had learned. I reasoned I was not so far advanced as

most of you fellows, that I had been usually successful

in licking my other personal problems, and that I

would therefore be successful where you men failed.

Ifelt I had every right to be self-conﬁdent, that it

would be only a matter of exercising my will power

and keeping on guard.

“In this frame of mind, I went about my business

and for a time all was well. I had no trouble refusing

drinks, and began to wonder if I had not been making

too hard work of a simple matter. One day I went to

Washington to present some accounting evidence to

40ALCOHOLICSANONYMOUS

agovernment bureau. I had been out of town before

during this particular dry spell, so there was nothing

new about that. Physically, I felt ﬁne. Neither did I

have any pressing problems or worries. My business

came off well, I was pleased and knew my partners

would be too. It was the end of a perfect day, not a

cloud on the horizon.

“I went to my hotel and leisurely dressed for dinner.

As I crossed the threshold of the dining room, the

thought came to mind that it would be nice to have a

couple of cocktails with dinner. That was all. Nothing

more.Iordered a cocktail and my meal. Then I or-

dered another cocktail. After dinner I decided to take

awalk. When I returned to the hotel it struck me a

highball would be ﬁne before going to bed, so I

stepped into the bar and had one. I remember having

several more that night and plenty next morning. I

have a shadowy recollection of being in an airplane

bound for New York, and of ﬁnding a friendly taxicab

driver at the landing ﬁeld instead of my wife. The

driver escorted me about for several days. I know little

of where I went or what I said and did. Then came

thehospital with unbearable mental and physical

suffering.

“As soon as I regained my ability to think, I went

carefully over that evening in Washington. Not only

had I been offguard, I had made no ﬁght whatever

against the ﬁrst drink. This time I had not thought of

the consequences at all.Ihad commenced to drink as

carelessly as though the cocktails were ginger ale. I

now remembered what my alcoholic friends had told

me, how they prophesied that if I had an alcoholic

mind, the time and place would come—I would drink

MOREABOUTALCOHOLISM41

again. They had said that though I did raise a defense,

it would one day give way before some trivial reason

for having a drink. Well, just that did happen and

more, for what I had learned of alcoholism did not

occur to me at all. I knew from that moment that I

had an alcoholic mind. I saw that will power and

self-knowledge would not help in those strange mental

blank spots. I had never been able to understand

people who said that a problem had them hopelessly

defeated. I knew then. It was a crushing blow.

“Two of the members of Alcoholics Anonymous

came to see me. They grinned, which I didn’t like so

much, and then asked me if I thought myself alcoholic

and if I were really licked this time. I had to concede

both propositions. They piled on me heaps of evi-

dence to the effect that an alcoholic mentality, such as

Ihad exhibited in Washington, was a hopeless condi-

tion. They cited cases out of their own experience by

the dozen. This process snuffed out the last ﬂicker of

conviction that I could do the job myself.

“Then they outlined the spiritual answer and pro-

gram of action which a hundred of them had followed

successfully.Though I had been only a nominal

churchman, their proposals werenot, intellectually,

hard to swallow. But the program of action, though

entirely sensible, was pretty drastic. It meant I would

have to throw several lifelong conceptions out of the

window. That was not easy. But the moment I made

up my mind to go through with the process, I had the

curious feeling that my alcoholic condition was re-

lieved, as in fact it proved to be.

“Quite as important was the discovery that spiritual

principles would solve all my problems. I have since

42ALCOHOLICSANONYMOUS

been brought into a way of living inﬁnitely more satis-

fying and, I hope, more useful than the life I lived

before. My old manner of life was by no means a bad

one, but I would not exchange its best moments for

the worst I have now. I would not go back to it even

ifIcould.’’

Fred’s story speaks for itself. We hope it strikes

home to thousands like him. He had felt only the ﬁrst

nip of the wringer. Most alcoholics have to be pretty

badly mangled before they really commence to solve

their problems.

Many doctors and psychiatrists agree with our con-

clusions. One of these men, staff member of a world-

renowned hospital, recently made this statement to

some of us: “What you say about the general hopeless-

ness of the average alcoholic’s plight is, in my opinion,

correct. As to two of you men, whose stories I have

heard, there is no doubt in my mind that you were

100%hopeless, apartfrom divine help. Had you of-

fered yourselves as patients at this hospital, I would

not have taken you, if I had been able to avoid it.

People like you are too heartbreaking. Though not a

religious person, I have profound respect for the

spiritual approach in such cases as yours. For most

cases, there is virtually no other solution.’’

Once more: The alcoholic at certain times has no

effective mental defense against the ﬁrst drink. Ex-

cept in a few rarecases, neither he nor any other

human being can provide such a defense. His defense

must come from a Higher Power.

MOREABOUTALCOHOLISM43

Chapter 4

WE AGNOSTICS

Intheprecedingchapters you have learned

something of alcoholism. We hope we have

madeclear the distinction between the alcoholic and

the non-alcoholic. If, when you honestly want to, you

ﬁnd you cannot quit entirely, or if when drinking, you

have little control over the amount you take, you are

probably alcoholic. If that be the case, you may be

suffering from an illness which only a spiritual experi-

ence will conquer.

To one who feels he is an atheist or agnostic such an

experience seems impossible, but to continue as he is

means disaster,especially if he is an alcoholic of the

hopeless variety. To be doomed to an alcoholic death

or to live on a spiritual basis are not always easy

alternatives to face.

But it isn’t so difﬁcult. About half our original

fellowship wereof exactly that type. At ﬁrst some of

ustried to avoid the issue, hoping against hope we

werenot true alcoholics. But after a while we had to

face the fact that we must ﬁnd a spiritual basis of life

—or else. Perhaps it is going to be that way with you.

But cheer up, something like half of us thought we

wereatheists or agnostics. Our experience shows that

you need not be disconcerted.

If a mere code of morals or a better philosophy of

life were sufﬁcient to overcome alcoholism, many of us

would have recovered long ago. But we found that

such codes and philosophies did not save us, no matter

how much we tried. We could wish to be moral, we

could wish to be philosophically comforted, in fact,

wecould will these things with all our might, but the

needed power wasn’tthere. Our human resources, as

marshalled by the will, were not sufﬁcient; they failed

utterly.

Lack of power, that was our dilemma. We had to

ﬁnd a power by which we could live, and it had to be

aPower greater than ourselves.Obviously. But where

and how were we to ﬁnd this Power?

Well, that’s exactly what this book is about. Its

mainobject is to enable you to ﬁnd a Power greater

than yourself which will solve your problem. That

means we have written a book which we believe to

bespiritual as well as moral. And it means, of course,

that we are going to talk about God. Here difﬁculty

arises with agnostics. Many times we talk to a new

man and watch his hope rise as we discuss his alcoho-

licproblems and explain our fellowship. But his face

falls when we speak of spiritual matters, especially

when we mention God, for we have re-opened a sub-

ject which our man thought he had neatly evaded or

entirely ignored.

Weknow how he feels. Wehave shared his honest

doubt and prejudice. Some of us have been violently

anti-religious. Toothers, the word“God’’brought up

aparticular idea of Him with which someone had tried

to impress them during childhood. Perhaps we re-

jected this particular conception because it seemed

inadequate. With that rejection we imagined we had

abandoned the God idea entirely. We were bothered

WEAGNOSTICS45

with the thought that faith and dependence upon a

Power beyond ourselves was somewhat weak, even

cowardly. We looked upon this world of warring

individuals, warring theological systems, and inexpli-

cable calamity, with deep skepticism. We looked

askance at many individuals who claimed to be godly.

How could a Supreme Being have anything to do with

it all? And who could comprehend a Supreme Being

anyhow? Yet, in other moments, we found ourselves

thinking, when enchanted by a starlit night, “Who,

then, made all this?’’ There was a feeling of awe and

wonder, but it was ﬂeeting and soon lost.

Yes, we of agnostic temperament have had these

thoughts and experiences. Let us make haste to reas-

sure you. We found that as soon as we were able to

layaside prejudice and express even a willingness to

believe in a Power greater than ourselves, we com-

menced to get results, even though it was impossible

for any of us to fully deﬁne or comprehend that

Power, which is God.

Much to our relief, we discovered we did not need

to consider another’sconception of God. Our own

conception, however inadequate, was sufficient to

make the approach and to effect a contact with Him.

As soon as we admitted the possible existence of a

Creative Intelligence, a Spirit of the Universe under-

lying the totality of things, we began to be possessed

of a new sense of power and direction, provided we

took other simple steps. We found that God does not

make too hardterms with those who seek Him. To us,

the Realm of Spirit is broad, roomy, all inclusive; never

exclusive or forbidding to those who earnestly seek.

Itis open, we believe, to all men.

46ALCOHOLICSANONYMOUS

When, therefore, we speak to you of God, we mean

your own conception of God. This applies, too, to

other spiritual expressions which you ﬁnd in this book.

Do not let any prejudice you may have against

spiritual terms deter you from honestly asking yourself

what they mean to you. At the start, this was all we

needed to commence spiritual growth, to effect our

ﬁrst conscious relation with God as we understood

Him. Afterward, we found ourselves accepting many

things which then seemed entirely out of reach. That

was growth, but if we wished to grow we had to begin

somewhere. So we used our own conception, how-

ever limited it was.

We needed to ask ourselves but one short question.

“Do I now believe, or am I even willing to believe,

that there is a Power greater than myself?’’ As soon

asa man can say that he does believe, or is willing to

believe, we emphatically assure him that he is on his

way.It has been repeatedly proven among us that

upon this simple cornerstone a wonderfully effective

spiritual structurecan be built.*

That was great news to us, for we had assumed we

could not make use of spiritual principles unless we

accepted many things on faith which seemed difﬁcult

to believe. When people presented us with spiritual

approaches, how frequently did we all say,“I wish I

had what that man has. I’m sureit would work if

Icould only believe as he believes. But I cannot ac-

cept as surely true the many articles of faith which are

so plain to him.’’ So it was comforting to learn that

wecould commence at a simpler level.

Besides a seeming inability to accept much on faith,

WEAGNOSTICS47

*Please be sureto read Appendix II on “Spiritual Experience.”

we often found ourselves handicapped by obstinacy,

sensitiveness, and unreasoning prejudice. Many of us

have been so touchy that even casual reference to

spiritual things made us bristle with antagonism. This

sort of thinking had to be abandoned. Though some

ofus resisted, we found no great difﬁculty in casting

aside such feelings. Faced with alcoholic destruction,

we soon became as open minded on spiritual matters

as we had tried to be on other questions. In this re-

spect alcohol was a great persuader. It ﬁnally beat us

into a state of reasonableness. Sometimes this was a

tedious process; we hope no one else will be preju-

diced for as long as some of us were.

The reader may still ask why he should believe in a

Power greater than himself. We think there are good

reasons. Let us have a look at some of them.

The practical individual of today is a stickler for

facts and results. Nevertheless, the twentieth century

readily accepts theories of all kinds, provided they are

ﬁrmly grounded in fact. We have numerous theories,

for example, about electricity. Everybody believes

them without a murmur of doubt. Why this ready

acceptance? Simply because it is impossible to explain

what we see, feel, direct, and use, without a reason-

able assumption as a starting point.

Everybody nowadays, believes in scores of assump-

tions for which thereis good evidence, but no perfect

visual proof. And does not science demonstrate that

visual proof is the weakest proof? It is being con-

stantly revealed, as mankind studies the material

world, that outward appearances are not inward

reality at all. To illustrate:

The prosaic steel girder is a mass of electrons whirl-

48ALCOHOLICSANONYMOUS

ing around each other at incredible speed. These

tinybodies are governed by precise laws, and these

laws hold true throughout the material world. Science

tells us so. We have no reason to doubt it. When,

however, the perfectly logical assumption is suggested

that underneath the material world and life as we see

it, there is an All Powerful, Guiding, Creative Intelli-

gence, right there our perverse streak comes to the

surface and we laboriously set out to convince our-

selves it isn’t so. We read wordy books and indulge

inwindy arguments, thinking we believe this universe

needs no God to explain it. Were our contentions

true,it would follow that life originated out of noth-

ing, means nothing, and proceeds nowhere.

Instead of regarding ourselves as intelligent agents,

spearheads of God’s ever advancing Creation, we

agnostics and atheists chose to believe that our human

intelligence was the last word, the alpha and the

omega, the beginning and end of all. Rather vain of

us, wasn’t it?

We, who have traveled this dubious path, beg you

to lay aside prejudice, even against organized religion.

We have learned that whatever the human frailties of

various faiths may be, those faiths have given purpose

and direction to millions. People of faith have a logi-

cal idea of what life is all about. Actually,we used to

have no reasonable conception whatever.We used to

amuse ourselves by cynically dissecting spiritual be-

liefs and practices when we might have observed that

many spiritually-minded persons of all races, colors,

and creeds weredemonstrating a degree of stability,

happiness and usefulness which we should have sought

ourselves.

WEAGNOSTICS49

Instead, we looked at the human defects of these

people, and sometimes used their shortcomings as a

basis of wholesale condemnation. We talked of in-

tolerance, while we were intolerant ourselves. We

missed the reality and the beauty of the forest because

we were diverted by the ugliness of some of its trees.

We never gave the spiritual side of life a fair hearing.

In our personal stories you will ﬁnd a wide variation

in the way each teller approaches and conceives of

thePower which is greater than himself. Whether we

agree with a particular approach or conception seems

to make little difference. Experience has taught us

that these arematters about which, for our purpose,

we need not be worried. They are questions for each

individual to settle for himself.

On one proposition, however, these men and

women arestrikingly agreed. Every one of them has

gained access to, and believes in, a Power greater

thanhimself. This Power has in each case accom-

plished the miraculous, the humanly impossible. As

acelebrated American statesman put it, “Let’s look

atthe record.’’

Hereare thousands of men and women, worldly in-

deed. They ﬂatly declarethat since they have come

tobelieve in a Power greater than themselves, to take

acertain attitude toward that Power, and to do certain

simple things, therehas been a revolutionarychange

in their way of living and thinking. In the face of

collapse and despair, in the face of the total failure

oftheir human resources, they found that a new

power, peace, happiness, and sense of direction ﬂowed

into them. This happened soon after they whole-

heartedly met a few simple requirements. Once con-

50ALCOHOLICSANONYMOUS

fused and bafﬂed by the seeming futility of existence,

they show the underlying reasons why they were

making heavy going of life. Leaving aside the drink

question, they tell why living was so unsatisfactory.

They show how the change came over them. When

many hundreds of people are able to say that the

consciousness of the Presence of God is today the most

important fact of their lives, they present a powerful

reason why one should have faith.

This world of ours has made more material progress

in the last century than in all the millenniums which

went before. Almost everyone knows the reason.

Students of ancient history tell us that the intellect

ofmen in those days was equal to the best of today.

Yet in ancient times material progress was painfully

slow. The spirit of modern scientiﬁc inquiry, research

and invention was almost unknown. In the realm of

the material, men’s minds were fettered by supersti-

tion, tradition, and all sorts of ﬁxed ideas. Some of

thecontemporaries of Columbus thought a round

earth preposterous. Others came near putting Galileo

to death for his astronomical heresies.

We asked ourselves this: Are not some of us just as

biased and unreasonable about the realm of the spirit

as were the ancients about the realm of the material?

Even in the present century,American newspapers

wereafraid to print an account of the Wright brothers’

ﬁrst successful ﬂight at Kitty Hawk. Had not all efforts

at ﬂight failed before? Did not Professor Langley’s

ﬂying machine go to the bottom of the Potomac

River? Was it not true that the best mathematical

minds had proved man could never ﬂy? Had not

people said God had reserved this privilege to the

WEAGNOSTICS51

birds? Only thirty years later the conquest of the air

was almost an old story and airplane travel was in

fullswing.

But in most ﬁelds our generation has witnessed com-

plete liberation of our thinking. Show any longshore-

man a Sunday supplement describing a proposal to

explore the moon by means of a rocket and he will

say,“I bet they do it—maybe not so long either.’’ Is

not our age characterized by the ease with which we

discard old ideas for new, by the complete readiness

with which we throw away the theory or gadget which

does not work for something new which does?

Wehad to ask ourselves why we shouldn’t apply to

our human problems this same readiness to change

our point of view. We were having trouble with

personal relationships, we couldn’t control our emo-

tional natures, we were a prey to misery and depres-

sion, we couldn’tmake a living, we had a feeling of

uselessness, we were full of fear, we were unhappy,

wecouldn’t seem to be of real help to other people—

was not a basic solution of these bedevilments more

important than whether we should see newsreels of

lunar ﬂight? Of course it was.

When we saw others solve their problems by a

simple reliance upon the Spirit of the Universe, we

had to stop doubting the power of God. Our ideas

didnot work. But the God idea did.

The Wright brothers’ almost childish faith that they

could build a machine which would ﬂy was the main-

spring of their accomplishment. Without that, nothing

could have happened. We agnostics and atheists were

sticking to the idea that self-sufﬁciency would solve

our problems. When others showed us that “God-suf-

52ALCOHOLICSANONYMOUS

ﬁciency’’ worked with them, we began to feel like

those who had insisted the Wrights would never ﬂy.

Logic is great stuff. We liked it. We still like it. It

isnot by chance we were given the power to reason,

to examine the evidence of our senses, and to draw

conclusions. That is one of man’smagniﬁcent at-

tributes. We agnostically inclined would not feel

satisﬁed with a proposal which does not lend itself to

reasonable approach and interpretation. Hence we

areat pains to tell why we think our present faith is

reasonable, why we think it more sane and logical to

believe than not to believe, why we say our former

thinking was soft and mushy when we threw up our

hands in doubt and said, “We don’t know.’’

When we became alcoholics, crushed by a self-

imposed crisis we could not postpone or evade, we

had to fearlessly face the proposition that either God

is everything or else He is nothing. God either is, or

He isn’t. What was our choice to be?

Arrived at this point, we were squarely confronted

with the question of faith. Wecouldn’tduck the issue.

Some of us had already walked far over the Bridge of

Reason toward the desired shore of faith. The outlines

and the promise of the New Land had brought lustre

to tired eyes and fresh courage to ﬂagging spirits.

Friendly hands had stretched out in welcome. We

weregrateful that Reason had brought us so far. But

somehow,we couldn’tquite step ashore. Perhaps we

had been leaning too heavily on Reason that last mile

and we did not like to lose our support.

That was natural, but let us think a little more

closely. Without knowing it, had we not been brought

to where we stood by a certain kind of faith? For did

WEAGNOSTICS53

we not believe in our own reasoning? Did we not

haveconﬁdence in our ability to think? What was

thatbut a sort of faith? Yes, we had been faithful,

abjectly faithful to the God of Reason. So, in one way

or another, we discovered that faith had been in-

volved all the time!

We found, too, that we had been worshippers.

Whata state of mental goose-ﬂesh that used to bring

on! Had we not variously worshipped people, senti-

ment, things, money, and ourselves? And then, with

abetter motive, had we not worshipfully beheld the

sunset, the sea, or a ﬂower? Who of us had not loved

something or somebody? How much did these feel-

ings, these loves, these worships, have to do with pure

reason? Little or nothing, we saw at last. Were not

these things the tissue out of which our lives were

constructed? Did not these feelings, after all, deter-

mine the course of our existence? It was impossible to

say we had no capacity for faith, or love, or worship.

In one form or another we had been living by faith

and little else.

Imagine life without faith! Werenothing left but

purereason, it wouldn’t be life. But we believed in

life—of course we did. Wecould not prove life in the

sense that you can prove a straight line is the shortest

distance between two points, yet, there it was. Could

we still say the whole thing was nothing but a mass of

electrons, created out of nothing, meaning nothing,

whirling on to a destiny of nothingness? Of course we

couldn’t. The electrons themselves seemed more in-

telligent than that. At least, so the chemist said.

Hence, we saw that reason isn’t everything. Neither

is reason, as most of us use it, entirely dependable,

54ALCOHOLICSANONYMOUS

though it emanate from our best minds. What about

people who proved that man could never ﬂy?

Yet we had been seeing another kind of ﬂight, a

spiritual liberation from this world, people who rose

above their problems. They said God made these

things possible, and we only smiled. Wehad seen

spiritual release, but liked to tell ourselves it wasn’t

true.

Actually we were fooling ourselves, for deep down

in every man, woman, and child, is the fundamental

idea of God. It may be obscured by calamity, by

pomp, by worship of other things, but in some form

orother it is there. For faith in a Power greater than

ourselves, and miraculous demonstrations of that

power in human lives, are facts as old as man himself.

We ﬁnally saw that faith in some kind of God was

apart of our make-up, just as much as the feeling we

have for a friend. Sometimes we had to search fear-

lessly,but He was there. He was as much a fact as

wewere. We found the Great Reality deep down

within us. In the last analysis it is only therethat He

may be found. It was so with us.

We can only clear the ground a bit. If our testi-

mony helps sweep away prejudice, enables you to

think honestly, encourages you to search diligently

within yourself, then, if you wish, you can join us on

the Broad Highway.With this attitude you cannot

fail.The consciousness of your belief is sureto come

to you.

In this book you will read the experience of a man

who thought he was an atheist. His storyis so interest-

ing that some of it should be told now. His change of

heart was dramatic, convincing, and moving.

WEAGNOSTICS55

Our friend was a minister’s son. He attended

churchschool, where he became rebellious at what

hethought an overdose of religious education. For

years thereafter he was dogged by trouble and frustra-

tion. Business failure, insanity, fatal illness, suicide—

these calamities in his immediate family embittered

and depressed him. Post-war disillusionment, ever

more serious alcoholism, impending mental and physi-

cal collapse, brought him to the point of self-destruc-

tion.

One night, when conﬁned in a hospital, he was ap-

proached by an alcoholic who had known a spiritual

experience. Our friend’sgorge rose as he bitterly

criedout: “If there is a God, He certainly hasn’t done

anything for me!’’ But later, alone in his room, he

asked himself this question: “Is it possible that all the

religious people I have known are wrong?’’ While

pondering the answer he felt as though he lived in

hell. Then, like a thunderbolt, a great thought came.

It crowded out all else:

“Who are you to say there is no God?’’

This man recounts that he tumbled out of bed to his

knees. In a few seconds he was overwhelmed by a

conviction of the Presence of God. It poured over and

through him with the certainty and majesty of a great

tide at ﬂood. The barriers he had built through the

years wereswept away.He stood in the Presence of

Inﬁnite Power and Love. He had stepped from bridge

to shore. For the ﬁrst time, he lived in conscious com-

panionship with his Creator.

Thus was our friend’s cornerstone ﬁxed in place. No

later vicissitude has shaken it. His alcoholic problem

was taken away. That very night, years ago, it dis-

56ALCOHOLICSANONYMOUS

appeared. Save for a few brief moments of temptation

the thought of drink has never returned; and at such

times a great revulsion has risen up in him. Seemingly

he could not drink even if he would. God had restored

his sanity.

What is this but a miracle of healing? Yet its ele-

ments are simple. Circumstances made him willing to

believe. He humbly offered himself to his Maker—

then he knew.

Even so has God restored us all to our right minds.

To this man, the revelation was sudden. Some of us

grow into it more slowly. But He has come to all who

have honestly sought Him.

When we drew near to Him He disclosed Himself

to us!

WEAGNOSTICS57

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Chapter 5

HOW IT WORKS

Rarely have we seen a person fail who has

thoroughly followed our path. Those who do not

recover are people who cannot or will not completely

give themselves to this simple program, usually men

and women who are constitutionally incapable of be-

ing honest with themselves. There are such unfortu-

nates. They are not at fault; they seem to have been

born that way. They are naturally incapable of grasp-

ing and developing a manner of living which demands

rigorous honesty. Their chances are less than average.

There are those, too, who suffer from grave emotional

and mental disorders, but many of them do recover if

they have the capacity to be honest.

Our stories disclose in a general way what we used

to be like, what happened, and what we are like now.

If you have decided you want what we have and are

willing to go to any length to get it—then you are

ready to take certain steps.

At some of these we balked. We thought we could

ﬁnd an easier, softer way. But we could not. With

all the earnestness at our command, we beg of you to

be fearless and thorough from the very start. Some of

us have tried to hold on to our old ideas and the result

was nil until we let go absolutely.

Remember that we deal with alcohol—cunning, baf-

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59 HOW IT WORKS

ﬂing, powerful! Without help it is too much for us.

But there is One who has all power—that One is God.

May you ﬁnd Him now!

Half measures availed us nothing. We stood at the

turning point. We asked His protection and care with

complete abandon.

Here are the steps we took, which are suggested as

a program of recovery:

1. We admitted we were powerless over alcohol—

that our lives had become unmanageable.

2. Came to believe that a Power greater than our-

selves could restore us to sanity.

3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives

over to the care of God as we understood Him.

4. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory

of ourselves.

5. Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another

human being the exact nature of our wrongs.

6. Were entirely ready to have God remove all

these defects of character.

7. Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.

8. Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and

became willing to make amends to them all.

9. Made direct amends to such people wherever

possible, except when to do so would injure

them or others.

10. Continued to take personal inventory and when

we were wrong promptly admitted it.

11. Sought through prayer and meditation to im-

prove our conscious contact with God as we un-

derstood Him, praying only for knowledge of

His will for us and the power to carry that out.

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60 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

12. Having had a spiritual awakening as the result

of these steps, we tried to carry this message to

alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all

our affairs.

Many of us exclaimed, “What an order! I can’t go

through with it.’’ Do not be discouraged. No one

among us has been able to maintain anything like per-

fect adherence to these principles. We are not saints.

The point is, that we are willing to grow along spiritual

lines. The principles we have set down are guides to

progress. We claim spiritual progress rather than

spiritual perfection.

Our description of the alcoholic, the chapter to the

agnostic, and our personal adventures before and after

make clear three pertinent ideas:

(a) That we were alcoholic and could not manage

our own lives.

(b) That probably no human power could have re-

lieved our alcoholism.

Being convinced, we were at Step Three, which is

that we decided to turn our will and our life over to

God as we understood Him. Just what do we mean by

that, and just what do we do?

The ﬁrst requirement is that we be convinced that

any life run on self-will can hardly be a success. On

that basis we are almost always in collision with some-

thing or somebody, even though our motives are good.

Most people try to live by self-propulsion. Each per-

son is like an actor who wants to run the whole show;

is forever trying to arrange the lights, the ballet, the

scenery and the rest of the players in his own way. If

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61 HOW IT WORKS

his arrangements would only stay put, if only people

would do as he wished, the show would be great.

Everybody, including himself, would be pleased. Life

would be wonderful. In trying to make these arrange-

ments our actor may sometimes be quite virtuous. He

may be kind, considerate, patient, generous; even

modest and self-sacriﬁcing. On the other hand, he

may be mean, egotistical, selﬁsh and dishonest. But,

as with most humans, he is more likely to have varied

traits.

What usually happens? The show doesn’t come off

very well. He begins to think life doesn’t treat him

right. He decides to exert himself more. He becomes,

on the next occasion, still more demanding or gracious,

as the case may be. Still the play does not suit him.

Admitting he may be somewhat at fault, he is sure

that other people are more to blame. He becomes

angry, indignant, self-pitying. What is his basic

trouble? Is he not really a self-seeker even when try-

ing to be kind? Is he not a victim of the delusion that

he can wrest satisfaction and happiness out of this

world if he only manages well? Is it not evident to all

the rest of the players that these are the things he

wants? And do not his actions make each of them

wish to retaliate, snatching all they can get out of the

show? Is he not, even in his best moments, a pro-

ducer of confusion rather than harmony?

Our actor is self-centered—ego-centric, as people

like to call it nowadays. He is like the retired business

man who lolls in the Florida sunshine in the winter

complaining of the sad state of the nation; the minister

who sighs over the sins of the twentieth century; poli-

ticians and reformers who are sure all would be Utopia

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62 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

if the rest of the world would only behave; the outlaw

safe cracker who thinks society has wronged him; and

the alcoholic who has lost all and is locked up. What-

ever our protestations, are not most of us concerned

with ourselves, our resentments, or our self-pity?

Selﬁshness—self-centeredness! That, we think, is the

root of our troubles. Driven by a hundred forms of

fear, self-delusion, self-seeking, and self-pity, we step

on the toes of our fellows and they retaliate. Some-

times they hurt us, seemingly without provocation, but

we invariably ﬁnd that at some time in the past we

have made decisions based on self which later placed

us in a position to be hurt.

So our troubles, we think, are basically of our own

making. They arise out of ourselves, and the alcoholic

is an extreme example of self-will run riot, though he

usually doesn’t think so. Above everything, we alco-

holics must be rid of this selﬁshness. We must, or it

kills us! God makes that possible. And there often

seems no way of entirely getting rid of self without

His aid. Many of us had moral and philosophical con-

victions galore, but we could not live up to them even

though we would have liked to. Neither could we

reduce our self-centeredness much by wishing or try-

ing on our own power. We had to have God’s help.

This is the how and why of it. First of all, we had to

quit playing God. It didn’t work. Next, we decided

that hereafter in this drama of life, God was going to

be our Director. He is the Principal; we are His

agents. He is the Father, and we are His children.

Most good ideas are simple, and this concept was the

keystone of the new and triumphant arch through

which we passed to freedom.

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63 HOW IT WORKS

When we sincerely took such a position, all sorts of

remarkable things followed. We had a new Employer.

Being all powerful, He provided what we needed, if

we kept close to Him and performed His work well.

Established on such a footing we became less and less

interested in ourselves, our little plans and designs.

More and more we became interested in seeing what

we could contribute to life. As we felt new power

flow in, as we enjoyed peace of mind, as we discovered

we could face life successfully, as we became con-

scious of His presence, we began to lose our fear of

today, tomorrow or the hereafter. We were reborn.

We were now at Step Three. Many of us said to our

Maker, as we understood Him: “God, I offer myself to

Thee—to build with me and to do with me as Thou

wilt. Relieve me of the bondage of self, that I may

better do Thy will. Take away my difﬁculties, that

victory over them may bear witness to those I would

help of Thy Power, Thy Love, and Thy Way of life.

May I do Thy will always!’’ We thought well before

taking this step making sure we were ready; that we

could at last abandon ourselves utterly to Him.

We found it very desirable to take this spiritual step

with an understanding person, such as our wife, best

friend, or spiritual adviser. But it is better to meet God

alone than with one who might misunderstand. The

wording was, of course, quite optional so long as we

expressed the idea, voicing it without reservation.

This was only a beginning, though if honestly and

humbly made, an effect, sometimes a very great one,

was felt at once.

Next we launched out on a course of vigorous action,

the ﬁrst step of which is a personal housecleaning,

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64 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

which many of us had never attempted. Though our

decision was a vital and crucial step, it could have little

permanent effect unless at once followed by a stren-

uous effort to face, and to be rid of, the things in our-

selves which had been blocking us. Our liquor was

but a symptom. So we had to get down to causes and

conditions.

Therefore, we started upon a personal inventory.

This was Step Four. A business which takes no regular

inventory usually goes broke. Taking a commercial

inventory is a fact-ﬁnding and a fact-facing process. It

is an effort to discover the truth about the stock-in-

trade. One object is to disclose damaged or unsalable

goods, to get rid of them promptly and without regret.

If the owner of the business is to be successful, he can-

not fool himself about values.

We did exactly the same thing with our lives. We

took stock honestly. First, we searched out the ﬂaws

in our make-up which caused our failure. Being con-

vinced that self, manifested in various ways, was what

had defeated us, we considered its common manifes-

tations.

Resentment is the “number one’’ offender. It destroys

more alcoholics than anything else. From it stem all

forms of spiritual disease, for we have been not only

mentally and physically ill, we have been spiritually

sick. When the spiritual malady is overcome, we

straighten out mentally and physically. In dealing

with resentments, we set them on paper. We listed

people, institutions or principles with whom we were

angry. We asked ourselves why we were angry. In

most cases it was found that our self-esteem, our

pocketbooks, our ambitions, our personal relationships

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65 HOW IT WORKS

(including sex) were hurt or threatened. So we were

sore. We were “burned up.’’

On our grudge list we set opposite each name our

injuries. Was it our self-esteem, our security, our am-

bitions, our personal, or sex relations, which had been

interfered with?

We were usually as deﬁnite as this example:

I’m resentful at: The Cause Affects my:

Mr. Brown His attention to my Sex relations.

wife. Self-esteem (fear)

Told my wife of my Sex relations.

mistress. Self-esteem (fear)

Brown may get my Security.

job at the ofﬁce. Self-esteem (fear)

Mrs. Jones She’s a nut—she Personal relation-

snubbed me. She ship. Self-esteem

committed her hus-(fear)

band for drinking.

He’s my friend.

She’s a gossip.

My employer Unreasonable—Unjust Self-esteem (fear)

— Overbearing — Security.

Threatens to ﬁre

me for drinking

and padding my ex-

pense account.

My wife Misunderstands and Pride—Personal

nags. Likes Brown. sex relations—

Wants house put in Security (fear)

her name.

We went back through our lives. Nothing counted

but thoroughness and honesty. When we were ﬁn-

ished we considered it carefully. The ﬁrst thing ap-

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66 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

parent was that this world and its people were often

quite wrong. To conclude that others were wrong was

as far as most of us ever got. The usual outcome was

that people continued to wrong us and we stayed sore.

Sometimes it was remorse and then we were sore at

ourselves. But the more we fought and tried to have

our own way, the worse matters got. As in war, the

victor only seemed to win. Our moments of triumph

were short-lived.

It is plain that a life which includes deep resentment

leads only to futility and unhappiness. To the precise

extent that we permit these, do we squander the hours

that might have been worth while. But with the alco-

holic, whose hope is the maintenance and growth of a

spiritual experience, this business of resentment is in-

ﬁnitely grave. We found that it is fatal. For when

harboring such feelings we shut ourselves off from the

sunlight of the Spirit. The insanity of alcohol returns

and we drink again. And with us, to drink is to die.

If we were to live, we had to be free of anger. The

grouch and the brainstorm were not for us. They may

be the dubious luxury of normal men, but for alcohol-

ics these things are poison.

We turned back to the list, for it held the key to the

future. We were prepared to look at it from an en-

tirely different angle. We began to see that the world

and its people really dominated us. In that state, the

wrong-doing of others, fancied or real, had power to

actually kill. How could we escape? We saw that

these resentments must be mastered, but how? We

could not wish them away any more than alcohol.

This was our course: We realized that the people

who wronged us were perhaps spiritually sick.

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67 HOW IT WORKS

Though we did not like their symptoms and the way

these disturbed us, they, like ourselves, were sick too.

We asked God to help us show them the same toler-

ance, pity, and patience that we would cheerfully

grant a sick friend. When a person offended we said

to ourselves, “This is a sick man. How can I be helpful

to him? God save me from being angry. Thy will be

done.’’

We avoid retaliation or argument. We wouldn’t

treat sick people that way. If we do, we destroy our

chance of being helpful. We cannot be helpful to all

people, but at least God will show us how to take a

kindly and tolerant view of each and every one.

Referring to our list again. Putting out of our minds

the wrongs others had done, we resolutely looked for

our own mistakes. Where had we been selﬁsh, dis-

honest, self-seeking and frightened? Though a situa-

tion had not been entirely our fault, we tried to

disregard the other person involved entirely. Where

were we to blame? The inventory was ours, not the

other man’s. When we saw our faults we listed them.

We placed them before us in black and white. We

admitted our wrongs honestly and were willing to set

these matters straight.

Notice that the word “fear’’ is bracketed alongside the

difﬁculties with Mr. Brown, Mrs. Jones, the employer,

and the wife. This short word somehow touches about

every aspect of our lives. It was an evil and corroding

thread; the fabric of our existence was shot through

with it. It set in motion trains of circumstances which

brought us misfortune we felt we didn’t deserve. But

did not we, ourselves, set the ball rolling? Sometimes

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68 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

we think fear ought to be classed with stealing. It

seems to cause more trouble.

We reviewed our fears thoroughly. We put them on

paper, even though we had no resentment in connec-

tion with them. We asked ourselves why we had

them. Wasn’t it because self-reliance failed us? Self-

reliance was good as far as it went, but it didn’t go far

enough. Some of us once had great self-conﬁdence,

but it didn’t fully solve the fear problem, or any other.

When it made us cocky, it was worse.

Perhaps there is a better way—we think so. For we

are now on a different basis; the basis of trusting and

relying upon God. We trust inﬁnite God rather than

our ﬁnite selves. We are in the world to play the role

He assigns. Just to the extent that we do as we think

He would have us, and humbly rely on Him, does He

enable us to match calamity with serenity.

We never apologize to anyone for depending upon

our Creator. We can laugh at those who think spiritu-

ality the way of weakness. Paradoxically, it is the way

of strength. The verdict of the ages is that faith means

courage. All men of faith have courage. They trust

their God. We never apologize for God. Instead we

let Him demonstrate, through us, what He can do. We

ask Him to remove our fear and direct our attention to

what He would have us be. At once, we commence to

outgrow fear.

Now about sex. Many of us needed an overhauling

there. But above all, we tried to be sensible on this

question. It’s so easy to get way off the track. Here

we ﬁnd human opinions running to extremes—absurd

extremes, perhaps. One set of voices cry that sex is a

lust of our lower nature, a base necessity of procrea-

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69 HOW IT WORKS

tion. Then we have the voices who cry for sex and

more sex; who bewail the institution of marriage; who

think that most of the troubles of the race are traceable

to sex causes. They think we do not have enough of it,

or that it isn’t the right kind. They see its signiﬁcance

everywhere. One school would allow man no ﬂavor

for his fare and the other would have us all on a

straight pepper diet. We want to stay out of this con-

troversy. We do not want to be the arbiter of anyone’s

sex conduct. We all have sex problems. We’d hardly

be human if we didn’t. What can we do about them?

We reviewed our own conduct over the years past.

Where had we been selﬁsh, dishonest, or inconsider-

ate? Whom had we hurt? Did we unjustiﬁably arouse

jealousy, suspicion or bitterness? Where were we at

fault, what should we have done instead? We got this

all down on paper and looked at it.

In this way we tried to shape a sane and sound ideal

for our future sex life. We subjected each relation to

this test—was it selﬁsh or not? We asked God to mold

our ideals and help us to live up to them. We remem-

bered always that our sex powers were God-given and

therefore good, neither to be used lightly or selﬁshly

nor to be despised and loathed.

Whatever our ideal turns out to be, we must be will-

ing to grow toward it. We must be willing to make

amends where we have done harm, provided that we

do not bring about still more harm in so doing. In

other words, we treat sex as we would any other prob-

lem. In meditation, we ask God what we should do

about each speciﬁc matter. The right answer will

come, if we want it.

God alone can judge our sex situation. Counsel with

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70 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

persons is often desirable, but we let God be the ﬁnal

judge. We realize that some people are as fanatical

about sex as others are loose. We avoid hysterical

thinking or advice.

Suppose we fall short of the chosen ideal and

stumble? Does this mean we are going to get drunk?

Some people tell us so. But this is only a half-truth.

It depends on us and on our motives. If we are sorry

for what we have done, and have the honest desire to

let God take us to better things, we believe we will be

forgiven and will have learned our lesson. If we are

not sorry, and our conduct continues to harm others,

we are quite sure to drink. We are not theorizing.

These are facts out of our experience.

To sum up about sex: We earnestly pray for the

right ideal, for guidance in each questionable situa-

tion, for sanity, and for the strength to do the right

thing. If sex is very troublesome, we throw ourselves

the harder into helping others. We think of their

needs and work for them. This takes us out of our-

selves. It quiets the imperious urge, when to yield

would mean heartache.

If we have been thorough about our personal in-

ventory, we have written down a lot. We have listed

and analyzed our resentments. We have begun to

comprehend their futility and their fatality. We have

commenced to see their terrible destructiveness. We

have begun to learn tolerance, patience and good will

toward all men, even our enemies, for we look on

them as sick people. We have listed the people we

have hurt by our conduct, and are willing to straighten

out the past if we can.

In this book you read again and again that faith did

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71 HOW IT WORKS

for us what we could not do for ourselves. We hope

you are convinced now that God can remove whatever

self-will has blocked you off from Him. If you have

already made a decision, and an inventory of your

grosser handicaps, you have made a good beginning.

That being so you have swallowed and digested some

big chunks of truth about yourself.

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Chapter 6

INTO ACTION

Having made our personal inventory, what shall

we do about it? We have been trying to get a

new attitude, a new relationship with our Creator, and

to discover the obstacles in our path. We have ad-

mitted certain defects; we have ascertained in a rough

way what the trouble is; we have put our ﬁnger on the

weak items in our personal inventory. Now these are

about to be cast out. This requires action on our part,

which, when completed, will mean that we have ad-

mitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human

being, the exact nature of our defects. This brings us

to the Fifth Step in the program of recovery mentioned

in the preceding chapter.

This is perhaps difﬁcult—especially discussing our

defects with another person. We think we have done

well enough in admitting these things to ourselves.

There is doubt about that. In actual practice, we usu-

ally ﬁnd a solitary self-appraisal insufﬁcient. Many of

us thought it necessary to go much further. We will

be more reconciled to discussing ourselves with an-

other person when we see good reasons why we should

do so. The best reason ﬁrst: If we skip this vital step,

we may not overcome drinking. Time after time new-

comers have tried to keep to themselves certain facts

about their lives. Trying to avoid this humbling ex-

perience, they have turned to easier methods. Almost

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73 INTO ACTION

invariably they got drunk. Having persevered with

the rest of the program, they wondered why they fell.

We think the reason is that they never completed their

housecleaning. They took inventory all right, but

hung on to some of the worst items in stock. They

only thought they had lost their egoism and fear; they

only thought they had humbled themselves. But they

had not learned enough of humility, fearlessness and

honesty, in the sense we ﬁnd it necessary, until they

told someone else all their life story.

More than most people, the alcoholic leads a double

life. He is very much the actor. To the outer world he

presents his stage character. This is the one he likes

his fellows to see. He wants to enjoy a certain reputa-

tion, but knows in his heart he doesn’t deserve it.

The inconsistency is made worse by the things he

does on his sprees. Coming to his senses, he is revolted

at certain episodes he vaguely remembers. These

memories are a nightmare. He trembles to think some-

one might have observed him. As fast as he can, he

pushes these memories far inside himself. He hopes

they will never see the light of day. He is under con-

stant fear and tension—that makes for more drinking.

Psychologists are inclined to agree with us. We

have spent thousands of dollars for examinations. We

know but few instances where we have given these

doctors a fair break. We have seldom told them the

whole truth nor have we followed their advice. Un-

willing to be honest with these sympathetic men, we

were honest with no one else. Small wonder many in

the medical profession have a low opinion of alcoholics

and their chance for recovery!

We must be entirely honest with somebody if we

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74 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

expect to live long or happily in this world. Rightly

and naturally, we think well before we choose the per-

son or persons with whom to take this intimate and

conﬁdential step. Those of us belonging to a religious

denomination which requires confession must, and of

course, will want to go to the properly appointed au-

thority whose duty it is to receive it. Though we have

no religious connection, we may still do well to talk

with someone ordained by an established religion. We

often ﬁnd such a person quick to see and understand

our problem. Of course, we sometimes encounter peo-

ple who do not understand alcoholics.

If we cannot or would rather not do this, we search

our acquaintance for a close-mouthed, understanding

friend. Perhaps our doctor or psychologist will be the

person. It may be one of our own family, but we can-

not disclose anything to our wives or our parents which

will hurt them and make them unhappy. We have

no right to save our own skin at another person’s ex-

pense. Such parts of our story we tell to someone who

will understand, yet be unaffected. The rule is we

must be hard on ourself, but always considerate of

others.

Notwithstanding the great necessity for discussing

ourselves with someone, it may be one is so situated

that there is no suitable person available. If that is so,

this step may be postponed, only, however, if we hold

ourselves in complete readiness to go through with it

at the ﬁrst opportunity. We say this because we are

very anxious that we talk to the right person. It is im-

portant that he be able to keep a conﬁdence; that he

fully understand and approve what we are driving at;

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75 INTO ACTION

that he will not try to change our plan. But we must

not use this as a mere excuse to postpone.

When we decide who is to hear our story, we waste

no time. We have a written inventory and we are pre-

pared for a long talk. We explain to our partner what

we are about to do and why we have to do it. He

should realize that we are engaged upon a life-and-

death errand. Most people approached in this way

will be glad to help; they will be honored by our

conﬁdence.

We pocket our pride and go to it, illuminating every

twist of character, every dark cranny of the past. Once

we have taken this step, withholding nothing, we are

delighted. We can look the world in the eye. We can

be alone at perfect peace and ease. Our fears fall from

us. We begin to feel the nearness of our Creator. We

may have had certain spiritual beliefs, but now we be-

gin to have a spiritual experience. The feeling that

the drink problem has disappeared will often come

strongly. We feel we are on the Broad Highway,

walking hand in hand with the Spirit of the Universe.

Returning home we ﬁnd a place where we can be

quiet for an hour, carefully reviewing what we have

done. We thank God from the bottom of our heart

that we know Him better. Taking this book down

from our shelf we turn to the page which contains the

twelve steps. Carefully reading the ﬁrst ﬁve proposals

we ask if we have omitted anything, for we are build-

ing an arch through which we shall walk a free man

at last. Is our work solid so far? Are the stones prop-

erly in place? Have we skimped on the cement put

into the foundation? Have we tried to make mortar

without sand?

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76 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

If we can answer to our satisfaction, we then look at

Step Six. We have emphasized willingness as being in-

dispensable. Are we now ready to let God remove

from us all the things which we have admitted are ob-

jectionable? Can He now take them all—every one?

If we still cling to something we will not let go, we

ask God to help us be willing.

When ready, we say something like this: “My Cre-

ator, I am now willing that you should have all of me,

good and bad. I pray that you now remove from me

every single defect of character which stands in the

way of my usefulness to you and my fellows. Grant

me strength, as I go out from here, to do your bidding.

Amen.’’ We have then completed Step Seven.

Now we need more action, without which we ﬁnd

that “Faith without works is dead.’’ Let’s look at Steps

Eight and Nine. We have a list of all persons we have

harmed and to whom we are willing to make amends.

We made it when we took inventory. We subjected

ourselves to a drastic self-appraisal. Now we go out to

our fellows and repair the damage done in the past.

We attempt to sweep away the debris which has accu-

mulated out of our effort to live on self-will and run

the show ourselves. If we haven’t the will to do this,

we ask until it comes. Remember it was agreed at the

beginning we would go to any lengths for victory over

alcohol.

Probably there are still some misgivings. As we look

over the list of business acquaintances and friends we

have hurt, we may feel difﬁdent about going to some

of them on a spiritual basis. Let us be reassured. To

some people we need not, and probably should not

emphasize the spiritual feature on our ﬁrst approach.

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77 INTO ACTION

We might prejudice them. At the moment we are try-

ing to put our lives in order. But this is not an end in

itself. Our real purpose is to ﬁt ourselves to be of maxi-

mum service to God and the people about us. It is

seldom wise to approach an individual, who still

smarts from our injustice to him, and announce that

we have gone religious. In the prize ring, this would

be called leading with the chin. Why lay ourselves

open to being branded fanatics or religious bores? We

may kill a future opportunity to carry a beneﬁcial mes-

sage. But our man is sure to be impressed with a

sincere desire to set right the wrong. He is going to be

more interested in a demonstration of good will

than in our talk of spiritual discoveries.

We don’t use this as an excuse for shying away from

the subject of God. When it will serve any good pur-

pose, we are willing to announce our convictions with

tact and common sense. The question of how to ap-

proach the man we hated will arise. It may be he has

done us more harm than we have done him and,

though we may have acquired a better attitude toward

him, we are still not too keen about admitting our

faults. Nevertheless, with a person we dislike, we take

the bit in our teeth. It is harder to go to an enemy

than to a friend, but we ﬁnd it much more beneﬁcial

to us. We go to him in a helpful and forgiving spirit,

confessing our former ill feeling and expressing our

regret.

Under no condition do we criticize such a person

or argue. Simply we tell him that we will never get

over drinking until we have done our utmost to

straighten out the past. We are there to sweep off our

side of the street, realizing that nothing worth while

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78 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

can be accomplished until we do so, never trying to

tell him what he should do. His faults are not dis-

cussed. We stick to our own. If our manner is calm,

frank, and open, we will be gratiﬁed with the result.

In nine cases out of ten the unexpected happens.

Sometimes the man we are calling upon admits his

own fault, so feuds of years’ standing melt away in an

hour. Rarely do we fail to make satisfactory progress.

Our former enemies sometimes praise what we are

doing and wish us well. Occasionally, they will offer

assistance. It should not matter, however, if someone

does throw us out of his ofﬁce. We have made our

demonstration, done our part. It’s water over the dam.

Most alcoholics owe money. We do not dodge our

creditors. Telling them what we are trying to do, we

make no bones about our drinking; they usually know

it anyway, whether we think so or not. Nor are we

afraid of disclosing our alcoholism on the theory it

may cause ﬁnancial harm. Approached in this way,

the most ruthless creditor will sometimes surprise us.

Arranging the best deal we can we let these people

know we are sorry. Our drinking has made us slow

to pay. We must lose our fear of creditors no matter

how far we have to go, for we are liable to drink if we

are afraid to face them.

Perhaps we have committed a criminal offense

which might land us in jail if it were known to the au-

thorities. We may be short in our accounts and unable

to make good. We have already admitted this in con-

ﬁdence to another person, but we are sure we would

be imprisoned or lose our job if it were known. Maybe

it’s only a petty offense such as padding the expense

account. Most of us have done that sort of thing.

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79 INTO ACTION

Maybe we are divorced, and have remarried but

haven’t kept up the alimony to number one. She is

indignant about it, and has a warrant out for our ar-

rest. That’s a common form of trouble too.

Although these reparations take innumerable forms,

there are some general principles which we ﬁnd guid-

ing. Reminding ourselves that we have decided to go

to any lengths to ﬁnd a spiritual experience, we ask

that we be given strength and direction to do the right

thing, no matter what the personal consequences may

be. We may lose our position or reputation or face

jail, but we are willing. We have to be. We must not

shrink at anything.

Usually, however, other people are involved. There-

fore, we are not to be the hasty and foolish martyr who

would needlessly sacriﬁce others to save himself from

the alcoholic pit. A man we know had remarried. Be-

cause of resentment and drinking, he had not paid ali-

mony to his ﬁrst wife. She was furious. She went to

court and got an order for his arrest. He had com-

menced our way of life, had secured a position, and

was getting his head above water. It would have been

impressive heroics if he had walked up to the Judge

and said, “Here I am.’’

We thought he ought to be willing to do that if

necessary, but if he were in jail he could provide noth-

ing for either family. We suggested he write his ﬁrst

wife admitting his faults and asking forgiveness. He

did, and also sent a small amount of money. He told

her what he would try to do in the future. He said he

was perfectly willing to go to jail if she insisted. Of

course she did not, and the whole situation has long

since been adjusted.

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80 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

Before taking drastic action which might implicate

other people we secure their consent. If we have ob-

tained permission, have consulted with others, asked

God to help and the drastic step is indicated we must

not shrink.

This brings to mind a story about one of our friends.

While drinking, he accepted a sum of money from a

bitterly-hated business rival, giving him no receipt for

it. He subsequently denied having received the money

and used the incident as a basis for discrediting the

man. He thus used his own wrong-doing as a means

of destroying the reputation of another. In fact, his

rival was ruined.

He felt that he had done a wrong he could not pos-

sibly make right. If he opened that old affair, he was

afraid it would destroy the reputation of his partner,

disgrace his family and take away his means of liveli-

hood. What right had he to involve those dependent

upon him? How could he possibly make a public

statement exonerating his rival?

After consulting with his wife and partner he came

to the conclusion that it was better to take those risks

than to stand before his Creator guilty of such ruinous

slander. He saw that he had to place the outcome in

God’s hands or he would soon start drinking again, and

all would be lost anyhow. He attended church for the

ﬁrst time in many years. After the sermon, he quietly

got up and made an explanation. His action met wide-

spread approval, and today he is one of the most

trusted citizens of his town. This all happened years

ago.

The chances are that we have domestic troubles.

Perhaps we are mixed up with women in a fashion we

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81 INTO ACTION

wouldn’t care to have advertised. We doubt if, in this

respect, alcoholics are fundamentally much worse than

other people. But drinking does complicate sex rela-

tions in the home. After a few years with an alcoholic,

a wife gets worn out, resentful and uncommunicative.

How could she be anything else? The husband begins

to feel lonely, sorry for himself. He commences to

look around in the night clubs, or their equivalent, for

something besides liquor. Perhaps he is having a

secret and exciting affair with “the girl who under-

stands.’’ In fairness we must say that she may under-

stand, but what are we going to do about a thing like

that? A man so involved often feels very remorseful

at times, especially if he is married to a loyal and

courageous girl who has literally gone through hell for

him.

Whatever the situation, we usually have to do some-

thing about it. If we are sure our wife does not know,

should we tell her? Not always, we think. If she

knows in a general way that we have been wild,

should we tell her in detail? Undoubtedly we should

admit our fault. She may insist on knowing all the

particulars. She will want to know who the woman is

and where she is. We feel we ought to say to her that

we have no right to involve another person. We are

sorry for what we have done and, God willing, it shall

not be repeated. More than that we cannot do; we

have no right to go further. Though there may be

justiﬁable exceptions, and though we wish to lay down

no rule of any sort, we have often found this the best

course to take.

Our design for living is not a one-way street. It is

as good for the wife as for the husband. If we can

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82 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

forget, so can she. It is better, however, that one does

not needlessly name a person upon whom she can vent

jealousy.

Perhaps there are some cases where the utmost

frankness is demanded. No outsider can appraise such

an intimate situation. It may be that both will decide

that the way of good sense and loving kindness is to

let by-gones be by-gones. Each might pray about it,

having the other one’s happiness uppermost in mind.

Keep it always in sight that we are dealing with that

most terrible human emotion—jealousy. Good general-

ship may decide that the problem be attacked on the

ﬂank rather than risk a face-to-face combat.

If we have no such complication, there is plenty we

should do at home. Sometimes we hear an alcoholic

say that the only thing he needs to do is to keep sober.

Certainly he must keep sober, for there will be no

home if he doesn’t. But he is yet a long way from

making good to the wife or parents whom for years

he has so shockingly treated. Passing all understand-

ing is the patience mothers and wives have had with

alcoholics. Had this not been so, many of us would

have no homes today, would perhaps be dead.

The alcoholic is like a tornado roaring his way

through the lives of others. Hearts are broken. Sweet

relationships are dead. Affections have been uprooted.

Selﬁsh and inconsiderate habits have kept the home in

turmoil. We feel a man is unthinking when he says

that sobriety is enough. He is like the farmer who

came up out of his cyclone cellar to ﬁnd his home

ruined. To his wife, he remarked, “Don’t see anything

the matter here, Ma. Ain’t it grand the wind stopped

blowin’?’’

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83 INTO ACTION

Yes, there is a long period of reconstruction ahead.

We must take the lead. A remorseful mumbling that

we are sorry won’t ﬁll the bill at all. We ought to sit

down with the family and frankly analyze the past as

we now see it, being very careful not to criticize them.

Their defects may be glaring, but the chances are that

our own actions are partly responsible. So we clean

house with the family, asking each morning in medita-

tion that our Creator show us the way of patience,

tolerance, kindliness and love.

The spiritual life is not a theory. We have to live it.

Unless one’s family expresses a desire to live upon

spiritual principles we think we ought not to urge

them. We should not talk incessantly to them about

spiritual matters. They will change in time. Our be-

havior will convince them more than our words. We

must remember that ten or twenty years of drunken-

ness would make a skeptic out of anyone.

There may be some wrongs we can never fully right.

We don’t worry about them if we can honestly say to

ourselves that we would right them if we could.

Some people cannot be seen—we send them an honest

letter. And there may be a valid reason for postpone-

ment in some cases. But we don’t delay if it can be

avoided. We should be sensible, tactful, considerate

and humble without being servile or scraping. As

God’s people we stand on our feet; we don’t crawl

before anyone.

If we are painstaking about this phase of our

development, we will be amazed before we are half

way through. We are going to know a new freedom

and a new happiness. We will not regret the past nor

wish to shut the door on it. We will comprehend the

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84 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

word serenity and we will know peace. No matter

how far down the scale we have gone, we will see how

our experience can benefit others. That feeling

of uselessness and self-pity will disappear. We will

lose interest in selﬁsh things and gain interest in our

fellows. Self-seeking will slip away. Our whole atti-

tude and outlook upon life will change. Fear of people

and of economic insecurity will leave us. We will in-

tuitively know how to handle situations which used to

bafﬂe us. We will suddenly realize that God is doing

for us what we could not do for ourselves.

Are these extravagant promises? We think not.

They are being fulﬁlled among us—sometimes quickly,

sometimes slowly. They will always materialize if we

work for them.

This thought brings us to Step Ten, which suggests

we continue to take personal inventory and continue

to set right any new mistakes as we go along. We

vigorously commenced this way of living as we

cleaned up the past. We have entered the world of

the Spirit. Our next function is to grow in understand-

ing and effectiveness. This is not an overnight matter.

It should continue for our lifetime. Continue to watch

for selﬁshness, dishonesty, resentment, and fear. When

these crop up, we ask God at once to remove them.

We discuss them with someone immediately and make

amends quickly if we have harmed anyone. Then we

resolutely turn our thoughts to someone we can help.

Love and tolerance of others is our code.

And we have ceased ﬁghting anything or anyone—

even alcohol. For by this time sanity will have re-

turned. We will seldom be interested in liquor. If

tempted, we recoil from it as from a hot ﬂame. We

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85 INTO ACTION

react sanely and normally, and we will ﬁnd that this

has happened automatically. We will see that our new

attitude toward liquor has been given us without any

thought or effort on our part. It just comes! That is

the miracle of it. We are not ﬁghting it, neither are

we avoiding temptation. We feel as though we had

been placed in a position of neutrality—safe and

protected. We have not even sworn off. Instead, the

problem has been removed. It does not exist for us.

We are neither cocky nor are we afraid. That is our

experience. That is how we react so long as we keep

in ﬁt spiritual condition.

It is easy to let up on the spiritual program of action

and rest on our laurels. We are headed for trouble if

we do, for alcohol is a subtle foe. We are not cured of

alcoholism. What we really have is a daily reprieve

contingent on the maintenance of our spiritual condi-

tion. Every day is a day when we must carry the

vision of God’s will into all of our activities. “How

can I best serve Thee—Thy will (not mine) be done.’’

These are thoughts which must go with us constantly.

We can exercise our will power along this line all we

wish. It is the proper use of the will.

Much has already been said about receiving

strength, inspiration, and direction from Him who

has all knowledge and power. If we have carefully

followed directions, we have begun to sense the ﬂow

of His Spirit into us. To some extent we have become

God-conscious. We have begun to develop this vital

sixth sense. But we must go further and that means

more action.

Step Eleven suggests prayer and meditation. We

shouldn’t be shy on this matter of prayer. Better men

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86 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

than we are using it constantly. It works, if we have

the proper attitude and work at it. It would be easy

to be vague about this matter. Yet, we believe we can

make some deﬁnite and valuable suggestions.

When we retire at night, we constructively review

our day. Were we resentful, selfish, dishonest or

afraid? Do we owe an apology? Have we kept some-

thing to ourselves which should be discussed with

another person at once? Were we kind and loving

toward all? What could we have done better? Were

we thinking of ourselves most of the time? Or were

we thinking of what we could do for others, of

what we could pack into the stream of life? But we

must be careful not to drift into worry, remorse or

morbid reﬂection, for that would diminish our useful-

ness to others. After making our review we ask God’s

forgiveness and inquire what corrective measures

should be taken.

On awakening let us think about the twenty-four

hours ahead. We consider our plans for the day. Be-

fore we begin, we ask God to direct our thinking,

especially asking that it be divorced from self-pity,

dishonest or self-seeking motives. Under these condi-

tions we can employ our mental faculties with as-

surance, for after all God gave us brains to use. Our

thought-life will be placed on a much higher plane

when our thinking is cleared of wrong motives.

In thinking about our day we may face indecision.

We may not be able to determine which course to

take. Here we ask God for inspiration, an intuitive

thought or a decision. We relax and take it easy. We

don’t struggle. We are often surprised how the right

answers come after we have tried this for a while.

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87 INTO ACTION

What used to be the hunch or the occasional inspira-

tion gradually becomes a working part of the mind.

Being still inexperienced and having just made con-

scious contact with God, it is not probable that we are

going to be inspired at all times. We might pay for

this presumption in all sorts of absurd actions and

ideas. Nevertheless, we ﬁnd that our thinking will,

as time passes, be more and more on the plane of in-

spiration. We come to rely upon it.

We usually conclude the period of meditation with

a prayer that we be shown all through the day what

our next step is to be, that we be given whatever we

need to take care of such problems. We ask especially

for freedom from self-will, and are careful to make no

request for ourselves only. We may ask for ourselves,

however, if others will be helped. We are careful

never to pray for our own selﬁsh ends. Many of us

have wasted a lot of time doing that and it doesn’t

work. You can easily see why.

If circumstances warrant, we ask our wives or

friends to join us in morning meditation. If we belong

to a religious denomination which requires a deﬁnite

morning devotion, we attend to that also. If not mem-

bers of religious bodies, we sometimes select and

memorize a few set prayers which emphasize the

principles we have been discussing. There are many

helpful books also. Suggestions about these may be

obtained from one’s priest, minister, or rabbi. Be

quick to see where religious people are right. Make

use of what they offer.

As we go through the day we pause, when agitated

or doubtful, and ask for the right thought or action.

We constantly remind ourselves we are no longer

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88 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

running the show, humbly saying to ourselves many

times each day “Thy will be done.’’ We are then in

much less danger of excitement, fear, anger, worry,

self-pity, or foolish decisions. We become much more

efﬁcient. We do not tire so easily, for we are not

burning up energy foolishly as we did when we were

trying to arrange life to suit ourselves.

It works—it really does.

We alcoholics are undisciplined. So we let God

discipline us in the simple way we have just outlined.

But this is not all. There is action and more action.

“Faith without works is dead.’’ The next chapter is

entirely devoted to Step Twelve.

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Chapter 7

WORKING WITH OTHERS

Practical experience shows that nothing will

so much insure immunity from drinking as

intensive work with other alcoholics. It works when

other activities fail. This is our twelfth suggestion:

Carry this message to other alcoholics! You can help

when no one else can. You can secure their conﬁ-

dence when others fail. Remember they are very ill.

Life will take on new meaning. To watch people

recover, to see them help others, to watch loneliness

vanish, to see a fellowship grow up about you, to have

a host of friends—this is an experience you must not

miss. We know you will not want to miss it. Fre-

quent contact with newcomers and with each other

is the bright spot of our lives.

Perhaps you are not acquainted with any drinkers

who want to recover. You can easily ﬁnd some by

asking a few doctors, ministers, priests or hospitals.

They will be only too glad to assist you. Don’t start

out as an evangelist or reformer. Unfortunately a lot

of prejudice exists. You will be handicapped if you

arouse it. Ministers and doctors are competent and

you can learn much from them if you wish, but it

happens that because of your own drinking experience

you can be uniquely useful to other alcoholics. So

cooperate; never criticize. To be helpful is our only

aim.

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90 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

When you discover a prospect for Alcoholics Anony-

mous, ﬁnd out all you can about him. If he does not

want to stop drinking, don’t waste time trying to per-

suade him. You may spoil a later opportunity. This

advice is given for his family also. They should be

patient, realizing they are dealing with a sick person.

If there is any indication that he wants to stop, have

a good talk with the person most interested in him—

usually his wife. Get an idea of his behavior, his prob-

lems, his background, the seriousness of his condition,

and his religious leanings. You need this information

to put yourself in his place, to see how you would like

him to approach you if the tables were turned.

Sometimes it is wise to wait till he goes on a binge.

The family may object to this, but unless he is in a

dangerous physical condition, it is better to risk it.

Don’t deal with him when he is very drunk, unless he

is ugly and the family needs your help. Wait for the

end of the spree, or at least for a lucid interval. Then

let his family or a friend ask him if he wants to quit

for good and if he would go to any extreme to do so.

If he says yes, then his attention should be drawn to

you as a person who has recovered. You should be

described to him as one of a fellowship who, as part

of their own recovery, try to help others and who will

be glad to talk to him if he cares to see you.

If he does not want to see you, never force yourself

upon him. Neither should the family hysterically

plead with him to do anything, nor should they tell

him much about you. They should wait for the end

of his next drinking bout. You might place this book

where he can see it in the interval. Here no speciﬁc

rule can be given. The family must decide these

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91 WORKING WITH OTHERS

things. But urge them not to be over-anxious, for that

might spoil matters.

Usually the family should not try to tell your story.

When possible, avoid meeting a man through his

family. Approach through a doctor or an institution

is a better bet. If your man needs hospitalization, he

should have it, but not forcibly unless he is violent.

Let the doctor, if he will, tell him he has something

in the way of a solution.

When your man is better, the doctor might suggest

a visit from you. Though you have talked with the

family, leave them out of the ﬁrst discussion. Under

these conditions your prospect will see he is under no

pressure. He will feel he can deal with you without

being nagged by his family. Call on him while he is

still jittery. He may be more receptive when de-

pressed.

See your man alone, if possible. At ﬁrst engage in

general conversation. After a while, turn the talk to

some phase of drinking. Tell him enough about your

drinking habits, symptoms, and experiences to encour-

age him to speak of himself. If he wishes to talk, let

him do so. You will thus get a better idea of how you

ought to proceed. If he is not communicative, give

him a sketch of your drinking career up to the time

you quit. But say nothing, for the moment, of how

that was accomplished. If he is in a serious mood

dwell on the troubles liquor has caused you, being

careful not to moralize or lecture. If his mood is light,

tell him humorous stories of your escapades. Get him

to tell some of his.

When he sees you know all about the drinking

game, commence to describe yourself as an alcoholic.

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92 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

Tell him how baffled you were, how you finally

learned that you were sick. Give him an account of

the struggles you made to stop. Show him the mental

twist which leads to the ﬁrst drink of a spree. We

suggest you do this as we have done it in the chapter

on alcoholism. If he is alcoholic, he will understand

you at once. He will match your mental inconsisten-

cies with some of his own.

If you are satisﬁed that he is a real alcoholic, begin

to dwell on the hopeless feature of the malady. Show

him, from your own experience, how the queer mental

condition surrounding that ﬁrst drink prevents normal

functioning of the will power. Don’t, at this stage,

refer to this book, unless he has seen it and wishes to

discuss it. And be careful not to brand him as an

alcoholic. Let him draw his own conclusion. If he

sticks to the idea that he can still control his drinking,

tell him that possibly he can—if he is not too alcoholic.

But insist that if he is severely afﬂicted, there may be

little chance he can recover by himself.

Continue to speak of alcoholism as an illness, a fatal

malady. Talk about the conditions of body and mind

which accompany it. Keep his attention focussed

mainly on your personal experience. Explain that many

are doomed who never realize their predicament.

Doctors are rightly loath to tell alcoholic patients the

whole story unless it will serve some good purpose.

But you may talk to him about the hopelessness of

alcoholism because you offer a solution. You will

soon have your friend admitting he has many, if not

all, of the traits of the alcoholic. If his own doctor

is willing to tell him that he is alcoholic, so much the

better. Even though your protégé may not have en-

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93 WORKING WITH OTHERS

tirely admitted his condition, he has become very

curious to know how you got well. Let him ask you

that question, if he will. Tell him exactly what hap-

pened to you. Stress the spiritual feature freely. If

the man be agnostic or atheist, make it emphatic that

he does not have to agree with your conception of

God. He can choose any conception he likes, provided

it makes sense to him. The main thing is that he be

willing to believe in a Power greater than himself and

that he live by spiritual principles.

When dealing with such a person, you had better

use everyday language to describe spiritual principles.

There is no use arousing any prejudice he may have

against certain theological terms and conceptions

about which he may already be confused. Don’t

raise such issues, no matter what your own convictions

are.

Your prospect may belong to a religious denomina-

tion. His religious education and training may be far

superior to yours. In that case he is going to wonder

how you can add anything to what he already knows.

But he will be curious to learn why his own convictions

have not worked and why yours seem to work so well.

He may be an example of the truth that faith alone is

insufﬁcient. To be vital, faith must be accompanied

by self sacriﬁce and unselﬁsh, constructive action. Let

him see that you are not there to instruct him in re-

ligion. Admit that he probably knows more about it

than you do, but call to his attention the fact that

however deep his faith and knowledge, he could not

have applied it or he would not drink. Perhaps your

story will help him see where he has failed to practice

the very precepts he knows so well. We represent no

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94 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

particular faith or denomination. We are dealing only

with general principles common to most denomina-

tions.

Outline the program of action, explaining how you

made a self-appraisal, how you straightened out your

past and why you are now endeavoring to be helpful

to him. It is important for him to realize that your

attempt to pass this on to him plays a vital part in

your own recovery. Actually, he may be helping you

more than you are helping him. Make it plain he is

under no obligation to you, that you hope only that

he will try to help other alcoholics when he escapes

his own difﬁculties. Suggest how important it is that

he place the welfare of other people ahead of his own.

Make it clear that he is not under pressure, that he

needn’t see you again if he doesn’t want to. You

should not be offended if he wants to call it off, for

he has helped you more than you have helped him.

If your talk has been sane, quiet and full of human

understanding, you have perhaps made a friend.

Maybe you have disturbed him about the question of

alcoholism. This is all to the good. The more hope-

less he feels, the better. He will be more likely to

follow your suggestions.

Your candidate may give reasons why he need not

follow all of the program. He may rebel at the thought

of a drastic housecleaning which requires discussion

with other people. Do not contradict such views. Tell

him you once felt as he does, but you doubt whether

you would have made much progress had you not

taken action. On your ﬁrst visit tell him about the

Fellowship of Alcoholics Anonymous. If he shows

interest, lend him your copy of this book.

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95 WORKING WITH OTHERS

Unless your friend wants to talk further about him-

self, do not wear out your welcome. Give him a

chance to think it over. If you do stay, let him steer

the conversation in any direction he likes. Sometimes

a new man is anxious to proceed at once, and you may

be tempted to let him do so. This is sometimes a mis-

take. If he has trouble later, he is likely to say you

rushed him. You will be most successful with alco-

holics if you do not exhibit any passion for crusade or

reform. Never talk down to an alcoholic from any

moral or spiritual hilltop; simply lay out the kit of

spiritual tools for his inspection. Show him how they

worked with you. Offer him friendship and fellow-

ship. Tell him that if he wants to get well you will do

anything to help.

If he is not interested in your solution, if he expects

you to act only as a banker for his ﬁnancial difﬁculties

or a nurse for his sprees, you may have to drop him

until he changes his mind. This he may do after he

gets hurt some more.

If he is sincerely interested and wants to see you

again, ask him to read this book in the interval. After

doing that, he must decide for himself whether he

wants to go on. He should not be pushed or prodded

by you, his wife, or his friends. If he is to ﬁnd God,

the desire must come from within.

If he thinks he can do the job in some other way, or

prefers some other spiritual approach, encourage him

to follow his own conscience. We have no monopoly

on God; we merely have an approach that worked

with us. But point out that we alcoholics have much

in common and that you would like, in any case, to

be friendly. Let it go at that.

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96 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

Do not be discouraged if your prospect does not re-

spond at once. Search out another alcoholic and try

again. You are sure to ﬁnd someone desperate enough

to accept with eagerness what you offer. We ﬁnd it a

waste of time to keep chasing a man who cannot or

will not work with you. If you leave such a person

alone, he may soon become convinced that he cannot

recover by himself. To spend too much time on any

one situation is to deny some other alcoholic an op-

portunity to live and be happy. One of our Fellowship

failed entirely with his ﬁrst half dozen prospects. He

often says that if he had continued to work on them,

he might have deprived many others, who have since

recovered, of their chance.

Suppose now you are making your second visit to a

man. He has read this volume and says he is prepared

to go through with the Twelve Steps of the program of

recovery. Having had the experience yourself, you

can give him much practical advice. Let him know

you are available if he wishes to make a decision and

tell his story, but do not insist upon it if he prefers to

consult someone else.

He may be broke and homeless. If he is, you might

try to help him about getting a job, or give him a little

ﬁnancial assistance. But you should not deprive your

family or creditors of money they should have. Per-

haps you will want to take the man into your home for

a few days. But be sure you use discretion. Be certain

he will be welcomed by your family, and that he is

not trying to impose upon you for money, connections,

or shelter. Permit that and you only harm him. You

will be making it possible for him to be insincere.

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97 WORKING WITH OTHERS

You may be aiding in his destruction rather than his

recovery.

Never avoid these responsibilities, but be sure you

are doing the right thing if you assume them. Helping

others is the foundation stone of your recovery. A

kindly act once in a while isn’t enough. You have to

act the Good Samaritan every day, if need be. It may

mean the loss of many nights’ sleep, great interference

with your pleasures, interruptions to your business. It

may mean sharing your money and your home, coun-

seling frantic wives and relatives, innumerable trips

to police courts, sanitariums, hospitals, jails and

asylums. Your telephone may jangle at any time of

the day or night. Your wife may sometimes say she

is neglected. A drunk may smash the furniture in your

home, or burn a mattress. You may have to ﬁght with

him if he is violent. Sometimes you will have to call

a doctor and administer sedatives under his direction.

Another time you may have to send for the police or

an ambulance. Occasionally you will have to meet

such conditions.

We seldom allow an alcoholic to live in our homes

for long at a time. It is not good for him, and it some-

times creates serious complications in a family.

Though an alcoholic does not respond, there is no

reason why you should neglect his family. You should

continue to be friendly to them. The family should be

offered your way of life. Should they accept and

practice spiritual principles, there is a much better

chance that the head of the family will recover. And

even though he continues to drink, the family will ﬁnd

life more bearable.

For the type of alcoholic who is able and willing to

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98 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

get well, little charity, in the ordinary sense of the

word, is needed or wanted. The men who cry for

money and shelter before conquering alcohol, are on

the wrong track. Yet we do go to great extremes to

provide each other with these very things, when such

action is warranted. This may seem inconsistent, but

we think it is not.

It is not the matter of giving that is in question, but

when and how to give. That often makes the differ-

ence between failure and success. The minute we put

our work on a service plane, the alcoholic commences

to rely upon our assistance rather than upon God. He

clamors for this or that, claiming he cannot master

alcohol until his material needs are cared for. Non-

sense. Some of us have taken very hard knocks to

learn this truth: Job or no job—wife or no wife—we

simply do not stop drinking so long as we place de-

pendence upon other people ahead of dependence on

God.

Burn the idea into the consciousness of every man

that he can get well regardless of anyone. The only

condition is that he trust in God and clean house.

Now, the domestic problem: There may be divorce,

separation, or just strained relations. When your pros-

pect has made such reparation as he can to his family,

and has thoroughly explained to them the new princi-

ples by which he is living, he should proceed to put

those principles into action at home. That is, if he is

lucky enough to have a home. Though his family be at

fault in many respects, he should not be concerned

about that. He should concentrate on his own spiri-

tual demonstration. Argument and fault-ﬁnding are to

be avoided like the plague. In many homes this is a

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99 WORKING WITH OTHERS

difﬁcult thing to do, but it must be done if any results

are to be expected. If persisted in for a few months,

the effect on a man’s family is sure to be great. The

most incompatible people discover they have a basis

upon which they can meet. Little by little the family

may see their own defects and admit them. These can

then be discussed in an atmosphere of helpfulness and

friendliness.

After they have seen tangible results, the family will

perhaps want to go along. These things will come

to pass naturally and in good time provided, however,

the alcoholic continues to demonstrate that he can be

sober, considerate, and helpful, regardless of what

anyone says or does. Of course, we all fall much be-

low this standard many times. But we must try to

repair the damage immediately lest we pay the penalty

by a spree.

If there be divorce or separation, there should be no

undue haste for the couple to get together. The man

should be sure of his recovery. The wife should fully

understand his new way of life. If their old relation-

ship is to be resumed it must be on a better basis,

since the former did not work. This means a new

attitude and spirit all around. Sometimes it is to the

best interests of all concerned that a couple remain

apart. Obviously, no rule can be laid down. Let the

alcoholic continue his program day by day. When the

time for living together has come, it will be apparent

to both parties.

Let no alcoholic say he cannot recover unless he has

his family back. This just isn’t so. In some cases the

wife will never come back for one reason or another.

Remind the prospect that his recovery is not depen-

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100 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

dent upon people. It is dependent upon his relation-

ship with God. We have seen men get well whose

families have not returned at all. We have seen others

slip when the family came back too soon.

Both you and the new man must walk day by day in

the path of spiritual progress. If you persist, remark-

able things will happen. When we look back, we

realize that the things which came to us when we put

ourselves in God’s hands were better than anything

we could have planned. Follow the dictates of a

Higher Power and you will presently live in a new

and wonderful world, no matter what your present

circumstances!

When working with a man and his family, you

should take care not to participate in their quarrels.

You may spoil your chance of being helpful if you do.

But urge upon a man’s family that he has been a very

sick person and should be treated accordingly. You

should warn against arousing resentment or jealousy.

You should point out that his defects of character are

not going to disappear over night. Show them that

he has entered upon a period of growth. Ask them to

remember, when they are impatient, the blessed fact

of his sobriety.

If you have been successful in solving your own

domestic problems, tell the newcomer’s family how

that was accomplished. In this way you can set them

on the right track without becoming critical of them.

The story of how you and your wife settled your

difﬁculties is worth any amount of criticism.

Assuming we are spiritually ﬁt, we can do all sorts

of things alcoholics are not supposed to do. People

have said we must not go where liquor is served; we

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WORKING WITH OTHERS 101

must not have it in our homes; we must shun friends

who drink; we must avoid moving pictures which

show drinking scenes; we must not go into bars; our

friends must hide their bottles if we go to their houses;

we mustn’t think or be reminded about alcohol at all.

Our experience shows that this is not necessarily so.

We meet these conditions every day. An alcoholic

who cannot meet them, still has an alcoholic mind;

there is something the matter with his spiritual status.

His only chance for sobriety would be some place like

the Greenland Ice Cap, and even there an Eskimo

might turn up with a bottle of scotch and ruin every-

thing! Ask any woman who has sent her husband to

distant places on the theory he would escape the

alcohol problem.

In our belief any scheme of combating alcoholism

which proposes to shield the sick man from temptation

is doomed to failure. If the alcoholic tries to shield

himself he may succeed for a time, but he usually

winds up with a bigger explosion than ever. We have

tried these methods. These attempts to do the im-

possible have always failed.

So our rule is not to avoid a place where there is

drinking, if we have a legitimate reason for being

there. That includes bars, nightclubs, dances, recep-

tions, weddings, even plain ordinary whoopee parties.

To a person who has had experience with an alcoholic,

this may seem like tempting Providence, but it isn’t.

You will note that we made an important qualiﬁca-

tion. Therefore, ask yourself on each occasion, “Have

I any good social, business, or personal reason for go-

ing to this place? Or am I expecting to steal a little

vicarious pleasure from the atmosphere of such

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102 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

places?” If you answer these questions satisfactorily,

you need have no apprehension. Go or stay away,

whichever seems best. But be sure you are on solid

spiritual ground before you start and that your motive

in going is thoroughly good. Do not think of what

you will get out of the occasion. Think of what you

can bring to it. But if you are shaky, you had better

work with another alcoholic instead!

Why sit with a long face in places where there is

drinking, sighing about the good old days. If it is a

happy occasion, try to increase the pleasure of those

there; if a business occasion, go and attend to your

business enthusiastically. If you are with a person who

wants to eat in a bar, by all means go along. Let your

friends know they are not to change their habits on

your account. At a proper time and place explain to

all your friends why alcohol disagrees with you. If

you do this thoroughly, few people will ask you to

drink. While you were drinking, you were withdraw-

ing from life little by little. Now you are getting back

into the social life of this world. Don’t start to with-

draw again just because your friends drink liquor.

Your job now is to be at the place where you may be

of maximum helpfulness to others, so never hesitate to

go anywhere if you can be helpful. You should not

hesitate to visit the most sordid spot on earth on such

an errand. Keep on the ﬁring line of life with these

motives and God will keep you unharmed.

Many of us keep liquor in our homes. We often

need it to carry green recruits through a severe hang-

over. Some of us still serve it to our friends provided

they are not alcoholic. But some of us think we should

not serve liquor to anyone. We never argue this ques-

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WORKING WITH OTHERS 103

tion. We feel that each family, in the light of their

own circumstances, ought to decide for themselves.

We are careful never to show intolerance or hatred

of drinking as an institution. Experience shows that

such an attitude is not helpful to anyone. Every new

alcoholic looks for this spirit among us and is im-

mensely relieved when he ﬁnds we are not witch-

burners. A spirit of intolerance might repel alcoholics

whose lives could have been saved, had it not been for

such stupidity. We would not even do the cause of

temperate drinking any good, for not one drinker in

a thousand likes to be told anything about alcohol by

one who hates it.

Some day we hope that Alcoholics Anonymous will

help the public to a better realization of the gravity

of the alcoholic problem, but we shall be of little use

if our attitude is one of bitterness or hostility. Drinkers

will not stand for it.

After all, our problems were of our own making.

Bottles were only a symbol. Besides, we have stopped

ﬁghting anybody or anything. We have to!

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Chapter 8

TO WIVES*

W ith few exceptions, our book thus far has

spoken of men. But what we have said applies

quite as much to women. Our activities in behalf of

women who drink are on the increase. There is every

evidence that women regain their health as readily as

men if they try our suggestions.

But for every man who drinks others are involved—

the wife who trembles in fear of the next debauch; the

mother and father who see their son wasting away.

Among us are wives, relatives and friends whose

problem has been solved, as well as some who have

not yet found a happy solution. We want the wives of

Alcoholics Anonymous to address the wives of men

who drink too much. What they say will apply to

nearly everyone bound by ties of blood or affection to

an alcoholic.

As wives of Alcoholics Anonymous, we would like

you to feel that we understand as perhaps few can.

We want to analyze mistakes we have made. We want

to leave you with the feeling that no situation is too

difﬁcult and no unhappiness too great to be overcome.

We have traveled a rocky road, there is no mistake

about that. We have had long rendezvous with hurt

pride, frustration, self-pity, misunderstanding and fear.

These are not pleasant companions. We have been

* Written in 1939, when there were few women in A.A., this chapter

assumes that the alcoholic in the home is likely to be the husband. But

many of the suggestions given here may be adapted to help the person

who lives with a woman alcoholic—whether she is still drinking or is re-

covering in A.A. A further source of help is noted on page 121.

104

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TO WIVES 105

driven to maudlin sympathy, to bitter resentment.

Some of us veered from extreme to extreme, ever

hoping that one day our loved ones would be them-

selves once more.

Our loyalty and the desire that our husbands hold

up their heads and be like other men have begotten

all sorts of predicaments. We have been unselﬁsh and

self-sacrificing. We have told innumerable lies to

protect our pride and our husbands’ reputations. We

have prayed, we have begged, we have been patient.

We have struck out viciously. We have run away. We

have been hysterical. We have been terror stricken.

We have sought sympathy. We have had retaliatory

love affairs with other men.

Our homes have been battle-grounds many an

evening. In the morning we have kissed and made up.

Our friends have counseled chucking the men and we

have done so with ﬁnality, only to be back in a little

while hoping, always hoping. Our men have sworn

great solemn oaths that they were through drinking

forever. We have believed them when no one else

could or would. Then, in days, weeks, or months, a

fresh outburst.

We seldom had friends at our homes, never know-

ing how or when the men of the house would appear.

We could make few social engagements. We came to

live almost alone. When we were invited out, our

husbands sneaked so many drinks that they spoiled

the occasion. If, on the other hand, they took nothing,

their self-pity made them killjoys.

There was never ﬁnancial security. Positions were

always in jeopardy or gone. An armored car could

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106 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

not have brought the pay envelopes home. The

checking account melted like snow in June.

Sometimes there were other women. How heart-

breaking was this discovery; how cruel to be told they

understood our men as we did not!

The bill collectors, the sheriffs, the angry taxi

drivers, the policemen, the bums, the pals, and even

the ladies they sometimes brought home—our hus-

bands thought we were so inhospitable. “Joykiller,

nag, wet blanket”—that’s what they said. Next day

they would be themselves again and we would forgive

and try to forget.

We have tried to hold the love of our children for

their father. We have told small tots that father was

sick, which was much nearer the truth than we

realized. They struck the children, kicked out door

panels, smashed treasured crockery, and ripped the

keys out of pianos. In the midst of such pandemonium

they may have rushed out threatening to live with the

other woman forever. In desperation, we have even

got tight ourselves—the drunk to end all drunks. The

unexpected result was that our husbands seemed to

like it.

Perhaps at this point we got a divorce and took the

children home to father and mother. Then we were

severely criticized by our husband’s parents for deser-

tion. Usually we did not leave. We stayed on and on.

We ﬁnally sought employment ourselves as destitution

faced us and our families.

We began to ask medical advice as the sprees got

closer together. The alarming physical and mental

symptoms, the deepening pall of remorse, depression

and inferiority that settled down on our loved ones—

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TO WIVES 107

these things terriﬁed and distracted us. As animals on

a treadmill, we have patiently and wearily climbed,

falling back in exhaustion after each futile effort to

reach solid ground. Most of us have entered the ﬁnal

stage with its commitment to health resorts, sanitari-

ums, hospitals, and jails. Sometimes there were

screaming delirium and insanity. Death was often

near.

Under these conditions we naturally made mistakes.

Some of them rose out of ignorance of alcoholism.

Sometimes we sensed dimly that we were dealing with

sick men. Had we fully understood the nature of the

alcoholic illness, we might have behaved differently.

How could men who loved their wives and children

be so unthinking, so callous, so cruel? There could be

no love in such persons, we thought. And just as we

were being convinced of their heartlessness, they

would surprise us with fresh resolves and new atten-

tions. For a while they would be their old sweet

selves, only to dash the new structure of affection to

pieces once more. Asked why they commenced to

drink again, they would reply with some silly excuse,

or none. It was so bafﬂing, so heartbreaking. Could

we have been so mistaken in the men we married?

When drinking, they were strangers. Sometimes they

were so inaccessible that it seemed as though a great

wall had been built around them.

And even if they did not love their families, how

could they be so blind about themselves? What had

become of their judgment, their common sense, their

will power? Why could they not see that drink meant

ruin to them? Why was it, when these dangers were

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108 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

pointed out that they agreed, and then got drunk

again immediately?

These are some of the questions which race through

the mind of every woman who has an alcoholic hus-

band. We hope this book has answered some of them.

Perhaps your husband has been living in that strange

world of alcoholism where everything is distorted and

exaggerated. You can see that he really does love

you with his better self. Of course, there is such a

thing as incompatibility, but in nearly every instance

the alcoholic only seems to be unloving and incon-

siderate; it is usually because he is warped and sick-

ened that he says and does these appalling things.

Today most of our men are better husbands and

fathers than ever before.

Try not to condemn your alcoholic husband no

matter what he says or does. He is just another very

sick, unreasonable person. Treat him, when you can,

as though he had pneumonia. When he angers you,

remember that he is very ill.

There is an important exception to the foregoing.

We realize some men are thoroughly bad-intentioned,

that no amount of patience will make any difference.

An alcoholic of this temperament may be quick to use

this chapter as a club over your head. Don’t let him

get away with it. If you are positive he is one of this

type you may feel you had better leave. Is it right to

let him ruin your life and the lives of your children?

Especially when he has before him a way to stop his

drinking and abuse if he really wants to pay the price.

The problem with which you struggle usually falls

within one of four categories:

One: Your husband may be only a heavy drinker.

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TO WIVES 109

His drinking may be constant or it may be heavy only

on certain occasions. Perhaps he spends too much

money for liquor. It may be slowing him up mentally

and physically, but he does not see it. Sometimes he

is a source of embarrassment to you and his friends.

He is positive he can handle his liquor, that it does

him no harm, that drinking is necessary in his business.

He would probably be insulted if he were called an

alcoholic. This world is full of people like him. Some

will moderate or stop altogether, and some will not.

Of those who keep on, a good number will become

true alcoholics after a while.

Two: Your husband is showing lack of control, for

he is unable to stay on the water wagon even when he

wants to. He often gets entirely out of hand when

drinking. He admits this is true, but is positive that he

will do better. He has begun to try, with or without

your cooperation, various means of moderating or

staying dry. Maybe he is beginning to lose his friends.

His business may suffer somewhat. He is worried at

times, and is becoming aware that he cannot drink

like other people. He sometimes drinks in the morn-

ing and through the day also, to hold his nervousness

in check. He is remorseful after serious drinking

bouts and tells you he wants to stop. But when he

gets over the spree, he begins to think once more how

he can drink moderately next time. We think this

person is in danger. These are the earmarks of a real

alcoholic. Perhaps he can still tend to business fairly

well. He has by no means ruined everything. As we

say among ourselves, “He wants to want to stop.”

Three: This husband has gone much further than

husband number two. Though once like number two

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110 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

he became worse. His friends have slipped away, his

home is a near-wreck and he cannot hold a position.

Maybe the doctor has been called in, and the weary

round of sanitariums and hospitals has begun. He ad-

mits he cannot drink like other people, but does not

see why. He clings to the notion that he will yet ﬁnd

a way to do so. He may have come to the point where

he desperately wants to stop but cannot. His case pre-

sents additional questions which we shall try to answer

for you. You can be quite hopeful of a situation like

this.

Four: You may have a husband of whom you com-

pletely despair. He has been placed in one institution

after another. He is violent, or appears deﬁnitely in-

sane when drunk. Sometimes he drinks on the way

home from the hospital. Perhaps he has had delirium

tremens. Doctors may shake their heads and advise

you to have him committed. Maybe you have already

been obliged to put him away. This picture may not

be as dark as it looks. Many of our husbands were

just as far gone. Yet they got well.

Let’s now go back to husband number one. Oddly

enough, he is often difﬁcult to deal with. He enjoys

drinking. It stirs his imagination. His friends feel

closer over a highball. Perhaps you enjoy drinking

with him yourself when he doesn’t go too far. You

have passed happy evenings together chatting and

drinking before your fire. Perhaps you both like

parties which would be dull without liquor. We have

enjoyed such evenings ourselves; we had a good time.

We know all about liquor as a social lubricant. Some,

but not all of us, think it has its advantages when

reasonably used.

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TO WIVES 111

The ﬁrst principle of success is that you should

never be angry. Even though your husband becomes

unbearable and you have to leave him temporarily,

you should, if you can, go without rancor. Patience

and good temper are most necessary.

Our next thought is that you should never tell him

what he must do about his drinking. If he gets the

idea that you are a nag or a killjoy, your chance of

accomplishing anything useful may be zero. He will

use that as an excuse to drink more. He will tell you

he is misunderstood. This may lead to lonely evenings

for you. He may seek someone else to console him—

not always another man.

Be determined that your husband’s drinking is not

going to spoil your relations with your children or your

friends. They need your companionship and your

help. It is possible to have a full and useful life,

though your husband continues to drink. We know

women who are unafraid, even happy under these

conditions. Do not set your heart on reforming your

husband. You may be unable to do so, no matter how

hard you try.

We know these suggestions are sometimes difﬁcult

to follow, but you will save many a heartbreak if you

can succeed in observing them. Your husband may

come to appreciate your reasonableness and patience.

This may lay the groundwork for a friendly talk

about his alcoholic problem. Try to have him bring

up the subject himself. Be sure you are not critical

during such a discussion. Attempt instead, to put

yourself in his place. Let him see that you want to be

helpful rather than critical.

When a discussion does arise, you might suggest he

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112 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

read this book or at least the chapter on alcoholism.

Tell him you have been worried, though perhaps need-

lessly. You think he ought to know the subject better,

as everyone should have a clear understanding of the

risk he takes if he drinks too much. Show him you

have conﬁdence in his power to stop or moderate.

Say you do not want to be a wet blanket; that you only

want him to take care of his health. Thus you may

succeed in interesting him in alcoholism.

He probably has several alcoholics among his own

acquaintances. You might suggest that you both take

an interest in them. Drinkers like to help other drink-

ers. Your husband may be willing to talk to one of

them.

If this kind of approach does not catch your hus-

band’s interest, it may be best to drop the subject, but

after a friendly talk your husband will usually revive

the topic himself. This may take patient waiting, but

it will be worth it. Meanwhile you might try to help

the wife of another serious drinker. If you act upon

these principles, your husband may stop or moderate.

Suppose, however, that your husband ﬁts the de-

scription of number two. The same principles which

apply to husband number one should be practiced.

But after his next binge, ask him if he would really

like to get over drinking for good. Do not ask that he

do it for you or anyone else. Just would he like to?

The chances are he would. Show him your copy of

this book and tell him what you have found out about

alcoholism. Show him that as alcoholics, the writers

of the book understand. Tell him some of the interest-

ing stories you have read. If you think he will be shy

of a spiritual remedy, ask him to look at the chapter on

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TO WIVES 113

alcoholism. Then perhaps he will be interested enough

to continue.

If he is enthusiastic your cooperation will mean a

great deal. If he is lukewarm or thinks he is not an

alcoholic, we suggest you leave him alone. Avoid urg-

ing him to follow our program. The seed has been

planted in his mind. He knows that thousands of

men, much like himself, have recovered. But don’t re-

mind him of this after he has been drinking, for he

may be angry. Sooner or later, you are likely to ﬁnd

him reading the book once more. Wait until repeated

stumbling convinces him he must act, for the more

you hurry him the longer his recovery may be delayed.

If you have a number three husband, you may be in

luck. Being certain he wants to stop, you can go to

him with this volume as joyfully as though you had

struck oil. He may not share your enthusiasm, but he

is practically sure to read the book and he may go for

the program at once. If he does not, you will probably

not have long to wait. Again, you should not crowd

him. Let him decide for himself. Cheerfully see him

through more sprees. Talk about his condition or this

book only when he raises the issue. In some cases it

may be better to let someone outside the family pre-

sent the book. They can urge action without arousing

hostility. If your husband is otherwise a normal in-

dividual, your chances are good at this stage.

You would suppose that men in the fourth classiﬁ-

cation would be quite hopeless, but that is not so.

Many of Alcoholics Anonymous were like that. Every-

body had given them up. Defeat seemed certain. Yet

often such men had spectacular and powerful recov-

eries.

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114 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

There are exceptions. Some men have been so im-

paired by alcohol that they cannot stop. Sometimes

there are cases where alcoholism is complicated by

other disorders. A good doctor or psychiatrist can tell

you whether these complications are serious. In any

event, try to have your husband read this book. His

reaction may be one of enthusiasm. If he is already

committed to an institution, but can convince you and

your doctor that he means business, give him a chance

to try our method, unless the doctor thinks his mental

condition too abnormal or dangerous. We make this

recommendation with some conﬁdence. For years we

have been working with alcoholics committed to in-

stitutions. Since this book was ﬁrst published, A.A.

has released thousands of alcoholics from asylums and

hospitals of every kind. The majority have never re-

turned. The power of God goes deep!

You may have the reverse situation on your hands.

Perhaps you have a husband who is at large, but who

should be committed. Some men cannot or will not

get over alcoholism. When they become too danger-

ous, we think the kind thing is to lock them up, but of

course a good doctor should always be consulted. The

wives and children of such men suffer horribly, but

not more than the men themselves.

But sometimes you must start life anew. We know

women who have done it. If such women adopt a

spiritual way of life their road will be smoother.

If your husband is a drinker, you probably worry

over what other people are thinking and you hate to

meet your friends. You draw more and more into

yourself and you think everyone is talking about con-

ditions at your home. You avoid the subject of drink-

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TO WIVES 115

ing, even with your own parents. You do not know

what to tell the children. When your husband is bad,

you become a trembling recluse, wishing the tele-

phone had never been invented.

We ﬁnd that most of this embarrassment is unnec-

essary. While you need not discuss your husband at

length, you can quietly let your friends know the na-

ture of his illness. But you must be on guard not to

embarrass or harm your husband.

When you have carefully explained to such people

that he is a sick person, you will have created a new

atmosphere. Barriers which have sprung up between

you and your friends will disappear with the growth

of sympathetic understanding. You will no longer be

self-conscious or feel that you must apologize as

though your husband were a weak character. He may

be anything but that. Your new courage, good nature

and lack of self-consciousness will do wonders for you

socially.

The same principle applies in dealing with the chil-

dren. Unless they actually need protection from their

father, it is best not to take sides in any argument he

has with them while drinking. Use your energies to

promote a better understanding all around. Then that

terrible tension which grips the home of every prob-

lem drinker will be lessened.

Frequently, you have felt obliged to tell your hus-

band’s employer and his friends that he was sick, when

as a matter of fact he was tight. Avoid answering these

inquiries as much as you can. Whenever possible, let

your husband explain. Your desire to protect him

should not cause you to lie to people when they have

a right to know where he is and what he is doing. Dis-

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116 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

cuss this with him when he is sober and in good spirits.

Ask him what you should do if he places you in such

a position again. But be careful not to be resentful

about the last time he did so.

There is another paralyzing fear. You may be afraid

your husband will lose his position; you are thinking

of the disgrace and hard times which will befall you

and the children. This experience may come to you.

Or you may already have had it several times. Should

it happen again, regard it in a different light. Maybe

it will prove a blessing! It may convince your husband

he wants to stop drinking forever. And now you know

that he can stop if he will! Time after time, this ap-

parent calamity has been a boon to us, for it opened

up a path which led to the discovery of God.

We have elsewhere remarked how much better life

is when lived on a spiritual plane. If God can solve the

age-old riddle of alcoholism, He can solve your prob-

lems too. We wives found that, like everybody else,

we were afﬂicted with pride, self-pity, vanity and all

the things which go to make up the self-centered per-

son; and we were not above selﬁshness or dishonesty.

As our husbands began to apply spiritual principles in

their lives, we began to see the desirability of doing so

too.

At ﬁrst, some of us did not believe we needed this

help. We thought, on the whole, we were pretty good

women, capable of being nicer if our husbands stopped

drinking. But it was a silly idea that we were too good

to need God. Now we try to put spiritual principles

to work in every department of our lives. When we

do that, we ﬁnd it solves our problems too; the ensuing

lack of fear, worry and hurt feelings is a wonderful

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TO WIVES 117

thing. We urge you to try our program, for nothing

will be so helpful to your husband as the radically

changed attitude toward him which God will show

you how to have. Go along with your husband if you

possibly can.

If you and your husband ﬁnd a solution for the

pressing problem of drink you are, of course, going to

be very happy. But all problems will not be solved at

once. Seed has started to sprout in a new soil, but

growth has only begun. In spite of your new-found

happiness, there will be ups and downs. Many of the

old problems will still be with you. This is as it should

be.

The faith and sincerity of both you and your hus-

band will be put to the test. These work-outs should

be regarded as part of your education, for thus you

will be learning to live. You will make mistakes, but

if you are in earnest they will not drag you down. In-

stead, you will capitalize them. A better way of life

will emerge when they are overcome.

Some of the snags you will encounter are irritation,

hurt feelings and resentments. Your husband will

sometimes be unreasonable and you will want to crit-

icize. Starting from a speck on the domestic horizon,

great thunderclouds of dispute may gather. These

family dissensions are very dangerous, especially to

your husband. Often you must carry the burden of

avoiding them or keeping them under control. Never

forget that resentment is a deadly hazard to an alco-

holic. We do not mean that you have to agree with

your husband whenever there is an honest difference

of opinion. Just be careful not to disagree in a resent-

ful or critical spirit.

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118 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

You and your husband will ﬁnd that you can dispose

of serious problems easier than you can the trivial

ones. Next time you and he have a heated discussion,

no matter what the subject, it should be the privilege

of either to smile and say, “This is getting serious. I’m

sorry I got disturbed. Let’s talk about it later.” If

your husband is trying to live on a spiritual basis, he

will also be doing everything in his power to avoid

disagreement or contention.

Your husband knows he owes you more than sobri-

ety. He wants to make good. Yet you must not expect

too much. His ways of thinking and doing are the

habits of years. Patience, tolerance, understanding

and love are the watchwords. Show him these things

in yourself and they will be reﬂected back to you from

him. Live and let live is the rule. If you both show a

willingness to remedy your own defects, there will be

little need to criticize each other.

We women carry with us a picture of the ideal man,

the sort of chap we would like our husbands to be. It

is the most natural thing in the world, once his liquor

problem is solved, to feel that he will now measure up

to that cherished vision. The chances are he will not

for, like yourself, he is just beginning his development.

Be patient.

Another feeling we are very likely to entertain is one

of resentment that love and loyalty could not cure our

husbands of alcoholism. We do not like the thought

that the contents of a book or the work of another

alcoholic has accomplished in a few weeks that for

which we struggled for years. At such moments we

forget that alcoholism is an illness over which we could

not possibly have had any power. Your husband will

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TO WIVES 119

be the ﬁrst to say it was your devotion and care which

brought him to the point where he could have a spir-

itual experience. Without you he would have gone to

pieces long ago. When resentful thoughts come, try to

pause and count your blessings. After all, your family

is reunited, alcohol is no longer a problem and you

and your husband are working together toward an un-

dreamed-of future.

Still another difﬁculty is that you may become

jealous of the attention he bestows on other people,

especially alcoholics. You have been starving for his

companionship, yet he spends long hours helping other

men and their families. You feel he should now be

yours. The fact is that he should work with other peo-

ple to maintain his own sobriety. Sometimes he will

be so interested that he becomes really neglectful.

Your house is ﬁlled with strangers. You may not like

some of them. He gets stirred up about their troubles,

but not at all about yours. It will do little good if you

point that out and urge more attention for yourself.

We ﬁnd it a real mistake to dampen his enthusiasm for

alcoholic work. You should join in his efforts as much

as you possibly can. We suggest that you direct some

of your thought to the wives of his new alcoholic

friends. They need the counsel and love of a woman

who has gone through what you have.

It is probably true that you and your husband have

been living too much alone, for drinking many times

isolates the wife of an alcoholic. Therefore, you proba-

bly need fresh interests and a great cause to live for

as much as your husband. If you cooperate, rather

than complain, you will ﬁnd that his excess enthusiasm

will tone down. Both of you will awaken to a new

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120 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

sense of responsibility for others. You, as well as your

husband, ought to think of what you can put into life

instead of how much you can take out. Inevitably

your lives will be fuller for doing so. You will lose the

old life to ﬁnd one much better.

Perhaps your husband will make a fair start on the

new basis, but just as things are going beautifully he

dismays you by coming home drunk. If you are satis-

ﬁed he really wants to get over drinking, you need not

be alarmed. Though it is inﬁnitely better that he have

no relapse at all, as has been true with many of our

men, it is by no means a bad thing in some cases. Your

husband will see at once that he must redouble his

spiritual activities if he expects to survive. You need

not remind him of his spiritual deﬁciency—he will

know of it. Cheer him up and ask him how you can

be still more helpful.

The slightest sign of fear or intolerance may lessen

your husband’s chance of recovery. In a weak mo-

ment he may take your dislike of his high-stepping

friends as one of those insanely trivial excuses to drink.

We never, never try to arrange a man’s life so as to

shield him from temptation. The slightest disposition

on your part to guide his appointments or his affairs so

he will not be tempted will be noticed. Make him feel

absolutely free to come and go as he likes. This is

important. If he gets drunk, don’t blame yourself.

God has either removed your husband’s liquor prob-

lem or He has not. If not, it had better be found out

right away. Then you and your husband can get right

down to fundamentals. If a repetition is to be pre-

vented, place the problem, along with everything else,

in God’s hands.

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TO WIVES 121

We realize that we have been giving you much

direction and advice. We may have seemed to lecture.

If that is so we are sorry, for we ourselves don’t always

care for people who lecture us. But what we have re-

lated is based upon experience, some of it painful. We

had to learn these things the hard way. That is why

we are anxious that you understand, and that you avoid

these unnecessary difﬁculties.*

So to you out there who may soon be with us—we

say “Good luck and God bless you!”

* The fellowship of Al-Anon Family Groups was formed about thirteen years after

this chapter was written. Though it is entirely separate from Alcoholics

Anonymous, it uses the general principles of the A.A. program as a guide for

husbands, wives, relatives, friends, and others close to alcoholics. The foregoing

pages (though addressed only to wives) indicate the problems such people may face.

Alateen, for teen-aged children of alcoholics, is a part of Al-Anon.

If there is no Al-Anon listing in your local telephone book, you may obtain further

information on Al-Anon/Alateen Family Groups by writing to its World

Service Ofﬁce, 1600 Corporate Landing Parkway, Virginia Beach, VA 23454-5617.

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Chapter 9

THE FAMILY AFTERWARD

Our women folk have suggested certain atti-

tudes a wife may take with the husband who is

recovering. Perhaps they created the impression that

he is to be wrapped in cotton wool and placed on a

pedestal. Successful readjustment means the opposite.

All members of the family should meet upon the com-

mon ground of tolerance, understanding and love.

This involves a process of deﬂation. The alcoholic,

his wife, his children, his “in-laws,” each one is likely

to have ﬁxed ideas about the family’s attitude towards

himself or herself. Each is interested in having his or

her wishes respected. We ﬁnd the more one member

of the family demands that the others concede to him,

the more resentful they become. This makes for dis-

cord and unhappiness.

And why? Is it not because each wants to play the

lead? Is not each trying to arrange the family show to

his liking? Is he not unconsciously trying to see what

he can take from the family life rather than give?

Cessation of drinking is but the ﬁrst step away from

a highly strained, abnormal condition. A doctor said

to us, “Years of living with an alcoholic is almost sure

to make any wife or child neurotic. The entire family

is, to some extent, ill.” Let families realize, as they

start their journey, that all will not be fair weather.

Each in his turn may be footsore and may straggle.

122

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THE FAMILY AFTERWARD 123

There will be alluring shortcuts and by-paths down

which they may wander and lose their way.

Suppose we tell you some of the obstacles a family

will meet; suppose we suggest how they may be

avoided—even converted to good use for others. The

family of an alcoholic longs for the return of happiness

and security. They remember when father was ro-

mantic, thoughtful and successful. Today’s life is

measured against that of other years and, when it falls

short, the family may be unhappy.

Family conﬁdence in dad is rising high. The good

old days will soon be back, they think. Sometimes

they demand that dad bring them back instantly!

God, they believe, almost owes this recompense on a

long overdue account. But the head of the house has

spent years in pulling down the structures of business,

romance, friendship, health—these things are now

ruined or damaged. It will take time to clear away the

wreck. Though old buildings will eventually be re-

placed by ﬁner ones, the new structures will take years

to complete.

Father knows he is to blame; it may take him many

seasons of hard work to be restored ﬁnancially, but he

shouldn’t be reproached. Perhaps he will never have

much money again. But the wise family will admire

him for what he is trying to be, rather than for what

he is trying to get.

Now and then the family will be plagued by spectres

from the past, for the drinking career of almost every

alcoholic has been marked by escapades, funny, hu-

miliating, shameful or tragic. The ﬁrst impulse will be

to bury these skeletons in a dark closet and padlock

the door. The family may be possessed by the idea

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124 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

that future happiness can be based only upon forget-

fulness of the past. We think that such a view is self-

centered and in direct conﬂict with the new way of

living.

Henry Ford once made a wise remark to the effect

that experience is the thing of supreme value in life.

That is true only if one is willing to turn the past to

good account. We grow by our willingness to face

and rectify errors and convert them into assets. The

alcoholic’s past thus becomes the principal asset of the

family and frequently it is almost the only one!

This painful past may be of inﬁnite value to other

families still struggling with their problem. We think

each family which has been relieved owes something

to those who have not, and when the occasion re-

quires, each member of it should be only too willing

to bring former mistakes, no matter how grievous, out

of their hiding places. Showing others who suffer how

we were given help is the very thing which makes life

seem so worth while to us now. Cling to the thought

that, in God’s hands, the dark past is the greatest pos-

session you have—the key to life and happiness for

others. With it you can avert death and misery for

them.

It is possible to dig up past misdeeds so they become

a blight, a veritable plague. For example, we know of

situations in which the alcoholic or his wife have had

love affairs. In the ﬁrst ﬂush of spiritual experience

they forgave each other and drew closer together. The

miracle of reconciliation was at hand. Then, under

one provocation or another, the aggrieved one would

unearth the old affair and angrily cast its ashes about.

A few of us have had these growing pains and they

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THE FAMILY AFTERWARD 125

hurt a great deal. Husbands and wives have some-

times been obliged to separate for a time until new

perspective, new victory over hurt pride could be re-

won. In most cases, the alcoholic survived this ordeal

without relapse, but not always. So we think that

unless some good and useful purpose is to be served,

past occurrences should not be discussed.

We families of Alcoholics Anonymous keep few

skeletons in the closet. Everyone knows about the

others’ alcoholic troubles. This is a condition which,

in ordinary life, would produce untold grief; there

might be scandalous gossip, laughter at the expense of

other people, and a tendency to take advantage of in-

timate information. Among us, these are rare occur-

rences. We do talk about each other a great deal, but

we almost invariably temper such talk by a spirit of

love and tolerance.

Another principle we observe carefully is that we do

not relate intimate experiences of another person un-

less we are sure he would approve. We ﬁnd it better,

when possible, to stick to our own stories. A man may

criticize or laugh at himself and it will affect others

favorably, but criticism or ridicule coming from an-

other often produces the contrary effect. Members of

a family should watch such matters carefully, for one

careless, inconsiderate remark has been known to raise

the very devil. We alcoholics are sensitive people. It

takes some of us a long time to outgrow that serious

handicap.

Many alcoholics are enthusiasts. They run to ex-

tremes. At the beginning of recovery a man will take,

as a rule, one of two directions. He may either plunge

into a frantic attempt to get on his feet in business, or

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126 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

he may be so enthralled by his new life that he talks

or thinks of little else. In either case certain family

problems will arise. With these we have had experi-

ence galore.

We think it dangerous if he rushes headlong at his

economic problem. The family will be affected also,

pleasantly at ﬁrst, as they feel their money troubles

are about to be solved, then not so pleasantly as they

ﬁnd themselves neglected. Dad may be tired at night

and preoccupied by day. He may take small interest

in the children and may show irritation when reproved

for his delinquencies. If not irritable, he may seem

dull and boring, not gay and affectionate as the family

would like him to be. Mother may complain of inat-

tention. They are all disappointed, and often let him

feel it. Beginning with such complaints, a barrier

arises. He is straining every nerve to make up for lost

time. He is striving to recover fortune and reputation

and feels he is doing very well.

Sometimes mother and children don’t think so.

Having been neglected and misused in the past, they

think father owes them more than they are getting.

They want him to make a fuss over them. They expect

him to give them the nice times they used to have be-

fore he drank so much, and to show his contrition for

what they suffered. But dad doesn’t give freely of

himself. Resentment grows. He becomes still less

communicative. Sometimes he explodes over a triﬂe.

The family is mystiﬁed. They criticize, pointing out

how he is falling down on his spiritual program.

This sort of thing can be avoided. Both father and

the family are mistaken, though each side may have

some justiﬁcation. It is of little use to argue and only

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THE FAMILY AFTERWARD 127

makes the impasse worse. The family must realize that

dad, though marvelously improved, is still convalesc-

ing. They should be thankful he is sober and able to

be of this world once more. Let them praise his prog-

ress. Let them remember that his drinking wrought

all kinds of damage that may take long to repair. If

they sense these things, they will not take so seriously

his periods of crankiness, depression, or apathy, which

will disappear when there is tolerance, love, and spir-

itual understanding.

The head of the house ought to remember that he is

mainly to blame for what befell his home. He can

scarcely square the account in his lifetime. But he

must see the danger of over-concentration on ﬁnancial

success. Although ﬁnancial recovery is on the way for

many of us, we found we could not place money ﬁrst.

For us, material well-being always followed spiritual

progress; it never preceded.

Since the home has suffered more than anything

else, it is well that a man exert himself there. He is

not likely to get far in any direction if he fails to show

unselﬁshness and love under his own roof. We know

there are difﬁcult wives and families, but the man who

is getting over alcoholism must remember he did much

to make them so.

As each member of a resentful family begins to see

his shortcomings and admits them to the others, he

lays a basis for helpful discussion. These family talks

will be constructive if they can be carried on without

heated argument, self-pity, self-justiﬁcation or resent-

ful criticism. Little by little, mother and children will

see they ask too much, and father will see he gives too

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128 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

little. Giving, rather than getting, will become the

guiding principle.

Assume on the other hand that father has, at the

outset, a stirring spiritual experience. Overnight, as

it were, he is a different man. He becomes a religious

enthusiast. He is unable to focus on anything else. As

soon as his sobriety begins to be taken as a matter of

course, the family may look at their strange new dad

with apprehension, then with irritation. There is talk

about spiritual matters morning, noon and night. He

may demand that the family ﬁnd God in a hurry, or

exhibit amazing indifference to them and say he is

above worldly considerations. He may tell mother,

who has been religious all her life, that she doesn’t

know what it’s all about, and that she had better get

his brand of spirituality while there is yet time.

When father takes this tack, the family may react

unfavorably. They may be jealous of a God who has

stolen dad’s affections. While grateful that he drinks

no more, they may not like the idea that God has ac-

complished the miracle where they failed. They often

forget father was beyond human aid. They may not

see why their love and devotion did not straighten

him out. Dad is not so spiritual after all, they say. If

he means to right his past wrongs, why all this concern

for everyone in the world but his family? What about

his talk that God will take care of them? They suspect

father is a bit balmy!

He is not so unbalanced as they might think. Many

of us have experienced dad’s elation. We have in-

dulged in spiritual intoxication. Like a gaunt pros-

pector, belt drawn in over the last ounce of food, our

pick struck gold. Joy at our release from a lifetime of

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THE FAMILY AFTERWARD 129

frustration knew no bounds. Father feels he has struck

something better than gold. For a time he may try to

hug the new treasure to himself. He may not see at

once that he has barely scratched a limitless lode

which will pay dividends only if he mines it for the

rest of his life and insists on giving away the entire

product.

If the family cooperates, dad will soon see that he is

suffering from a distortion of values. He will perceive

that his spiritual growth is lopsided, that for an aver-

age man like himself, a spiritual life which does not

include his family obligations may not be so perfect

after all. If the family will appreciate that dad’s cur-

rent behavior is but a phase of his development, all

will be well. In the midst of an understanding and

sympathetic family, these vagaries of dad’s spiritual

infancy will quickly disappear.

The opposite may happen should the family con-

demn and criticize. Dad may feel that for years his

drinking has placed him on the wrong side of every

argument, but that now he has become a superior per-

son with God on his side. If the family persists in

criticism, this fallacy may take a still greater hold on

father. Instead of treating the family as he should, he

may retreat further into himself and feel he has spiri-

tual justiﬁcation for so doing.

Though the family does not fully agree with dad’s

spiritual activities, they should let him have his head.

Even if he displays a certain amount of neglect and

irresponsibility towards the family, it is well to let him

go as far as he likes in helping other alcoholics. Dur-

ing those ﬁrst days of convalescence, this will do more

to insure his sobriety than anything else. Though

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130 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

some of his manifestations are alarming and disagree-

able, we think dad will be on a ﬁrmer foundation than

the man who is placing business or professional suc-

cess ahead of spiritual development. He will be less

likely to drink again, and anything is preferable to

that.

Those of us who have spent much time in the world

of spiritual make-believe have eventually seen the

childishness of it. This dream world has been replaced

by a great sense of purpose, accompanied by a grow-

ing consciousness of the power of God in our lives.

We have come to believe He would like us to keep our

heads in the clouds with Him, but that our feet ought

to be ﬁrmly planted on earth. That is where our fel-

low travelers are, and that is where our work must be

done. These are the realities for us. We have found

nothing incompatible between a powerful spiritual

experience and a life of sane and happy usefulness.

One more suggestion: Whether the family has spiri-

tual convictions or not, they may do well to examine the

principles by which the alcoholic member is trying to

live. They can hardly fail to approve these simple

principles, though the head of the house still fails

somewhat in practicing them. Nothing will help the

man who is off on a spiritual tangent so much as the

wife who adopts a sane spiritual program, making a

better practical use of it.

There will be other profound changes in the house-

hold. Liquor incapacitated father for so many years

that mother became head of the house. She met these

responsibilities gallantly. By force of circumstances,

she was often obliged to treat father as a sick or way-

ward child. Even when he wanted to assert himself

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THE FAMILY AFTERWARD 131

he could not, for his drinking placed him constantly

in the wrong. Mother made all the plans and gave the

directions. When sober, father usually obeyed. Thus

mother, through no fault of her own, became accus-

tomed to wearing the family trousers. Father, coming

suddenly to life again, often begins to assert himself.

This means trouble, unless the family watches for

these tendencies in each other and comes to a friendly

agreement about them.

Drinking isolates most homes from the outside

world. Father may have laid aside for years all normal

activities—clubs, civic duties, sports. When he renews

interest in such things, a feeling of jealousy may arise.

The family may feel they hold a mortgage on dad, so

big that no equity should be left for outsiders. Instead

of developing new channels of activity for themselves,

mother and children demand that he stay home and

make up the deﬁciency.

At the very beginning, the couple ought to frankly

face the fact that each will have to yield here and

there if the family is going to play an effective part in

the new life. Father will necessarily spend much time

with other alcoholics, but this activity should be

balanced. New acquaintances who know nothing of

alcoholism might be made and thoughtful considera-

tion given their needs. The problems of the commu-

nity might engage attention. Though the family has

no religious connections, they may wish to make con-

tact with or take membership in a religious body.

Alcoholics who have derided religious people will

be helped by such contacts. Being possessed of a

spiritual experience, the alcoholic will ﬁnd he has

much in common with these people, though he may

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132 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

differ with them on many matters. If he does not

argue about religion, he will make new friends and is

sure to ﬁnd new avenues of usefulness and pleasure.

He and his family can be a bright spot in such con-

gregations. He may bring new hope and new courage

to many a priest, minister, or rabbi, who gives his all

to minister to our troubled world. We intend the fore-

going as a helpful suggestion only. So far as we are

concerned, there is nothing obligatory about it. As

non-denominational people, we cannot make up

others’ minds for them. Each individual should con-

sult his own conscience.

We have been speaking to you of serious, sometimes

tragic things. We have been dealing with alcohol in its

worst aspect. But we aren’t a glum lot. If newcomers

could see no joy or fun in our existence, they wouldn’t

want it. We absolutely insist on enjoying life. We try

not to indulge in cynicism over the state of the nations,

nor do we carry the world’s troubles on our shoulders.

When we see a man sinking into the mire that is alco-

holism, we give him ﬁrst aid and place what we have

at his disposal. For his sake, we do recount and almost

relive the horrors of our past. But those of us who have

tried to shoulder the entire burden and trouble of

others ﬁnd we are soon overcome by them.

So we think cheerfulness and laughter make for use-

fulness. Outsiders are sometimes shocked when we

burst into merriment over a seemingly tragic experi-

ence out of the past. But why shouldn’t we laugh?

We have recovered, and have been given the power

to help others.

Everybody knows that those in bad health, and

those who seldom play, do not laugh much. So let

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THE FAMILY AFTERWARD 133

each family play together or separately, as much as

their circumstances warrant. We are sure God wants

us to be happy, joyous, and free. We cannot subscribe

to the belief that this life is a vale of tears, though it

once was just that for many of us. But it is clear that

we made our own misery. God didn’t do it. Avoid

then, the deliberate manufacture of misery, but if

trouble comes, cheerfully capitalize it as an oppor-

tunity to demonstrate His omnipotence.

Now about health: A body badly burned by alcohol

does not often recover overnight nor do twisted think-

ing and depression vanish in a twinkling. We are con-

vinced that a spiritual mode of living is a most power-

ful health restorative. We, who have recovered

from serious drinking, are miracles of mental health. But

we have seen remarkable transformations in our

bodies. Hardly one of our crowd now shows any mark

of dissipation.

But this does not mean that we disregard human

health measures. God has abundantly supplied this

world with ﬁne doctors, psychologists, and practition-

ers of various kinds. Do not hesitate to take your

health problems to such persons. Most of them give

freely of themselves, that their fellows may enjoy

sound minds and bodies. Try to remember that

though God has wrought miracles among us, we

should never belittle a good doctor or psychiatrist.

Their services are often indispensable in treating a

newcomer and in following his case afterward.

One of the many doctors who had the opportunity

of reading this book in manuscript form told us that

the use of sweets was often helpful, of course depend-

ing upon a doctor’s advice. He thought all alcoholics

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134 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

should constantly have chocolate available for its

quick energy value at times of fatigue. He added that

occasionally in the night a vague craving arose which

would be satisﬁed by candy. Many of us have noticed

a tendency to eat sweets and have found this practice

beneﬁcial.

A word about sex relations. Alcohol is so sexually

stimulating to some men that they have over-indulged.

Couples are occasionally dismayed to ﬁnd that when

drinking is stopped the man tends to be impotent. Un-

less the reason is understood, there may be an emo-

tional upset. Some of us had this experience, only to

enjoy, in a few months, a ﬁner intimacy than ever.

There should be no hesitancy in consulting a doctor or

psychologist if the condition persists. We do not

know of many cases where this difﬁculty lasted long.

The alcoholic may find it hard to re-establish

friendly relations with his children. Their young

minds were impressionable while he was drinking.

Without saying so, they may cordially hate him for

what he has done to them and to their mother. The

children are sometimes dominated by a pathetic hard-

ness and cynicism. They cannot seem to forgive and

forget. This may hang on for months, long after their

mother has accepted dad’s new way of living and

thinking.

In time they will see that he is a new man and in

their own way they will let him know it. When this

happens, they can be invited to join in morning med-

itation and then they can take part in the daily discus-

sion without rancor or bias. From that point on,

progress will be rapid. Marvelous results often follow

such a reunion.

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THE FAMILY AFTERWARD 135

Whether the family goes on a spiritual basis or not,

the alcoholic member has to if he would recover. The

others must be convinced of his new status beyond the

shadow of a doubt. Seeing is believing to most fam-

ilies who have lived with a drinker.

Here is a case in point: One of our friends is a heavy

smoker and coffee drinker. There was no doubt he

over-indulged. Seeing this, and meaning to be help-

ful, his wife commenced to admonish him about it. He

admitted he was overdoing these things, but frankly

said that he was not ready to stop. His wife is one of

those persons who really feels there is something

rather sinful about these commodities, so she nagged,

and her intolerance ﬁnally threw him into a ﬁt of anger.

He got drunk.

Of course our friend was wrong—dead wrong. He

had to painfully admit that and mend his spiritual

fences. Though he is now a most effective member of

Alcoholics Anonymous, he still smokes and drinks

coffee, but neither his wife nor anyone else stands in

judgment. She sees she was wrong to make a burning

issue out of such a matter when his more serious ail-

ments were being rapidly cured.

We have three little mottoes which are apropos.

Here they are:

First Things First

Live and Let Live

Easy Does It.

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Chapter 10

TO EMPLOYERS

Among many employers nowadays, we think of

one member who has spent much of his life in

the world of big business. He has hired and ﬁred hun-

dreds of men. He knows the alcoholic as the employer

sees him. His present views ought to prove exception-

ally useful to business men everywhere.

But let him tell you:

I was at one time assistant manager of a corporation

department employing sixty-six hundred men. One

day my secretary came in saying that Mr. B— insisted

on speaking with me. I told her to say that I was not

interested. I had warned him several times that he

had but one more chance. Not long afterward he had

called me from Hartford on two successive days, so

drunk he could hardly speak. I told him he was

through—ﬁnally and forever.

My secretary returned to say that it was not Mr.

B— on the phone; it was Mr. B—’s brother, and he

wished to give me a message. I still expected a plea

for clemency, but these words came through the re-

ceiver: “I just wanted to tell you Paul jumped from a

hotel window in Hartford last Saturday. He left us a

note saying you were the best boss he ever had, and

that you were not to blame in any way.”

Another time, as I opened a letter which lay on my

136

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TO EMPLOYERS 137

desk, a newspaper clipping fell out. It was the obitu-

ary of one of the best salesmen I ever had. After two

weeks of drinking, he had placed his toe on the trigger

of a loaded shotgun—the barrel was in his mouth. I

had discharged him for drinking six weeks before.

Still another experience: A woman’s voice came

faintly over long distance from Virginia. She wanted

to know if her husband’s company insurance was still

in force. Four days before he had hanged himself in

his woodshed. I had been obliged to discharge him

for drinking, though he was brilliant, alert, and one of

the best organizers I have ever known.

Here were three exceptional men lost to this world

because I did not understand alcoholism as I do now.

What irony—I became an alcoholic myself! And but

for the intervention of an understanding person, I

might have followed in their footsteps. My downfall

cost the business community unknown thousands of

dollars, for it takes real money to train a man for an

executive position. This kind of waste goes on un-

abated. We think the business fabric is shot through

with a situation which might be helped by better un-

derstanding all around.

Nearly every modern employer feels a moral respon-

sibility for the well-being of his help, and he tries to

meet these responsibilities. That he has not always

done so for the alcoholic is easily understood. To him

the alcoholic has often seemed a fool of the ﬁrst mag-

nitude. Because of the employee’s special ability, or

of his own strong personal attachment to him, the

employer has sometimes kept such a man at work long

beyond a reasonable period. Some employers have

tried every known remedy. In only a few instances

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138 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

has there been a lack of patience and tolerance. And

we, who have imposed on the best of employers, can

scarcely blame them if they have been short with us.

Here, for instance, is a typical example: An ofﬁcer of

one of the largest banking institutions in America

knows I no longer drink. One day he told me about an

executive of the same bank who, from his description,

was undoubtedly alcoholic. This seemed to me like an

opportunity to be helpful, so I spent two hours talking

about alcoholism, the malady, and described the

symptoms and results as well as I could. His com-

ment was, “Very interesting. But I’m sure this man is

done drinking. He has just returned from a three-

months leave of absence, has taken a cure, looks ﬁne,

and to clinch the matter, the board of directors told

him this was his last chance.”

The only answer I could make was that if the man

followed the usual pattern, he would go on a bigger

bust than ever. I felt this was inevitable and wondered

if the bank was doing the man an injustice. Why not

bring him into contact with some of our alcoholic

crowd? He might have a chance. I pointed out that I

had had nothing to drink whatever for three years, and

this in the face of difﬁculties that would have made

nine out of ten men drink their heads off. Why not at

least afford him an opportunity to hear my story?

“Oh no,” said my friend, “this chap is either through

with liquor, or he is minus a job. If he has your will

power and guts, he will make the grade.”

I wanted to throw up my hands in discouragement,

for I saw that I had failed to help my banker friend

understand. He simply could not believe that his

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TO EMPLOYERS 139

brother-executive suffered from a serious illness.

There was nothing to do but wait.

Presently the man did slip and was ﬁred. Follow-

ing his discharge, we contacted him. Without much

ado, he accepted the principles and procedure that

had helped us. He is undoubtedly on the road to re-

covery. To me, this incident illustrates lack of under-

standing as to what really ails the alcoholic, and lack

of knowledge as to what part employers might prof-

itably take in salvaging their sick employees.

If you desire to help it might be well to disregard

your own drinking, or lack of it. Whether you are a

hard drinker, a moderate drinker or a teetotaler, you

may have some pretty strong opinions, perhaps preju-

dices. Those who drink moderately may be more an-

noyed with an alcoholic than a total abstainer would

be. Drinking occasionally, and understanding your

own reactions, it is possible for you to become quite

sure of many things which, so far as the alcoholic is

concerned, are not always so. As a moderate drinker,

you can take your liquor or leave it alone. Whenever

you want to, you control your drinking. Of an even-

ing, you can go on a mild bender, get up in the morn-

ing, shake your head and go to business. To you,

liquor is no real problem. You cannot see why it

should be to anyone else, save the spineless and stupid.

When dealing with an alcoholic, there may be a

natural annoyance that a man could be so weak,

stupid and irresponsible. Even when you understand the

malady better, you may feel this feeling rising.

A look at the alcoholic in your organization is many

times illuminating. Is he not usually brilliant, fast-

thinking, imaginative and likeable? When sober, does

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140 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

he not work hard and have a knack of getting things

done? If he had these qualities and did not drink

would he be worth retaining? Should he have the

same consideration as other ailing employees? Is he

worth salvaging? If your decision is yes, whether the

reason be humanitarian or business or both, then the

following suggestions may be helpful.

Can you discard the feeling that you are dealing

only with habit, with stubbornness, or a weak will? If

this presents difﬁculty, re-reading chapters two and

three, where the alcoholic sickness is discussed at

length might be worth while. You, as a business man,

want to know the necessities before considering the

result. If you concede that your employee is ill, can

he be forgiven for what he has done in the past? Can

his past absurdities be forgotten? Can it be appreci-

ated that he has been a victim of crooked thinking,

directly caused by the action of alcohol on his brain?

I well remember the shock I received when a

prominent doctor in Chicago told me of cases where

pressure of the spinal ﬂuid actually ruptured the

brain. No wonder an alcoholic is strangely irrational.

Who wouldn’t be, with such a fevered brain? Normal

drinkers are not so affected, nor can they understand

the aberrations of the alcoholic.

Your man has probably been trying to conceal a

number of scrapes, perhaps pretty messy ones. They

may be disgusting. You may be at a loss to understand

how such a seemingly above-board chap could be so

involved. But these scrapes can generally be charged,

no matter how bad, to the abnormal action of alcohol

on his mind. When drinking, or getting over a bout,

an alcoholic, sometimes the model of honesty when

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TO EMPLOYERS 141

normal, will do incredible things. Afterward, his

revulsion will be terrible. Nearly always, these antics

indicate nothing more than temporary conditions.

This is not to say that all alcoholics are honest and

upright when not drinking. Of course that isn’t so,

and such people often may impose on you. Seeing

your attempt to understand and help, some men will

try to take advantage of your kindness. If you are

sure your man does not want to stop, he may as well

be discharged, the sooner the better. You are not

doing him a favor by keeping him on. Firing such an

individual may prove a blessing to him. It may be

just the jolt he needs. I know, in my own particular

case, that nothing my company could have done would

have stopped me for, so long as I was able to hold my

position, I could not possibly realize how serious my

situation was. Had they ﬁred me ﬁrst, and had they

then taken steps to see that I was presented with the

solution contained in this book, I might have returned

to them six months later, a well man.

But there are many men who want to stop, and with

them you can go far. Your understanding treatment

of their cases will pay dividends.

Perhaps you have such a man in mind. He wants to

quit drinking and you want to help him, even if it be

only a matter of good business. You now know more

about alcoholism. You can see that he is mentally and

physically sick. You are willing to overlook his past

performances. Suppose an approach is made some-

thing like this:

State that you know about his drinking, and that it

must stop. You might say you appreciate his abilities,

would like to keep him, but cannot if he continues to

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142 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

drink. A ﬁrm attitude at this point has helped many

of us.

Next he can be assured that you do not intend to

lecture, moralize, or condemn; that if this was done

formerly, it was because of misunderstanding. If pos-

sible express a lack of hard feeling toward him. At

this point, it might be well to explain alcoholism, the

illness. Say that you believe he is a gravely ill per-

son, with this qualiﬁcation—being perhaps fatally ill,

does he want to get well? You ask, because many

alcoholics, being warped and drugged, do not want to

quit. But does he? Will he take every necessary step,

submit to anything to get well, to stop drinking for-

ever?

If he says yes, does he really mean it, or down inside

does he think he is fooling you, and that after rest and

treatment he will be able to get away with a few drinks

now and then? We believe a man should be thor-

oughly probed on these points. Be satisﬁed he is not

deceiving himself or you.

Whether you mention this book is a matter for your

discretion. If he temporizes and still thinks he can

ever drink again, even beer, he might as well be dis-

charged after the next bender which, if an alcoholic,

he is almost certain to have. He should understand

that emphatically. Either you are dealing with a man

who can and will get well or you are not. If not, why

waste time with him? This may seem severe, but it is

usually the best course.

After satisfying yourself that your man wants to

recover and that he will go to any extreme to do so,

you may suggest a deﬁnite course of action. For most

alcoholics who are drinking, or who are just getting

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TO EMPLOYERS 143

over a spree, a certain amount of physical treatment

is desirable, even imperative. The matter of physical

treatment should, of course, be referred to your

own doctor. Whatever the method, its object is to

thoroughly clear mind and body of the effects of alco-

hol. In competent hands, this seldom takes long nor

is it very expensive. Your man will fare better if

placed in such physical condition that he can think

straight and no longer craves liquor. If you propose

such a procedure to him, it may be necessary to ad-

vance the cost of treatment, but we believe it should

be made plain that any expense will later be deducted

from his pay. It is better for him to feel fully respon-

sible.

If your man accepts your offer, it should be pointed

out that physical treatment is but a small part of the

picture. Though you are providing him with the best

possible medical attention, he should understand that

he must undergo a change of heart. To get over drink-

ing will require a transformation of thought and atti-

tude. We all had to place recovery above everything,

for without recovery we would have lost both home

and business.

Can you have every conﬁdence in his ability to

recover? While on the subject of conﬁdence, can you

adopt the attitude that so far as you are concerned

this will be a strictly personal matter, that his alco-

holic derelictions, the treatment about to be under-

taken, will never be discussed without his consent?

It might be well to have a long chat with him on his

return.

To return to the subject matter of this book: It con-

tains full suggestions by which the employee may

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144 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

solve his problem. To you, some of the ideas which

it contains are novel. Perhaps you are not quite in

sympathy with the approach we suggest. By no means

do we offer it as the last word on this subject, but so

far as we are concerned, it has worked with us. After

all, are you not looking for results rather than meth-

ods? Whether your employee likes it or not, he will

learn the grim truth about alcoholism. That won’t

hurt him a bit, even though he does not go for this

remedy.

We suggest you draw the book to the attention of

the doctor who is to attend your patient during treat-

ment. If the book is read the moment the patient is

able, while acutely depressed, realization of his condi-

tion may come to him.

We hope the doctor will tell the patient the truth

about his condition, whatever that happens to be.

When the man is presented with this volume it is best

that no one tell him he must abide by its suggestions.

The man must decide for himself.

You are betting, of course, that your changed atti-

tude plus the contents of this book will turn the trick.

In some cases it will, and in others it may not. But

we think that if you persevere, the percentage of suc-

cesses will gratify you. As our work spreads and our

numbers increase, we hope your employees may be

put in personal contact with some of us. Meanwhile,

we are sure a great deal can be accomplished by the

use of the book alone.

On your employee’s return, talk with him. Ask him

if he thinks he has the answer. If he feels free to

discuss his problems with you, if he knows you under-

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TO EMPLOYERS 145

stand and will not be upset by anything he wishes to

say, he will probably be off to a fast start.

In this connection, can you remain undisturbed if

the man proceeds to tell you shocking things? He

may, for example, reveal that he has padded his ex-

pense account or that he has planned to take your

best customers away from you. In fact, he may say

almost anything if he has accepted our solution which,

as you know, demands rigorous honesty. Can you

charge this off as you would a bad account and start

fresh with him? If he owes you money you may wish

to make terms.

If he speaks of his home situation, you can un-

doubtedly make helpful suggestions. Can he talk

frankly with you so long as he does not bear business

tales or criticize his associates? With this kind of em-

ployee such an attitude will command undying loyalty.

The greatest enemies of us alcoholics are resent-

ment, jealousy, envy, frustration, and fear. Wherever

men are gathered together in business there will be

rivalries and, arising out of these, a certain amount of

ofﬁce politics. Sometimes we alcoholics have an idea

that people are trying to pull us down. Often this is

not so at all. But sometimes our drinking will be used

politically.

One instance comes to mind in which a malicious

individual was always making friendly little jokes

about an alcoholic’s drinking exploits. In this way he

was slyly carrying tales. In another case, an alcoholic

was sent to a hospital for treatment. Only a few knew

of it at ﬁrst but, within a short time, it was billboarded

throughout the entire company. Naturally this sort of

thing decreased the man’s chance of recovery. The

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146 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

employer can many times protect the victim from this

kind of talk. The employer cannot play favorites, but

he can always defend a man from needless provoca-

tion and unfair criticism.

As a class, alcoholics are energetic people. They

work hard and they play hard. Your man should be

on his mettle to make good. Being somewhat weak-

ened, and faced with physical and mental readjust-

ment to a life which knows no alcohol, he may overdo.

You may have to curb his desire to work sixteen hours

a day. You may need to encourage him to play once

in a while. He may wish to do a lot for other alco-

holics and something of the sort may come up during

business hours. A reasonable amount of latitude will

be helpful. This work is necessary to maintain his

sobriety.

After your man has gone along without drinking

for a few months, you may be able to make use of his

services with other employees who are giving you the

alcoholic run-around—provided, of course, they are

willing to have a third party in the picture. An alco-

holic who has recovered, but holds a relatively un-

important job, can talk to a man with a better position.

Being on a radically different basis of life, he will never

take advantage of the situation.

Your man may be trusted. Long experience with

alcoholic excuses naturally arouses suspicion. When

his wife next calls saying he is sick, you might jump

to the conclusion he is drunk. If he is, and is still

trying to recover, he will tell you about it even if it

means the loss of his job. For he knows he must be

honest if he would live at all. He will appreciate

knowing you are not bothering your head about him,

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TO EMPLOYERS 147

that you are not suspicious nor are you trying to run

his life so he will be shielded from temptation to drink.

If he is conscientiously following the program of re-

covery he can go anywhere your business may call

him.

In case he does stumble, even once, you will have to

decide whether to let him go. If you are sure he

doesn’t mean business, there is no doubt you should

discharge him. If, on the contrary, you are sure he

is doing his utmost, you may wish to give him another

chance. But you should feel under no obligation to

keep him on, for your obligation has been well dis-

charged already.

There is another thing you might wish to do. If

your organization is a large one, your junior executives

might be provided with this book. You might let them

know you have no quarrel with the alcoholics of your

organization. These juniors are often in a difﬁcult

position. Men under them are frequently their friends.

So, for one reason or another, they cover these men,

hoping matters will take a turn for the better. They

often jeopardize their own positions by trying to help

serious drinkers who should have been ﬁred long ago,

or else given an opportunity to get well.

After reading this book, a junior executive can go to

such a man and say approximately this, “Look here,

Ed. Do you want to stop drinking or not? You put

me on the spot every time you get drunk. It isn’t fair

to me or the ﬁrm. I have been learning something

about alcoholism. If you are an alcoholic, you are a

mighty sick man. You act like one. The ﬁrm wants

to help you get over it, and if you are interested, there

is a way out. If you take it, your past will be forgotten

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148 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

and the fact that you went away for treatment will

not be mentioned. But if you cannot or will not stop

drinking, I think you ought to resign.”

Your junior executive may not agree with the con-

tents of our book. He need not, and often should not

show it to his alcoholic prospect. But at least he will

understand the problem and will no longer be misled

by ordinary promises. He will be able to take a posi-

tion with such a man which is eminently fair and

square. He will have no further reason for covering

up an alcoholic employee.

It boils right down to this: No man should be ﬁred

just because he is alcoholic. If he wants to stop, he

should be afforded a real chance. If he cannot or does

not want to stop, he should be discharged. The excep-

tions are few.

We think this method of approach will accomplish

several things. It will permit the rehabilitation of good

men. At the same time you will feel no reluctance to

rid yourself of those who cannot or will not stop.

Alcoholism may be causing your organization consid-

erable damage in its waste of time, men and reputa-

tion. We hope our suggestions will help you plug up

this sometimes serious leak. We think we are sensible

when we urge that you stop this waste and give your

worthwhile man a chance.

The other day an approach was made to the vice

president of a large industrial concern. He remarked:

“I’m mighty glad you fellows got over your drinking.

But the policy of this company is not to interfere with

the habits of our employees. If a man drinks so much

that his job suffers, we ﬁre him. I don’t see how you

can be of any help to us for, as you see, we don’t have

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TO EMPLOYERS 149

any alcoholic problem.” This same company spends

millions for research every year. Their cost of produc-

tion is ﬁgured to a ﬁne decimal point. They have

recreational facilities. There is company insurance.

There is a real interest, both humanitarian and busi-

ness, in the well-being of employees. But alcoholism

—well, they just don’t believe they have it.

Perhaps this is a typical attitude. We, who have col-

lectively seen a great deal of business life, at least

from the alcoholic angle, had to smile at this gentle-

man’s sincere opinion. He might be shocked if he

knew how much alcoholism is costing his organization

a year. That company may harbor many actual or

potential alcoholics. We believe that managers of

large enterprises often have little idea how prevalent

this problem is. Even if you feel your organization has

no alcoholic problem, it might pay to take another look

down the line. You may make some interesting dis-

coveries.

Of course, this chapter refers to alcoholics, sick

people, deranged men. What our friend, the vice

president, had in mind was the habitual or whoopee

drinker. As to them, his policy is undoubtedly sound,

but he did not distinguish between such people and

the alcoholic.

It is not to be expected that an alcoholic employee

will receive a disproportionate amount of time and

attention. He should not be made a favorite. The

right kind of man, the kind who recovers, will not

want this sort of thing. He will not impose. Far from

it. He will work like the devil and thank you to his

dying day.

Today I own a little company. There are two

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150 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

alcoholic employees, who produce as much as ﬁve

normal salesmen. But why not? They have a new

attitude, and they have been saved from a living death.

I have enjoyed every moment spent in getting them

straightened out.*

* See Appendix VI—We shall be happy to hear from you if we can

be of help.

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Chapter 11

A VISION FOR YOU

For most normal folks, drinking means convivi-

ality, companionship and colorful imagination.

It means release from care, boredom and worry. It is

joyous intimacy with friends and a feeling that life is

good. But not so with us in those last days of heavy

drinking. The old pleasures were gone. They were

but memories. Never could we recapture the great

moments of the past. There was an insistent yearning

to enjoy life as we once did and a heartbreaking obses-

sion that some new miracle of control would enable us

to do it. There was always one more attempt—and

one more failure.

The less people tolerated us, the more we withdrew

from society, from life itself. As we became subjects

of King Alcohol, shivering denizens of his mad realm,

the chilling vapor that is loneliness settled down. It

thickened, ever becoming blacker. Some of us sought

out sordid places, hoping to ﬁnd understanding com-

panionship and approval. Momentarily we did—then

would come oblivion and the awful awakening to face

the hideous Four Horsemen—Terror, Bewilderment,

Frustration, Despair. Unhappy drinkers who read this

page will understand!

Now and then a serious drinker, being dry at the

moment says, “I don’t miss it at all. Feel better. Work

better. Having a better time.” As ex-problem drink-

151

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152 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

ers, we smile at such a sally. We know our friend is

like a boy whistling in the dark to keep up his spirits.

He fools himself. Inwardly he would give anything to

take half a dozen drinks and get away with them. He

will presently try the old game again, for he isn’t

happy about his sobriety. He cannot picture life with-

out alcohol. Some day he will be unable to imagine

life either with alcohol or without it. Then he will

know loneliness such as few do. He will be at the

jumping-off place. He will wish for the end.

We have shown how we got out from under. You

say, “Yes, I’m willing. But am I to be consigned to a

life where I shall be stupid, boring and glum, like

some righteous people I see? I know I must get along

without liquor, but how can I? Have you a sufﬁcient

substitute?”

Yes, there is a substitute and it is vastly more than

that. It is a fellowship in Alcoholics Anonymous.

There you will ﬁnd release from care, boredom and

worry. Your imagination will be ﬁred. Life will mean

something at last. The most satisfactory years of your

existence lie ahead. Thus we ﬁnd the fellowship, and

so will you.

“How is that to come about?” you ask. “Where am

I to ﬁnd these people?”

You are going to meet these new friends in your own

community. Near you, alcoholics are dying helplessly

like people in a sinking ship. If you live in a large

place, there are hundreds. High and low, rich and

poor, these are future fellows of Alcoholics Anony-

mous. Among them you will make lifelong friends.

You will be bound to them with new and wonderful

ties, for you will escape disaster together and you will

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A VISION FOR YOU 153

commence shoulder to shoulder your common journey.

Then you will know what it means to give of yourself

that others may survive and rediscover life. You will

learn the full meaning of “Love thy neighbor as thy-

self.”

It may seem incredible that these men are to be-

come happy, respected, and useful once more. How

can they rise out of such misery, bad repute and hope-

lessness? The practical answer is that since these

things have happened among us, they can happen

with you. Should you wish them above all else, and

be willing to make use of our experience, we are sure

they will come. The age of miracles is still with us.

Our own recovery proves that!

Our hope is that when this chip of a book is

launched on the world tide of alcoholism, defeated

drinkers will seize upon it, to follow its suggestions.

Many, we are sure, will rise to their feet and march

on. They will approach still other sick ones and

fellowships of Alcoholics Anonymous may spring up

in each city and hamlet, havens for those who must

ﬁnd a way out.

In the chapter “Working With Others” you gathered

an idea of how we approach and aid others to health.

Suppose now that through you several families have

adopted this way of life. You will want to know more

of how to proceed from that point. Perhaps the best

way of treating you to a glimpse of your future will be

to describe the growth of the fellowship among us.

Here is a brief account:

Years ago, in 1935, one of our number made a

journey to a certain western city. From a business

standpoint, his trip came off badly. Had he been suc-

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154 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

cessful in his enterprise, he would have been set on

his feet ﬁnancially which, at the time, seemed vitally

important. But his venture wound up in a law suit and

bogged down completely. The proceeding was shot

through with much hard feeling and controversy.

Bitterly discouraged, he found himself in a strange

place, discredited and almost broke. Still physically

weak, and sober but a few months, he saw that his

predicament was dangerous. He wanted so much to

talk with someone, but whom?

One dismal afternoon he paced a hotel lobby won-

dering how his bill was to be paid. At one end of the

room stood a glass covered directory of local churches.

Down the lobby a door opened into an attractive bar.

He could see the gay crowd inside. In there he would

ﬁnd companionship and release. Unless he took some

drinks, he might not have the courage to scrape an

acquaintance and would have a lonely week-end.

Of course he couldn’t drink, but why not sit hope-

fully at a table, a bottle of ginger ale before him?

After all, had he not been sober six months now? Per-

haps he could handle, say, three drinks—no more! Fear

gripped him. He was on thin ice. Again it was the

old, insidious insanity—that ﬁrst drink. With a shiver,

he turned away and walked down the lobby to the

church directory. Music and gay chatter still ﬂoated

to him from the bar.

But what about his responsibilities—his family and

the men who would die because they would not know

how to get well, ah—yes, those other alcoholics?

There must be many such in this town. He would

phone a clergyman. His sanity returned and he thanked

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A VISION FOR YOU 155

God. Selecting a church at random from the directory,

he stepped into a booth and lifted the receiver.

His call to the clergyman led him presently to a

certain resident of the town, who, though formerly

able and respected, was then nearing the nadir of

alcoholic despair. It was the usual situation: home in

jeopardy, wife ill, children distracted, bills in arrears

and standing damaged. He had a desperate desire to

stop, but saw no way out, for he had earnestly tried

many avenues of escape. Painfully aware of being

somehow abnormal, the man did not fully realize

what it meant to be alcoholic.*

When our friend related his experience, the man

agreed that no amount of will power he might muster

could stop his drinking for long. A spiritual experi-

ence, he conceded, was absolutely necessary, but the

price seemed high upon the basis suggested. He told

how he lived in constant worry about those who might

ﬁnd out about his alcoholism. He had, of course, the

familiar alcoholic obsession that few knew of his drink-

ing. Why, he argued, should he lose the remainder

of his business, only to bring still more suffering to

his family by foolishly admitting his plight to people

from whom he made his livelihood? He would do

anything, he said, but that.

Being intrigued, however, he invited our friend to

his home. Some time later, and just as he thought he

was getting control of his liquor situation, he went on

a roaring bender. For him, this was the spree that

ended all sprees. He saw that he would have to face

* This refers to Bill’s first visit with Dr. Bob. These men later be-

came co-founders of A.A. Bill’s story opens the text of this book; Dr.

Bob’s heads the Story Section.

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156 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

his problems squarely that God might give him

mastery.

One morning he took the bull by the horns and set

out to tell those he feared what his trouble had been.

He found himself surprisingly well received, and

learned that many knew of his drinking. Stepping

into his car, he made the rounds of people he had

hurt. He trembled as he went about, for this might

mean ruin, particularly to a person in his line of busi-

ness.

At midnight he came home exhausted, but very

happy. He has not had a drink since. As we shall see,

he now means a great deal to his community, and the

major liabilities of thirty years of hard drinking have

been repaired in four.

But life was not easy for the two friends. Plenty of

difﬁculties presented themselves. Both saw that they

must keep spiritually active. One day they called up

the head nurse of a local hospital. They explained

their need and inquired if she had a ﬁrst class alcoholic

prospect.

She replied, “Yes, we’ve got a corker. He’s just

beaten up a couple of nurses. Goes off his head com-

pletely when he’s drinking. But he’s a grand chap

when he’s sober, though he’s been in here eight times

in the last six months. Understand he was once a

well-known lawyer in town, but just now we’ve got

him strapped down tight.”*

Here was a prospect all right but, by the description,

none too promising. The use of spiritual principles in

* This refers to Bill’s and Dr. Bob’s first visit to A.A. Number Three.

See the Pioneer Section. This resulted in A.A.’s first group, at Akron,

Ohio, in 1935.

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A VISION FOR YOU 157

such cases was not so well understood as it is now.

But one of the friends said, “Put him in a private room.

We’ll be down.”

Two days later, a future fellow of Alcoholics

Anonymous stared glassily at the strangers beside his

bed. “Who are you fellows, and why this private

room? I was always in a ward before.”

Said one of the visitors, “We’re giving you a treat-

ment for alcoholism.”

Hopelessness was written large on the man’s face as

he replied, “Oh, but that’s no use. Nothing would ﬁx

me. I’m a goner. The last three times, I got drunk on

the way home from here. I’m afraid to go out the

door. I can’t understand it.”

For an hour, the two friends told him about their

drinking experiences. Over and over, he would say:

“That’s me. That’s me. I drink like that.”

The man in the bed was told of the acute poisoning

from which he suffered, how it deteriorates the body

of an alcoholic and warps his mind. There was much

talk about the mental state preceding the ﬁrst drink.

“Yes, that’s me,” said the sick man, “the very image.

You fellows know your stuff all right, but I don’t see

what good it’ll do. You fellows are somebody. I was

once, but I’m a nobody now. From what you tell me,

I know more than ever I can’t stop.” At this both the

visitors burst into a laugh. Said the future Fellow

Anonymous: “Damn little to laugh about that I can

see.”

The two friends spoke of their spiritual experience

and told him about the course of action they carried

out.

He interrupted: “I used to be strong for the church,

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158 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

but that won’t ﬁx it. I’ve prayed to God on hangover

mornings and sworn that I’d never touch another drop

but by nine o’clock I’d be boiled as an owl.”

Next day found the prospect more receptive. He

had been thinking it over. “Maybe you’re right,” he

said. “God ought to be able to do anything.” Then

he added, “He sure didn’t do much for me when I was

trying to ﬁght this booze racket alone.”

On the third day the lawyer gave his life to the care

and direction of his Creator, and said he was perfectly

willing to do anything necessary. His wife came,

scarcely daring to be hopeful, though she thought she

saw something different about her husband already.

He had begun to have a spiritual experience.

That afternoon he put on his clothes and walked

from the hospital a free man. He entered a political

campaign, making speeches, frequenting men’s gath-

ering places of all sorts, often staying up all night. He

lost the race by only a narrow margin. But he had

found God—and in ﬁnding God had found himself.

That was in June, 1935. He never drank again. He

too, has become a respected and useful member of his

community. He has helped other men recover, and is

a power in the church from which he was long absent.

So, you see, there were three alcoholics in that town,

who now felt they had to give to others what they had

found, or be sunk. After several failures to ﬁnd others,

a fourth turned up. He came through an acquaintance

who had heard the good news. He proved to be a

devil-may-care young fellow whose parents could not

make out whether he wanted to stop drinking or not.

They were deeply religious people, much shocked by

their son’s refusal to have anything to do with the

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A VISION FOR YOU 159

church. He suffered horribly from his sprees, but it

seemed as if nothing could be done for him. He con-

sented, however, to go to the hospital, where he oc-

cupied the very room recently vacated by the lawyer.

He had three visitors. After a bit, he said, “The way

you fellows put this spiritual stuff makes sense. I’m

ready to do business. I guess the old folks were right

after all.” So one more was added to the Fellowship.

All this time our friend of the hotel lobby incident

remained in that town. He was there three months.

He now returned home, leaving behind his ﬁrst ac-

quaintance, the lawyer and the devil-may-care chap.

These men had found something brand new in life.

Though they knew they must help other alcoholics if

they would remain sober, that motive became second-

ary. It was transcended by the happiness they found

in giving themselves for others. They shared their

homes, their slender resources, and gladly devoted

their spare hours to fellow-sufferers. They were will-

ing, by day or night, to place a new man in the hos-

pital and visit him afterward. They grew in numbers.

They experienced a few distressing failures, but in

those cases they made an effort to bring the man’s

family into a spiritual way of living, thus relieving

much worry and suffering.

A year and six months later these three had suc-

ceeded with seven more. Seeing much of each other,

scarce an evening passed that someone’s home did not

shelter a little gathering of men and women, happy in

their release, and constantly thinking how they might

present their discovery to some newcomer. In addi-

tion to these casual get-togethers, it became customary

to set apart one night a week for a meeting to be at-

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160 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

tended by anyone or everyone interested in a spiritual

way of life. Aside from fellowship and sociability,

the prime object was to provide a time and place

where new people might bring their problems.

Outsiders became interested. One man and his wife

placed their large home at the disposal of this

strangely assorted crowd. This couple has since be-

come so fascinated that they have dedicated their

home to the work. Many a distracted wife has visited

this house to ﬁnd loving and understanding compan-

ionship among women who knew her problem, to

hear from the lips of their husbands what had hap-

pened to them, to be advised how her own wayward

mate might be hospitalized and approached when

next he stumbled.

Many a man, yet dazed from his hospital experi-

ence, has stepped over the threshold of that home into

freedom. Many an alcoholic who entered there came

away with an answer. He succumbed to that gay

crowd inside, who laughed at their own misfortunes

and understood his. Impressed by those who visited

him at the hospital, he capitulated entirely when, later,

in an upper room of this house, he heard the story of

some man whose experience closely tallied with his

own. The expression on the faces of the women, that

indeﬁnable something in the eyes of the men, the

stimulating and electric atmosphere of the place,

conspired to let him know that here was haven at last.

The very practical approach to his problems, the

absence of intolerance of any kind, the informality,

the genuine democracy, the uncanny understanding

which these people had were irresistible. He and his

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A VISION FOR YOU 161

wife would leave elated by the thought of what they

could now do for some stricken acquaintance and his

family. They knew they had a host of new friends; it

seemed they had known these strangers always. They

had seen miracles, and one was to come to them. They

had visioned the Great Reality—their loving and All

Powerful Creator.

Now, this house will hardly accommodate its weekly

visitors, for they number sixty or eighty as a rule. Al-

coholics are being attracted from far and near. From

surrounding towns, families drive long distances to be

present. A community thirty miles away has ﬁfteen

fellows of Alcoholics Anonymous. Being a large place,

we think that some day its Fellowship will number

many hundreds.*

But life among Alcoholics Anonymous is more than

attending gatherings and visiting hospitals. Cleaning

up old scrapes, helping to settle family differences,

explaining the disinherited son to his irate parents,

lending money and securing jobs for each other, when

justiﬁed—these are everyday occurrences. No one is

too discredited or has sunk too low to be welcomed

cordially—if he means business. Social distinctions,

petty rivalries and jealousies—these are laughed out of

countenance. Being wrecked in the same vessel, being

restored and united under one God, with hearts and

minds attuned to the welfare of others, the things

which matter so much to some people no longer

signify much to them. How could they?

Under only slightly different conditions, the same

thing is taking place in many eastern cities. In one of

* Written in 1939.

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162 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

these there is a well-known hospital for the treatment

of alcoholic and drug addiction. Six years ago one of

our number was a patient there. Many of us have felt,

for the ﬁrst time, the Presence and Power of God

within its walls. We are greatly indebted to the

doctor in attendance there, for he, although it might

prejudice his own work, has told us of his belief in ours.

Every few days this doctor suggests our approach

to one of his patients. Understanding our work, he

can do this with an eye to selecting those who are

willing and able to recover on a spiritual basis. Many

of us, former patients, go there to help. Then, in this

eastern city, there are informal meetings such as we

have described to you, where you may now see scores

of members. There are the same fast friendships,

there is the same helpfulness to one another as you

ﬁnd among our western friends. There is a good bit

of travel between East and West and we foresee a

great increase in this helpful interchange.

Some day we hope that every alcoholic who

journeys will ﬁnd a Fellowship of Alcoholics Anony-

mous at his destination. To some extent this is already

true. Some of us are salesmen and go about. Little

clusters of twos and threes and ﬁves of us have sprung

up in other communities, through contact with our

two larger centers. Those of us who travel drop in as

often as we can. This practice enables us to lend a

hand, at the same time avoiding certain alluring dis-

tractions of the road, about which any traveling man

can inform you.*

Thus we grow. And so can you, though you be but

* Written in 1939. In 2003, there are over 103,000 groups. There is A.A. activity in

approximately 150 countries, with an estimated membership of over two million.

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A VISION FOR YOU 163

one man with this book in your hand. We believe and

hope it contains all you will need to begin.

We know what you are thinking. You are saying to

yourself: “I’m jittery and alone. I couldn’t do that.”

But you can. You forget that you have just now tapped

a source of power much greater than yourself. To

duplicate, with such backing, what we have accom-

plished is only a matter of willingness, patience and

labor.

We know of an A.A. member who was living in a

large community. He had lived there but a few weeks

when he found that the place probably contained

more alcoholics per square mile than any city in the

country. This was only a few days ago at this writing.

(1939) The authorities were much concerned. He got

in touch with a prominent psychiatrist who had under-

taken certain responsibilities for the mental health of

the community. The doctor proved to be able and

exceedingly anxious to adopt any workable method

of handling the situation. So he inquired, what did

our friend have on the ball?

Our friend proceeded to tell him. And with such

good effect that the doctor agreed to a test among his

patients and certain other alcoholics from a clinic

which he attends. Arrangements were also made with

the chief psychiatrist of a large public hospital to

select still others from the stream of misery which

ﬂows through that institution.

So our fellow worker will soon have friends galore.

Some of them may sink and perhaps never get up, but

if our experience is a criterion, more than half of those

approached will become fellows of Alcoholics Anony-

mous. When a few men in this city have found them-

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164 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

selves, and have discovered the joy of helping others

to face life again, there will be no stopping until

everyone in that town has had his opportunity to re-

cover—if he can and will.

Still you may say: “But I will not have the beneﬁt

of contact with you who write this book.” We cannot

be sure. God will determine that, so you must remem-

ber that your real reliance is always upon Him. He

will show you how to create the fellowship you

crave.*

Our book is meant to be suggestive only. We realize

we know only a little. God will constantly disclose

more to you and to us. Ask Him in your morning medi-

tation what you can do each day for the man who is

still sick. The answers will come, if your own house

is in order. But obviously you cannot transmit some-

thing you haven’t got. See to it that your relationship

with Him is right, and great events will come to pass

for you and countless others. This is the Great Fact

for us.

Abandon yourself to God as you understand God.

Admit your faults to Him and to your fellows. Clear

away the wreckage of your past. Give freely of what

you ﬁnd and join us. We shall be with you in the

Fellowship of the Spirit, and you will surely meet

some of us as you trudge the Road of Happy Destiny.

May God bless you and keep you—until then.

* Alcoholics Anonymous will be glad to hear from you. Address P.O. Box 459,

Grand Central Station, New York, NY 10163.

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DOCTOR BOB’S NIGHTMARE

A co-founder of Alcoholics Anonymous. The birth

of our Society dates from his ﬁrst day of permanent

sobriety, June 10, 1935.

To 1950, the year of his death, he carried the A.A.

message to more than 5,000 alcoholic men and

women, and to all these he gave his medical services

without thought of charge.

In this prodigy of service, he was well assisted by

Sister Ignatia at St. Thomas Hospital in Akron, Ohio,

one of the greatest friends our Fellowship will ever

know.

Iwas born in a small New England village of

about seven thousand souls. The general moral

standard was, as I recall it, far above the average. No

beer or liquor was sold in the neighborhood, except at

the State liquor agency where perhaps one might

procure a pint if he could convince the agent that he

really needed it. Without this proof the expectant

purchaser would be forced to depart empty handed

with none of what I later came to believe was the

great panacea for all human ills. Men who had liquor

shipped in from Boston or New York by express were

looked upon with great distrust and disfavor by most

of the good townspeople. The town was well sup-

plied with churches and schools in which I pursued

my early educational activities.

My father was a professional man of recognized

ability and both my father and mother were most

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172 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

active in church affairs. Both father and mother were

considerably above the average in intelligence.

Unfortunately for me, I was the only child, which

perhaps engendered the selﬁshness which played such

an important part in bringing on my alcoholism.

From childhood through high school I was more or

less forced to go to church, Sunday School, and eve-

ning service, Monday night Christian Endeavor and

sometimes to Wednesday evening prayer meeting.

This had the effect of making me resolve that when I

was free from parental domination, I would never

again darken the doors of a church. This resolution I

kept steadfastly for the next forty years, except when

circumstances made it seem unwise to absent myself.

After high school came four years in one of the best

colleges in the country where drinking seemed to be a

major extra-curricular activity. Almost everyone

seemed to do it. I did it more and more, and had lots

of fun without much grief, either physical or ﬁnancial.

I seemed to be able to snap back the next morning

better than most of my fellow drinkers, who were

cursed (or perhaps blessed) with a great deal of morn-

ing-after nausea. Never once in my life have I had

a headache, which fact leads me to believe that I was

an alcoholic almost from the start. My whole life

seemed to be centered around doing what I wanted

to do, without regard for the rights, wishes, or privi-

leges of anyone else; a state of mind which became

more and more predominant as the years passed. I

was graduated “summa cum laude” in the eyes of the

drinking fraternity but not in the eyes of the Dean.

The next three years I spent in Boston, Chicago, and

Montreal in the employ of a large manufacturing con-

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DOCTOR BOB’S NIGHTMARE 173

cern, selling railway supplies, gas engines of all sorts,

and many other items of heavy hardware. During

these years, I drank as much as my purse permitted,

still without paying too great a penalty, although I

was beginning to have morning jitters at times. I lost

only a half day’s work during these three years.

My next move was to take up the study of medicine,

entering one of the largest universities in the country.

There I took up the business of drinking with much

greater earnestness than I had previously shown. On

account of my enormous capacity for beer, I was

elected to membership in one of the drinking societies,

and soon became one of the leading spirits. Many

mornings I have gone to classes, and even though fully

prepared, would turn and walk back to the fraternity

house because of my jitters, not daring to enter the

classroom for fear of making a scene should I be called

on for recitation.

This went from bad to worse until Sophomore spring

when, after a prolonged period of drinking, I made up

my mind that I could not complete my course, so I

packed my grip and went South to spend a month on a

large farm owned by a friend of mine. When I got the

fog out of my brain, I decided that quitting school was

very foolish and that I had better return and continue

my work. When I reached school, I discovered the

faculty had other ideas on the subject. After much

argument they allowed me to return and take my

exams, all of which I passed creditably. But they were

much disgusted and told me they would attempt to

struggle along without my presence. After many pain-

ful discussions, they ﬁnally gave me my credits and I

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174 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

migrated to another of the leading universities of the

country and entered as a Junior that fall.

There my drinking became so much worse that the

boys in the fraternity house where I lived felt forced

to send for my father, who made a long journey in

the vain endeavor to get me straightened around. This

had little effect however for I kept on drinking and

used a great deal more hard liquor than in former

years.

Coming up to ﬁnal exams I went on a particularly

strenuous spree. When I went in to write the examina-

tions, my hand trembled so I could not hold a pencil.

I passed in at least three absolutely blank books. I

was, of course, soon on the carpet and the upshot was

that I had to go back for two more quarters and re-

main absolutely dry, if I wished to graduate. This I

did, and proved myself satisfactory to the faculty,

both in deportment and scholastically.

I conducted myself so creditably that I was able to

secure a much coveted internship in a western city,

where I spent two years. During these two years I

was kept so busy that I hardly left the hospital at all.

Consequently, I could not get into any trouble.

When those two years were up, I opened an ofﬁce

downtown. I had some money, all the time in the

world, and considerable stomach trouble. I soon dis-

covered that a couple of drinks would alleviate my

gastric distress, at least for a few hours at a time, so it

was not at all difﬁcult for me to return to my former

excessive indulgence.

By this time I was beginning to pay very dearly

physically and, in hope of relief, voluntarily incar-

cerated myself at least a dozen times in one of the

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DOCTOR BOB’S NIGHTMARE 175

local sanitariums. I was between Scylla and Charyb-

dis now, because if I did not drink my stomach

tortured me, and if I did my nerves did the same

thing. After three years of this, I wound up in the

local hospital where they attempted to help me, but

I would get my friends to smuggle me a quart, or I

would steal the alcohol about the building, so that I

got rapidly worse.

Finally, my father had to send a doctor out from my

home town who managed to get me back there in

some way, and I was in bed about two months before

I could venture out of the house. I stayed about town

a couple of months more and then returned to resume

my practice. I think I must have been thoroughly

scared by what had happened, or by the doctor, or

probably both, so that I did not touch a drink again

until the country went dry.

With the passing of the Eighteenth Amendment I

felt quite safe. I knew everyone would buy a few

bottles, or cases, of liquor as their exchequers per-

mitted, and that it would soon be gone. Therefore it

would make no great difference, even if I should do

some drinking. At that time I was not aware of the

almost unlimited supply the government made it pos-

sible for us doctors to obtain, neither had I any

knowledge of the bootlegger who soon appeared on

the horizon. I drank with moderation at ﬁrst, but it

took me only a relatively short time to drift back into

the old habits, which had wound up so disastrously

before.

During the next few years, I developed two distinct

phobias. One was the fear of not sleeping, and the

other was the fear of running out of liquor. Not being

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176 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

a man of means, I knew that if I did not stay sober

enough to earn money, I would run out of liquor. Most

of the time, therefore, I did not take the morn-

ing drink which I craved so badly, but instead would

ﬁll up on large doses of sedatives to quiet the jitters,

which distressed me terribly. Occasionally, I would

yield to the morning craving, but if I did, it would be

only a few hours before I would be quite unﬁt for

work. This would lessen my chances of smuggling

some home that evening, which in turn would mean

a night of futile tossing around in bed followed by a

morning of unbearable jitters. During the subsequent

ﬁfteen years I had sense enough never to go to the

hospital if I had been drinking, and very seldom did

I receive patients. I would sometimes hide out in one

of the clubs of which I was a member, and had the

habit at times of registering at a hotel under a ﬁctitious

name. But my friends usually found me and I would

go home if they promised that I should not be scolded.

If my wife was planning to go out in the afternoon,

I would get a large supply of liquor and smuggle it

home and hide it in the coal bin, the clothes chute,

over door jambs, over beams in the cellar, and in cracks

in the cellar tile. I also made use of old trunks and

chests, the old can container, and even the ash con-

tainer. The water tank on the toilet I never used,

because that looked too easy. I found out later that

my wife inspected it frequently. I used to put eight

or twelve ounce bottles of alcohol in a fur lined glove

and toss it onto the back airing porch when winter

days got dark enough. My bootlegger had hidden

alcohol at the back steps where I could get it at my

convenience. Sometimes I would bring it in my

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DOCTOR BOB’S NIGHTMARE 177

pockets, but they were inspected, and that became

too risky. I used also to put it up in four ounce bottles

and stick several in my stocking tops. This worked

nicely until my wife and I went to see Wallace Beery

in “Tugboat Annie,” after which the pant-leg and

stocking racket were out!

I will not take space to relate all my hospital or

sanitarium experiences.

During all this time we became more or less ostra-

cized by our friends. We could not be invited out

because I would surely get tight, and my wife dared

not invite people in for the same reason. My phobia

for sleeplessness demanded that I get drunk every

night, but in order to get more liquor for the next

night, I had to stay sober during the day, at least up

to four o’clock. This routine went on with few inter-

ruptions for seventeen years. It was really a horrible

nightmare, this earning money, getting liquor, smug-

gling it home, getting drunk, morning jitters, taking

large doses of sedatives to make it possible for me to

earn more money, and so on ad nauseam. I used to

promise my wife, my friends, and my children that

I would drink no more—promises which seldom kept

me sober even through the day, though I was very

sincere when I made them.

For the beneﬁt of those experimentally inclined, I

should mention the so-called beer experiment. When

beer ﬁrst came back, I thought that I was safe. I

could drink all I wanted of that. It was harmless;

nobody ever got drunk on beer. So I ﬁlled the cellar

full, with the permission of my good wife. It was not

long before I was drinking at least a case and a half a

day. I put on thirty pounds of weight in about two

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178 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

months, looked like a pig, and was uncomfortable from

shortness of breath. It then occurred to me that after

one was all smelled up with beer nobody could tell

what had been drunk, so I began to fortify my beer

with straight alcohol. Of course, the result was very

bad, and that ended the beer experiment.

About the time of the beer experiment I was thrown

in with a crowd of people who attracted me because

of their seeming poise, health, and happiness. They

spoke with great freedom from embarrassment, which

I could never do, and they seemed very much at ease

on all occasions and appeared very healthy. More

than these attributes, they seemed to be happy. I was

self conscious and ill at ease most of the time, my

health was at the breaking point, and I was thoroughly

miserable. I sensed they had something I did not

have, from which I might readily proﬁt. I learned that

it was something of a spiritual nature, which did not

appeal to me very much, but I thought it could do no

harm. I gave the matter much time and study for the

next two and a half years, but I still got tight every

night nevertheless. I read everything I could ﬁnd, and

talked to everyone who I thought knew anything

about it.

My wife became deeply interested, and it was her

interest that sustained mine, though I at no time

sensed that it might be an answer to my liquor prob-

lem. How my wife kept her faith and courage during

all those years, I’ll never know, but she did. If she had

not, I know I would have been dead a long time ago.

For some reason, we alcoholics seem to have the gift

of picking out the world’s ﬁnest women. Why they

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DOCTOR BOB’S NIGHTMARE 179

should be subjected to the tortures we inﬂict upon

them, I cannot explain.

About this time a lady called up my wife one Satur-

day afternoon saying she wanted me to come over that

evening to meet a friend of hers who might help me.

It was the day before Mother’s Day and I had come

home plastered, carrying a big potted plant which I

set down on the table and forthwith went upstairs and

passed out. The next day she called again. Wishing

to be polite, though I felt very badly, I said, “Let’s

make the call,” and extracted from my wife a promise

that we would not stay over ﬁfteen minutes.

We entered her house at exactly ﬁve o’clock and it

was eleven ﬁfteen when we left. I had a couple of

shorter talks with this man afterward, and stopped

drinking abruptly. This dry spell lasted for about three

weeks; then I went to Atlantic City to attend several

days’ meeting of a national society of which I was a

member. I drank all the scotch they had on the train

and bought several quarts on my way to the hotel.

This was on Sunday. I got tight that night, stayed

sober Monday till after the dinner, and then proceeded

to get tight again. I drank all I dared in the bar, and

then went to my room to ﬁnish the job. Tuesday I

started in the morning, getting well organized by noon.

I did not want to disgrace myself so I then checked

out. I bought some more liquor on the way to the

depot. I had to wait some time for the train. I remem-

ber nothing from then on until I woke up at a friend’s

house, in a town near home. These good people noti-

ﬁed my wife, who sent my newly made friend over to

get me. He came and got me home and to bed, gave

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180 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

me a few drinks that night, and one bottle of beer the

next morning.

That was June 10, 1935, and that was my last drink.

As I write, nearly four years have passed.

The question which might naturally come into your

mind would be: “What did the man do or say that was

different from what others had done or said?” It must

be remembered that I had read a great deal and talked

to everyone who knew, or thought they knew anything

about the subject of alcoholism. But this was a man

who had experienced many years of frightful drink-

ing, who had had most all the drunkard’s experiences

known to man, but who had been cured by the very

means I had been trying to employ, that is to say the

spiritual approach. He gave me information about

the subject of alcoholism which was undoubtedly

helpful. Of far more importance was the fact that he

was the ﬁrst living human with whom I had ever

talked, who knew what he was talking about in regard to

alcoholism from actual experience. In other words,

he talked my language. He knew all the answers, and

certainly not because he had picked them up in his

reading.

It is a most wonderful blessing to be relieved of the

terrible curse with which I was afﬂicted. My health is

good and I have regained my self-respect and the re-

spect of my colleagues. My home life is ideal and my

business is as good as can be expected in these un-

certain times.

I spend a great deal of time passing on what I

learned to others who want and need it badly. I do it

for four reasons:

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DOCTOR BOB’S NIGHTMARE 181

1. Sense of duty.

2. It is a pleasure.

3. Because in so doing I am paying my debt to the

man who took time to pass it on to me.

4. Because every time I do it I take out a little more

insurance for myself against a possible slip.

Unlike most of our crowd, I did not get over my

craving for liquor much during the ﬁrst two and one-

half years of abstinence. It was almost always with

me. But at no time have I been anywhere near yield-

ing. I used to get terribly upset when I saw my friends

drink and knew I could not, but I schooled myself to

believe that though I once had the same privilege, I

had abused it so frightfully that it was withdrawn. So

it doesn’t behoove me to squawk about it for, after all,

nobody ever had to throw me down and pour liquor

down my throat.

If you think you are an atheist, an agnostic, a

skeptic, or have any other form of intellectual pride

which keeps you from accepting what is in this book,

I feel sorry for you. If you still think you are strong

enough to beat the game alone, that is your affair.

But if you really and truly want to quit drinking

liquor for good and all, and sincerely feel that you

must have some help, we know that we have an answer

for you. It never fails, if you go about it with one half

the zeal you have been in the habit of showing when

you were getting another drink.

Your Heavenly Father will never let you down!

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(1)

ALCOHOLIC ANONYMOUS

NUMBER THREE

Pioneer member of Akron’s Group No. 1, the ﬁrst

A.A. group in the world. He kept the faith; therefore,

he and countless others found a new life.

One of ﬁve children, I was born on a Kentucky

farm in Carlyle County. My parents were well-

to-do people, and their marriage was a happy one.

My wife, a Kentucky girl, came with me to Akron

where I completed my course in law at the Akron Law

School.

My case is rather unusual in one respect. There

were no childhood episodes of unhappiness to account

for my alcoholism. I had, seemingly, just a natural

afﬁnity for grog. My marriage was happy, and I never

had any of the reasons, conscious or unconscious,

which are often given for drinking. Yet, as my record

shows, I did become an extremely serious case.

Before my drinking had cut me down completely, I

achieved a considerable measure of success, having

been a city councilman for ﬁve years and a ﬁnancial

director of a suburb later taken into the city itself.

But, of course, this all went down the drain with my

increased drinking. So, at the time Dr. Bob and Bill

came along, I had about run out my strength.

The ﬁrst time that I became intoxicated I was eight

years old. This was no fault of my father or mother, as

182

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ALCOHOLIC ANONYMOUS NUMBER THREE 183

they were both very much opposed to drinking. A

couple of hired hands were cleaning out the barn on

the farm, and I was riding to and fro on the sled, and

while they were loading, I drank hard cider out of a

barrel in the barn. On the return trip, after two or

three loads, I passed out and had to be carried to the

house. I remember that my father kept whiskey

around the house for medical purposes and entertain-

ment, and I would drink from this when no one was

about and then water it to keep my parents from

knowing I was drinking.

This continued until I enrolled in our state univer-

sity, and at the end of the four years, I realized that I

was a drunk. Morning after morning I awoke sick and

with terrible jitters, but there was always a ﬂask of

liquor sitting on the table beside my bed. I would

reach over and get this and take a shot and in a few

moments get up and take another, shave, eat my

breakfast, slip a half pint of liquor in my hip pocket,

and go on to school. Between classes I would run

down to the washroom, take enough to steady my

nerves, and then go on to the next class. This was in

1917.

I left the university in the latter part of my senior

year and enlisted in the army. At the time, I called it

patriotism. Later I realized that I was running from

alcohol. It did help to a certain extent, since I found

myself in places where I could not obtain anything to

drink and so broke the habitual drinking.

Then Prohibition came into effect, and the facts that

the stuff obtainable was so horrible and sometimes

deadly, and that I had married and had a job which I

had to look after, helped me for a period of some three

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184 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

or four years, although I would get drunk every time I

could get hold of enough to drink to get started. My

wife and I belonged to some bridge clubs, and they

began to make wine and serve it. However, after two

or three trials, I found this was not satisfactory be-

cause they did not serve enough to satisfy me. So I

would refuse to drink. This problem was soon solved,

however, as I began to take my bottle along with me

and hide it in the bathroom or in the shrubbery out-

side.

As time went on, my drinking became progressively

worse. I would be away from my ofﬁce two or three

weeks at a time, horrible days and nights when I

would lie on the ﬂoor of my home and reach over

to get the bottle, take a drink, and then go back

into oblivion.

During the ﬁrst six months of 1935, I was hospital-

ized eight times for intoxication and shackled to the

bed two or three days before I even knew where I was.

On June 26, 1935, I came to in the hospital, and to

say I was discouraged is to put it mildly. Each of the

seven times that I had left this hospital in the previous

six months, I had come out fully determined in my

own mind that I would not get drunk again—for at

least six or eight months. It hadn’t worked out that

way, and I didn’t know what the matter was and did

not know what to do.

I was moved into another room that morning and

there was my wife. I thought to myself, Well, she is

going to tell me this is the end, and I certainly

couldn’t blame her and did not intend to try to justify

myself. She told me that she had been talking to a

couple of fellows about drinking. I resented this very

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ALCOHOLIC ANONYMOUS NUMBER THREE 185

much, until she informed me that they were a couple

of drunks just as I was. That wasn’t so bad, to tell it

to another drunk.

She said, “You are going to quit.” That was worth a

lot even though I did not believe it. Then she told me

that these two drunks she had been talking to had a

plan whereby they thought they could quit drinking,

and part of that plan was that they tell it to another

drunk. This was going to help them to stay sober. All

the other people who had talked to me wanted to help

me, and my pride prevented me from listening to them

and caused only resentment on my part, but I felt as if

I would be a real stinker if I did not listen to a couple

of fellows for a short time, if that would cure them. My

wife also told me that I could not pay them even if I

wanted to and had the money, which I did not.

They came in and began to give me instruction in

the program that later became known as Alcoholics

Anonymous. There was not much of it at that time.

I looked up and there were two great big fellows

over six-foot tall, very likable looking. (I knew after-

wards that the two who came in were Bill W. and

Doctor Bob.) Before very long we began to relate

some incidents of our drinking, and pretty soon I

realized that both of them knew what they were talk-

ing about, because you can see things and smell

things when you’re drunk that you can’t other times. If

I had thought they didn’t know what they were talk-

ing about, I wouldn’t have been willing to talk to them

at all.

After a while, Bill said, “Well, now, you’ve been

talking a good long time, let me talk a minute or two.”

So, after hearing some more of my story, he turned

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186 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

around and said to Doc—I don’t think he knew I heard

him, but I did—he said, “Well, I believe he’s worth

saving and working on.” They said to me, “Do you

want to quit drinking? It’s none of our business about

your drinking. We’re not up here trying to take any

of your rights or privileges away from you, but we

have a program whereby we think we can stay sober.

Part of that program is that we take it to someone else

who needs it and wants it. Now, if you don’t want it,

we’ll not take up your time, and we’ll be going and

looking for someone else.”

The next thing they wanted to know was if I

thought I could quit of my own accord, without any

help, if I could just walk out of the hospital and never

take another drink. If I could, that was wonderful,

that was just ﬁne, and they would very much appre-

ciate a person who had that kind of power, but they

were looking for a man who knew he had a problem

and knew he couldn’t handle it himself and needed

outside help. The next thing they wanted to know

was if I believed in a Higher Power. I had no trouble

there because I had never actually ceased to believe

in God and had tried lots of times to get help but

hadn’t succeeded. Next they wanted to know would

I be willing to go to this Higher Power and ask for

help, calmly and without any reservations.

They left this with me to think over, and I lay there

on that hospital bed and went back over and reviewed

my life. I thought of what liquor had done to me, the

opportunities that I had discarded, the abilities that

had been given me and how I had wasted them, and

I ﬁnally came to the conclusion that if I didn’t want

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ALCOHOLIC ANONYMOUS NUMBER THREE 187

to quit, I certainly ought to want to, and that I was

willing to do anything in the world to stop drinking.

I was willing to admit to myself that I had hit bot-

tom, that I had gotten hold of something that I didn’t

know how to handle by myself. So after reviewing

these things and realizing what liquor had cost me, I

went to this Higher Power that, to me, was God, with-

out any reservation, and admitted that I was com-

pletely powerless over alcohol and that I was willing

to do anything in the world to get rid of the problem.

In fact, I admitted that from then on I was willing to

let God take over instead of me. Each day I would

try to ﬁnd out what His will was and try to follow

that, rather than trying to get Him to always agree

that the things I thought up for myself were the things

best for me. So, when they came back, I told them.

One of the fellows, I think it was Doc, said, “Well,

you want to quit?” I said, “Yes, Doc, I would like to

quit, at least for ﬁve, six, or eight months, until I get

things straightened up, and begin to get the respect of

my wife and some other people back, and get my

ﬁnances ﬁxed up and so on.” And they both laughed

very heartily and said, “That’s better than you’ve been

doing, isn’t it?” Which of course was true. They said,

“We’ve got some bad news for you. It was bad news

for us, and it will probably be bad news for you.

Whether you quit six days, months, or years, if you go

out and take a drink or two, you’ll end up in this hos-

pital tied down, just like you have been in these past

six months. You are an alcoholic.” As far as I know

that was the ﬁrst time I had ever paid any attention

to that word. I ﬁgured I was just a drunk. And they

said, “No, you have a disease, and it doesn’t make any

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188 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

difference how long you do without it, after a drink or

two you’ll end up just like you are now.” That cer-

tainly was real disheartening news, at the time.

The next question they asked was, “You can quit

twenty-four hours, can’t you?” I said, “Sure, yes, any-

body can do that, for twenty-four hours.” They said,

“That’s what we’re talking about. Just twenty-four

hours at a time.” That sure did take a load off of my

mind. Every time I’d start thinking about drinking, I

would think of the long, dry years ahead without hav-

ing a drink; but this idea of twenty-four hours, that it

was up to me from then on, was a lot of help.

(At this point, the Editors intrude just long enough to

supplement Bill D.’s account, that of the man on the bed,

with that of Bill W., the man who sat by the side of the

bed.) Says Bill W.:

Nineteen years ago last summer, Dr. Bob and I saw him

(Bill D.) for the ﬁrst time. Bill lay on his hospital bed and

looked at us in wonder.

Two days before this, Dr. Bob had said to me, “If you

and I are going to stay sober, we had better get busy.”

Straightway, Bob called Akron’s City Hospital and asked

for the nurse on the receiving ward. He explained that he

and a man from New York had a cure for alcoholism. Did

she have an alcoholic customer on whom it could be tried?

Knowing Bob of old, she jokingly replied, “Well, Doctor,

I suppose you’ve already tried it yourself?”

Yes, she did have a customer—a dandy. He had just

arrived in D.T.’s, had blacked the eyes of two nurses, and

now they had him strapped down tight. Would this one do?

After prescribing medicines, Dr. Bob ordered, “Put him in

a private room. We’ll be down as soon as he clears up.”

Bill didn’t seem too impressed. Looking sadder than

ever, he wearily ventured, “Well, this is wonderful for you

fellows, but it can’t be for me. My case is so terrible that

I’m scared to go out of this hospital at all. You don’t have

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ALCOHOLIC ANONYMOUS NUMBER THREE 189

to sell me religion, either. I was at one time a deacon in

the church, and I still believe in God. But I guess He

doesn’t believe much in me.”

Then Dr. Bob said, “Well, Bill, maybe you’ll feel better

tomorrow. Wouldn’t you like to see us again?”

“Sure I would,” replied Bill, “Maybe it won’t do any

good, but I’d like to see you both, anyhow. You certainly

know what you are talking about.”

Looking in later, we found Bill with his wife, Henrietta.

Eagerly he pointed to us saying, “These are the fellows I

told you about; they are the ones who understand.”

Bill then related how he had lain awake nearly all night.

Down in the pit of his depression, new hope had somehow

been born. The thought ﬂashed through his mind, “If

they can do it, I can do it!” Over and over he said this to

himself. Finally, out of his hope, there burst conviction.

Now he was sure. Then came a great joy. At length, peace

stole over him and he slept.

Before our visit was over, Bill suddenly turned to his wife

and said, “Go fetch my clothes, dear. We’re going to

get up and get out of here.” Bill D. walked out of that

hospital a free man, never to drink again.

A.A.’s Number One Group dates from that very day.

(Bill D. now continues his story.)

It was in the next two or three days after I had ﬁrst

met Doc and Bill that I ﬁnally came to a decision to

turn my will over to God and to go along with this

program the best that I could. Their talk and action

had instilled in me a certain amount of conﬁdence,

although I was not too absolutely certain. I wasn’t

afraid that the program wouldn’t work, but I still was

doubtful whether I would be able to hang on to the

program, but I did come to the conclusion that I was

willing to put everything I had into it, with God’s

power, and that I wanted to do just that. As soon as

I had done that, I did feel a great release. I knew that

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190 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

I had a helper whom I could rely upon, who wouldn’t

fail me. If I could stick to Him and listen, I would

make it. I remember when the boys came back,

I told them, “I have gone to this Higher Power, and

I have told Him that I am willing to put His world

ﬁrst, above everything. I have already done it, and I

am willing to do it again here in the presence of you,

or I am willing to say it any place, anywhere in the

world from now on and not be ashamed of it.” And

this certainly gave me a lot of conﬁdence and seemed

to take a lot of the burden off me.

I remember telling them too that it was going to be

awfully tough, because I did some other things,

smoked cigarettes and played penny ante poker and

sometimes bet on the horse races, and they said,

“Don’t you think you’re having more trouble with

this drinking than with anything else at the present

time? Don’t you believe you are going to have all

you can do to get rid of that?” “Yes,” I said, reluc-

tantly, “I probably will.” They said, “Let’s forget about

those other things, that is, trying to eliminate them

all at once, and concentrate on the drink.” Of course,

we had talked over quite a number of the failings that

I had and made a sort of an inventory, which wasn’t

too difﬁcult, because I had an awful lot of things

wrong that were very apparent to me. Then they said,

“There is one other thing. You should go out and take

this program to somebody else who needs it and

wants it.”

Of course, by this time, my business was practically

nonexistent. I didn’t have any. Naturally, for quite

a time, I wasn’t too well physically, either. It took me

a year, or a year and a half, to get to feeling physically

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ALCOHOLIC ANONYMOUS NUMBER THREE 191

well, and it was rather tough, but I soon found folks

whose friendship I had once had, and I found, after I

had been sober for quite some little time, that these

people began to act like they had in previous years,

before I had gotten so bad, so that I didn’t pay too aw-

ful much attention to ﬁnancial gains. I spent most of

my time trying to get back these friendships and to

make some recompense toward my wife, whom I had

hurt a lot.

It would be hard to estimate how much A.A. has

done for me. I really wanted the program, and I

wanted to go along with it. I noticed that the others

seemed to have such a release, a happiness, a some-

thing that I thought a person ought to have. I was

trying to ﬁnd the answer. I knew there was even

more, something that I hadn’t got, and I remember one

day, a week or two after I had come out of the hospi-

tal, Bill was at my house talking to my wife and

me. We were eating lunch, and I was listening and

trying to ﬁnd out why they had this release that they

seemed to have. Bill looked across at my wife and said

to her, “Henrietta, the Lord has been so wonderful to

me, curing me of this terrible disease, that I just want

to keep talking about it and telling people.”

I thought, I think I have the answer. Bill was

very, very grateful that he had been released from this

terrible thing and he had given God the credit for

having done it, and he’s so grateful about it he wants

to tell other people about it. That sentence, “The Lord

has been so wonderful to me, curing me of this terri-

ble disease, that I just want to keep telling people

about it,” has been a sort of a golden text for the A.A.

program and for me.

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192 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

Of course, as time went on, I began to get my

health back and began to be so I didn’t have to hide

from people all the time—it’s just been wonderful. I

still go to meetings, because I like to go. I meet the

people that I like to talk to. Another reason that I go

is that I’m still grateful for the good years that I’ve

had. I’m so grateful for both the program and the peo-

ple in it that I still want to go. And then probably the

most wonderful thing that I have learned from the

program—I’ve seen this in the A.A. Grapevine a lot of

times, and I’ve had people say it to me personally, and

I’ve heard people get up in meetings and say it—is

this statement: “I came into A.A. solely for the pur-

pose of sobriety, but it has been through A.A. that I

have found God.”

I feel that is about the most wonderful thing that a

person can do.

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(2)

GRATITUDE IN ACTION

The story of Dave B., one of the founders of A.A. in

Canada in 1944.

I believe it would be good to tell the story of my

life. Doing so will give me the opportunity to re-

member that I must be grateful to God and to those

members of Alcoholics Anonymous who knew A.A.

before me. Telling my story reminds me that I could

go back to where I was if I forget the wonderful things

that have been given to me or forget that God is the

guide who keeps me on this path.

In June 1924, I was sixteen years old and had just

graduated from high school in Sherbrooke, Quebec.

Some of my friends suggested that we go for a beer. I

had never had beer or any other form of alcohol. I

don’t know why, since we always had alcohol at home

(I should add that no one in my family was ever con-

sidered an alcoholic). Well, I was afraid my friends

wouldn’t like me if I didn’t do as they did. I knew

ﬁrsthand that mysterious state of people who appear

to be sure of themselves but are actually eaten alive

with fear inside. I had a rather strong inferiority com-

plex. I believe I lacked what my father used to call

“character.” So on that nice summer day in an old inn

in Sherbrooke, I didn’t ﬁnd the courage to say no.

I became an active alcoholic from that ﬁrst day,

when alcohol produced a very special effect in me. I

193

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194 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

was transformed. Alcohol suddenly made me into

what I had always wanted to be.

Alcohol became my everyday companion. At ﬁrst, I

considered it a friend; later, it became a heavy load I

couldn’t get rid of. It turned out to be much more

powerful than I was, even if, for many years, I could

stay sober for short periods. I kept telling myself that

one way or another I would get rid of alcohol. I was

convinced I would ﬁnd a way to stop drinking. I didn’t

want to acknowledge that alcohol had become so im-

portant in my life. Indeed, alcohol was giving me

something I didn’t want to lose.

In 1934, a series of mishaps occurred because of my

drinking. I had to come back from Western Canada

because the bank I worked for lost conﬁdence in me.

An elevator accident cost me all of the toes of one foot

and a skull fracture. I was in the hospital for months.

My excessive drinking also caused a brain hemor-

rhage, which completely paralyzed one side of my

body. I probably did my First Step the day I came by

ambulance to Western Hospital. A night-shift nurse

asked me, “Mr. B., why do you drink so much? You

have a wonderful wife, a bright little boy. You have no

reason to drink like that. Why do you?” Being honest

for the ﬁrst time, I said, “I don’t know, Nurse. I really

don’t know.” That was many years before I learned

about the Fellowship.

You might think I’d tell myself, “If alcohol causes so

much harm, I will stop drinking.” But I found count-

less reasons to prove to myself that alcohol had noth-

ing to do with my misfortunes. I told myself it was

because of fate, because everyone was against me, be-

cause things weren’t going well. I sometimes thought

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GRATITUDE IN ACTION 195

that God did not exist. I thought, “If this loving God

exists, as they say, He would not treat me this way.

God would not act like this.” I felt sorry for myself a

lot in those days.

My family and employers were concerned about my

drinking, but I had become rather arrogant. I bought

a 1931 Ford with an inheritance from my grand-

mother, and my wife and I made a trip to Cape Cod.

On the way back, we stopped at my uncle’s place in

New Hampshire. This uncle had taken me under his

wing at the time of my mother’s death, and he worried

about me. Now he said to me, “Dave, if you stop

drinking for a full year, I will give you the Ford road-

ster I just bought.” I loved that car, so I immediately

promised I wouldn’t drink for a whole year. And I

meant it. Yet I was drinking again before we reached

the Canadian border. I was powerless over alcohol. I

was learning that I could do nothing to ﬁght it off,

even while I was denying the fact.

On Easter weekend 1944, I found myself in a jail

cell in Montreal. By now, I was drinking to escape the

horrible thoughts I had whenever I was sober enough

to become aware of my situation. I was drinking to

avoid seeing what I had become. The job I’d had for

twenty years and the new car were long gone. I had

undergone three stays in a psychiatric hospital. God

knows I didn’t want to drink, yet to my great despair,

I always returned to the infernal merry-go-round.

I wondered how this misery would end. I was full of

fear. I was afraid to tell others what I felt lest they

would think I was insane. I was terribly lonely, full of

self-pity, and terriﬁed. Most of all, I was in a deep de-

pression.

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196 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

Then I recalled a book given to me by my sister

Jean about drunks as desperate as I was who had

found a way to stop drinking. According to this book,

these drunks had found a way to live like other human

beings: to get up in the morning, go to work, and re-

turn home in the evening. This book was about

Alcoholics Anonymous.

I decided to get in touch with them. I had much

difﬁculty in reaching A.A. in New York, as A.A. wasn’t

as well-known then. I ﬁnally spoke to a woman,

Bobbie, who said words I hope I never forget: “I am

an alcoholic. We have recovered. If you want, we’ll

help you.” She told me about herself and added that

many other drunks had used this method to stop

drinking. What impressed me most in this conversa-

tion was the fact that these people, ﬁve hundred miles

away, cared enough to try to help me. Here I was,

feeling so sorry for myself, convinced that no one

cared whether I was dead or alive.

I was very surprised when I got a copy of the Big

Book in the mail the following day. And each day after

that, for nearly a year, I got a letter or a note, some-

thing from Bobbie or from Bill or one of the other

members of the central office in New York. In

October 1944, Bobbie wrote: “You sound very sincere

and from now on we will be counting on you to per-

petuate the Fellowship of A.A. where you are. You will

ﬁnd enclosed some queries from alcoholics. We think

you are now ready to take on this responsibility.” She

had enclosed some four hundred letters that I an-

swered in the course of the following weeks. Soon, I

began to get answers back.

In my new enthusiasm, and having found an answer

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GRATITUDE IN ACTION 197

to my problem, I told Dorie, my wife, “You can quit

your job now; I will take care of you. From now on,

you will take the place you deserve in this family.”

However, she knew better. She said, “No, Dave, I will

keep my job for a year while you go save the drunks.”

That is exactly what I set out to do.

As I look back on it now, I did everything wrong,

but at least I was thinking of somebody else instead of

myself. I had begun to get a little bit of something I

am very full of now, and that is gratitude. I was be-

coming increasingly grateful to the people in New

York and to the God they referred to but whom I

found difﬁcult to reach. (Yet I realized I had to seek

the Higher Power I was told about.)

I was all alone in Quebec at that time. The Toronto

Group had been in operation since the previous fall,

and there was a member in Windsor who attended

meetings across the river in Detroit. That was A.A. in

its entirety in this country.

One day I got a letter from a man in Halifax who

wrote, “One of my friends, a drunk, works in

Montreal, but he is currently in Chicago, where he

went on a major binge. When he returns to Montreal,

I’d like you to talk to him.”

I met this man at his home. His wife was cooking

dinner, their young daughter at her side. The man was

wearing a velvet jacket and sitting comfortably in his

parlor. I hadn’t met many people from high society. I

immediately thought, “What’s going on here? This

man isn’t an alcoholic!” Jack was a down-to-earth per-

son. He was used to discussions about psychiatry, and

the concept of a Higher Power didn’t appeal to him

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198 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

very much. But from our meeting, A.A. was born here

in Quebec.

The Fellowship started to grow, most particularly

following the publicity we got in the Gazette in the

spring of 1945. I will never forget the day that Mary

came to see me—she was the ﬁrst woman to join our

Fellowship here. She was very shy and reserved, very

low-key. She had heard of the Fellowship through the

Gazette.

For the ﬁrst year, all the meetings were held in my

home. There were people all over the house. The

wives of members used to come with their husbands,

though we didn’t allow them in our closed meetings.

They used to sit on the bed or in the kitchen, where

they would make coffee and snacks. I believe they

were wondering what would happen to us. Yet they

were as happy as we were.

The ﬁrst two French Canadians to learn about A.A.

did so in the basement of my home. All French-speak-

ing meetings in existence today were born out of those

early meetings.

At the end of my ﬁrst year of sobriety, my wife

agreed to leave her job after I found some work. I

thought that would be easy. All I had to do was go see

an employer and I’d be able to support my family in

a normal fashion. However, I looked for work for

many months. We didn’t have much money, and I was

spending the little we had going from one place to the

other, answering ads and meeting people. I was get-

ting more and more discouraged. One day, a member

said, “Dave, why don’t you apply at the aircraft fac-

tory? I know a fellow there who could help you.” So

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GRATITUDE IN ACTION 199

that was where I got my ﬁrst job. There really is a

Higher Power looking after us.

One of the most fundamental things I have learned

is to pass on our message to other alcoholics. That

means I must think more about others than about my-

self. The most important thing is to practice these

principles in all my affairs. In my opinion, that is what

Alcoholics Anonymous is all about.

I never forgot a passage I ﬁrst read in the copy of

the Big Book that Bobbie sent me: “Abandon yourself

to God as you understand God. Admit your faults to

Him and to your fellows. Clear away the wreckage of

your past. Give freely of what you ﬁnd and join us.” It

is very simple—though not always easy. But it can be

done.

I know the Fellowship of A.A. doesn’t offer any

guarantees, but I also know that in the future I do not

have to drink. I want to keep this life of peace, seren-

ity, and tranquility that I have found. Today, I have

found again the home I left and the woman I married

when she was still so young. We have two more chil-

dren, and they think their dad is an important man. I

have all these wonderful things—people who mean

more to me than anything in the world. I shall keep all

that, and I won’t have to drink, if I remember one

simple thing: to keep my hand in the hand of God.

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(3)

WOMEN SUFFER TOO

Despite great opportunities, alcohol nearly ended

her life. An early member, she spread the word among

women in our pioneering period.

W hat was I saying...from far away, as if in

a delirium, I heard my own voice—calling

someone “Dorothy,” talking of dress shops, of jobs

. . . the words came clearer... this sound of my own

voice frightened me as it came closer... and sud-

denly, there I was, talking of I knew not what, to

someone I’d never seen before that very moment.

Abruptly I stopped speaking. Where was I?

I’d waked up in strange rooms before, fully dressed

on a bed or a couch; I’d waked up in my own room,

in or on my own bed, not knowing what hour or day

it was, afraid to ask... but this was different. This

time I seemed to be already awake, sitting upright in

a big easy chair, in the middle of an animated con-

versation with a perfectly strange young woman who

didn’t appear to think it strange. She was chatting on,

pleasantly and comfortably.

Terriﬁed, I looked around. I was in a large, dark,

rather poorly furnished room—the living room of a

basement ﬂat. Cold chills started chasing up and

down my spine; my teeth were chattering; my hands

were shaking, so I tucked them under me to keep them

from ﬂying away. My fright was real enough, but it

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WOMEN SUFFER TOO 201

didn’t account for these violent reactions. I knew

what they were, all right—a drink would ﬁx them. It

must have been a long time since I had my last drink

—but I didn’t dare ask this stranger for one. I must

get out of here. In any case I must get out of here

before I let slip my abysmal ignorance of how I came

to be here and she realized that I was stark, staring

mad. I was mad—I must be.

The shakes grew worse, and I looked at my watch—

six o’clock. It had been one o’clock when I last re-

membered looking. I’d been sitting comfortably in a

restaurant with Rita, drinking my sixth martini and

hoping the waiter would forget about the lunch order

—at least long enough for me to have a couple more.

I’d only had two with her, but I’d managed four in

the ﬁfteen minutes I’d waited for her, and of course

I’d had the usual uncounted swigs from the bottle as

I painfully got up and did my slow spasmodic dressing.

In fact, I had been in very good shape at one o’clock

—feeling no pain. What could have happened? That

had been in the center of New York, on noisy 42nd

Street... this was obviously a quiet residential sec-

tion. Why had “Dorothy” brought me here? Who

was she? How had I met her? I had no answers, and

I dared not ask. She gave no sign of recognizing any-

thing wrong, but what had I been doing for those

lost ﬁve hours? My brain whirled. I might have done

terrible things, and I wouldn’t even know it!

Somehow I got out of there and walked ﬁve blocks

past brownstone houses. There wasn’t a bar in sight,

but I found the subway station. The name on it was

unfamiliar, and I had to ask the way to Grand Central.

It took three-quarters of an hour and two changes to

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202 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

get there—back to my starting point. I had been in

the remote reaches of Brooklyn.

That night I got very drunk, which was usual, but

I remembered everything, which was very unusual. I

remembered going through what my sister assured me

was my nightly procedure of trying to ﬁnd Willie Sea-

brook’s name in the telephone book. I remembered

my loud resolution to ﬁnd him and ask him to help

me get into that “Asylum” he had written about. I

remembered asserting that I was going to do some-

thing about this, that I couldn’t go on...I remem-

bered looking longingly at the window as an easier

solution and shuddering at the memory of that other

window, three years before, and the six agonizing

months in a London hospital ward. I remembered

ﬁlling the peroxide bottle in my medicine chest with

gin, in case my sister found the bottle I hid under the

mattress. And I remembered the creeping horror of

the interminable night, in which I slept for short spells

and woke dripping with cold sweat and shaken with

utter despair, to drink hastily from my bottle and

mercifully pass out again. “You’re mad, you’re mad,

you’re mad!” pounded through my brain with each

returning ray of consciousness, and I drowned the

refrain with drink.

That went on for two more months before I landed

in a hospital and started my slow ﬁght back to nor-

malcy. It had been going on like that for over a year.

I was thirty-two years old.

When I look back on that last horrible year of con-

stant drinking, I wonder how I survived it, either

physically or mentally. For there were, of course,

periods of clear realization of what I had become,

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WOMEN SUFFER TOO 203

attended by memories of what I had been, what I had

expected to be. And the contrast was pretty shatter-

ing. Sitting in a Second Avenue bar, accepting drinks

from anyone who offered, after my small stake was

gone, or sitting at home alone, with the inevitable

glass in my hand, I would remember, and, remember-

ing, I would drink faster, seeking speedy oblivion. It

was hard to reconcile this ghastly present with the

simple facts of the past.

My family had money—I had never known denial

of any material desire. The best boarding schools and

a ﬁnishing school in Europe had ﬁtted me for the con-

ventional role of debutante and young matron. The

times in which I grew up (the Prohibition era immor-

talized by Scott Fitzgerald and John Held Jr.) had

taught me to be gay with the gayest; my own inner

urges led me to outdo them all. The year after coming

out, I married. So far, so good—all according to plan,

like thousands of others. But then the story became

my own. My husband was an alcoholic, and since I

had only contempt for those without my own amaz-

ing capacity, the outcome was inevitable. My divorce

coincided with my father’s bankruptcy, and I went to

work, casting off all allegiances and responsibilities to

anyone other than myself. For me, work was only a

different means to the same end, to be able to do

exactly what I wanted to do.

For the next ten years I did just that. For greater

freedom and excitement I went abroad to live. I had

my own business, successful enough for me to indulge

most of my desires. I met all the people I wanted to

meet; I saw all the places I wanted to see; I did all the

things I wanted to do—I was increasingly miserable.

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204 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

Headstrong and willful, I rushed from pleasure

to pleasure and found the returns diminishing to the

vanishing point. Hangovers began to assume mon-

strous proportions, and the morning drink became an

urgent necessity. “Blanks” were more frequent, and I

seldom knew how I’d got home. When my friends

suggested that I was drinking too much, they were no

longer my friends. I moved from group to group—

then from place to place—and went on drinking. With

a creeping insidiousness, drink had become more im-

portant than anything else. It no longer gave me

pleasure—it merely dulled the pain—but I had to

have it. I was bitterly unhappy. No doubt I had been

an exile too long—I should go home to America. I did.

And to my surprise, my drinking grew worse.

When I entered a sanitarium for prolonged and

intensive psychiatric treatment, I was convinced that

I was having a serious mental breakdown. I wanted

help, and I tried to cooperate. As the treatment

progressed, I began to get a picture of myself, of the

temperament that had caused me so much trouble.

I had been hypersensitive, shy, idealistic. My inability

to accept the harsh realities of life had resulted in a

disillusioned cynic, clothed in a protective armor

against the world’s misunderstanding. That armor had

turned into prison walls, locking me in loneliness—and

fear. All I had left was an iron determination to live

my own life in spite of the alien world—and here I was,

an inwardly frightened, outwardly defiant woman,

who desperately needed a prop to keep going.

Alcohol was that prop, and I didn’t see how I could

live without it. When my doctor told me I should

never touch a drink again, I couldn’t afford to believe

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WOMEN SUFFER TOO 205

him. I had to persist in my attempts to get straight-

ened out enough to be able to use the drinks I needed,

without their turning on me. Besides, how could he

understand? He wasn’t a drinking man; he didn’t

know what it was to need a drink, nor what a drink

could do for one in a pinch. I wanted to live, not in a

desert, but in a normal world; and my idea of a normal

world was being among people who drank—teeto-

talers were not included. And I was sure that I

couldn’t be with people who drank, without drinking.

In that I was correct: I couldn’t be comfortable with

any kind of people without drinking. I never had been.

Naturally, in spite of my good intentions, in spite

of my protected life behind sanitarium walls, I several

times got drunk and was astounded...and badly

shaken.

That was the point at which my doctor gave me

the book Alcoholics Anonymous to read. The ﬁrst

chapters were a revelation to me. I wasn’t the only

person in the world who felt and behaved like this!

I wasn’t mad or vicious—I was a sick person. I was

suffering from an actual disease that had a name and

symptoms like diabetes or cancer or TB—and a disease

was respectable, not a moral stigma! But then I hit a

snag. I couldn’t stomach religion, and I didn’t like the

mention of God or any of the other capital letters. If

that was the way out, it wasn’t for me. I was an in-

tellectual and I needed an intellectual answer, not an

emotional one. I told my doctor so in no uncertain

terms. I wanted to learn to stand on my own feet, not

to change one prop for another, and an intangible and

dubious one at that. And so on and on, for several

weeks, while I grudgingly plowed through some more

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206 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

of the offending book and felt more and more hope-

less about myself.

Then the miracle happened—to me! It isn’t always

so sudden with everyone, but I ran into a personal cri-

sis that ﬁlled me with a raging and righteous anger.

And as I fumed helplessly and planned to get good

and drunk and show them, my eye caught a sentence

in the book lying open on my bed: “We cannot live

with anger.” The walls crumpled—and the light

streamed in. I wasn’t trapped. I wasn’t helpless. I

was free, and I didn’t have to drink to “show them.”

This wasn’t “religion”—this was freedom! Freedom

from anger and fear, freedom to know happiness, and

freedom to know love.

I went to a meeting to see for myself this group of

freaks or bums who had done this thing. To go into

a gathering of people was the sort of thing that all my

life, from the time I left my private world of books

and dreams to meet the real world of people and

parties and jobs, had left me feeling an uncomfortable

outsider, needing the warming stimulus of drinks to

join in. I went trembling into a house in Brooklyn

ﬁlled with strangers... and I found I had come home

at last, to my own kind. There is another meaning for

the Hebrew word that in the King James version of

the Bible is translated “salvation.” It is: “to come

home.” I had found my salvation. I wasn’t alone any

more.

That was the beginning of a new life, a fuller life,

a happier life than I had ever known or believed pos-

sible. I had found friends—understanding friends who

often knew what I was thinking and feeling better

than I knew myself—and who didn’t allow me to re-

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WOMEN SUFFER TOO 207

treat into my prison of loneliness and fear over a

fancied slight or hurt. Talking things over with them,

great ﬂoods of enlightenment showed me myself as I

really was—and I was like them. We all had hundreds

of character traits, fears and phobias, likes and dislikes,

in common. Suddenly I could accept myself, faults

and all, as I was—for weren’t we all like that? And,

accepting, I felt a new inner comfort and the willing-

ness and strength to do something about the traits

I couldn’t live with.

It didn’t stop there. They knew what to do about

those black abysses that yawned, ready to swallow me,

when I felt depressed or nervous. There was a con-

crete program, designed to secure the greatest possible

inner security for us long-time escapists. The feeling

of impending disaster that had haunted me for years

began to dissolve as I put into practice more and more

of the Twelve Steps. It worked!

An active member of A.A. since 1939, I feel myself

a useful member of the human race at last. I have

something to contribute to humanity, since I am

peculiarly qualiﬁed, as a fellow-sufferer, to give aid

and comfort to those who have stumbled and fallen

over this business of meeting life. I get my greatest

thrill of accomplishment from the knowledge that I

have played a part in the new happiness achieved by

countless others like myself. The fact that I can work

again and earn my living is important but secondary.

I believe that my once overweening self-will has ﬁnally

found its proper place, for I can say many times daily,

“Thy will be done, not mine”... and mean it.

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(4)

OUR SOUTHERN FRIEND

Pioneer A.A., minister’s son, and southern farmer,

he asked, “Who am I to say there is no God?”

F ather is an Episcopal minister and his work

takes him over long drives on bad roads. His

parishioners are limited in number, but his friends are

many, for to him race, creed, or social position makes

no difference. It is not long before he drives up in the

buggy. Both he and old Maud are glad to get home.

The drive was long and cold but he was thankful for

the hot bricks that some thoughtful person had given

him for his feet. Soon supper is on the table. Father

says grace, which delays my attack on the buckwheat

cakes and sausage.

Bedtime comes. I climb to my room in the attic.

It is cold, so there is no delay. I crawl under a pile of

blankets and blow out the candle. The wind is rising

and howls around the house. But I am safe and warm.

I fall into a dreamless sleep.

I am in church. Father is delivering his sermon. A

wasp is crawling up the back of the lady in front of

me. I wonder if it will reach her neck. Shucks! It has

ﬂown away. At last! The message has been delivered.

“Let your light so shine before men that they may

see your good works—.” I hunt for my nickel to drop

in the plate so that mine will be seen.

I am in another fellow’s room at college. “Fresh-

208

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OUR SOUTHERN FRIEND 209

man,” said he to me, “do you ever take a drink?” I hes-

itated. Father had never directly spoken to me about

drinking but he never drank any, so far as I knew.

Mother hated liquor and feared a drunken man. Her

brother had been a drinker and had died in a state

hospital for the insane. But his life was unmentioned,

so far as I was concerned. I had never had a drink, but

I had seen enough merriment in the boys who were

drinking to be interested. I would never be like the

village drunkard at home.

“Well,” said the older boy, “do you?”

“Once in a while,” I lied. I could not let him think

I was a sissy.

He poured out two drinks. “Here’s looking at you,”

said he. I gulped it down and choked. I didn’t like it,

but I would not say so. A mellow glow stole over me.

This wasn’t so bad after all. Sure, I’d have another.

The glow increased. Other boys came in. My tongue

loosened. Everyone laughed loudly. I was witty. I had

no inferiorities. Why, I wasn’t even ashamed of my

skinny legs! This was the real thing!

A haze ﬁlled the room. The electric light began to

move. Then two bulbs appeared. The faces of the

other boys grew dim. How sick I felt. I staggered to

the bathroom. Shouldn’t have drunk so much or so

fast. But I knew how to handle it now. I’d drink like a

gentleman after this.

And so I met John Barleycorn. The grand fellow

who at my call made me a hail-fellow-well-met, who

gave me such a ﬁne voice, as we sang “Hail, hail, the

gang’s all here” and “Sweet Adeline,” who gave me

freedom from fear and feelings of inferiority. Good

old John! He was my pal, all right.

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210 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

Final exams of my senior year and I may somehow

graduate. I would never have tried, but mother counts

on it so. A case of measles saved me from being kicked

out during my sophomore year.

But the end is in sight. My last exam and an easy

one. I gaze at the board with its questions. Can’t re-

member the answer to the ﬁrst. I’ll try the second. No

soap there. I don’t seem to remember anything. I

concentrate on one of the questions. I don’t seem to

be able to keep my mind on what I am doing. I get

uneasy. If I don’t get started soon, I won’t have time

to ﬁnish. No use. I can’t think.

I leave the room, which the honor system allows. I

go to my room. I pour out half a tumbler of grain

alcohol and ﬁll it with ginger ale. Now back to the

exam. My pen moves rapidly. I know enough of the

answers to get by. Good old John Barleycorn! He can

be depended on. What a wonderful power he has over

the mind! He has given me my diploma!

Underweight! How I hate that word. Three at-

tempts to enlist in the service, and three failures be-

cause of being skinny. True, I have recently recovered

from pneumonia and have an alibi, but my friends are

in the war or going, and I am not. I visit a friend who

is awaiting orders. The atmosphere of “eat, drink, and

be merry” prevails and I absorb it. I drink a lot every

night. I can hold a lot now, more than the others.

I am examined for the draft and pass the physical

test. I am to go to camp on November 13. The

Armistice is signed on the eleventh, and the draft is

called off. Never in the service! The war leaves me

with a pair of blankets, a toilet kit, a sweater knit by

my sister, and a still greater sense of inferiority.

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OUR SOUTHERN FRIEND 211

It is ten o’clock of a Saturday night. I am working

hard on the books of a subsidiary company of a large

corporation. I have had experience in selling, in collect-

ing, and in accounting, and I am on my way up

the ladder.

Then the crack-up. Cotton struck the skids and col-

lections went cold. A twenty-three million dollar

surplus wiped out. Ofﬁces closed up and workers dis-

charged. I, and the books of my division, have been

transferred to the head ofﬁce. I have no assistance

and am working nights, Saturdays, and Sundays. My

salary has been cut. My wife and new baby are for-

tunately staying with relatives. I feel exhausted. The

doctor has told me that if I don’t give up inside work,

I’ll have tuberculosis. But what am I to do? I have

a family to support and have no time to be looking for

another job.

I reach for the bottle that I just got from George,

the elevator boy.

I am a traveling salesman. The day is over and

business has been not so good. I’ll go to bed. I wish

I were home with the family and not in this dingy

hotel.

Well—well—look who’s here! Good old Charlie! It’s

great to see him. How’s the boy? A drink? You bet

your life! We buy a gallon of “corn” because it is so

cheap. Yet I am fairly steady when I go to bed.

Morning comes. I feel horrible. A little drink will

put me on my feet. But it takes others to keep me

there.

I become a teacher in a boys’ school. I am happy

in my work. I like the boys and we have lots of fun,

in class and out.

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212 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

The doctor bills are heavy and the bank account is

low. My wife’s parents come to our assistance. I am

ﬁlled with hurt pride and self-pity. I seem to get no

sympathy for my illness and have no appreciation of

the love behind the gift.

I call the bootlegger and ﬁll up my charred keg.

But I do not wait for the charred keg to work. I get

drunk. My wife is extremely unhappy. Her father

comes to sit with me. He never says an unkind word.

He is a real friend, but I do not appreciate him.

We are staying with my wife’s father. Her mother

is in a critical condition at a hospital. I cannot sleep.

I must get myself together. I sneak downstairs and get

a bottle of whiskey from the cellaret. I pour drinks

down my throat. My father-in-law appears. “Have

a drink?” I ask. He makes no reply and hardly seems

to see me. His wife dies that night.

Mother has been dying of cancer for a long time.

She is near the end now and is in a hospital. I have

been drinking a lot but never get drunk. Mother must

never know. I see her about to go.

I return to the hotel where I am staying and get gin

from the bellboy. I drink and go to bed; I take a few

the next morning and go see my mother once more.

I cannot stand it. I go back to the hotel and get more

gin. I drink steadily. I come to at three in the morn-

ing. The indescribable torture has me again. I turn

on the light. I must get out of the room or I shall

jump out of the window. I walk miles. No use. I go to

the hospital, where I have made friends with the

night superintendent. She puts me to bed and gives

me a hypodermic.

I am at the hospital to see my wife. We have an-

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OUR SOUTHERN FRIEND 213

other child. But she is not glad to see me. I have

been drinking while the baby was arriving. Her father

stays with her.

It is a cold, bleak day in November. I have fought

hard to stop drinking. Each battle has ended in de-

feat. I tell my wife I cannot stop drinking. She begs

me to go to a hospital for alcoholics that has been

recommended. I say I will go. She makes the ar-

rangements, but I will not go. I’ll do it all myself.

This time I’m off of it for good. I’ll just take a few

beers now and then.

It is the last day of the following October, a dark,

rainy morning. I come to on a pile of hay in a barn.

I look for liquor and can’t ﬁnd any. I wander to a

table and drink ﬁve bottles of beer. I must get some

liquor. Suddenly I feel hopeless, unable to go on. I

go home. My wife is in the living room. She had

looked for me last evening after I left the car and

wandered off into the night. She had looked for me

this morning. She has reached the end of her rope.

There is no use trying any more, for there is nothing

to try. “Don’t say anything,” I say to her. “I am

going to do something.”

I am in the hospital for alcoholics. I am an alco-

holic. The insane asylum lies ahead. Could I have

myself locked up at home? One more foolish idea. I

might go out West on a ranch where I couldn’t get

anything to drink. I might do that. Another foolish

idea. I wish I were dead, as I have often wished be-

fore. I am too yellow to kill myself.

Four alcoholics play bridge in a smoke-ﬁlled room.

Anything to get my mind from myself. The game is

over and the other three leave. I start to clean up the

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214 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

debris. One man comes back, closing the door behind

him.

He looks at me. “You think you are hopeless, don’t

you?” he asks.

“I know it,” I reply.

“Well, you’re not,” says the man. “There are men

on the streets of New York today who were worse

than you, and they don’t drink anymore.”

“What are you doing here then?” I ask.

“I went out of here nine days ago saying that I was

going to be honest, but I wasn’t,” he answers.

A fanatic, I thought to myself, but I was polite.

“What is it?” I enquire.

Then he asks me if I believe in a power greater

than myself, whether I call that power God, Allah,

Confucius, Prime Cause, Divine Mind, or any other

name. I told him that I believe in electricity and

other forces of nature, but as for a God, if there is one,

He has never done anything for me. Then he asks me

if I am willing to right all the wrongs I have ever

done to anyone, no matter how wrong I thought the

others were. Am I willing to be honest with myself

about myself and tell someone about myself, and am

I willing to think of other people, of their needs instead

of myself, in order to get rid of the drink problem?

“I’ll do anything,” I reply.

“Then all of your troubles are over,” says the man

and leaves the room. The man is in bad mental shape

certainly. I pick up a book and try to read, but I can-

not concentrate. I get in bed and turn out the light.

But I cannot sleep. Suddenly a thought comes. Can

all the worthwhile people I have known be wrong

about God? Then I ﬁnd myself thinking about myself

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OUR SOUTHERN FRIEND 215

and a few things that I had wanted to forget. I begin

to see I am not the person I had thought myself, that

I had judged myself by comparing myself to others

and always to my own advantage. It is a shock.

Then comes a thought that is like a voice. “Who

are you to say there is no God?” It rings in my head;

I can’t get rid of it.

I get out of bed and go to the man’s room. He is

reading. “I must ask you a question,” I say to the

man. “How does prayer ﬁt into this thing?”

“Well,” he answers, “you’ve probably tried praying

like I have. When you’ve been in a jam, you’ve said,

‘God, please do this or that,’ and if it turned out your

way that was the last of it, and, if it didn’t, you’ve said

‘There isn’t any God’ or ‘He doesn’t do anything for

me.’ Is that right?”

“Yes,” I reply.

“That isn’t the way,” he continued. “The thing I do

is to say ‘God, here I am and here are all my troubles.

I’ve made a mess of things and can’t do anything about

it. You take me, and all my troubles, and do anything

you want with me.’ Does that answer your question?”

“Yes, it does,” I answer. I return to bed. It doesn’t

make sense. Suddenly I feel a wave of utter hopeless-

ness sweep over me. I am in the bottom of hell. And

there, a tremendous hope is born. It might be true.

I tumble out of bed onto my knees. I know not

what I say. But slowly a great peace comes to me. I

feel lifted up. I believe in God. I crawl back into bed

and sleep like a child.

Some men and women come to visit my friend of the

night before. He invites me to meet them. They are

a joyous crowd. I have never seen people that joyous

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216 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

before. We talk. I tell them of the peace and that

I believe in God. I think of my wife. I must write her.

One girl suggests that I phone her. What a wonderful

idea!

My wife hears my voice and she knows that I have

found the answer to life. She comes to New York. I

get out of the hospital and we visit some of these new-

found friends.

I am home again. I have lost the Fellowship. Those

who understand me are far away. The same old prob-

lems and worries still surround me. Members of my

family annoy me. Nothing seems to be working out

right. I am blue and unhappy. Maybe a drink—I put

on my hat and dash off in the car.

Get into the lives of other people is one thing the

fellows in New York had said. I go to see a man I had

been asked to visit and tell him my story. I feel much

better! I have forgotten about a drink.

I am on a train, headed for a city. I have left my

wife at home, sick, and I have been unkind to her in

leaving. I am very unhappy. Maybe a few drinks

when I get to the city will help. A great fear seizes me.

I talk to the stranger in the seat beside me. The fear

and the insane idea are taken away.

Things are not going so well at home. I am learning

that I cannot have my own way as I used to. I blame

my wife and children. Anger possesses me, anger such

as I have never felt before. I will not stand for it. I

pack my bag and I leave. I stay with some under-

standing friends.

I see where I have been wrong in some respects. I

do not feel angry any more. I return home and say

I am sorry for my wrong. I am quiet again. But I have

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OUR SOUTHERN FRIEND 217

not seen yet that I should do some constructive acts

of love without expecting any return. I shall learn

this after some more explosions.

I am blue again. I want to sell the place and move

away. I want to get where I can ﬁnd some alcoholics

to help and where I can have some fellowship. A

man calls me on the phone. Will I take a young fellow

who has been drinking for two weeks to live with me?

Soon I have others who are alcoholics and some who

have other problems.

I begin to play God. I feel that I can ﬁx them all.

I do not ﬁx anyone, but I am getting part of a tremen-

dous education and I have made some new friends.

Nothing is right. Finances are in bad shape. I

must ﬁnd a way to make some money. The family

seems to think of nothing but spending. People annoy

me. I try to read. I try to pray. Gloom surrounds

me. Why has God left me? I mope around the house.

I will not go out and I will not enter into anything.

What is the matter? I cannot understand. I will not

be that way.

I’ll get drunk! It is a cold-blooded idea. It is pre-

meditated. I ﬁx up a little apartment over the garage

with books and drinking water. I am going to town

to get some liquor and food. I shall not drink until

I get back to the apartment. Then I shall lock myself

in and read. And as I read, I shall take little drinks

at long intervals. I shall get myself “mellow” and stay

that way.

I get in the car and drive off. Halfway down the

driveway a thought strikes me. I’ll be honest anyway.

I’ll tell my wife what I am going to do. I back up to

the door and go into the house. I call my wife into a

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218 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

room where we can talk privately. I tell her quietly

what I intend to do. She says nothing. She does not

get excited. She maintains a perfect calm.

When I am through speaking, the whole idea has

become absurd. Not a trace of fear is in me. I laugh

at the insanity of it. We talk of other things. Strength

has come from weakness.

I cannot see the cause of this temptation now. But

I am to learn later that it began with my desire for

material success becoming greater than my interest

in the welfare of my fellow man. I learn more of

that foundation stone of character, which is honesty. I

learn that when we act upon the highest conception of

honesty that is given us, our sense of honesty be-

comes more acute.

I learn that honesty is truth and that truth shall

make us free!

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(5)

THE VICIOUS CYCLE

How it ﬁnally broke a Southerner’s obstinacy and

destined this salesman to start A.A. in Philadelphia.

J anuary 8, 1938—that was my D-Day; the place,

Washington, D.C. This last real merry-go-round

had started the day before Christmas, and I had really

accomplished a lot in those fourteen days. First, my

new wife had walked out, bag, baggage, and furniture;

then the apartment landlord had thrown me out of the

empty apartment; and the ﬁnish was the loss of an-

other job. After a couple of days in dollar hotels and

one night in the pokey, I ﬁnally landed on my mother’s

doorstep—shaking apart, with several days’ beard, and,

of course, broke as usual. Many of these same things

had happened to me many times before, but this time

they had all descended together. For me, this was It.

Here I was, thirty-nine years old and a complete

washout. Nothing had worked. Mother would take

me in only if I stayed locked in a small storeroom

and gave her my clothes and shoes. We had played

this game before. That is the way Jackie found me,

lying on a cot in my skivvies, with hot and cold sweats,

pounding heart, and that awful itchy scratchiness all

over. Somehow, I had always managed to avoid

D.T.’s.

I seriously doubt I ever would have asked for help,

but Fitz, an old school friend of mine, had persuaded

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220 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

Jackie to call on me. Had he come two or three days

later, I think I would have thrown him out, but he hit

when I was open for anything.

Jackie arrived about seven in the evening and

talked until three a.m. I don’t remember much of

what he said, but I did realize that here was another

guy exactly like me; he had been in the same laugh-

ing academies and the same jails, known the same

loss of jobs, same frustrations, same boredom, and the

same loneliness. If anything, he had known all of

them even better and more often than I. Yet he was

happy, relaxed, conﬁdent, and laughing. That night,

for the ﬁrst time in my life, I really let down my hair

and admitted my general loneliness. Jackie told me

about a group of fellows in New York, of whom my old

friend Fitz was one, who had the same problem I had,

and who, by working together to help each other, were

now not drinking and were happy like himself. He

said something about God or a Higher Power, but I

brushed that off—that was for the birds, not for me.

Little more of our talk stayed in my memory, but I

do know I slept the rest of that night, while before

I had never known what a real night’s sleep was.

This was my introduction to this “understanding

Fellowship,” although it was to be more than a year

later before our Society was to bear the name Alco-

holics Anonymous. All of us in A.A. know the tremen-

dous happiness that is in our sobriety, but there are

also tragedies. My sponsor, Jackie, was one of these.

He brought in many of our original members, yet he

himself could not make it and died of alcoholism.

The lesson of his death still remains with me, yet I

often wonder what would have happened if somebody

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THE VICIOUS CYCLE 221

else had made that ﬁrst call on me. So I always say

that as long as I remember January 8, that is how

long I will remain sober.

The age-old question in A.A. is which came ﬁrst,

the neurosis or the alcoholism. I like to think I was

fairly normal before alcohol took over. My early life

was spent in Baltimore, where my father was a physi-

cian and a grain merchant. My family lived in very

prosperous circumstances, and while both my parents

drank, sometimes too much, neither was an alcoholic.

Father was a very well-integrated person, and while

mother was high-strung and a bit selﬁsh and demand-

ing, our home life was reasonably harmonious. There

were four of us children, and although both of my

brothers later became alcoholic—one died of alco-

holism—my sister has never taken a drink in her life.

Until I was thirteen I attended public schools, with

regular promotions and average grades. I have never

shown any particular talents, nor have I had any really

frustrating ambitions. At thirteen I was packed off to

a very ﬁne Protestant boarding school in Virginia,

where I stayed four years, graduating without any

special achievements. In sports I made the track and

tennis teams; I got along well with the other boys and

had a fairly large circle of acquaintances but no inti-

mate friends. I was never homesick and was always

pretty self-sufﬁcient.

However, here I probably took my ﬁrst step toward

my coming alcoholism by developing a terriﬁc aver-

sion to all churches and established religions. At this

school we had Bible readings before each meal, and

church services four times on Sunday, and I became

so rebellious at this that I swore I would never join or

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222 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

go to any church, except for weddings or for funerals.

At seventeen I entered the university, really to

satisfy my father, who wanted me to study medicine

there as he had. That is where I had my ﬁrst drink,

and I still remember it, for every “ﬁrst” drink after-

wards did exactly the same trick—I could feel it go

right through every bit of my body and down to my

very toes. But each drink after the ﬁrst seemed to

become less effective, and after three or four, they all

seemed like water. I was never a hilarious drunk; the

more I drank, the quieter I got, and the drunker I got,

the harder I fought to stay sober. So it is clear that

I never had any fun out of drinking—I would be the

soberest-seeming one in the crowd, and, all of a sud-

den, I would be the drunkest. Even that ﬁrst night I

blacked out, which leads me to believe that I was an

alcoholic from my very ﬁrst drink. The ﬁrst year in

college I just got by in my studies. I majored in poker

and drinking. I refused to join any fraternity, as I

wanted to be a freelance, and that year my drinking

was conﬁned to one-night stands, once or twice a

week. The second year my drinking was more or less

restricted to weekends, but I was nearly kicked out for

scholastic failure.

In the spring of 1917, in order to beat being ﬁred

from school, I became “patriotic” and joined the army.

I am one of the lads who came out of the service with

a lower rank than when I went in. I had been to OTC

the previous summer, so I went into the army as a

sergeant but I came out a private, and you really have

to be unusual to do that. In the next two years, I

washed more pans and peeled more potatoes than any

other doughboy. In the army, I became a periodic

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THE VICIOUS CYCLE 223

alcoholic—the periods always coming whenever I

could make the opportunity. However, I did manage

to keep out of the guardhouse. My last bout in the

army lasted from November 5 to 11, 1918. We

heard by wireless on the ﬁfth that the Armistice would

be signed the next day (this was a premature report),

so I had a couple of cognacs to celebrate; then I

hopped a truck and went AWOL. My next conscious

memory was in Bar le Duc, many miles from base. It

was November 11, and bells were ringing and

whistles blowing for the real Armistice. There I was,

unshaven, clothes torn and dirty, with no recollection

of wandering all over France but, of course, a hero

to the local French. Back at camp, all was forgiven

because it was the End, but in the light of what I have

since learned, I know I was a conﬁrmed alcoholic at

nineteen.

With the war over and back in Baltimore with the

folks, I had several small jobs for three years, and then

I went to work soliciting as one of the ﬁrst ten em-

ployees of a new national ﬁnance company. What an

opportunity I shot to pieces there! This company now

does a volume of over three billion dollars annually.

Three years later, at twenty-ﬁve, I opened and oper-

ated their Philadelphia ofﬁce and was earning more

than I ever have since. I was the fair-haired boy all

right, but two years later I was blacklisted as an irre-

sponsible drunk. It doesn’t take long.

My next job was in sales promotion for an oil

company in Mississippi, where I promptly became

high man and got lots of pats on the back. Then I

turned two company cars over in a short time and

bingo—ﬁred again. Oddly enough, the big shot who

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224 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

ﬁred me from this company was one of the ﬁrst men

I met when I later joined the New York A.A. Group.

He had also gone all the way through the wringer

and had been dry two years when I saw him again.

After the oil job blew up, I went back to Baltimore

and Mother, my ﬁrst wife having said a permanent

goodbye. Then came a sales job with a national

tire company. I reorganized their city sales policy

and eighteen months later, when I was thirty, they

offered me the branch managership. As part of this

promotion, they sent me to their national convention

in Atlantic City to tell the big wheels how I’d done it.

At this time I was holding what drinking I did down

to weekends, but I hadn’t had a drink at all in a month.

I checked into my hotel room and then noticed a

placard tucked under the glass on the bureau stating

“There will be positively NO drinking at this conven-

tion,” signed by the president of the company. That

did it! Who, me? The Big Shot? The only salesman

invited to talk at the convention? The man who was

going to take over one of their biggest branches come

Monday? I’d show ’em who was boss! No one in that

company saw me again—ten days later I wired my

resignation.

As long as things were tough and the job a chal-

lenge, I could always manage to hold on pretty well,

but as soon as I learned the combination, got the puz-

zle under control, and the boss to pat me on the back,

I was gone again. Routine jobs bored me, but I would

take on the toughest one I could ﬁnd and work day

and night until I had it under control; then it would

become tedious, and I’d lose all interest in it. I could

never be bothered with the follow-through and would

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THE VICIOUS CYCLE 225

invariably reward myself for my efforts with that “ﬁrst”

drink.

After the tire job came the thirties, the Depression,

and the downhill road. In the eight years before A.A.

found me, I had over forty jobs—selling and traveling

—one thing after another, and the same old routine. I’d

work like mad for three or four weeks without a single

drink, save my money, pay a few bills, and then “re-

ward” myself with alcohol. Then I’d be broke again,

hiding out in cheap hotels all over the country, having

one-night jail stands here and there, and always that

horrible feeling “What’s the use—nothing is worth-

while.” Every time I blacked out, and that was every

time I drank, there was always that gnawing fear,

“What did I do this time?” Once I found out. Many al-

coholics have learned they can bring their bottle to a

cheap movie theater and drink, sleep, wake up, and

drink again in the darkness. I had repaired to one of

these one morning with my jug, and, when I left late in

the afternoon, I picked up a newspaper on the way

home. Imagine my surprise when I read in a page-one

“box” that I had been taken from the theater uncon-

scious around noon that day, removed by ambulance

to a hospital and stomach-pumped, and then released.

Evidently I had gone right back to the movie with a

bottle, stayed there several hours, and started home

with no recollection of what had happened.

The mental state of the sick alcoholic is beyond

description. I had no resentments against individuals

—the whole world was all wrong. My thoughts went

round and round with, What’s it all about anyhow?

People have wars and kill each other; they struggle

and cut each other’s throats for success, and what does

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226 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

anyone get out of it? Haven’t I been successful,

haven’t I accomplished extraordinary things in busi-

ness? What do I get out of it? Everything’s all wrong

and the hell with it. For the last two years of my

drinking, I prayed during every drunk that I wouldn’t

wake up again. Three months before I met Jackie, I

had made my second feeble try at suicide.

This was the background that made me willing to

listen on January 8. After being dry two weeks and

sticking close to Jackie, all of a sudden I found I had

become the sponsor of my sponsor, for he was sud-

denly taken drunk. I was startled to learn he had only

been off the booze a month or so himself when he

brought me the message! However, I made an SOS

call to the New York Group, whom I hadn’t met yet,

and they suggested we both come there. This we did

the next day, and what a trip! I really had a chance to

see myself from a nondrinking point of view. We

checked into the home of Hank, the man who had ﬁred

me eleven years before in Mississippi, and there I met

Bill, our founder. Bill had then been dry three years

and Hank, two. At the time, I thought them just a

swell pair of screwballs, for they were not only going

to save all the drunks in the world but also all the so-

called normal people! All they talked of that ﬁrst

weekend was God and how they were going to

straighten out Jackie’s and my life. In those days we

really took each other’s inventories ﬁrmly and often.

Despite all this, I did like these new friends because,

again, they were like me. They had also been peri-

odic big shots who had goofed out repeatedly at the

wrong time, and they also knew how to split one paper

match into three separate matches. (This is very use-

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THE VICIOUS CYCLE 227

ful knowledge in places where matches are prohib-

ited.) They, too, had taken a train to one town and

had wakened hundreds of miles in the opposite direc-

tion, never knowing how they got there. The same

old routines seemed to be common to us all. During

that ﬁrst weekend, I decided to stay in New York and

take all they gave out with, except the “God stuff.”

I knew they needed to straighten out their thinking

and habits, but I was all right; I just drank too much.

Just give me a good front and a couple of bucks, and

I’d be right back in the big time. I’d been dry three

weeks, had the wrinkles out, and had sobered up my

sponsor all by myself!

Bill and Hank had just taken over a small automo-

bile polish company, and they offered me a job—ten

dollars a week and keep at Hank’s house. We were all

set to put DuPont out of business.

At that time the group in New York was composed

of about twelve men who were working on the prin-

ciple of every drunk for himself; we had no real for-

mula and no name. We would follow one man’s ideas

for a while, decide he was wrong, and switch to an-

other’s method. But we were staying sober as long

as we kept and talked together. There was one meet-

ing a week at Bill’s home in Brooklyn, and we all took

turns there spouting off about how we had changed

our lives overnight, how many drunks we had saved

and straightened out, and last but not least, how God

had touched each of us personally on the shoulder.

Boy, what a circle of confused idealists! Yet we all

had one really sincere purpose in our hearts, and that

was not to drink. At our weekly meeting I was a

menace to serenity those ﬁrst few months, for I took

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228 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

every opportunity to lambaste that “spiritual angle,”

as we called it, or anything else that had any tinge of

theology. Much later I discovered the elders held

many prayer meetings hoping to ﬁnd a way to give

me the heave-ho but at the same time stay tolerant

and spiritual. They did not seem to be getting an

answer, for here I was staying sober and selling lots

of auto polish, on which they were making one thou-

sand percent proﬁt. So I rocked along my merry inde-

pendent way until June, when I went out selling auto

polish in New England. After a very good week, two

of my customers took me to lunch on Saturday. We or-

dered sandwiches, and one man said, “Three beers.” I

let mine sit. After a bit, the other man said, “Three

beers.” I let that sit too. Then it was my turn—I or-

dered, “Three beers,” but this time it was different; I

had a cash investment of thirty cents, and, on a ten-

dollar-a-week salary, that’s a big thing. So I drank all

three beers, one after the other, and said, “I’ll be see-

ing you, boys,” and went around the corner for a bot-

tle. I never saw either of them again.

I had completely forgotten the January 8 when I

found the Fellowship, and I spent the next four days

wandering around New England half drunk, by which

I mean I couldn’t get drunk and I couldn’t get sober. I

tried to contact the boys in New York, but telegrams

bounced right back, and when I ﬁnally got Hank on

the telephone he ﬁred me right then. This was when

I really took my ﬁrst good look at myself. My loneli-

ness was worse than it had ever been before, for now

even my own kind had turned against me. This time it

really hurt, more than any hangover ever had. My

brilliant agnosticism vanished, and I saw for the ﬁrst

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THE VICIOUS CYCLE 229

time that those who really believed, or at least honestly

tried to ﬁnd a Power greater than themselves, were

much more composed and contented than I had ever

been, and they seemed to have a degree of happiness

I had never known.

Peddling off my polish samples for expenses, I

crawled back to New York a few days later in a very

chastened frame of mind. When the others saw my

altered attitude, they took me back in, but for me they

had to make it tough; if they hadn’t, I don’t think I

ever would have stuck it out. Once again, there was

the challenge of a tough job, but this time I was deter-

mined to follow through. For a long time the only

Higher Power I could concede was the power of the

group, but this was far more than I had ever recog-

nized before, and it was at least a beginning. It was

also an ending, for never since June 16, 1938, have I

had to walk alone.

Around this time our big A.A. book was being writ-

ten, and it all became much simpler; we had a deﬁnite

formula that some sixty of us agreed was the middle

course for all alcoholics who wanted sobriety, and

that formula has not been changed one iota down

through the years. I don’t think the boys were com-

pletely convinced of my personality change, for they

fought shy of including my story in the book, so my

only contribution to their literary efforts was my ﬁrm

conviction—since I was still a theological rebel—that

the word God should be qualiﬁed with the phrase “as

we understand Him”—for that was the only way I

could accept spirituality.

After the book appeared, we all became very busy

in our efforts to save all and sundry, but I was still

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230 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

actually on the fringes of A.A. While I went along

with all that was done and attended the meetings, I

never took an active job of leadership until February

1940. Then I got a very good position in Philadelphia

and quickly found I would need a few fellow alco-

holics around me if I was to stay sober. Thus I found

myself in the middle of a brand-new group. When I

started to tell the boys how we did it in New York

and all about the spiritual part of the program, I found

they would not believe me unless I was practicing

what I preached. Then I found that as I gave in to

this spiritual or personality change, I was getting a

little more serenity. In telling newcomers how to

change their lives and attitudes, all of a sudden I

found I was doing a little changing myself. I had been

too self-sufﬁcient to write a moral inventory, but I

discovered in pointing out to the new man his wrong

attitudes and actions that I was really taking my own

inventory, and that if I expected him to change, I

would have to work on myself too. This change has

been a long, slow process for me, but through these

latter years the dividends have been tremendous.

In June 1945, with another member, I made my

first—and only—Twelfth Step call on a female alco-

holic, and a year later I married her. She has been

sober all the way through, and for me that has been

good. We can share in the laughter and tears of our

many friends, and most important, we can share our

A.A. way of life and are given a daily opportunity to

help others.

In conclusion, I can only say that whatever growth

or understanding has come to me, I have no wish to

graduate. Very rarely do I miss the meetings of my

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THE VICIOUS CYCLE 231

neighborhood A.A. group, and my average has never

been less than two meetings a week. I have served on

only one committee in the past nine years, for I feel

that I had my chance the ﬁrst few years and that

newer members should ﬁll the jobs. They are far more

alert and progressive than we ﬂoundering fathers

were, and the future of our fellowship is in their hands.

We now live in the West and are very fortunate in our

area A.A.; it is good, simple, and friendly, and our one

desire is to stay in A.A. and not on it. Our pet slogan

is “Easy Does It.”

And I still say that as long as I remember that Janu-

ary 8 in Washington, that is how long, by the grace of

God as I understand Him, I will retain a happy

sobriety.

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(6)

JIM’S STORY

This physician, one of the earliest members of A.A.’s

ﬁrst black group, tells of how freedom came as he

worked among his people.

I was born in a little town in Virginia in an

average religious home. My father, a Negro, was

a country physician. I remember in my early youth

my mother dressed me just as she did my two sisters,

and I wore curls until I was six years of age. At that

time I started school, and that’s how I got rid of the

curls. I found that even then I had fears and inhibi-

tions. We lived just a few doors from the First Bap-

tist Church, and when they had funerals, I remember

very often asking my mother whether the person was

good or bad and whether they were going to heaven

or hell. I was about six then.

My mother had been recently converted and, actu-

ally, had become a religious fanatic. That was her

main neurotic manifestation. She was very posses-

sive with us children. Mother drilled into me a very

Puritanical point of view as to sex relations, as well as

to motherhood and womanhood. I’m sure my ideas as

to what life should be like were quite different

from that of the average person with whom I associ-

ated. Later on in life that took its toll. I realize that

now.

232

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JIM’S STORY 233

About this time an incident took place in grade

school that I have never forgotten because it made me

realize that I was actually a physical coward. During

recess we were playing basketball, and I had acci-

dentally tripped a fellow just a little larger than I was.

He took the basketball and smashed me in the face

with it. That was enough provocation to ﬁght but I

didn’t ﬁght, and I realized after recess why I didn’t.

It was fear. That hurt and disturbed me a great deal.

Mother was of the old school and ﬁgured that any-

one I associated with should be of the proper type.

Of course, in my day, times had changed; she just

hadn’t changed with the times. I don’t know whether

it was right or wrong, but at least I know that people

weren’t thinking the same. We weren’t even permitted

to play cards in our home, but Father would give us

just a little toddy with whiskey and sugar and warm

water now and then. We had no whiskey in the house,

other than my father’s private stock. I never saw him

drunk in my life, although he’d take a shot in the

morning and usually one in the evening, and so did

I; but for the most part he kept his whiskey in his

ofﬁce. The only time that I ever saw my mother take

anything alcoholic was around Christmas time, when

she would drink some eggnog or light wine.

In my ﬁrst year in high school, mother suggested

that I not join the cadet unit. She got a medical cer-

tiﬁcate so that I should not have to join it. I don’t

know whether she was a paciﬁst or whether she just

thought that in the event of another war it would have

some bearing on my joining up.

About then I realized that my point of view on the

opposite sex wasn’t entirely like that of most of the

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234 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

boys I knew. For that reason, I believe, I married at a

much younger age than I would have, had it not been

for my home training. My wife and I have been mar-

ried for some thirty years now. Vi was the ﬁrst girl that

I ever took out. I had quite a heartache about her then

because she wasn’t the type of girl that my mother

wanted me to marry. In the ﬁrst place, she had been

married before; I was her second husband. My mother

resented it so much that the ﬁrst Christmas after our

marriage, she didn’t even invite us to dinner. After our

ﬁrst child came, my parents both became allies. Then,

in later days, after I became an alcoholic, they both

turned against me.

My father had come out of the South and had suf-

fered a great deal down there. He wanted to give me

the very best, and he thought that nothing but being a

doctor would sufﬁce. On the other hand, I believe that

I’ve always been medically inclined, though I have

never been able to see medicine quite as the average

person sees it. I do surgery because that’s something

that you can see; it’s more tangible. But I can remem-

ber in postgraduate days, and during internship, that

very often I’d go to a patient’s bed and start a process of

elimination and then, very often, I’d wind up guessing.

That wasn’t the way it was with my father. I think with

him it possibly was a gift—intuitive diagnosis. Father,

through the years, had built up a very good mail-order

business because, at that time, there wasn’t too much

money in medicine.

I don’t think I suffered too much as far as the racial

situation was concerned because I was born into it and

knew nothing other than that. A man wasn’t actually

mistreated, though if he was, he could only resent it.

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JIM’S STORY 235

He could do nothing about it. On the other hand, I

got quite a different picture farther south. Economic

conditions had a great deal to do with it, because I’ve

often heard my father say that his mother would take

one of the old-time ﬂour sacks and cut a hole through

the bottom and two corners of it and there you’d have

a gown. Of course, when Father ﬁnally came to Vir-

ginia to work his way through school, he resented the

southern “cracker,” as he often called them, so much

that he didn’t even go back to his mother’s funeral. He

said he never wanted to set foot in the Deep South

again, and he didn’t.

I went to elementary and high school in Washing-

ton, D.C., and then to Howard University. My intern-

ship was in Washington. I never had too much trouble

in school. I was able to get my work out. All my trou-

bles arose when I was thrown socially among groups

of people. As far as school was concerned, I made fair

grades throughout.

This was around 1935, and it was about this time

that I actually started drinking. During the years

1930 to 1935, due to the Depression and its aftermath,

business went from bad to worse. I then had my own

medical practice in Washington, but the practice

slackened and the mail-order business started to

fall off. Dad, due to having spent most of his time in

a small Virginia town, didn’t have any too much

money, and the money he had saved and the property

he had acquired were in Washington. He was in his

late ﬁfties, and all that he had undertaken fell upon

my shoulders at his death in 1928. For the ﬁrst couple

of years it wasn’t too bad because the momentum

kept things going. But when things became crucial,

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236 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

everything started going haywire and I started going

haywire with them. At this point I believe I had only

been intoxicated on maybe three or four occasions,

and certainly whiskey was no problem to me.

My father had purchased a restaurant, which he felt

would take up some of my spare time, and that’s how

I met Vi. She came in for her dinner. I’d known her

ﬁve or six months. To get rid of me one evening, she

decided to go to the movies, she and another friend.

A very good friend of mine who owned a drugstore

across the street from us came by only about two

hours later and said that he had seen Vi downtown.

I said that she told me she was going to the movies,

and I became foolishly disturbed about it, and as

things snowballed, I decided to go out and get drunk.

That’s the ﬁrst time I was ever really drunk in my life.

The fear of the loss of Vi and the feeling that, though

she had the right to do as she pleased, she should have

told me the truth about it, upset me. That was my

trouble. I thought that all women should be perfect.

I don’t think I actually started to drink pathologi-

cally until approximately 1935. About that time I had

lost practically all my property except the place we

were living in. Things had just gone from bad to

worse. It meant that I had to give up a lot of the

things that I had been accustomed to, and that wasn’t

the easiest thing in the world for me. I think that was

basically the thing that started me drinking in 1935.

I started drinking alone then. I’d go into my home

with a bottle, and I remember clearly how I would

look around to see if Vi was watching. Something

should have told me then that things were haywire. I

can remember her watching. There came a time when

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JIM’S STORY 237

she spoke to me about it, and I would say that I had a

bad cold or that I wasn’t feeling well. That went on

for maybe two months, and then she got after me again

about drinking. At that time the repeal whiskeys were

back, and I’d go to the store and buy my whiskey and

take it to my ofﬁce and put it under the desk, ﬁrst in

one place and then in another, and there soon was an

accumulation of empty bottles. My brother-in-law

was living with us at that time, and I said to Vi,

“Maybe the bottles are Brother’s. I don’t know. Ask

him about it. I don’t know anything about the bot-

tles.” I actually wanted a drink, besides feeling that I

had to have a drink. From that point on, it’s just the

average drinker’s story.

I got to the place where I’d look forward to the

weekend’s drinking and pacify myself by saying that

the weekends were mine, that it didn’t interfere with

my family or with my business if I drank on the week-

ends. But the weekends stretched on into Mondays,

and the time soon came when I drank every day. My

practice at that juncture was just barely getting us a

living.

A peculiar thing happened in 1940. That year, on

a Friday night, a man whom I had known for years

came to my ofﬁce. My father had treated him many

years prior to this. This man’s wife had been suffering

for a couple of months, and when he came in he owed

me a little bill. I ﬁlled a prescription for him. The

following day, Saturday, he came back and said, “Jim,

I owe you for that prescription last night. I didn’t pay

you.” I thought, “I know you didn’t pay me, because

you didn’t get a prescription.” He said, “Yes. You

know the prescription that you gave me for my wife

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238 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

last night.” Fear gripped me then, because I could

remember nothing about it. It was the ﬁrst blackout

I had to recognize as a blackout. The next morning

I carried another prescription to this man’s house and

exchanged it for the bottle his wife had. Then I said

to my wife, “Something has to be done.” I took that

bottle of medicine and gave it to a very good friend

of mine who was a pharmacist and had it analyzed,

and the bottle was perfectly all right. But I knew at

that point that I couldn’t stop, and I knew that I was

a danger to myself and to others.

I had a long talk with a psychiatrist, but nothing

came of that, and I had also, just about that time,

talked with a minister for whom I had a great deal of

respect. He went into the religious side and told me

that I didn’t attend church as regularly as I should

and that he felt, more or less, that this was responsible

for my trouble. I rebelled against this, because just

about the time that I was getting ready to leave high

school, a revelation came to me about God, and it made

things very complicated for me. The thought came to

me that if God, as my mother said, was a vengeful

God, he couldn’t be a loving God. I wasn’t able to

comprehend it. I rebelled, and from that time on, I

don’t think I attended church more than a dozen times.

After this incident in 1940, I sought some other

means of livelihood. I had a very good friend who was

in the government service, and I went to him about a

job. He got me one. I worked for the government

about a year and still maintained my evening ofﬁce

practice when the government agencies were decen-

tralized. Then I went south, because they told me

that the particular county I was going to in North

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JIM’S STORY 239

Carolina was a dry county. I thought that this would

be a big help to me. I would meet some new faces

and be in a dry county.

But I found that after I got to North Carolina, it

wasn’t any different. The state was different, but I

wasn’t. Nevertheless, I stayed sober there about six

months, because I knew that Vi was to come later and

bring the children. We had two girls and a boy at

that time. Something happened. Vi had secured work

in Washington. She was also in the government ser-

vice. I started inquiring where I could get a drink,

and, of course, I found that it wasn’t hard. I think

whiskey was cheaper there than it was in Washington.

Matters got worse all the time until ﬁnally they got so

bad that I was reinvestigated by the government.

Being an alcoholic, slick, and having some good sense

left, I survived the investigation. Then I had my ﬁrst

bad stomach hemorrhage. I was out of work for about

four days. I got into a lot of ﬁnancial difﬁculties too.

I borrowed ﬁve hundred dollars from the bank and

three hundred from the loan shop, and I drank that up

pretty fast. Then I decided that I’d go back to Wash-

ington.

My wife received me graciously, although she was

living in a one-room-with-kitchen affair. She’d been

reduced to that. I promised that I was going to do

the right thing. We were now both working in the

same agency. I continued to drink. I got drunk one

night in October, went to sleep in the rain, and woke

up with pneumonia. We continued to work together,

and I continued to drink, but I guess, deep down

within our hearts, we both knew I couldn’t stop drink-

ing. Vi thought I didn’t want to stop. We had several

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240 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

ﬁghts, and on one or two occasions I struck her

with my ﬁst. She decided that she didn’t want any

more of that. So she went to court and talked it over

with the judge. They cooked up a plan whereby she

didn’t have to be molested by me if she didn’t want

to be.

I went back to my mother’s for a few days until

things cooled off, because the district attorney had

put out a summons for me to come to see him in his

ofﬁce. A policeman came to the door and asked for

James S., but there wasn’t any James S. there. He

came back several times. Within ten days I got locked

up for being drunk, and this same policeman was in

the station house as I was being booked. I had to put

up a three-hundred-dollar bond because he was carry-

ing the same summons around in his pocket for me.

So I went down to talk to the district attorney, and

the arrangement was made that I would go home to

stay with my mother, and that meant that Vi and I

were separated. I continued to work and continued to

go to lunch with Vi, and none of our acquaintances on

the job knew that we had separated. Very often we

rode to and from work together, but being separated

really galled me deep down.

The November following, I took a few days off after

pay day to celebrate my birthday on the twenty-ﬁfth of

the month. As usual I got drunk and lost the money.

Someone had taken it from me. That was the usual pat-

tern. I sometimes gave it to my mother, and then I’d go

back and hound her for it. I was just about broke. I

guess I had ﬁve or ten dollars in my pocket. Anyhow, on

the twenty-fourth, after drinking all day on the twenty-

third, I must have decided I wanted to see my wife

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JIM’S STORY 241

and have some kind of reconciliation or at least talk

with her. I don’t remember whether I went by street-

car, whether I walked or went in a taxicab. The one

thing I can remember now was that Vi was on the

corner of 8th and L, and I remember vividly that she

had an envelope in her hand. I remember talking to

her, but what happened after that I don’t know. What

actually happened was that I had taken a penknife

and stabbed Vi three times with it. Then I left and

went home to bed. Around eight or nine o’clock there

came two big detectives and a policeman to arrest me

for assault; and I was the most amazed person in the

world when they said I had assaulted someone, and

especially that I had assaulted my wife. I was taken

to the station house and locked up.

The next morning I went up for arraignment. Vi

was very kind and explained to the jury that I was ba-

sically a ﬁne fellow and a good husband but that I

drank too much and that she thought I had lost my

mind and should be committed to an asylum. The

judge said that if she felt that way, he would conﬁne

me for thirty days’ examination and observation.

There was no observation. There might have been

some investigation. The closest I came to a psychia-

trist during that time was an intern who came to take

blood tests. After the trial, I got big-hearted again and

felt that I should do something in payment for Vi’s

kindness to me; so I left Washington and went to

Seattle to work. I was there about three weeks, and

then I got restless and started to tramp across the

country, here and there, until I ﬁnally wound up in

Pennsylvania, in a steel mill.

I worked in the steel mill for possibly two months,

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242 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

and then I became disgusted with myself and decided

to go back home. I think the thing that galled me was

that just after Easter I had drawn my salary for two

weeks’ work and had decided that I was going to send

some money to Vi; and above all else I was going to

send my baby daughter an Easter outﬁt. But there

happened to be a liquor store between the post ofﬁce

and the mill, and I stopped to get that one drink. Of

course the kid never got the Easter outﬁt. I got very

little out of the two hundred that I drew on that pay-

day.

I knew I wasn’t capable of keeping the bulk of the

money myself, so I gave it to a white fellow who

owned the bar I frequented. He kept the money

for me, but I worried him to death for it. Finally, I

broke the last one hundred dollar bill the Saturday

before I left. I got out of that bill one pair of shoes,

and the rest of that money was blown. I took the last

of it to buy my railroad ticket.

I’d been home about a week or ten days when one

of my friends asked if I could repair one of his elec-

trical outlets. Thinking only of two or three dollars

to buy some whiskey, I did the job and that’s how I

met Ella G., who was responsible for my coming into

A.A. I went to this friend’s shop to repair his electrical

outlet, and I noticed this lady. She continued to watch

me, although she didn’t say anything. Finally she

said, “Isn’t your name Jim S.?” I said, “Yes.” Then

she told me who she was. She was Ella G. When I

had known her years before, she was rather slender,

but at this time she weighed as much as she does now,

which is up around in the two hundreds or very close

to it. I had not recognized her, but as soon as she said

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JIM’S STORY 243

who she was, I remembered her right away. She didn’t

say anything about A.A. or getting me a sponsor at

that time, but she did ask about Vi, and I told her Vi

was working and how she could locate her. It was

around noon, a day or two later, when the telephone

rang and it was Ella. She asked me if I would let

someone come up and talk to me concerning a busi-

ness deal. She never mentioned anything about my

whiskey drinking because if she had I would have

told her no right then. I asked her just what this deal

was, but she wouldn’t say. She said, “He has some-

thing of interest, if you will see him.” I told her that I

would. She asked me one other thing. She asked me if

I would try to be sober if I possibly could. So I put

forth some effort that day to try to stay sober if I

could, though my sobriety was just a daze.

About seven that evening my sponsor walked in,

Charlie G. He didn’t seem too much at ease in the

beginning. I guess I felt, and he sensed it, that I

wanted him to hurry up and say what he had to say

and get out. Anyhow, he started talking about him-

self. He started telling me how much trouble he had,

and I said to myself, I wonder why this guy is telling

me all his troubles. I have troubles of my own. Fi-

nally, he brought in the angle of whiskey. He con-

tinued to talk and I to listen. After he’d talked half an

hour, I still wanted him to hurry up and get out so I

could go and get some whiskey before the liquor store

closed. But as he continued to talk, I realized that this

was the ﬁrst time I had met a person who had the

same problems I did and who, I sincerely believe,

understood me as an individual. I knew my wife didn’t,

because I had been sincere in all my promises to her

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244 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

as well as to my mother and to my close friends, but

the urge to take that drink was more powerful than

anything else.

After Charlie had talked a while, I knew that this

man had something. In that short period he built

within me something that I had long since lost, which

was hope. When he left, I walked with him to the

streetcar line, which was just about a half a block, but

there were two liquor stores, one on each corner from

my home. I put Charlie on the car, and when I left

him, I passed both of those liquor stores without even

thinking about them.

The following Sunday we met at Ella G.’s. It was

Charlie and three or four others. That was the ﬁrst

meeting of a colored group in A.A., so far as I know.

We held some two or three meetings at Ella’s home,

and from there we held some two or three at her

mother’s home. Then Charlie or someone in the group

suggested that we try to get a place in a church or hall

to hold meetings. I approached several ministers and

all of them thought it was a very good idea, but they

never relinquished any space. So, ﬁnally, I went to the

YMCA, and they graciously permitted us to use a

room at two dollars a night. At that time we had our

meetings on Friday nights. Of course, it wasn’t very

much of a meeting in the beginning; most of the time

it was just Vi and myself. But, ﬁnally, we got one or

two to come in and stick, and from there, of course,

we started to grow.

I haven’t mentioned it, but Charlie, my sponsor,

was white, and when we got our group started, we got

help from other white groups in Washington. They

came, many of them, and stuck by us and told us how

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JIM’S STORY 245

to hold meetings. They taught us a great deal about

Twelfth Step work too. Indeed, without their aid we

couldn’t possibly have gone on. They saved us endless

time and lost motion. And, not only that, but they gave

us ﬁnancial help. Even when we were paying that two

dollars a night, they often paid it for us because our

collection was so small.

At this time I wasn’t working. Vi was taking care

of me, and I was devoting all my time to the building

of that group. I worked at that alone for six months.

I just gathered up this and that alcoholic, because, in

the back of my mind, I wanted to save all the world.

I had found this new “something,” and I wanted to

give it to everyone who had a problem. We didn’t

save the world, but we did manage to help some in-

dividuals.

That’s my story of what A.A. has done for me.

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(7)

THE MAN WHO MASTERED FEAR

He spent eighteen years in running away, and then

found he didn’t have to run. So he started A.A. in

Detroit.

F or eighteen years, from the time I was

twenty-one, fear governed my life. By the time

I was thirty, I had found that alcohol dissolved fear—

for a little while. In the end I had two problems

instead of one: fear and alcohol.

I came from a good family. I believe the sociolo-

gists would call it upper middle class. By the time

I was twenty-one, I had had six years of life in foreign

countries, spoke three languages ﬂuently, and had at-

tended college for two years. A low ebb in the family

fortunes necessitated my going to work when I was

twenty. I entered the business world with every con-

ﬁdence that success lay ahead of me. I had been

brought up to believe this, and I had shown during

my teens considerable enterprise and imagination

about earning money. To the best of my recollection,

I was completely free from any abnormal fears. Vaca-

tions from school and from work spelled “travel” to

me—and I traveled with gusto. During my ﬁrst year

out of college, I had endless dates and went to count-

less dances, balls, and dinner parties.

Suddenly all this changed. I underwent a shattering

nervous breakdown. Three months in bed. Three

more months of being up and around the house for

brief periods and in bed the rest of the time. Visits

246

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THE MAN WHO MASTERED FEAR 247

from friends that lasted over fifteen minutes ex-

hausted me. A complete checkup at one of the best

hospitals revealed nothing. I heard for the ﬁrst time an

expression that I was to grow to loathe: “There

is nothing organically wrong.” Psychiatry might have

helped, but psychiatrists had not penetrated the

Middle West.

Spring came. I went for my ﬁrst walk. Half a block

from the house, I tried to turn the corner. Fear froze

me in my tracks, but the instant I turned back to-

ward home, this paralyzing fear left me. This was the

beginning of an unending series of such experiences. I

told our family doctor—an understanding man who

gave hours of his time trying to help me—about this

experience. He told me that it was imperative that I

walk around the entire block, cost me what it might

in mental agony. I carried out his instructions. When

I reached a point directly back of our house, where I

could have cut through a friend’s garden, I was almost

overpowered by the desire to get home, but I made

the whole journey. Probably only a few readers of

this story will be able, from personal experiences of

their own, to understand the exhilaration and sense

of accomplishment I felt after ﬁnishing this seem-

ingly simple assignment.

The details of the long road back to something re-

sembling normal living—the ﬁrst short streetcar ride,

the purchase of a used bike, which enabled me to

widen the narrow horizon of life, the ﬁrst trip down-

town—I will not dwell on. I got an easy, part-time

job selling printing for a small neighborhood printer.

This widened the scope of my activities. A year later I

was able to buy a Model T roadster and take a better

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248 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

job with a downtown printer. From this job and the

next one with yet another printer, I was courteously

dismissed. I simply did not have the pep to do

hard, “cold-turkey” selling. I switched to real estate bro-

kerage and property management work. Almost simul-

taneously, I discovered that cocktails in the late

afternoon and highballs in the evening relieved the

many tensions of the day. This happy combination

of pleasant work and alcohol lasted for ﬁve years. Of

course, the latter ultimately killed the former, but of

this, more anon.

All this changed when I was thirty years old. My

parents died, both in the same year, leaving me, a

sheltered and somewhat immature man, on my own.

I moved into a “bachelor hall.” These men all drank

on Saturday nights and enjoyed themselves. My pat-

tern of drinking became very different from theirs.

I had bad, nervous headaches, particularly at the base

of my neck. Liquor relieved these. At last I discov-

ered alcohol as a cure-all. I joined their Saturday

night parties and enjoyed myself too. But I also

stayed up weeknights after they had retired and drank

myself into bed. My thinking about drinking had un-

dergone a great change. Liquor had become a crutch

on the one hand and a means of retreat from life on

the other.

The ensuing nine years were the Depression years,

both nationally and personally. With the bravery born

of desperation, and abetted by alcohol, I married a

young and lovely girl. Our marriage lasted four years.

At least three of those four years must have been a

living hell for my wife, because she had to watch the

man she loved disintegrate morally, mentally, and

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THE MAN WHO MASTERED FEAR 249

ﬁnancially. The birth of a baby boy did nothing to-

ward staying the downward spiral. When she ﬁnally

took the baby and left, I locked myself in the house

and stayed drunk for a month.

The next two years were simply a long, drawn-out

process of less and less work and more and more

whiskey. I ended up homeless, jobless, penniless, and

rudderless, as the problem guest of a close friend

whose family was out of town. Haunting me through

each day’s stupor—and there were eighteen or nine-

teen such days in this man’s home—was the thought:

Where do I go when his family comes home? When

the day of their return was almost upon me, and

suicide was the only answer I had been able to think

of, I went into Ralph’s room one evening and told him

the truth. He was a man of considerable means, and

he might have done what many men would have done

in such a case. He might have handed me ﬁfty dollars

and said that I ought to pull myself together and make

a new start. I have thanked God many times in the

last sixteen years that that was just what he did not do!

Instead, he got dressed, took me out, bought me

three or four double shots, and put me to bed. The

next day he turned me over to a couple who, although

neither was an alcoholic, knew Dr. Bob and were will-

ing to drive me to Akron where they would turn me

over to his care. The only stipulation they made was

this: I had to make the decision myself. What de-

cision? The choice was limited. To go north into the

empty pine country and shoot myself, or to go south

in the faint hope that a bunch of strangers might help

me with my drinking problem. Well, suicide was a

last-straw matter, and I had not drawn the last straw

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250 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

yet. So I was driven to Akron the very next day by

these Good Samaritans and turned over to Dr. Bob

and the then tiny Akron Group.

Here, while I was in a hospital bed, men with clear

eyes, happy faces, and a look of assurance and pur-

posefulness about them came to see me and told me

their stories. Some of these were hard to believe, but

it did not require a giant brain to perceive that they

had something I could use. How could I get it? It was

simple, they said, and went on to explain to me in

their own language the program of recovery and daily

living that we know today as the Twelve Steps of A.A.

Dr. Bob dwelt at length on how prayer had given him

release, time and time again, from the nearly over-

powering compulsion to take a drink. It was he who

convinced me, because his own conviction was so real,

that a Power greater than myself could help me in the

crises of life and that the means of communicating

with this Power was simple prayer. Here was a tall,

rugged, highly educated Yankee talking in a matter-of-

course way about God and prayer. If he and these

other fellows could do it, so could I.

When I got out of the hospital, I was invited to stay

with Dr. Bob and his dear wife, Anne. I was suddenly

and uncontrollably seized with the old, paralyzing

panic. The hospital had seemed so safe. Now I was

in a strange house, in a strange city, and fear gripped

me. I shut myself in my room, which began to go

around in circles. Panic, confusion, and chaos were

supreme. Out of this maelstrom just two coherent

thoughts came to the surface; one, a drink would mean

homelessness and death; two, I could no longer relieve

the pressure of fear by starting home, as was once my

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THE MAN WHO MASTERED FEAR 251

habitual solution to this problem, because I no longer

had a home. Finally, and I shall never know how

much later it was, one clear thought came to me: Try

prayer. You can’t lose, and maybe God will help you

—just maybe, mind you. Having no one else to turn

to, I was willing to give Him a chance, although with

considerable doubt. I got down on my knees for the

ﬁrst time in thirty years. The prayer I said was simple.

It went something like this: “God, for eighteen years

I have been unable to handle this problem. Please let

me turn it over to you.”

Immediately a great feeling of peace descended

upon me, intermingled with a feeling of being suffused

with a quiet strength. I lay down on the bed and slept

like a child. An hour later I awoke to a new world.

Nothing had changed and yet everything had changed.

The scales had dropped from my eyes, and I could see

life in its proper perspective. I had tried to be the

center of my own little world, whereas God was the

center of a vast universe of which I was perhaps an

essential, but a very tiny, part.

It is well over sixteen years since I came back to life.

I have never had a drink since. This alone is a miracle.

It is, however, only the ﬁrst of a series of miracles that

have followed one another as a result of my trying to

apply to my daily life the principles embodied in our

Twelve Steps. I would like to sketch for you the high-

lights of these sixteen years of a slow but steady and

satisfying upward climb.

Poor health and a complete lack of money necessi-

tated my remaining with Dr. Bob and Anne for very

close to a year. It would be impossible for me to pass

over this year without mentioning my love for, and my

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252 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

indebtedness to, these two wonderful people who are

no longer with us. They made me feel as if I were a

part of their family, and so did their children. The

example that they and Bill W., whose visits to Akron

were fairly frequent, set for me of service to their fellow

men imbued me with a great desire to emulate them.

Sometimes during that year I rebelled inwardly at

what seemed like lost time and at having to be a

burden to these good people whose means were

limited. Long before I had any real opportunity to

give, I had to learn the equally important lesson of

receiving graciously.

During my ﬁrst few months in Akron, I was quite

sure that I never wanted to see my hometown again.

Too many economic and social problems would beset

me there. I would make a fresh start somewhere else.

After six months of sobriety, I saw the picture in a

different light: Detroit was the place I had to return

to, not only because I must face the mess I had made

there, but because it was there that I could be of the

most service to A.A. In the spring of 1939, Bill stopped

off in Akron on his way to Detroit on business. I

jumped at the suggestion that I accompany him. We

spent two days there together before he returned to

New York. Friends invited me to stay on for as long

as I cared to. I remained with them for three weeks,

using part of the time in making many amends, which

I had had no earlier opportunity of making.

The rest of my time was devoted to A.A. spadework.

I wanted “ripe” prospects, and I didn’t feel that I

would get very far chasing individual drunks in and

out of bars. So I spent much of my time calling on

the people who I felt would logically come in contact

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THE MAN WHO MASTERED FEAR 253

with alcoholic cases—doctors, ministers, lawyers, and

the personnel men in industry. I also talked A.A. to

every friend who would listen, at lunch, at dinner, on

street corners. A doctor tipped me off to my ﬁrst pros-

pect. I landed him and shipped him by train to Akron,

with a pint of whiskey in his pocket to keep him from

wanting to get off the train in Toledo! Nothing has

ever to this day equaled the thrill of that ﬁrst case.

Those three weeks left me completely exhausted,

and I had to return to Akron for three more months of

rest. While there, two or three more “cash customers”

(as Dr. Bob used to call them—probably because they

had so little cash) were shipped in to us from Detroit.

When I ﬁnally returned to Detroit to ﬁnd work and

to learn to stand on my own feet, the ball was already

rolling, however slowly. But it took six more months

of work and disappointments before a group of three

men got together in my rooming-house bedroom for

their ﬁrst A.A. meeting.

It sounds simple, but there were obstacles and

doubts to overcome. I well remember a session I had

with myself soon after I returned. It ran something

like this: If I go around shouting from the rooftops

about my alcoholism, it might very possibly prevent

me from getting a good job. But supposing that just

one man died because I had, for selﬁsh reasons, kept

my mouth shut? No. I was supposed to be doing

God’s will, not mine. His road lay clear before me, and

I’d better quit rationalizing myself into any detours.

I could not expect to keep what I had gained unless I

gave it away.

The Depression was still on, and jobs were scarce.

My health was still uncertain. So I created a job for

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254 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

myself selling women’s hosiery and men’s made-to-

order shirts. This gave me the freedom to do A.A.

work and to rest for periods of two or three days when

I became too exhausted to carry on. There was more

than one occasion when I got up in the morning with

just enough money for coffee and toast and the bus

fare to carry me to my ﬁrst appointment. No sale—no

lunch. During that ﬁrst year, however, I managed to

make both ends meet and to avoid ever going back to

my old habit-pattern of borrowing money when I could

not earn it. Here by itself was a great step forward.

During the ﬁrst three months, I carried on all these

activities without a car, depending entirely on buses

and streetcars—I, who always had to have a car at my

immediate command. I, who had never made a speech

in my life and who would have been frightened sick

at the prospect, stood up in front of Rotary groups in

different parts of the city and talked about Alcoholics

Anonymous. I, carried away with the desire to serve

A.A., gave what was probably one of the ﬁrst radio

broadcasts about A.A., living through a case of mike

fright and feeling like a million dollars when it was all

over. I lived through a week of the ﬁdgets because I

had agreed to address a group of alcoholic inmates in

one of our state mental hospitals. There it was the same

reward—exhilaration at a mission accomplished. Do I

have to tell you who gained the most out of all this?

Within a year of my return to Detroit, A.A. was a

deﬁnitely established little group of about a dozen

members, and I too was established in a modest but

steady job handling an independent dry-cleaning route

of my own. I was my own boss. It took ﬁve years of

A.A. living, and a substantial improvement in my

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THE MAN WHO MASTERED FEAR 255

health, before I could take a full-time ofﬁce job where

someone else was boss.

This ofﬁce job brought me face to face with a prob-

lem that I had sidestepped all my adult life, lack of

training. This time I did something about it. I en-

rolled in a correspondence school that taught nothing

but accounting. With this specialized training, and a

liberal business education in the school of hard

knocks, I was able to set up shop some two years

later as an independent accountant. Seven years of

work in this ﬁeld brought an opportunity to afﬁliate

myself actively with one of my clients, a fellow A.A.

We complement each other beautifully, as he is a born

salesman and my taste is for ﬁnance and management.

At long last I am doing the kind of work I have always

wanted to do but never had the patience and emo-

tional stability to train myself for. The A.A. program

showed me the way to come down to earth, start from

the bottom, and work up. This represents another

great change for me. In the long ago past I used to

start at the top as president or treasurer and end up

with the sheriff breathing down my neck.

So much for my business life. Obviously I have

overcome fear to a sufﬁcient degree to think in terms

of success in business. With God’s help I am able, for

one day at a time, to carry business responsibilities

that, not many years ago, I would not have dreamed of

assuming. But what about my social life? What about

those fears that once paralyzed me to the point of my

becoming a semi-hermit? What about my fear of

travel?

It would be wonderful were I able to tell you that

my conﬁdence in God and my application of the

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256 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

Twelve Steps to my daily living have utterly banished

fear. But this would not be the truth. The most ac-

curate answer I can give you is this: Fear has never

again ruled my life since that day in September 1938,

when I found that a Power greater than myself could

not only restore me to sanity but could keep me both

sober and sane. Never in sixteen years have I dodged

anything because I was afraid of it. I have faced life

instead of running away from it.

Some of the things that used to stop me in my

tracks from fear still make me nervous in the anticipa-

tion of their doing, but once I kick myself into doing

them, nervousness disappears and I enjoy myself. In

recent years I have had the happy combination of time

and money to travel occasionally. I am apt to get

into quite an uproar for a day or two before starting, but

I do start, and once started, I have a swell time.

Have I ever wanted a drink during these years?

Only once did I suffer from a nearly overpowering

compulsion to take a drink. Oddly enough, the cir-

cumstances and surroundings were pleasant. I was at

a beautifully set dinner table. I was in a perfectly

happy frame of mind. I had been in A.A. a year, and

the last thing in my mind was a drink. There was a

glass of sherry at my place. I was seized with an al-

most uncontrollable desire to reach out for it. I shut

my eyes and asked for help. In ﬁfteen seconds or less,

the feeling passed. There have also been numerous

times when I have thought about taking a drink. Such

thinking usually began with thoughts of the pleasant

drinking of my youth. I learned early in my A.A. life

that I could not afford to fondle such thoughts, as you

might fondle a pet, because this particular pet could

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257 THE MAN WHO MASTERED FEAR

grow into a monster. Instead, I quickly substitute one

or another vivid scene from the nightmare of my later

drinking.

Twenty-odd years ago I made a mess out of my one

and only marriage. It was therefore not extraordinary

that I should shy away from any serious thought of

marriage for a great many years after joining A.A.

Here was something requiring a greater willingness to

assume responsibility and a larger degree of coopera-

tion and give and take than even business requires

of one. However, I must have felt, deep down inside

myself, that living the selﬁsh life of a bachelor was

only half living. By living alone you can pretty much

eliminate grief from your life, but you also eliminate

joy. At any rate the last great step toward a well-

rounded life still lay ahead of me. So six months ago

I acquired a ready-made family consisting of one

charming wife, four grown children to whom I am

devoted, and three grandchildren. Being an alcoholic,

I couldn’t dream of doing anything by halves! My

wife, a sister member in A.A., had been a widow nine

years and I had been single eighteen years. The ad-

justments in such a case are difﬁcult and take time,

but we both feel that they are certainly worth it. We

are both depending upon God and our use of the

Alcoholics Anonymous program to help us make a

success of this joint undertaking.

It is undoubtedly too soon for me to say how much

of a success I shall be as a husband in time to come. I

do feel, though, that the fact that I ﬁnally grew up to

a point where I could even tackle such a job is the

apex of the story of a man who spent eighteen years

running away from life.

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(8)

HE SOLD HIMSELF SHORT

But he found there was a Higher Power that had

more faith in him than he had in himself. Thus, A.A.

was born in Chicago.

I grew up in a small town outside Akron, Ohio,

where the life was typical of any average small

town. I was very much interested in athletics, and

because of this and parental inﬂuence, I didn’t drink

or smoke in either grade or high school.

All of this changed when I went to college. I had

to adapt to new associations and associates, and it

seemed to be the smart thing to drink and smoke. I

conﬁned drinking to weekends, and drank normally in

college and for several years thereafter.

After I left school, I went to work in Akron, living

at home with my parents. Home life was again a re-

straining inﬂuence. When I drank, I hid it from my

folks out of respect for their feelings. This continued

until I was twenty-seven. Then I started traveling,

with the United States and Canada as my territory

and with so much freedom and with an unlimited ex-

pense account, I was soon drinking every night and

kidding myself that it was all part of the job. I know

now that 60 percent of the time I drank alone without

beneﬁt of customers.

In 1930, I moved to Chicago. Shortly thereafter,

aided by the Depression, I found that I had a great

258

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HE SOLD HIMSELF SHORT 259

deal of spare time and that a little drink in the morn-

ing helped. By 1932, I was going on two- or three-day

benders. That same year, my wife became fed up

with my drinking around the house and called my dad

in Akron to come and pick me up. She asked him to

do something about me because she couldn’t. She was

thoroughly disgusted.

This was the beginning of ﬁve years of bouncing

back and forth between my home in Chicago and

Akron to sober up. It was a period of binges coming

closer and closer together and being of longer dura-

tion. Once Dad came all the way to Florida to sober

me up after a hotel manager called him and said that

if he wanted to see me alive he’d better get there fast.

My wife could not understand why I would sober up

for Dad but not for her. They went into a huddle, and

Dad explained that he simply took my pants, shoes,

and money away so that I could get no liquor and had

to sober up.

One time my wife decided to try this too. After

ﬁnding every bottle that I had hidden around the

apartment, she took away my pants, my shoes, my

money, and my keys, threw them under the bed in the

back bedroom, and slip-locked our door. By one a.m.

I was desperate. I found some wool stockings, some

white ﬂannels that had shrunk to my knees, and an old

jacket. I jimmied the front door so that I could get

back in, and walked out. I was hit by an icy blast. It

was February with snow and ice on the ground, and

I had a four-block walk to the nearest cab stand, but

I made it. On my ride to the nearest bar, I sold the

driver on how misunderstood I was by my wife and

what an unreasonable person she was. By the time we

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260 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

reached the bar, he was willing to buy me a quart with

his own money. Then when we got back to the apart-

ment, he was willing to wait two or three days until

I got my health back to be paid off for the liquor and

fare. I was a good salesman. My wife could not un-

derstand the next morning why I was drunker than

the night before, when she had taken my bottles.

After a particularly bad Christmas and New Year’s

holiday, Dad picked me up again early in January

1937 to go through the usual sobering up routine.

This consisted of walking the ﬂoor for three or four

days and nights until I could take nourishment. This

time he had a suggestion to offer. He waited until I

was completely sober, and on the day before I was to

head back for Chicago, he told me of a small group of

men in Akron who apparently had the same problem

that I had but were doing something about it. He said

they were sober, happy, and had their self-respect

back, as well as the respect of their neighbors. He

mentioned two of them whom I had known through the

years and suggested that I talk with them. But I had

my health back, and, besides, I reasoned, they were

much worse than I would ever be. Why, even a year

ago I had seen Howard, an ex-doctor, mooching a

dime for a drink. I could not possibly be that bad. I

would at least have asked for a quarter! So I told Dad

that I would lick it on my own, that I would drink

nothing for a month and after that only beer.

Several months later Dad was back in Chicago to

pick me up again, but this time my attitude was en-

tirely different. I could not wait to tell him that I

wanted help, that if these men in Akron had anything,

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HE SOLD HIMSELF SHORT 261

I wanted it and would do anything to get it. I was

completely licked by alcohol.

I can still remember very distinctly getting into

Akron at eleven p.m. and routing this same Howard

out of bed to do something about me. He spent two

hours with me that night telling me his story. He said

he had ﬁnally learned that drinking was a fatal illness

made up of an allergy plus an obsession, and once

the drinking had passed from habit to obsession, we

were completely hopeless and could look forward

only to spending the balance of our lives in mental

institutions—or to death.

He laid great stress on the progression of his atti-

tude toward life and people, and most of his attitudes

had been very similar to mine. I thought at times that

he was telling my story! I had thought that I was com-

pletely different from other people, that I was begin-

ning to become a little balmy, even to the point of

withdrawing more and more from society and wanting

to be alone with my bottle.

Here was a man with essentially the same outlook

on life, except that he had done something about it.

He was happy, getting a kick out of life and people,

and beginning to get his medical practice back again.

As I look back on that ﬁrst evening, I realize that I

began to hope, then, for the ﬁrst time; and I felt that

if he could regain these things, perhaps it would be

possible for me too.

The next afternoon and evening, two other men

visited me, and each told me his story and the things

that they were doing to try to recover from this tragic

illness. They had that certain something that seemed

to glow, a peace, a serenity combined with happiness.

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262 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

In the next two or three days the balance of this

handful of men contacted me, encouraged me, and

told me how they were trying to live this program of

recovery and the fun they were having doing it.

Then and then only, after a thorough indoctrination

by eight or nine individuals, was I allowed to attend

my ﬁrst meeting. This ﬁrst meeting was held in the

living room of a home and was led by Bill D., the ﬁrst

man that Bill W. and Dr. Bob had worked with suc-

cessfully.

The meeting consisted of perhaps eight or nine

alcoholics and seven or eight wives. It was different

from the meetings now held. The big A.A. book had

not been written, and there was no literature except

various religious pamphlets. The program was carried

on entirely by word of mouth.

The meeting lasted an hour and closed with the

Lord’s Prayer. After it was closed, we all retired to the

kitchen and had coffee and doughnuts and more

discussion until the small hours of the morning.

I was terribly impressed by this meeting and the

quality of happiness these men displayed, despite their

lack of material means. In this small group, during the

Depression, there was no one who was not hard up.

I stayed in Akron two or three weeks on my initial

trip trying to absorb as much of the program and phi-

losophy as possible. I spent a great deal of time with

Dr. Bob, whenever he had the time to spare, and in

the homes of two or three other people, trying to see

how the family lived the program. Every evening we

would meet at the home of one of the members and

have coffee and doughnuts and spend a social evening.

The day before I was due to go back to Chicago—

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HE SOLD HIMSELF SHORT 263

it was Dr. Bob’s afternoon off—he had me to the

ofﬁce and we spent three or four hours formally

going through the Six-Step program as it was at that

time. The six steps were:

1. Complete deﬂation.

2. Dependence and guidance from a Higher Power.

3. Moral inventory.

4. Confession.

5. Restitution.

6. Continued work with other alcoholics.

Dr. Bob led me through all of these steps. At the

moral inventory, he brought up several of my bad

personality traits or character defects, such as selﬁsh-

ness, conceit, jealousy, carelessness, intolerance, ill-

temper, sarcasm, and resentments. We went over these at

great length, and then he ﬁnally asked me if I wanted

these defects of character removed. When I said yes,

we both knelt at his desk and prayed, each of us ask-

ing to have these defects taken away.

This picture is still vivid. If I live to be a hundred,

it will always stand out in my mind. It was very im-

pressive, and I wish that every A.A. could have the

beneﬁt of this type of sponsorship today. Dr. Bob al-

ways emphasized the religious angle very strongly,

and I think it helped. I know it helped me. Dr. Bob

then led me through the restitution step, in which I

made a list of all of the persons I had harmed and

worked out the ways and the means of slowly making

restitution.

I made several decisions at that time. One of them

was that I would try to get a group started in Chicago;

the second was that I would have to return to Akron

to attend meetings at least every two months until I

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264 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

did get a group started in Chicago; third, I decided I

must place this program above everything else, even

my family, because if I did not maintain my sobriety,

I would lose my family anyway. If I did not maintain

my sobriety, I would not have a job. If I did not main-

tain my sobriety, I would have no friends left. I had

few enough at that time.

The next day I went back to Chicago and started a

vigorous campaign among my so-called friends or

drinking companions. Their answer was always the

same: If they needed it at any time, they would surely

get in touch with me. I went to a minister and a doc-

tor whom I still knew, and they, in turn, asked me how

long I had been sober. When I told them six

weeks, they were polite and said that they would con-

tact me in case they had anyone with an alcoholic

problem.

Needless to say, it was a year or more before they

did contact me. On my trips back to Akron to get my

spirits recharged and to work with other alcoholics,

I would ask Dr. Bob about this delay and wonder just

what was wrong with me. He would invariably reply,

“When you are right and the time is right, Providence

will provide. You must always be willing and continue

to make contacts.”

A few months after I made my original trip to

Akron, I was feeling pretty cocky, and I didn’t think

my wife was treating me with proper respect, now that

I was an outstanding citizen. So I set out to get drunk

deliberately, just to teach her what she was missing.

A week later I had to get an old friend from Akron

to spend two days sobering me up. That was my les-

son, that one could not take the moral inventory and

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HE SOLD HIMSELF SHORT 265

then ﬁle it away; that the alcoholic has to continue to

take inventory every day if he expects to get well and

stay well. That was my only slip. It taught me a valu-

able lesson. In the summer of 1938, almost a year

from the time I made my original contact with Akron,

the man for whom I was working, and who knew about

the program, approached me and asked if I could do

anything about one of his salesmen who was drinking

very heavily. I went to the sanitarium where this

chap was incarcerated and found to my surprise that

he was interested. He had been wanting to do some-

thing about his drinking for a long time but did not

know how. I spent several days with him, but I did not

feel adequate to pass the program on to him by

myself. So I suggested that he take a trip to Akron for

a couple of weeks, which he did, living with one of the

A.A. families there. When he returned, we had practi-

cally daily meetings from that time on.

A few months later one of the men who had been

in touch with the group in Akron came to Chicago to

live, and then there were three of us who continued

to have informal meetings quite regularly.

In the spring of 1939, the Big Book was printed,

and we had two inquiries from the New York ofﬁce

because of a ﬁfteen-minute radio talk that was made.

Neither one of the two was interested for himself, one

being a mother who wanted to do something for her

son. I suggested to her that she should see the son’s

minister or doctor, and that perhaps he would recom-

mend the A.A. program.

The doctor, a young man, immediately took ﬁre

with the idea, and while he did not convince the son,

he turned over two prospects who were anxious for

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266 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

the program. The three of us did not feel up to the

job, and after a few meetings we convinced the pros-

pects that they, too, should go to Akron where they

could see an older group in action.

In the meantime, another doctor in Evanston be-

came convinced that the program had possibilities

and turned over a woman to us to do something

about. She was full of enthusiasm and also made the

trip to Akron. Immediately on her return in the au-

tumn of 1939, we began to have formal meetings once

a week, and we have continued to do this and to ex-

pand ever since.

Occasionally, it is accorded to a few of us to watch

something ﬁne grow from a tiny kernel into something

of gigantic goodness. Such has been my privilege,

both nationally and in my home city. From a mere

handful in Akron, we have spread throughout the

world. From a single member in the Chicago area,

commuting to Akron, we now exceed six thousand.

These last eighteen years have been the happiest of

my life, trite though that statement may seem. Fifteen

of those years I would not have enjoyed had I contin-

ued drinking. Doctors told me before I stopped that I

had only three years at the outside to live.

This latest part of my life has had a purpose, not in

great things accomplished but in daily living. Cour-

age to face each day has replaced the fears and uncer-

tainties of earlier years. Acceptance of things as they

are has replaced the old impatient champing at the

bit to conquer the world. I have stopped tilting at

windmills and, instead, have tried to accomplish the

little daily tasks, unimportant in themselves, but tasks

that are an integral part of living fully.

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HE SOLD HIMSELF SHORT 267

Where derision, contempt, and pity were once

shown me, I now enjoy the respect of many people.

Where once I had casual acquaintances, all of whom

were fair-weather friends, I now have a host of friends

who accept me for what I am. And over my A.A. years

I have made many real, honest, sincere friendships

that I shall always cherish.

I’m rated as a modestly successful man. My stock

of material goods isn’t great. But I have a fortune in

friendships, courage, self-assurance, and honest ap-

praisal of my own abilities. Above all, I have gained

the greatest thing accorded to any man, the love and

understanding of a gracious God, who has lifted me

from the alcoholic scrap heap to a position of trust,

where I have been able to reap the rich rewards that

come from showing a little love for others and from

serving them as I can.

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(9)

THE KEYS OF THE KINGDOM

This worldly lady helped to develop A.A. in Chicago

and thus passed her keys to many.

A little more than ﬁfteen years ago, through

a long and calamitous series of shattering ex-

periences, I found myself being helplessly propelled

toward total destruction. I was without power to change

the course my life had taken. How I had arrived at this

tragic impasse, I could not have explained to anyone.

I was thirty-three years old and my life was spent. I

was caught in a cycle of alcohol and sedation that was

proving inescapable, and consciousness had become

intolerable.

I was a product of the post-war prohibition era of

the Roaring ’20s. That age of the ﬂapper and the “It”

girl, speakeasies and the hip ﬂask, the boyish bob and

the drugstore cowboy, John Held Jr. and F. Scott Fitz-

gerald, all generously sprinkled with a patent pseudo-

sophistication. To be sure, this had been a dizzy and

confused interval, but most everyone else I knew had

emerged from it with both feet on the ground and a

fair amount of adult maturity.

Nor could I blame my dilemma on my childhood

environment. I couldn’t have chosen more loving and

conscientious parents. I was given every advantage

in a well-ordered home. I had the best schools, sum-

mer camps, resort vacations, and travel. Every reason-

268

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THE KEYS OF THE KINGDOM 269

able desire was possible of attainment for me. I was

strong and healthy and quite athletic.

I experienced some of the pleasure of social drink-

ing when I was sixteen. I deﬁnitely liked everything

about alcohol—the taste, the effects; and I realize now

that a drink did something for me or to me that was

different from the way it affected others. It wasn’t long

before any party without drinks was a dud for me.

I was married at twenty, had two children, and was

divorced at twenty-three. My broken home and

broken heart fanned my smoldering self-pity into a

fair-sized bonﬁre, and this kept me well supplied with

reasons for having another drink, and then another.

At twenty-ﬁve I had developed an alcoholic prob-

lem. I began making the rounds of the doctors in the

hope that one of them might ﬁnd some cure for my

accumulating ailments, preferably something that

could be removed surgically.

Of course the doctors found nothing. Just an un-

stable woman, undisciplined, poorly adjusted, and

ﬁlled with nameless fears. Most of them prescribed

sedatives and advised rest and moderation.

Between the ages of twenty-ﬁve and thirty, I tried

everything. I moved a thousand miles away from

home to Chicago and a new environment. I studied

art; I desperately endeavored to create an interest in

many things, in a new place among new people.

Nothing worked. My drinking habits increased in spite

of my struggle for control. I tried the beer diet,

the wine diet, timing, measuring, and spacing of

drinks. I tried them mixed, unmixed, drinking only

when happy, only when depressed. And still, by the time

I was thirty years old, I was being pushed around by a

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270 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

compulsion to drink that was completely beyond my

control. I couldn’t stop drinking. I would hang on to

sobriety for short intervals, but always there would

come the tide of an overpowering necessity to drink,

and, as I was engulfed in it, I felt such a sense of panic

that I really believed I would die if I didn’t get that

drink inside.

Needless to say, this was not pleasurable drinking. I

had long since given up any pretense of the social

cocktail hour. This was drinking in sheer despera-

tion, alone and locked behind my own door. Alone in

the relative safety of my home because I knew I dare

not risk the danger of blacking out in some public

place or at the wheel of a car. I could no longer gauge

my capacity, and it might be the second or the tenth

drink that would erase my consciousness.

The next three years saw me in sanitariums, once in

a ten-day coma, from which I very nearly did not re-

cover, in and out of hospitals or conﬁned at home with

day and night nurses. By now I wanted to die but

had lost the courage even to take my life. I was

trapped, and for the life of me I did not know how or

why this had happened to me. And all the while my

fear fed a growing conviction that before long it would

be necessary for me to be put away in some institu-

tion. People didn’t behave this way outside of an asy-

lum. I had heartsickness, shame, and fear bordering

on panic, and no complete escape any longer except in

oblivion. Certainly, now, anyone would have agreed

that only a miracle could prevent my ﬁnal breakdown.

But how does one get a prescription for a miracle?

For about one year prior to this time, there was one

doctor who had continued to struggle with me. He

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THE KEYS OF THE KINGDOM 271

had tried everything from having me attend daily mass

at six a.m. to performing the most menial labor for his

charity patients. Why he bothered with me as long

as he did I shall never know, for he knew there was no

answer for me in medicine, and he, like all doctors of

his day, had been taught that the alcoholic was incur-

able and should be ignored. Doctors were advised to

attend patients who could be beneﬁted by medicine.

With the alcoholic, they could only give temporary re-

lief and in the last stages not even that. It was a waste

of the doctors’ time and the patients’ money. Never-

theless, there were a few doctors who saw alcoholism

as a disease and felt that the alcoholic was a victim of

something over which he had no control. They had a

hunch that there must be an answer for these appar-

ently hopeless ones, somewhere. Fortunately for me,

my doctor was one of the enlightened.

And then, in the spring of 1939, a very remarkable

book was rolled off a New York press with the title

Alcoholics Anonymous. However, due to ﬁnancial dif-

ﬁculties, the whole printing was, for a while, held

up and the book received no publicity nor, of course,

was it available in the stores, even if one knew it ex-

isted. But somehow my good doctor heard of this

book, and he also learned a little about the people re-

sponsible for its publication. He sent to New York for

a copy, and after reading it, he tucked it under his arm

and called on me. That call marked the turning point

in my life.

Until now, I had never been told that I was an alco-

holic. Few doctors will tell a hopeless patient that

there is no answer for him or for her. But this day my

doctor gave it to me straight and said, “People like

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272 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

you are pretty well known to the medical profession.

Every doctor gets his quota of alcoholic patients.

Some of us struggle with these people because we

know that they are really very sick, but we also know

that, short of some miracle, we are not going to help

them except temporarily and that they will inevitably

get worse and worse until one of two things happens.

Either they die of acute alcoholism or they develop

wet brains and have to be put away permanently.”

He further explained that alcohol was no respecter

of sex or background but that most of the alcoholics

he had encountered had better-than-average minds

and abilities. He said the alcoholics seemed to possess

a native acuteness and usually excelled in their ﬁelds,

regardless of environmental or educational advantages.

“We watch the alcoholic performing in a position of

responsibility, and we know that because he is drinking

heavily and daily, he has cut his capacities by 50

percent, and still he seems able to do a satisfactory

job. And we wonder how much further this man could

go if his alcoholic problem could be removed and he

could throw 100 percent of his abilities into action.

“But, of course,” he continued, “eventually the

alcoholic loses all of his capacities as his disease gets

progressively worse, and this is a tragedy that is

painful to watch: the disintegration of a sound mind

and body.”

Then he told me there was a handful of people in

Akron and New York who had worked out a tech-

nique for arresting their alcoholism. He asked me to

read the book Alcoholics Anonymous, and then he

wanted me to talk with a man who was experiencing

success with his own arrestment. This man could tell

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THE KEYS OF THE KINGDOM 273

me more. I stayed up all night reading that book.

For me it was a wonderful experience. It explained so

much I had not understood about myself, and, best of

all, it promised recovery if I would do a few simple

things and be willing to have the desire to drink re-

moved. Here was hope. Maybe I could ﬁnd my way

out of this agonizing existence. Perhaps I could ﬁnd

freedom and peace, and be able once again to call my

soul my own.

The next day I received a visit from Mr. T., a re-

covered alcoholic. I don’t know what sort of person

I was expecting, but I was very agreeably surprised to

ﬁnd Mr. T. a poised, intelligent, well-groomed, and

mannered gentleman. I was immediately impressed

with his graciousness and charm. He put me at ease

with his ﬁrst few words. Looking at him, I found it

hard to believe he had ever been as I was then.

However, as he unfolded his story for me, I could

not help but believe him. In describing his suffering,

his fears, his many years of groping for some answer

to that which always seemed to remain unanswerable,

he could have been describing me, and nothing short

of experience and knowledge could have afforded him

that much insight! He had been dry for 21⁄years2

and had been maintaining his contact with a group of

recovered alcoholics in Akron. Contact with this group

was extremely important to him. He told me that

eventually he hoped such a group would develop in

the Chicago area but that so far this had not been

started. He thought it would be helpful for me to visit

the Akron group and meet many like himself.

By this time, with the doctor’s explanation, the rev-

elations contained in the book, and the hope-inspiring

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274 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

interview with Mr. T., I was ready and willing to go to

the ends of the earth, if that was what it took, for me

to ﬁnd what these people had.

So I went to Akron, and also to Cleveland, and I

met more recovered alcoholics. I saw in these people

a quality of peace and serenity that I knew I must

have for myself. Not only were they at peace with

themselves, but they were getting a kick out of life

such as one seldom encounters, except in the very

young. They seemed to have all the ingredients for

successful living: philosophy, faith, a sense of humor

(they could laugh at themselves), clear-cut objectives,

appreciation—and most especially appreciation and

sympathetic understanding for their fellow man.

Nothing in their lives took precedence over their

response to a call for help from some alcoholic in need.

They would travel miles and stay up all night with

someone they had never laid eyes on before and think

nothing of it. Far from expecting praise for their

deeds, they claimed the performance a privilege and

insisted that they invariably received more than they

gave. Extraordinary people!

I didn’t dare hope I might ﬁnd for myself all that

these people had found, but if I could acquire some

small part of their intriguing quality of living—and

sobriety—that would be enough.

Shortly after I returned to Chicago, my doctor, en-

couraged by the results of my contact with A.A., sent

us two more of his alcoholic patients. By the latter

part of September 1939, we had a nucleus of six and

held our ﬁrst ofﬁcial group meeting.

I had a tough pull back to normal good health. It

had been so many years since I had not relied on some

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THE KEYS OF THE KINGDOM 275

artiﬁcial crutch, either alcohol or sedatives. Letting go

of everything at once was both painful and terrifying.

I could never have accomplished this alone. It took

the help, understanding, and wonderful companion-

ship that was given so freely to me by my ex-alkie

friends—this and the program of recovery embodied

in the Twelve Steps. In learning to practice these steps

in my daily living, I began to acquire faith and a phi-

losophy to live by. Whole new vistas were opened up

for me, new avenues of experience to be explored, and

life began to take on color and interest. In time, I

found myself looking forward to each new day with

pleasurable anticipation.

A.A. is not a plan for recovery that can be ﬁnished

and done with. It is a way of life, and the challenge

contained in its principles is great enough to keep any

human being striving for as long as he lives. We do

not, cannot, outgrow this plan. As arrested alcoholics,

we must have a program for living that allows for lim-

itless expansion. Keeping one foot in front of the other

is essential for maintaining our arrestment. Others

may idle in a retrogressive groove without too much

danger, but retrogression can spell death for us.

However, this isn’t as rough as it sounds, as we do be-

come grateful for the necessity that makes us toe the

line, and we ﬁnd that we are compensated for a con-

sistent effort by the countless dividends we receive.

A complete change takes place in our approach to

life. Where we used to run from responsibility, we ﬁnd

ourselves accepting it with gratitude that we can suc-

cessfully shoulder it. Instead of wanting to escape

some perplexing problem, we experience the thrill

of challenge in the opportunity it affords for another

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276 ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

application of A.A. techniques, and we ﬁnd ourselves

tackling it with surprising vigor.

The last ﬁfteen years of my life have been rich and

meaningful. I have had my share of problems,

heartaches, and disappointments because that is life,

but also I have known a great deal of joy and a peace

that is the handmaiden of an inner freedom. I have a

wealth of friends and, with my A.A. friends, an un-

usual quality of fellowship. For, to these people, I am

truly related. First, through mutual pain and despair,

and later through mutual objectives and newfound

faith and hope. And, as the years go by, working to-

gether, sharing our experiences with one another, and

also sharing a mutual trust, understanding, and love—

without strings, without obligation—we acquire rela-

tionships that are unique and priceless.

There is no more aloneness, with that awful ache,

so deep in the heart of every alcoholic that nothing,

before, could ever reach it. That ache is gone and

never need return again.

Now there is a sense of belonging, of being wanted

and needed and loved. In return for a bottle and a

hangover, we have been given the Keys of the

Kingdom.

(1)

THE MISSING LINK

He looked at everything as the cause of his unhap-

piness—except alcohol.

When i waseight or nine years old, life sud-

denly became very difﬁcult. Feelings began to

emerge that I did not understand. Depression crept

into my life as I started to feel alone, even in crowded

rooms. In fact, life didn’t make much sense to me at

all. It’s hard to say what sparked all of this, to pinpoint

one fact or event that changed everything forever. The

fact of the matter was, I was miserable from early on

in my life.

It was all very confusing. I remember isolating on

the playground, watching all the other children laugh-

ing and playing and smiling, and not feeling like I

could relate at all. I felt different. I didn’t feel as if I

was one of them. Somehow, I thought, I didn’t ﬁt in.

My school marks soon reﬂected these feelings. My

behavior and attitude seemed to become troublesome

to everyone around me. I soon began spending more

time in the principal’s ofﬁce than in the classroom. My

parents, perplexed by such an unhappy son, began

having difﬁculties. My house was soon ﬁlled with the

sounds of arguments and yelling about how to handle

me. I found that running away from home could sup-

ply me with some sort of temporary solace. Until of

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course, the police would ﬁnd me and bring me back to

my house and my worried parents.

About that time I started seeing therapists and spe-

cialists, each with a different theory and a different so-

lution. They conducted special tests and interviews

designed to get to the root of my troubles, and came

to the conclusion that I had a learning disability and

was depressed. The psychiatrist started me on some

medication, and the problems in school started to

clear up. Even some of the depression began to ease

up for a bit. However, something still seemed funda-

mentally wrong.

Whatever the problem, I soon found what appeared

to be the solution to everything. At age ﬁfteen, I trav-

eled with my family to Israel. My brother was to be

bar mitzvahed atop Masada. There was no legal drink-

ing age, so I found it quite easy to walk into a bar and

order a drink. New Year’s Eve fell in the middle of the

trip, and since the Jewish calendar celebrates a differ-

ent New Year than the Gregorian calendar, the only

celebration was being held in the American sector of

a university. I got drunk for the ﬁrst time that night. It

changed everything.

A stop at a local bar began the evening. I ordered a

beer from the waitress and as I took the ﬁrst sip,

something was immediately different. I looked around

me, at the people drinking and dancing, smiling and

laughing, all of whom were much older than I.

Suddenly, I somehow felt I belonged. From there, I

made my way to the university, where I found hun-

dreds of other Americans celebrating New Year’s Eve.

Before the night was over, I had started a ﬁght with a

number of college-aged drunken fellows and returned

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to the hotel stinking drunk and riddled with bruises.

Ah yes, what a grand evening it was! I fell in love that

night—with a beverage.

Returning to the States, I was determined to con-

tinue with my newfound love affair. I found myself

trying to convince my friends to join me, but I was

met with resistance. Still determined, I set out to ﬁnd

new friends, friends who could help me maintain this

fantastic solution to my most desperate problems. My

escapades started as a weekend pursuit and pro-

gressed into a daily obsession. At ﬁrst, it took several

beers to get me drunk to my satisfaction. However,

within three years, it took a ﬁfth and a half of vodka, a

bottle of wine, and several beers in an evening’s time

to satisfactorily black me out. I would obtain alcohol

by any means necessary. That meant lying, stealing,

and cheating. My motto was, if you felt like I did,

you’d have to get drunk too.

As the feelings of hopelessness and depression pro-

gressed, so did my drinking. Thoughts of suicide came

more and more frequently. It felt as if things were

never going to change. Progress with my therapist

came to almost a complete halt. The hopelessness was

compounded by the fact that the one thing that was

bringing me relief, the one thing I counted on to take

the pain away, was ultimately destroying me. The end,

I feared, was close.

My last semester in high school marked my bottom.

It was everyday drinking then. Since I had already

been accepted at college, I consciously decided to

make that last semester one big party. But it was no

fun at all. I was miserable. I graduated narrowly and

took a job at a local garage. It was difﬁcult to manage

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my drinking and a job since they were both full time,

but I concocted all kinds of lies to ensure that nothing

would interfere with my drinking. After being repeat-

edly reprimanded at work for being late in the morn-

ings, I made up a story to hide the fact that I was

always hung over. I told my manager that I had cancer

and needed to go to the doctor for treatment every

morning. I would say whatever I needed to say to pro-

tect my drinking.

More often, I was having these little moments of

clarity, times I knew for sure that I was an alcoholic.

Times when I was looking at the bottom of my glass

asking myself, Why am I doing this? Something had to

give, something had to change. I was suicidal, evaluat-

ing every part of my life for what could be wrong. It

culminated in one last night of drinking and staring at

the problem. It made me sick to think about it, and

even sicker to continue drinking it away. I was forced

to look at my drinking as the chief suspect.

The next day I went to work, late as usual, and all

day long I could not stop thinking about this very real

problem. I could go no further. What was happening

to me? Therapy hadn’t ﬁxed my life—all those ses-

sions; I was still miserable. I might as well just kill my-

self, drink my way into oblivion. In one last desperate

ﬁght for a solution, I reviewed my life, searching for

the missing link. Had I left out some crucial bit of in-

formation that would lead to a breakthrough, making

it possible for life to become just a little more bear-

able? No, there was nothing. Except of course my

drinking.

The next morning I went to see my therapist. I told

him I’d decided to quit therapy, because after eight

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years, it wasn’t working. But I decided to tell him how

I had been searching through my life for that missing

link and had come up with only one thing I had never

told him: that I drank. He began asking me ques-

tions—he asked about quantities, frequency, what I

drank. Before he was even halfway through, I broke

down and began sobbing. I cried, “Do you think I

have a problem with drinking?” He replied, “I think

that is quite obvious.” I then asked, “Do you think I’m

an alcoholic?” And he answered, “You are going to

have to ﬁnd out for yourself.” He pulled a list of

Alcoholics Anonymous meetings out of his desk

drawer; he had already highlighted the young people’s

meetings.

He told me to go home and not drink at all for the

rest of the day. He would call me at nine p.m. and

wanted to hear that I hadn’t taken a drink. It was

rough, but I went home and locked myself in my

room, sweating it out until he called. He asked if I had

had a drink. I told him I had not and asked what I

should do next. He told me to do the same thing to-

morrow, except tomorrow I should also go to the ﬁrst

meeting on the list he had highlighted. The next day I

went to my ﬁrst meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. I

was eighteen years old.

In the parking lot, I sat in my car for about ﬁfteen

minutes before the meeting started, trying to work up

the courage to go in and face myself. I remember ﬁ-

nally working up the nerve to open the door and get

out, only to close the door, dismissing the notion of

going into the meeting as ridiculous. This dance of in-

decisiveness went on about ﬁfty times before I went

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in. Had I not gone in, I believe I would not be alive

today.

The room was very smoky and ﬁlled with appar-

entlyhappy people. Finding a seat in the back, I sat

down and tried to make sense of the format. When

the chairperson asked if there were any newcomers

present, I looked around and saw some hands go up,

but I certainly wasn’t ready to raise my hand and draw

attention to myself. The meeting broke up into several

groups, and I followed one group down the hall and

took a seat. They opened a book and read a chapter

titled “Step Seven.” After the reading, they went

around the table for comments, and for the ﬁrst time

in my life, I found myself surrounded by people I

could really relate with. I no longer felt as if I was a

total misﬁt, because here was a roomful of people who

felt precisely as I did, and a major weight had been

lifted. I happened to be in the last chair around the

table to speak and, confused by the reading, all I could

say was, “What the heck are shortcomings?”

A couple of members, realizing I was there for my

ﬁrst meeting, took me downstairs and sat down with

me and outlined the program. I can recall very little of

what was said. I remember telling these members that

this program they outlined sounded like just what I

needed, but I didn’t think I could stay sober for the

rest of my life. Exactly how was I supposed to not

drink if my girlfriend breaks up with me, or if my best

friend dies, or even through happy times like gradua-

tions, weddings, and birthdays. They suggested I

could just stay sober one day at a time. They explained

that it might be easier to set my sights on the twenty-

four hours in front of me and to take on these other

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situations when and if they ever arrived. I decided to

give sobriety a try, one day at a time, and I’ve done it

that way ever since.

When I entered Alcoholics Anonymous, I had done

some damage physically, had a bouquet of mental

quirks, and was spiritually bankrupt. I knew I was

powerless over alcohol and that I needed to be open-

minded toward what people suggested for recovery.

However, when it came to spirituality, I fought it

nearly every step of the way. Although raised in an

ethnic and religious Jewish household, I was agnostic

and very resistant to anyone and anything that I per-

ceived to be imposing religious beliefs. To my sur-

prise, Alcoholics Anonymous suggested something

different.

The idea that religion and spirituality were not one

and the same was a new notion. My sponsor asked

that I merely remain open-minded to the possibility

that there was a Power greater than myself, one of my

own understanding. He assured me that no person

was going to impose a belief system on me, that it was

a personal matter. Reluctantly, I opened my mind to

the fact that maybe, just maybe, there was something

to this spiritual lifestyle. Slowly but surely, I realized

there was indeed a Power greater than myself, and I

soon found myself with a full-time God in my life and

following a spiritual path that didn’t conﬂict with my

personal religious convictions.

Following this spiritual path made a major differ-

ence in my life. It seemed to ﬁll that lonely hole that

I used to ﬁll with alcohol. My self-esteem improved

dramatically, and I knew happiness and serenity as I

had never known it before. I started to see the beauty

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and usefulness in my own existence, and tried to ex-

press my gratitude through helping others in whatever

ways I could. A conﬁdence and faith entered my life

and unraveled a plan for me that was bigger and bet-

ter than I could have ever imagined.

It wasn’t easy, and it has never been easy, but it gets

so much better. Since that ﬁrst meeting, my life has

completely changed. Three months into the program I

started college. While many of my college classmates

were experimenting with alcohol for the ﬁrst time, I

was off at meetings and A.A. get-togethers, becoming

active in service work, and developing relationships

with God, family, friends, and loved ones. I rarely

thought twice about this; it was what I wanted and

needed to do.

Over the last seven years, nearly everything I

thought I could not stay sober through has happened.

Indeed, sobriety and life are full of ups and downs.

Occasionally depression can creep back into my life

and requires outside help. However, this program has

provided me with the tools to stay sober through the

death of my best friends, failed relationships, and

good times like birthdays, weddings, and graduations.

Life is exponentially better than it ever was before.

I’m living out the life I used to fantasize about, and I

have a whole lot of work still in front of me. I have

hope to share and love to give, and I just keep going

one day at a time, living this adventure called life.

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(2)

FEAR OF FEAR

This lady was cautious. She decided she wouldn’t

let herself go in her drinking. And she would never,

never take that morning drink!

Ididn’t thinkI was an alcoholic. I thought my

problem was that I had been married to a drunk

for twenty-seven years. And when my husband found

A.A., I came to the second meeting with him. I

thought it was wonderful, simply marvelous, for him.

But not for me. Then I went to another meeting, and

I still thought it was wonderful—for him, but not for

me.

That was on a hot summer evening, down in the

Greenwich Village Group, and there was a little porch

out there in the old meeting place on Sullivan Street,

and after the meeting I went out on the steps for some

air. In the doorway stood a lovely young girl who said,

“Are you one of us souses too?” I said, “Oh, goodness,

no! My husband is. He’s in there.” She told me her

name, and I said, “I know you from somewhere.” It

turned out that she had been in high school with my

daughter. I said, “Eileen, are you one of those peo-

ple?” And she said, “Oh, yes. I’m in this.”

As we walked back through the hall, I, for the ﬁrst

time in my life, said to another human being, “I’m

having trouble with my drinking too.” She took me by

the hand and introduced me to the woman that I’m

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very proud to call my sponsor. This woman and her

husband are both in A.A., and she said to me, “Oh,

but you’re not the alcoholic; it’s your husband.” I said,

“Yes.” She said, “How long have you been married?” I

said, “Twenty-seven years.” She said, “Twenty-seven

years to an alcoholic! How did you ever stand it?” I

thought, now here’s a nice, sympathetic soul! This is

for me. I said, “Well, I stood it to keep the home to-

gether, and for the children’s sake.” She said, “Yes, I

know. You’re just a martyr, aren’t you?” I walked away

from that woman grinding my teeth and cursing under

my breath. Fortunately, I didn’t say a word to George

on the way home. But that night I tried to go to sleep.

And I thought, “You’re some martyr, Jane! Let’s look

at the record.” And when I looked at it, I knew I was

just as much a drunk as George was, if not worse. I

nudged George next morning, and I said, “I’m in,” and

he said, “Oh, I knew you’d make it.”

I started drinking nearly thirty years ago—right

after I was married. My ﬁrst drinking spree was on

corn liquor, and I was allergic to it, believe me. I was

deathly sick every time I took a drink. But we had to

do a lot of entertaining. My husband liked to have a

good time; I was very young, and I wanted to have a

good time too. The only way I knew to do it was to

drink right along with him.

I got into terriﬁc trouble with my drinking. I was

afraid, and I had made my mind up that I would never

get drunk, so I was watchful and careful. We had a

small child, and I loved her dearly, so that held me

back quite a bit in my drinking career. Even so, every

time I drank, I seemed to get in trouble. I al-

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ways wanted to drink too much, so I was watchful, al-

ways watchful, counting my drinks. If we were invited

to a formal party and I knew they were only going to

have one or two drinks, I wouldn’t have any. I was

being very cagey, because I knew that if I did take one

or two, I might want to take ﬁve or six or seven or

eight.

I did stay fairly good for a few years. But I wasn’t

happy, and I didn’t ever let myself go in my drinking.

After my son, our second child, came along, and as he

became school age and was away at school most of the

time, something happened. I really started drinking

with a bang.

I never went to a hospital. I never lost a job. I was

never in jail. And, unlike many others, I never took a

drink in the morning. I needed a drink, but I was

afraid to take a morning drink, because I didn’t want

to be a drunk. I became a drunk anyway, but I was

scared to death to take that morning drink. I was ac-

cused of it many times when I went to play bridge in

the afternoon, but I really never did take a morning

drink. I was still woozy from the night before.

I should have lost my husband, and I think that

onlythe fact that he was an alcoholic too kept us to-

gether. No one else would have stayed with me.

Manywomen who have reached the stage that I had

reached in my drinking have lost husbands, children,

homes, everything they hold dear. I have been very

fortunate in many ways. The important thing I lost

was my own self-respect. I could feel fear coming into

my life. I couldn’t face people. I couldn’t look them

straight in the eyes, although I had always been a

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self-possessed, brazen person. I’d brazen anything out.

I lied like a trooper to get out of many scrapes.

But I felt a fear coming into my life, and I couldn’t

cope with it. I got so that I hid quite a bit of the time,

wouldn’t answer the phone, and stayed by myself as

much as I could. I noticed that I was avoiding all my

social friends, except for my bridge club. I couldn’t

keep up with any of my other friends, and I wouldn’t

go to anyone’s house unless I knew they drank as heav-

ily as I did. I never knew it was the ﬁrst drink that did

it. I thought I was losing my mind when I realized that

I couldn’t stop drinking. That frightened me terribly.

George tried many times to go on the wagon. If I

had been sincere in what I thought I wanted more

than anything else in life—a sober husband and a

happy, contented home—I would have gone on the

wagon with him. I did try, for a day or two, but some-

thing would always come up that would throw me. It

would be a little thing—the rugs being crooked, or

any silly little thing that I’d think was wrong—and off

I’d go, drinking. And sneaking my drinks. I had bottles

hidden all over the apartment. I didn’t think my chil-

dren knew about it, but I found out they did. It’s sur-

prising, how we think we fool everybody in our

drinking.

I reached a stage where I couldn’t go into my apart-

ment without a drink. It didn’t bother me anymore

whether George was drinking or not. I had to have

liquor. Sometimes I would lie on the bathroom ﬂoor,

deathly sick, praying I would die, and praying to God

as I always had prayed to Him when I was drinking:

“Dear God, get me out of this one and I’ll never do

itagain.” And then I’d say, “God, don’t pay any atten-

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tion to me. You know I’ll do it tomorrow, the very

same thing.”

I used to make excuses to try and get George off

the wagon. I’d get so fed up with drinking all alone

and bearing the burden of guilt all by myself, that I’d

egg him on to drink, to get started again. And then I’d

ﬁght with him because he had started! And the whole

merry-go-round would be on again. And he, poor

dear, didn’t know what was going on. He used to won-

der when he’d spot one of my bottles around the

house just how he could have overlooked that partic-

ular bottle. I myself didn’t know all the places I had

them hidden.

We have only been in A.A. a few years, but now

we’re trying to make up for lost time. Twenty-seven

years of confusion is what my early married life was.

Now the picture has changed completely. We have

faith in each other, trust in each other, and under-

standing. A.A. has given us that. It has taught me so

many things. It has changed my thinking entirely,

about everything I do. I can’t afford resentments

against anyone, because they are the build-up of an-

other drunk. I must live and let live. And “think”—

that one important word means so much to me. My

life was always act and react. I never stopped to think.

I just didn’t give a whoop about myself or anyone else.

I try to live our program as it has been outlined to

me, one day at a time. I try to live today so that to-

morrow I won’t be ashamed when I wake up in the

morning. In the old days I hated to wake up and look

back at what last night had been like. I never could

face it the next morning. And unless I had some rosy

picture of what was going to happen that day, I

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wouldn’t even feel like getting up in the morning at

all. It really wasn’t living. Now I feel so very grateful

not only for my sobriety, which I try to maintain day

by day, but I’m grateful also for the ability to help

other people. I never thought I could be useful to any-

one except my husband and my children and perhaps

a few friends. But A.A. has shown me that I can help

other alcoholics.

Many of my neighbors devoted time to volunteer

work. There was one woman especially, and I’d watch

her from my window every morning, leaving faithfully

to go to the hospital in the neighborhood. I said to her

one day when I met her on the street, “What sort of

volunteer work do you do?” She told me; it was sim-

ple; I could have done it very easily. She said, “Why

don’t you do it too?” I said, “I’d love to.” She said,

“Suppose I put your name down as a volunteer—even

if you can only give one or two days?” But then I

thought, well, now wait, how will I feel next Tuesday?

How will I feel next Friday, if I make it a Friday? How

will I feel next Saturday morning? I never knew. I was

afraid to set even one day. I could never be sure I’d

have a clear head and hands that were willing to do

some work. So I never did any volunteer work. And I

felt depleted, whipped. I had the time, I certainly

hadthe capability, but I never did a thing.

I am trying now, each day, to make up for all those

selﬁsh, thoughtless, foolish things I did in my drinking

days. I hope that I never forget to be grateful.

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(3)

THE HOUSEWIFE WHO DRANK

AT HOME

She hid her bottles in clothes hampers and dresser

drawers. In A.A., she discovered she had lost nothing

and had found everything.

My story happensto be a particular kind of

woman’s story: the story of the woman who

drinks at home. I had to be at home—I had two

babies. When alcohol took me over, my bar was my

kitchen, my living room, my bedroom, the back bath-

room, and the two laundry hampers.

At one time the admission that I was and am an

alcoholic meant shame, defeat, and failure to me. But

in the light of the new understanding that I have

found in A.A., I have been able to interpret that de-

feat and that failure and that shame as seeds of vic-

tory.Because it was only through feeling defeat and

feeling failure, the inability to cope with my life and

with alcohol, that I was able to surrender and accept

the fact that I had this disease and that I had to learn

to live again without alcohol.

I was never a very heavy social drinker. But during

a period of particular stress and strain about thirteen

years ago, I resorted to using alcohol in my home,

alone, as a means of temporary release and of getting

a little extra sleep.

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I had problems. We all have them, and I thought

alittle brandy or a little wine now and then could cer-

tainly hurt no one. I don’t believe, when I started,

thatI even had in mind the thought that I was drink-

ing. I hadto sleep, I hadto clear my mind and free it

from worry, and I hadto relax. But from one or two

drinks of an afternoon or evening, my intake mounted,

and mounted fast. It wasn’t long before I was drinking

all day. I had to have that wine. The only incentive

that I had, toward the end, for getting dressed in the

morning was to get out and get “supplies” to help me

get my day started. But the only thing that got started

was my drinking.

I should have realized that alcohol was getting hold

of me when I started to become secretive in my drink-

ing. I began to have to have supplies on hand for the

people who “might come in.” And of course a half-

empty bottle wasn’t worth keeping, so I ﬁnished it up

and naturally had to get more in right away for the

people who “might come in unexpectedly.” But Iwas

always the unexpected person who had to ﬁnish the

bottle. I couldn’t go to one wine store and look the

man honestly in the face and buy a bottle, as I used to

do when I had parties and entertained and did normal

drinking. I had to give him a story and ask him the

same question over and over again, “Well, now, how

many will that bottle serve?” I wanted him to be sure

that I wasn’t the one who was going to drink the

wholebottle.

I had to hide, as a great many people in A.A. have

had to do. I did my hiding in the hampers and in my

dresser drawers. When we begin to do things like that

with alcohol, something’s gone wrong. I needed it,

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andI knew I was drinking too much, but I wasn’t

conscious of the fact that I should stop. I kept on. My

home at that time was a place to mill around in. I

wandered from room to room, thinking, drinking,

drinking, thinking. And the mops would come out, the

vacuum would come out, everything would come

out,but nothing would get done. Toward ﬁve o’clock,

helter-skelter, I’d get everything put away and try

toget supper on the table, and after supper I’d ﬁnish

the job up and knock myself out.

I never knew which came ﬁrst, the thinking or the

drinking. If I could only stop thinking, I wouldn’t

drink. If I could only stop drinking, maybe I wouldn’t

think. But they were all mixed up together, and I was

all mixed up inside. And yet I had to have that drink.

You know the deteriorating effects, the disintegrating

effects, of chronic wine-drinking. I cared nothing

about my personal appearance. I didn’t care what I

looked like; I didn’t care what I did. To me, taking a

bath was just being in a place with a bottle where I

could drink in privacy. I had to have it with me at

night, in case I woke up and needed that drink.

How I ran my home, I don’t know. I went on, real-

izing what I was becoming, hating myself for it, bitter,

blaming life, blaming everything but the fact that I

should turn about and do something about my drink-

ing. Finally I didn’t care; I was beyond caring. I just

wanted to live to a certain age, carry through with

what I felt was my job with the children, and after

that—no matter. Half a mother was better than no

mother at all.

I needed that alcohol. I couldn’t live without it. I

couldn’t do anything without it. But there came a

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point when I could no longer live with it. And that

came after a three-weeks’ illness of my son. The doc-

tor prescribed a teaspoon of brandy for the boy to

help him through the night when he coughed. Well, of

course, that was all I needed—to switch from wine to

brandy for three weeks. I knew nothing about alco-

holism or the D.T.’s, but when I woke up on that last

morning of my son’s illness, I taped the keyhole on my

door because “everyone was out there.” I paced back

and forth in the apartment with the cold sweats. I

screamed on the telephone for my mother to get up

there; something was going to happen; I didn’t know

what, but if she didn’t get there quick, I’d split wide

open. I called my husband up and told him to come

home.

After that I sat for a week, a body in a chair, a mind

off in space. I thought the two would never get to-

gether. I knew that alcohol and I had to part. I

couldn’t live with it anymore. And yet, how was I

going to live without it? I didn’t know. I was bitter,

living in hate. The very person who stood with me

through it all and has been my greatest help was the

person that I turned against, my husband. I also

turned against my family, my mother. The people who

would have come to help me were just the people I

would have nothing to do with.

Nevertheless, I began to try to live without alcohol.

But I only succeeded in ﬁghting it. And believe me,

analcoholic cannot ﬁght alcohol. I said to myhus-

band, “I’m going to try to get interested in something

outside, get myself out of this rut I’m in.” I thought I

was going out of my mind. If I didn’t have a drink, I

had to do something.

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I became one of the most active women in the

community, what with P.T.A., other community organ-

izations, and drives. I’d go into an organization, and it

wasn’t long before I was on the committee, and then I

was chairman of the committee; and if I was in a

group, I’d soon be treasurer or secretary of the group.

But I wasn’t happy. I became a Jekyll-and-Hyde per-

son. As long as I worked, as long as I got out, I didn’t

drink. But I had to get back to that ﬁrst drink some-

how. Andwhen I took that ﬁrst drink, I was off on

theusual merry-go-round. And it was my home that

suffered.

I ﬁgured I’d be all right if I could ﬁnd something

Iliked to do. So when the children were in school

from nine to three, I started up a nice little business

and was fairly successful in it. But not happy. Be-

cause I found that everything I turned to became a

substitute for drink. And when all of life is a substi-

tute for drink, there’s no happiness, no peace. I still

had to drink; I still needed that drink. Mere cessation

from drinking is not enough for an alcoholic while the

need for that drink goes on. I switched to beer. I had

always hated beer, but now I grew to love it. So that

wasn’t my answer either.

I went to my doctor again. He knew what I was

doing, how I was trying. I said, “I can’t ﬁnd my

middleroad in life. I can’t ﬁnd it. It’s either all work,

or I drink.” He said, “Why don’t you try Alcoholics

Anonymous?” I was willing to try anything. I was

licked. For the second time, I was licked. The ﬁrst

time was when I knew I couldn’t live with alcohol.

Butthis second time, I found I couldn’t live normally

without it, and I was licked worse than ever.

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The fellowship I found in A.A. enabled me to face

my problem honestly and squarely. I couldn’t do it

among my relatives; I couldn’t do it among my friends.

No one likes to admit that they’re a drunk, that they

can’t control this thing. But when we come into

A.A.,we can face our problem honestly and openly.

Iwent to closed meetings and open meetings. And

Itook everything that A.A. had to give me. Easy

doesit, ﬁrst things ﬁrst, one day at a time. It was

atthat point that I reached surrender. I heard one

very ill woman say that she didn’t believe in the sur-

render part of the A.A. program. My heavens!

Surrender to me has meant the ability to run my

home, to face my responsibilities as they should be

faced, to take life as it comes to me day by day and

work my problems out. That’s what surrender has

meant to me. I surrendered once to the bottle, and I

couldn’t do these things. Since I gave my will over to

A.A., whatever A.A. has wanted of me I’ve tried to do

to the best of my ability. When I’m asked to go out on

a call, I go. I’mnot going; A.A. is leading me there.

A.A. gives us alcoholics direction into a way of life

without the need for alcohol. That life for me is lived

one day at a time, letting the problems of the future

rest with the future. When the time comes to solve

them, God will give me strength for that day.

I had been brought up to believe in God, but I

know that until I found this A.A. program, I had never

found or known faith in the reality of God, the reality

of His power that is now with me in everything I do.

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(4)

PHYSICIAN, HEAL THYSELF!

Psychiatrist and surgeon, he had lost his way until

he realized that God, not he, was the Great Healer.

Iam a physician, licensed to practice in a west-

ern state. I am also an alcoholic. In two ways I

may be a little different from other alcoholics. First,

we all hear at A.A. meetings about those who have

losteverything, those who have been in jail, those

whohave been in prison, those who have lost their

families, those who have lost their income. I never

lostany of it. I never was on skid row. I made more

money in the last year of my drinking than I made in

my whole life. My wife never hinted that she would

leave me. Everything that I touched from grammar

school on was successful. I was president of my gram-

mar school student body. I was president of all of my

classes in high school, and in my last year I was pres-

ident of that student body. I was president of each

class in the university, and president of that student

body. I was voted the man most likely to succeed. The

same thing occurred in medical school. I belong to

more medical societies and honor societies than men

ten to twenty years my senior.

Mine was the skid row of success. The physical

skidrow in any city is miserable. The skid row of suc-

cess is just as miserable.

The second way in which, perhaps, I differ from

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some other alcoholics is this: Many alcoholics state

that they don’t particularly like the taste of alcohol

butthat they liked the effect. I loved alcohol! I used

to like to get it on my ﬁngers so I could lick them

andget another taste. I had a lot of fun drinking. I

enjoyed it immensely. And then, one ill-deﬁned day,

one day that I can’t recall, I stepped across the line

that alcoholics know so well, and from that day on,

drinking was miserable. When a few drinks made me

feel good before I went over that line, those same

drinks now made me wretched. In an attempt to get

over that feeling, there was a quick onslaught of a

greater number of drinks, and then all was lost. Alco-

hol failed to serve the purpose.

On the last day I was drinking, I went up to see a

friend who had had a good deal of trouble with alco-

hol and whose wife had left him a number of times.

He had come back, however, and he was on this pro-

gram. In my stupid way I went up to see him with the

idea in the back of my mind that I would investigate

Alcoholics Anonymous from a medical standpoint.

Deep in my heart was the feeling that maybe I could

get some help here. This friend gave me a pamphlet,

and I took it home and had my wife read it to me.

There were two sentences in it that struck me. One

said, “Don’t feel that you are a martyr because you

stopped drinking,” and this hit me between the eyes.

The second one said, “Don’t feel that you stop drink-

ing for anyone other than yourself,” and this hit me

between the eyes. After my wife had read this to me,

I said to her, as I had said many times in desperation,

“I have got to do something.” She’s a good-natured

soul and said, “I wouldn’t worry about it; probably

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something will happen.” And then we went up the

side of a hill where we have a little barbecue area to

make the ﬁre for the barbecue, and on the way up I

thought to myself—I’ll go back down to the kitchen

and reﬁll this drink. And just then, something did

happen.

The thought came to me—This is the last one! I

was well into the second ﬁfth by this time. And as that

thought came to me, it was as though someone had

reached down and taken a heavy overcoat off my

shoulders, for that wasthe last one.

About two days later I was called by a friend of

mine from Nevada City—he’s a brother of my wife’s

closest friend. He said, “Earle?” and I said, “Yes.” He

said, “I’m an alcoholic; what do I do?” And I gave

himsome idea of what you do, and so I made my ﬁrst

Twelfth Step call before I ever came into the program.

The satisfaction I got from giving him a little of what

I had read in those pamphlets far surpassed any feel-

ing that I had ever had before in helping patients.

So I decided that I would go to my ﬁrst meeting. I

was introduced as a psychiatrist. (I belong to the

American Psychiatric Society, but I don’t practice psy-

chiatry as such. I am a surgeon.)

As someone in A.A. said to me once upon a time,

there is nothing worse than a confused psychiatrist.

I will never forget the ﬁrst meeting that I attended.

There were ﬁve people present, including me. At

oneend of the table sat our community butcher. At

the other side of the table sat one of the carpenters in

our community, and at the farther end of the table sat

the man who ran the bakery, while on one side sat my

friend who was a mechanic. I recall, as I walked into

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that meeting, saying to myself, “Here I am, a Fellow

of the American College of Surgeons, a Fellow of the

International College of Surgeons, a diplomate of one

of the great specialty boards in these United States, a

member of the American Psychiatric Society, and I

have to go to the butcher, the baker, and the carpenter

to help make a man out of me!”

Something else happened to me. This was such a

new thought that I got all sorts of books on Higher

Powers, and I put a Bible by my bedside, and I put a

Bible in my car. It is still there. And I put a Bible in

my locker at the hospital. And I put a Bible in my

desk. And I put a Big Book by my night stand, and I

put a Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditionsin my locker

at the hospital, and I got books by Emmet Fox, and I

got books by God-knows-who, and I got to reading all

these things. And the ﬁrst thing you know I was lifted

right out of the A.A. group, and I ﬂoated higher and

higher and even higher, until I was way upon a pink

cloud, which is known as Pink Seven, and I felt mis-

erable again. So I thought to myself, I might just as

well be drunk as feel like this.

I went to Clark, the community butcher, and I said,

“Clark, what is the matter with me? I don’t feel right.

I have been on this program for three months and I

feel terrible.” And he said, “Earle, why don’t you come

on over and let me talk to you for a minute.” So he

gotme a cup of coffee and a piece of cake, and sat me

down and said, “Why, there’s nothing wrong with

you.You’ve been sober for three months, been work-

ing hard. You’ve been doing all right.” But then he

said, “Let me say something to you. We have here in

this community an organization that helps people, and

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this organization is known as Alcoholics Anonymous.

Why don’t you join it?” I said, “What do you think I’ve

been doing?” “Well,” he said, “you’ve been sober, but

you’ve been ﬂoating way up on a cloud somewhere.

Why don’t you go home and get the Big Book and

open it at page ﬁfty-eight and see what it says?” So I

did. I got the Big Book and I read it, and this is what

it said: “Rarely have we seen a person fail who has

thoroughly followed our path.” The word “thoroughly”

rang a bell. And then it went on to say: “Half measures

availed us nothing. We stood at the turning point.”

And the last sentence was “We asked His protection

and care with complete abandon.”

“Complete abandon”; “Half measures availed us

nothing”; “Thoroughly followed our path”; “Com-

pletely give themselves to this simple program” rang

in my swelled head.

Years earlier, I had gone into psychoanalysis to

getrelief. I spent 51⁄2years in psychoanalysis and pro-

ceeded to become a drunk. I don’t mean that in any

sense as a derogatory statement about psychotherapy;

it’s a very great tool, not too potent, but a great tool. I

would do it again.

I tried every gimmick that there was to get some

peace of mind, but it was not until I was brought to

my alcoholic knees, when I was brought to a group

inmy own community with the butcher, the baker, the

carpenter, and the mechanic, who were able to give me

the Twelve Steps, that I was ﬁnally given some sem-

blance of an answer to the last half of the First Step.

So, after taking the ﬁrst half of the First Step, and

verygingerly admitting myself to Alcoholics Anony-

mous, something happened. And then I thought to

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myself: Imagine an alcoholic admitting anything!

ButImade my admission just the same.

The Third Step said: “Made a decision to turn our

will and our lives over to the care of God as we un-

derstood Him.” Now they asked us to make a deci-

sion! We’ve got to turn the whole business over to

some joker we can’t even see! And this chokes the

alcoholic. Here he is powerless, unmanageable, in the

grip of something bigger than he is, and he’s got to

turn the whole business over to someone else! It ﬁlls

the alcoholic with rage. We are great people. We can

handle anything. And so one gets to thinking to one-

self, Who is this God? Who is this fellow we are

supposed to turn everything over to? What can He do

for us that we can’t do for ourselves? Well, I don’t

know who He is, but I’ve got my own idea.

For myself, I have an absolute proof of the exis-

tence of God. I was sitting in my ofﬁce one time after

I had operated on a woman. It had been a long four-

or ﬁve-hour operation, a large surgical procedure, and

she was on her ninth or tenth post-operative day. She

was doing ﬁne, she was up and around, and that day

her husband phoned me and said, “Doctor, thanks

very much for curing my wife,” and I thanked him for

his felicitations, and he hung up. And then I scratched

my head and said to myself, What a fantastic thing

fora man to say, that I cured his wife. Here I am

down at my ofﬁce behind my desk, and there she is

out at the hospital. I am not even there, and if I was

there the only thing I could do would be to give her

moral support, and yet he thanks me for curing his

wife. I thought to myself—What iscuring that

woman? Yes, Iput in those stitches. The Great Boss

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has given me diagnostic and surgical talent, and He

has loaned it to me to use for the rest of my life. It

doesn’t belong to me. He has loaned it to me and I did

my job, but that ended nine days ago. What healed

those tissues that I closed? I didn’t. This to me is the

proof of the existence of a Somethingness greater than

I am. I couldn’t practice medicine without the Great

Physician. All Ido in a very simple way is to help Him

cure my patients.

Shortly after I was starting to work on the program,

I realized that I was not a good father, I wasn’t a good

husband, but, oh, I was a good provider. I never

robbed my family of anything. I gave them everything,

except the greatest thing in the world, and that is

peace of mind. So I went to my wife and asked her if

there wasn’t something that she and I could do to

somehow get together, and she turned on her heel and

looked me squarely in the eye, and said, “You don’t

care anything about my problem,” and I could have

smacked her, but I said to myself, “Grab on to your

serenity!”

She left, and I sat down and crossed my hands and

looked up and said, “For God’s sake, help me.” And

then a silly, simple thought came to me. I didn’t know

anything about being a father; I didn’t know how to

come home and work weekends like other husbands;

I didn’t know how to entertain my family. But I re-

membered that every night after dinner my wife

would get up and do the dishes. Well, I could do the

dishes. So I went to her and said, “There’s only one

thing I want in my whole life, and I don’t want any

commendation; I don’t want any credit; I don’t want

anything from you or Janey for the rest of your life

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except one thing, and that is the opportunity to do

anything you want always, and I would like to start

offby doing the dishes.” And now I am doing the darn

dishes every night!

Doctors have been notoriously unsuccessful in help-

ing alcoholics. They have contributed fantastic

amounts of time and work to our problem, but they

aren’t able, it seems, to arrest either your alcoholism

or mine.

And the clergy have tried hard to help us, but we

haven’t been helped. And the psychiatrist has had

thousands of couches and has put you and me on

them many, many times, but he hasn’t helped us very

much, though he has tried hard; and we owe the

clergy and the doctor and the psychiatrist a deep debt

of gratitude, but they haven’t helped our alcoholism,

except in a rare few instances. But—Alcoholics Anon-

ymous has helped.

What is this power that A.A. possesses? This cura-

tive power? I don’t know what it is. I suppose the

doctor might say, “This is psychosomatic medicine.”

Isuppose the psychiatrist might say, “This is benevo-

lent interpersonal relations.” I suppose others would

say, “This is group psychotherapy.”

To me it is God.

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(5)

MY CHANCE TO LIVE

A.A. gave this teenager the tools to climb out of her

dark abyss of despair.

Icame throughthe doors of Alcoholics Anony-

mous at age seventeen, a walking contradiction.

On the outside, I was the portrait of a rebellious

teenager, with miles of attitude to spare. On the in-

side, I was suicidal, bloodied, and beaten. My stride

spoke of a conﬁdence I didn’t feel. My dress was that

of a street-tough kid you didn’t want to mess with.

Inside I was trembling with fear that someone would

see through my defenses to the real me.

If you saw who I really was, you would turn away

indisgust or use my many weaknesses to destroy me.

One way or the other I was convinced I’d be hurt. I

couldn’t allow that to happen, so I kept the real me

veiled behind a force ﬁeld of rough-edged attitude.

How I got to this place is still a mystery to me.

I grew up in a loving middle-class home. We had

our problems—what family doesn’t? But there was no

abuse, verbal or physical, and it certainly couldn’t be

said my parents didn’t do the best they could by me.

My grandfathers were alcoholic, and I was raised on

stories of how it had ravaged their lives and the lives

of those around them. Nope, I didn’t want to be an al-

coholic.

In my early teen years I began to be bothered by

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feelings that I didn’t ﬁt in. Until this point, I had

ignored the fact that I wasn’t one of the “in” crowd. I

thought if I tried hard enough I would ﬁt in sooner or

later. At fourteen I stopped trying. I quickly discov-

ered the soothing effects of a drink. Telling myself I

would be more careful than my unfortunate grandpar-

ents, I set out to feel better.

Drinking released me from the suffocating fear, the

feelings of inadequacy, and the nagging voices at the

back of my head that told me I would never measure

up. All of those things melted away when I drank. The

bottle was my friend, my companion, a portable vaca-

tion. Whenever life was too intense, alcohol would

take the edge off or obliterate the problem altogether

for a time.

Blackouts became my goal. Though it may sound

strange, they never frightened me. My life was or-

dered by school and by home. When I blacked out, I

simply went on autopilot for the remainder of the day.

The thought of going through my teen years without a

single memory of its passing was very appealing.

I hadn’t given up on life, just childhood. Adults had

it made. They made all the rules. Being a kid stunk.

IfI could hold out until I was eighteen, everything

would turn around. I had no idea at the time how true

those words would prove to be.

Diving headﬁrst into what remained of the subcul-

ture left over from the sixties, I took “party till you

throw up” to new levels. I liked drinking. I liked the

effect alcohol had on me. I didn’t like throwing up at

all. Isoon discovered there were other substances I

couldtake that would help me “control” my drinking.

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A little bit of this or that, and I could nurse a drink all

night. Then I had a good time and didn’t throw up.

In no time at all I had arrived, or so I thought. I had

a bunch of friends to hang around with. We did excit-

ing things: skipping school, taking road trips, drinking

were all a part of this new life. It was great for a while.

Getting hauled into the principal’s ofﬁce or being

questioned by the police, things I would have been

ashamed of before, were badges of honor. My ability

to come through these events without giving away in-

formation or being unnerved brought me respect and

trust among my peers.

Outwardly I was a young woman who was comfort-

able with herself. Yet ever so slowly these actions that

I knew deep down were wrong started eating holes in

me. My ﬁrst reaction was to drink more. The outcome

wasn’t what I expected. I continued to raise my intake

without the desired effect. Blackouts became few and

far between. It didn’t seem to matter how much I

drank or in what combination with other substances;

Icould no longer ﬁnd the relief I sought.

Life at home was falling apart around me. Every

time I turned around I’d done something to make my

mother cry. At school they were looking for ways to be

rid of me. The vice principal made it a point to explain

his position to me in no uncertain terms: “Straighten

up, or you are out on your ear. For good.”

I started the painful spiral to my bottom a scant two

years into my drinking career. Knowing I had to grad-

uate, I made adjustments to my lifestyle to stay in

school. I watched as my friends continued to have fun.

A depression settled over me, encasing me in a gray

haze. I couldn’t skip school anymore; my boyfriend

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came home from boot camp with another girl; my

mother was still crying, and it was all my fault.

There were several attempts at suicide. I’m grateful

to say I wasn’t very good at it. Then I decided since I

wasn’t having fun anymore, I’d quit drinking and

using. I mean, why waste good booze if you’re going

to feel just as bad drunk as sober? I held no hope for

feeling better when I stopped. I just didn’t want to

waste the booze.

It never occurred to me that I couldn’t stop. Every

day I concocted some new method of staying sober: If

I wear this shirt, I won’t drink. If I’m with this person,

or in this place, I won’t drink. It didn’t work. Every

morning I woke up with a new resolve to stay sober.

With few exceptions, by noon I was so messed up I

couldn’t tell you my name.

The voices in my head became even more and more

vicious. With each failed attempt, my head said: See,

you failed again. You knew you wouldn’t feel better.

You’re a loser. You’re never going to beat this. Why

are you even trying? Just drink until you’re dead.

On the rare days I managed to make it past noon,

there were few brave enough to get within a hundred

yards of me. I was not a nice person sober. I was angry

and frightened, and I wanted you to feel as terrible

asI did. A few times I had drinks pushed on me:

“Here, drink this; then maybe you won’t be so difﬁ-

cult.” I always had a nasty retort, and then took what

was offered. Toward the end I prayed every night for

God to take me in my sleep, and I cursed Him in the

morning for allowing me to live.

It was never my intention to end up in A.A. If

someone mentioned perhaps I drank too much, I

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laughed at them. I didn’t drink any more than my

friends. I never got drunk when I didn’t want to—

never mind that I always wanted to. I couldn’t be an

alcoholic. I was too young. Life was my problem.

Other substances were my problem. If I could just get

a handle on things, then I could drink.

I got a job as a waitress at a local pancake house.

Our late hours attracted a wide variety of clientele, in-

cluding some members of Alcoholics Anonymous.

They were not my favorite people to wait on. They, in

fact, drove me to drink. They were loud, hard to

please. They table-hopped and didn’t tip very well. I

waited on the same bunch for six weeks in a row be-

fore ﬁnally being granted the night off.

Now, I had been thinking that my problem was

insanity, and what happened on my night off clinched

it: I missed this motley crew who had plagued my ex-

istence for over a month. I missed the laughter and

their bright smiles. I went and had coffee with them.

Through a chain of events I choose to believe were

the actions of my Higher Power, they convinced me to

go to a meeting. I was told it was a special A.A. an-

niversary open meeting, which meant that anyone

could attend. I thought to myself: What could it hurt?

I wait on these people; perhaps it will help me to bet-

ter understand them.

On the designated evening I arrived to ﬁnd that the

anniversary meeting was the following week, but they

took a vote and decided I could stay. I was shocked

and humbled. These people wanted me around? It

was a concept I had trouble accepting. I stayed and

listened, careful to let them know I didn’t have a

problem.

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I attended the anniversary meeting the following

week with no intention of ever going to another meet-

ing. I wasn’t an alcoholic. I had other problems that

needed attention; then I would be okay. The next

week a friend, who was admittedly an alcoholic, asked

me if I was going to the meeting. My head went into

hyper-speed. If this person thought I needed to go,

perhaps I did. But I wasn’t an alcoholic.

I attended the meeting and decided drugs were my

problem. I stopped using them completely from that

night forward. The result was a sharp increase in my

drinking. I knew this would never do. Staggering

home one night, it occurred to me that perhaps if I

stopped drinking, just for a while, maybe I could get a

handle on things and then I could drink again.

It took about three months for me to realize I was

my problem and drinking made my problem much

worse. The other substances were simply tools to con-

trol my drinking. Given a choice, I’d take a drink over

the other stuff in a heartbeat. Angry doesn’t begin to

describe how I felt when I had to admit I was an

alcoholic.

Even though I was grateful not to be nuts, as I’d

ﬁrst supposed, I felt cheated. All the people I saw sit-

ting around the tables of Alcoholics Anonymous had

been granted many more years of drinking than I. It

just wasn’t fair! Someone pointed out to me that life

was rarely fair. I wasn’t amused, but extending my

drinking career simply wasn’t an option anymore.

Ninety days sober cleared my thinking enough to

make me realize I’d hit bottom. If I were to go back

to drinking, it would be just a matter of time before

one of two things happened: I’d succeed at suicide, or

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I’d start the life of the living dead. I’d seen what the

latter looked like, and real death was preferable.

At this point I surrendered. I admitted I was an al-

coholic without a clue what to do about it. Many of

the people around me wanted me to go to treatment,

but I resisted. I didn’t want the kids at school to know

what was going on. If I went to treatment, they’d all

know within a week. More importantly, I was afraid. I

was afraid the treatment center would test me and say,

“You’re not an alcoholic. You’re just crazy.” My heart

knew this wasn’t true. My head took a bit more con-

vincing. The thought of having A.A. taken away from

me was terrifying. A.A. was my anchor in a sea of con-

fusion. Anything that might pose a threat to my sense

of security was quickly thrust away. I didn’t have any-

thing against treatment centers then, nor do I now. I

simply didn’t want to go, and I didn’t.

I did stay sober. One summer with people who en-

joyed life sober was all it took for me to want sobriety

more than I wanted a drink. I will not tell you I did

everything I was told, when I was told, how I was told,

because I didn’t. Like most people new to the pro-

gram I set out to ﬁnd an easier, softer way. As the Big

Book suggests, I could not.

When I couldn’t ﬁnd an easier, softer way, I looked

for the person with the magic wand, the one person in

A.A. who could make me all better, right now. This

was a frustrating task, and I ﬁnally realized that if I

wanted this life, I was going to have to do what the

others had done. No one made me drink, and no one

was going to make me stay sober. This program is for

people who want it, not people who need it.

If everyone who needed A.A. showed up, we would

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be bursting at the seams. Unfortunately, most never

make it to the door. I believe I was one of the lucky

ones. Not just because I found this program at such a

young age; I feel fortunate that I found A.A. at all. My

approach to drinking brought me to the jumping-off

place described in the Big Book much faster than any-

one could have imagined.

I’m convinced if I had continued on my course, I

wouldn’t have survived much longer. I don’t believe I

was smarter than anyone else, as I’m often told by

those who came in at a later age. It was my time, my

chance to live, and I took it. If there had still been joy

in my drinking or even a remote chance of the joy

returning, I would not have stopped drinking when

Idid.

No one who drank as I did wakes up on the edge

ofthe abyss one morning and says: Things look pretty

scary; I think I’d better stop drinking before I fall in.

I was convinced I could go as far as I wanted, and then

climb back out when it wasn’t fun anymore. What

happened was, I found myself at the bottom of the

canyon thinking I’d never see the sun again. A.A.

didn’t pull me out of that hole. It did give me the tools

to construct a ladder, with Twelve Steps.

Sobriety is nothing like I thought it would be. At

ﬁrst it was one big emotional roller coaster, full of

sharp highs and deep lows. My emotions were new,

untested, and I wasn’t entirely certain I wanted to deal

with them. I cried when I should have been laughing.

I laughed when I should have cried. Events I thought

were the end of the world turned out to be gifts. It

was all very confusing. Slowly things began to even

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out. As I began to take the steps of recovery, my role

in the pitiful condition of my life became clear.

If asked what the two most important things in re-

covery are, I would have to say willingness and action.

I was willing to believe that A.A. was telling me the

truth. I wanted to believe it was true in a way I cannot

relate in words. I wanted this thing to work. Then I be-

gan to take the course of action prescribed.

Following the principles laid out in the Big Book

has not always been comfortable, nor will I claim per-

fection. I have yet to ﬁnd a place in the Big Book that

says, “Now you have completed the Steps; have a nice

life.” The program is a plan for a lifetime of daily liv-

ing. There have been occasions when the temptation

to slack off has won. I view each of these as learning

opportunities.

When I am willing to do the right thing, I am re-

warded with an inner peace no amount of liquor could

ever provide. When I am unwilling to do the right

thing, I become restless, irritable, and discontent. It is

always my choice. Through the Twelve Steps, I have

beengranted the gift of choice. I am no longer at the

mercy of a disease that tells me the only answer is to

drink. If willingness is the key to unlock the gates of

hell, it is action that opens those doors so that we may

walk freely among the living.

Over the course of my sobriety I have experienced

many opportunities to grow. I have had struggles and

achievements. Through it all I have not had to take a

drink, nor have I ever been alone. Willingness and ac-

tion have seen me through it all, with the guidance of

a loving Higher Power and the fellowship of the pro-

gram. When I’m in doubt, I have faith that things will

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turn out as they should. When I’m afraid, I reach for

the hand of another alcoholic to steady me.

Life has not heaped monetary riches upon my head,

nor have I achieved fame in the eyes of the world. My

blessings cannot be measured in those terms. No

amount of money or fame could equal what has

beengiven me. Today I can walk down any street,

anywhere, without the fear of meeting someone I’ve

harmed. Today my thoughts are not consumed with

craving for the next drink or regret for the damage I

did on the last drunk.

Today I reside among the living, no better, no worse

than any of God’s other children. Today I look in the

mirror when putting on my makeup and smile, rather

than shy away from looking myself in the eye. Today I

ﬁt in my skin. I am at peace with myself and the world

around me.

Growing up in A.A., I have been blessed with chil-

dren who have never seen their mother drunk. I have

a husband who loves me simply because I am, and I

have gained the respect of my family. What more

could a broken-down drunk ask for? Lord knows it is

more than I ever thought possible, and ever so much

more than I deserved. All because I was willing to be-

lieve A.A. just might work for me too.

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(6)

STUDENT OF LIFE

Living at home with her parents, she tried using

willpower to beat the obsession to drink. But it wasn’t

until she met another alcoholic and went to an A.A.

meeting that sobriety took hold.

Istarted drinkingat age eighteen, rather a late

bloomer by today’s standards. But after I started,

the disease of alcoholism hit me with a vengeance

andmade up for lost time. After I had been drinking

for several years and seriously wondering if I did

indeed have a problem with alcohol, I read one of the

“Are You an Alcoholic?” quiz-type checklists. Much

relieved, I found that almost nothing applied to me:

Ihad never lost a job, a spouse, children, or any ma-

terial possessions through alcohol. The fact that my

drinking hadn’t allowed me to gain any of those things

crossed my mind only after I came into A.A.

I can’t blame one ounce of my drinking on my up-

bringing. My parents were loving and supportive and

have been married thirty-ﬁve years. No one else in my

family exhibits alcoholic drinking or alcoholic behavior.

For some reason, despite the resources available to me

growing up, I developed into an adult woman terriﬁed

of the world around me. I was extremely insecure,

though I was careful to hide this fact. I was unable to

handle and understand my emotions; I always felt as if

everyone else knew what was going on and what they

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were supposed to be doing, and my life was the only one

that was delivered without an instruction book.

When I discovered alcohol, everything changed. I

took my ﬁrst real drink my ﬁrst night at college. I at-

tended what was to be the ﬁrst of many, many frater-

nity parties. I didn’t care for the beer, so I went to the

vat of innocuous-looking punch. I was told it was laced

with grain alcohol. I don’t remember how many drinks

I had, and my recollections of the actual events of the

rest of the night are fuzzy, but I do remember this

much: When I was drinking, I was okay. I understood.

Everything made sense. I could dance, talk, and enjoy

being in my own skin. It was as if I had been an un-

ﬁnished jigsaw puzzle with one piece missing; as soon

as I took a drink, the last piece instantly and effort-

lessly snapped into place.

I don’t remember getting home that night, and I

woke up the next morning completely dressed and

infull makeup. I was sick as a dog, but I managed

tocrawl into the shower and prepare for my ﬁrst

college class. I sat through the entire class pleading

with my eyes to the professor to let us out early. He

kept us to the bell, and when it rang, I ﬂew into the

women’s room, crashed into the ﬁrst stall, and threw

everything up.

The insanity of the disease had already manifested

itself. I recall thinking, as I knelt retching in the stall,

that this was fantastic. Life was great; I had ﬁnally

found the answer—alcohol! Yes, I overdid it the night

before, but I was new to this game. I only had to learn

how to drink right and I was set.

I attempted to “drink right” for the next eight years.

My progression was phenomenal; there is absolutely

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no period in my drinking career that can be described

as social drinking. I blacked out almost every time I

put alcohol in my system, but I decided I could live

with that; it was a small price to pay for the power and

conﬁdence alcohol gave me. After drinking for less

than six months, I was almost a daily drinker.

I wound up on academic probation (I had always

been on the honor roll in high school) my ﬁrst semes-

ter sophomore year, and my response to that was to

change my major. My life on campus revolved around

parties, drinking, and men. I surrounded myself with

people who drank as I did. Even though several peo-

ple had already expressed their concern over my

drinking, I rationalized that I was only doing what

every other red-blooded college student did.

Somehow I managed to graduate, but while most of

my friends were securing good jobs and abruptly stop-

ping their boozing, I seemed to be left behind on

campus. I had resolved that I, too, would now settle

down and drink properly, but to my frustration I

found I could not do so.

I took a pitiful sales job that paid next to nothing, so

I continued to live with my parents. I kept this job for

two years for one reason—it allowed me to drink with

minimal interference. My pattern was to pick up a

ﬁfth of whiskey somewhere during my round of ap-

pointments and keep it under the car seat with me.

When I got home in the evening, I drank at least half

the ﬁfth in front of the television set and watched re-

runs until I passed out. And I did this every night, by

myself, for almost two years. I had become a daily, iso-

lated drinker and was starting to get a little nervous.

My behavior at this point was textbook: I was stash-

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ing bottles all over the house; sneaking drinks from my

parents’ small supply when I ran out; rationing the

number of bottles I threw away at the same time so

the trash bags wouldn’t clink; reﬁlling my parents’

vodka and gin bottles with water; and so on. I had also

resorted to videotaping my favorite reruns while I was

watching them because I always blacked out before

the ending.

About this time the TV movie My Name Is Bill

W.,about the co-founder of A.A., was aired.

Intrigued, I sat down with my whiskey and soda bot-

tles to watch it. When Bill whipped out a ﬂask in the

car to bolster himself before a visit with his father-in-

law, I heaved a sigh of relief. “Oh, I’m not that bad,”

I thought to myself. I then proceeded to get drunk

and to black out; I don’t remember any more of

themovie.

My parents were at a total loss. I was going

nowhere and I was irritable and hostile. Since they

had no experience with alcoholism, they had no idea

what was wrong with me or what to do about it, and

neither did I. I knew I drank too much and that my

life was miserable, but I never made the connection

between those two conditions. My parents made the

only suggestion that then made sense to them—they

offered to help me ﬁnancially if I wanted to go back

toschool. Seeing no other way out, I jumped at the

opportunity.

I spent two years in graduate school 750miles from

home. I can honestly say I know why they call it a ge-

ographical cure. For about nine months, I was able to

cut my drinking down sharply. I still drank almost

every day, but not to the point of my usual stupors,

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and I didn’t black out very often. I was able to con-

centrate on my schoolwork that ﬁrst year and make

lots of friends. However, geographical cures are only

temporary; mine lasted a little less than a year. After

about ten months or so, I slowly started to slide back

into my old patterns. Steadily, I worked my way back

to the same quantities of whiskey I drank at home,

and the blackouts returned. My grades started to

drop, and my friends started to wonder. I even began

watching reruns again—I had brought my homemade

videotapes with me to school.

Fortunately, I managed to graduate, but I had gone

nowhere. After graduation, I returned to my parents’

house, as I had been unsuccessful in securing a job. I

was back. I was back in my old bedroom, back to the

same routine of drinking every evening until I passed

out, and it was getting worse. I was starting earlier and

earlier and consuming more and more liquor. I had no

job, no friends; I saw no one but my parents.

I was beyond frustration at this point. Hadn’t I done

everything that was expected of me? Hadn’t I gradu-

ated from college and gone on to earn a master’s de-

gree? I had never gone to jail, crashed any cars, or got

into trouble like a real alcoholic would. When I was

working, I never missed a day because of drinking. I

never ran myself into debt, nor had I abused a spouse

or children. Sure I drank a lot, but I didn’t have a

problem; how could I when I hadn’t done any of the

things that prove you’re an alcoholic? So what was the

problem? All I really wanted was a decent job so I

could be independent and productive. I could not un-

derstand why life just wouldn’t cut me a break.

I did odd projects around the house for my parents

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to earn my keep until I took a job for a local entre-

preneur. This job did not offer much opportunity for

advancement, nor did it pay very well, but it got me

out of the house, and it was challenging in many ways.

At this point I was in a vicious battle to control my

drinking. I knew that if I took only one drink, I’d lose

complete control and drink until I passed out.

Nevertheless, I tried day after day to beat this obses-

sion with alcohol.

I picked up a half gallon of whiskey one day after

work and drank over one-third of it in less than four

hours that same night. I was so sick the next day, but

I made it to work. When I got home from work, I sat

on my parents’ sofa and knew, I knew, I would start

working on the half gallon again, despite the fact that

I was still very ill from the night before. I also knew

that I did not want to drink. Sitting on that sofa, I re-

alized that the old “I could stop if I wanted to, I just

don’t want to” didn’t apply here, because I did not

want to drink. I watched myself get up off the sofa

and pour myself a drink. When I sat back down on the

sofa, I started to cry. My denial had cracked; I believe

I hit bottom that night, but I didn’t know it then; I just

thought I was insane. I proceeded to ﬁnish the half

gallon.

Six months later my boss ﬂew me to California for a

trade show. I hated working the shows, but I loved to

travel, so I went. I was extremely nervous about this

trip because my boss liked to party and we were ﬂy-

ingin a guy our age from Hawaii to work the show

with us. At this point I had managed to hold together

thirty-one days without a drink, and I was terriﬁed

that I would give in to the temptation of being on an

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all-expenses-paid trip in a fun city with two party ani-

mals. It had been very difﬁcult for me to stay dry for

thirty-onedays; the obsession spoke to me every day.

I arrived late on a Friday and managed not to drink

that night. The next morning at the show, I was of-

fered the gift that changed my life. Our Hawaiian

sales rep seemed frustrated; I thought he was disap-

pointed that he hadn’t managed to write an order for

a couple he had just ﬁnished working with. I went

over to console him. He said, no, his mood had noth-

ing to do with the couple; instead, he explained that

just this week he had lost his girlfriend, dropped out

of school, lost his apartment, and also lost his full-time

job. He added, “I’m an alcoholic. I’ve been sober for

a year and a half, except I just drank again this past

week. I’m a mess about it.”

At that very instant, I heard one word in my head.

The word was “now.” I knew it meant, “Say something

now!”

To my amazement I spoke the words, “Mike, I think

I’m one too.” Mike’s mood instantly changed. I rec-

ognize now it was hope. We started talking. Among

other things, I told him I hadn’t had a drink for about

a month but didn’t go to A.A. When he asked why I

had avoided A.A., I told him it was because I didn’t

think I had hit bottom. Somehow he didn’t laugh but

said, “You hit bottom when you stop digging.” He took

me to my ﬁrst three A.A. meetings.

It was the second meeting that clinched my resolve

to pursue sobriety. There were about thirty-ﬁve peo-

ple in attendance, but the space was small, so the

meeting seemed very crowded. Being from out of

town, I stood up and introduced myself when asked to

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by the chairperson. Later on in the meeting, the chair-

person called on me to share. I got up and somehow

walked over to the microphone and podium—I’ve

never been so nervous in my life. But the words came

out naturally as I described the events that led up to

the meeting that night.

As I spoke, I looked around the room. More impor-

tantly, I looked at the faces of the people in the room

and I saw it. I saw the understanding, the empathy,

the love. Today I believe I saw my Higher Power for

the ﬁrst time in those faces. While still up at the

podium, it hit me—this is what I had been looking for

all my life. This was the answer, right here in front of

me. Indescribable relief came over me; I knew the

ﬁght was over.

Later on that night, still reeling in the ecstasy of re-

lief and hope, I remembered the afternoon in the

bathroom stall at college after my ﬁrst class when I

was so certain I had found the answer in alcohol. I

could clearly see now that had been a lie. That is the

description that ﬁts alcohol best for me; it is a lie, an

evil, insidious lie. And I chased that lie for a long

time—even when it was obvious that I was going

nowhere and killing myself while doing it. At that A.A.

meeting, when I looked out over all those faces, I ﬁ-

nally saw the truth.

When I returned home, I threw myself into A.A. I did

ninety meetings in ninety days, got a sponsor, and joined

a home group. I did everything that was suggested. I

made coffee, took commitments, and got involved with

service. I rode the roller coaster of early sobriety;

everysecond was worth it to get where I am today.

It is very important to my recovery to study and

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work the Steps. To this day, I still make at least two

Step meetings a week. I have a sponsor who guides

me through the Steps gently but ﬁrmly, with a sure-

handedness I hope I am able to emulate with the two

women I now sponsor. The Promises have begun

tomaterialize for me, and there’s still so much work

todo.

It is almost impossible to adequately describe how

much the program has given me, even in just these six

short years. I have been ﬁnancially supporting myself

in my own apartment for ﬁve years and plan to buy a

house next year. I’ve secured a good job with a prom-

ising future—my income has increased more than 150

percent since I got sober.

But just as material losses are not necessary to indi-

cate alcoholism, material gains are not the true indica-

tions of sobriety. The real rewards aren’t material in

nature. I have friends now because I know how to be

a friend and I know how to nurture and encourage

valuable friendships. Instead of the prolonged one-

night stands I used to call my boyfriends, there is a

special man in my life I’ve been involved with for al-

most ﬁve years. And, most importantly, I know who I

am. I know my goals, dreams, values, and boundaries,

and I know how to protect, nurture, and validate

them. Those are the true rewards of sobriety, and

they’re what I was looking for all along. I am so grate-

ful that my Higher Power stepped in to show me the

way to the truth. I pray every day that I never turn my

back on it. I came to A.A. in order to stop drinking;

what I received in return was my life.

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(7)

CROSSING THE RIVER OF DENIAL

She ﬁnally realized that when she enjoyed her

drinking, she couldn’t control it, and when she con-

trolled it, she couldn’t enjoy it.

Denial is the mostcunning, bafﬂing, and

powerful part of my disease, the disease of

alcoholism. When I look back now, it’s hard to imagine

I didn’t see a problem with my drinking. But instead

of seeing the truth when all of the “yets” (as in, that

hasn’t happened to me—yet) started happening, I just

kept lowering my standards.

Dad was an alcoholic, and my mother drank

throughout her pregnancy, but I don’t blame my par-

ents for my alcoholism. Kids with a lot worse upbring-

ings than mine did not turn out alcoholic, while some

that had it a lot better did. In fact I stopped wonder-

ing, “Why me?” a long time ago. It’s like a man stand-

ing on a bridge in the middle of a river with his pants

on ﬁre wondering why his pants are on ﬁre. It doesn’t

matter. Just jump in! And that is exactly what I did

with A.A. once I ﬁnally crossed the river of denial!

I grew up feeling as if I was the only thing keeping

my family together. This, compounded by the fear of

not being good enough, was a lot of pressure for a lit-

tle girl. Everything changed with my ﬁrst drink at the

age of sixteen. All the fear, shyness, and disease evap-

orated with that ﬁrst burning swallow of bourbon

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straight from the bottle during a liquor cabinet raid at

a slumber party. I got drunk, blacked out, threw up,

had dry heaves, was sick to death the next day, and I

knew I would do it again. For the ﬁrst time, I felt part

of a group without having to be perfect to get approval.

I went through college on scholarships, work study

programs, and student loans. Classes and work kept

me too busy to do much drinking, plus I was en-

gagedto a boy who was not alcoholic. However, I

broke off our relationship during my senior year, after

discovering drugs, sex, and rock n’ roll—companions

to my best friend, alcohol. I proceeded to explore all

that the late sixties and early seventies offered. After

backpacking around Europe, I decided to settle in a

large city.

Well, I made it all right, to full-blown alcoholism. A

big city is a great place to be an alcoholic. Nobody

notices. Three-martini lunches, drinks after work, and

a nightcap at the corner bar was just a normal day.

And didn’t everyone have blackouts? I used to joke

about how great blackouts were because you saved so

much time in transit. One minute you’re here, the

next minute you’re there! In retrospect, making jokes,

just laughing it off helped solidify my unfaltering

denial. Another trick was selecting companions who

drank just a little bit more than I did. Then I could

always point to their problem.

One such companion led to my ﬁrst arrest. If the

driver of the car had only pulled over when the police

lights ﬂashed, we would have been ﬁne. If, when I had

practically talked our way out of it, the driver had kept

his mouth shut, we would have been ﬁne. But no, he

started babbling about how he was in rehab. I got off

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with a misdemeanor, and for years, I completely dis-

counted that arrest because it was all his fault. I sim-

ply ignored that I had been drinking all day.

One morning while I was at work, a hospital called,

telling me to get there quickly. My father was there,

dying of alcoholism. He was sixty. I had seen him in hos-

pitals before, but this time was different. With stomach

sorely distended, swollen with ﬂuids his nonfunctioning

kidneys and liver could no longer process, he lingered

for three weeks. Alcoholic death is very painful and slow.

Seeing him die of alcoholism convinced me I could

never become an alcoholic. I knew too much about

thedisease, had too much self-knowledge to ever fall

prey. I shipped his body back home without attending

the funeral. I could not even help my grandmother

buryher only son, because by then I was inextricably

involved in an affair mired in sex and alcohol.

Plummeting into the pitiful and incomprehensible

demoralization that that relationship became, I had

my ﬁrst drunk driving arrest. It terriﬁed me; I could

have killed someone. Driving in a total blackout, I

“came to” handing my driver’s license to the patrol-

man. I swore it would never happen again. Three

months later it happened again. What I didn’t know

then was that when I put alcohol in my body, I’m pow-

erless over how much and with whom I drink—all

good intentions drowned in denial.

I remembered joking about how most people spent

their entire lives without ever seeing the inside of a

jail, and here “a woman of my stature” had been ar-

rested three times. But, I would think, I’ve never

really done “hard time,” never actually spent the night

in jail. Then I met Mr. Wrong, my husband-to-be, and

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all that changed. I spent my wedding night in jail. Like

every other time, however, it wasn’t my fault. There

we were, still in our wedding clothes. If he had just

kept his mouth shut after the police arrived, we would

have been ﬁne. I had them convinced that he had at-

tacked the valet because our wedding money was

missing. Actually, he thought the valet had stolen the

marijuana we were going to smoke. In reality, I was so

drunk I had lost it.

During the interrogation of the valet in the restau-

rant parking lot, my husband became so violent the of-

ﬁcer put him in the back of the patrol car. When he

tried to kick out the rear windows, the policeman re-

taliated. I pleaded with the ofﬁcer as a second police-

man arrived, and both bride and groom were taken to

jail. It was then that the “stolen” marijuana cigarettes

were discovered, to my horror, in central booking as

they catalogued my belongings. I was arrested for

three felonies, including drunk and disorderly, and

two misdemeanors, but it was all my husband’s fault. I

had practically nothing to do with it; he had a drink-

ing problem.

I stayed in that abusive marriage for nearly seven

years and continued to focus on hisproblem. Toward

the end of the marriage, in my misguided attempts to

set a good example for him (plus he was drinking too

much of my vodka), I mandated no booze in the

house. Still, why should I be denied a cocktail after re-

turning home from a stressful day at the ofﬁce just be-

cause he had a problem? So, I began hiding my vodka

in the bedroom—and still did not see anything wrong

with this behavior. Hewas my problem.

I accepted a transfer with a promotion (yes, my pro-

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fessional life was still climbing) shortly after the di-

vorce. Now I was sure my problems were over, except

that I brought me with me. Once alone in a new

place, my drinking really took off. I did not have to be

a good example anymore. For the ﬁrst time I realized

that perhaps my drinking was getting a bit out of

hand, but I knew you’d drink too if you had my stress:

recent divorce, new home, new job, didn’t know any-

one—and an unacknowledged, progressive disease

that was destroying me.

Finally, I made some friends who drank just as I

did. Our drinking was disguised as ﬁshing trips and

chili cook-offs, but they were really excuses for week-

long binges. After a day’s drinking disguised as soft-

ball, I nicked an old woman’s fender driving home. Of

course, it was not my fault; she pulled out in front of

me. That the accident occurred at dusk and I had

been drinking since 10:00a.m. had nothing to do with

it. My alcoholism had taken me to such depths of de-

nial and heights of arrogance that I waited for the po-

lice so they’d know it was her fault too. Well, it didn’t

take them long to ﬁgure it out. Once again, pulled

from the car, hands cuffed behind my back, I was

taken to jail. But it wasn’t my fault. The old broad

shouldn’t have even been allowed on the road, I told

myself. Shewas my problem.

The judge sentenced me to six months in Alcoholics

Anonymous, and was I outraged! By now I had been

arrested ﬁvetimes, but all I could see was a hard

partier, not an alcoholic. Didn’t you people know the

difference? So I started going to those stupid meet-

ings and identiﬁed myself as an alcoholic so you’d sign

my court card, even though I couldn’t possibly be an

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alcoholic. I had a six-ﬁgure income, owned my own

home. I had a car phone. I used ice cubes, for God’s

sake. Everyone knows an alcoholic, at least one that

had to go to A.A., is a skid row bum in a dirty raincoat

drinking from a brown paper bag. So each time you

read that part in Chapter Five of the Big Book that

says, “If you have decided you want what we have

andare willing to go to any length to get it,” my ears

closed. You had the disease of alcoholism, and the last

thing I wanted was to be an alcoholic.

Eventually, you talked about my feelings in the

meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous until I could no

longer close my ears. I heard women, beautiful, suc-

cessful women in recovery, talk about the things they

had done while drinking, and I would think, “I did

that” or “I did worse than that!” Then I began to see

the miracles that happen only in A.A. People who

would nearly crawl in the doors, sick and broken, and

who in a few weeks of meetings and not drinking one

day at a time would get their health back, ﬁnd a little

job and friends who really cared, and then discover a

God in their lives. But the most compelling part of

A.A., the part that made me want to try this sober

thing, was the laughter, the pure joy of the laughter

that I heard only from sober alcoholics.

Still, the thought of getting sober terriﬁed me. I

hated the woman I had become, a compulsive, obses-

sive daily drinker, not dressing on weekends, always

afraid of running out of alcohol. I’d start thinking

about a drink by noon and would leave the ofﬁce ear-

lier and earlier. Or, promising myself that I wouldn’t

drink that night, I’d invariably ﬁnd myself in front of

the refrigerator with a drink in my hand, vowing,

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Tomorrow. I won’t drink tomorrow. I despised all of

it,but at least it was familiar. I had no idea what so-

briety felt like, and I could not imagine life without al-

cohol. I had reached that terrifying jumping-off point

where I couldn’t drink anymore but I just couldn’t not

drink. For almost twenty-three years I had done some-

thing nearly every day of my life to change reality to

one degree or another, yet I had to try this sober thing.

To this day I am amazed at people who get sober

before the holidays. I couldn’t even attempt it until

after the Super Bowl. One last blow-out party when I

swore I wouldn’t get drunk. When I put alcohol in my

body, I’d lose the ability to choose how much I drank,

and Super Bowl Sunday that year was no different. I

ended up on someone’s couch instead of my own bed

and was sick to death all the next day at work. That

week I had to go to a hockey game. It was a work

event, so I tried to really watch my drinking, consum-

ing only two large cups of beer which, for me, wasn’t

even enough to catch a buzz. And that was the begin-

ning of my spiritual awakening. Sitting near the ice,

frustrated, and pondering the fact that two tall beers

didn’t give me any relief, something in my head—and

I know it wasn’t me—said, “So why bother?” At that

moment I knew what the Big Book meant about the

great obsession of every abnormal drinker being to

somehow, someday control andenjoy his drinking. On

Super Bowl Sunday, when I enjoyed it, I couldn’t con-

trol it, and at the hockey game when I controlled it, I

couldn’t enjoy it. There was no more denying that I

was an alcoholic. What an epiphany!

I went to a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous the

next night, knowing I wanted what you had. I sat in

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that cold metal chair just as I had for the past ﬁve

months and read Step One on the wall for the hun-

dredth time. But this time I asked with all my heart

for God to help me, and a strange thing happened. A

physical sensation came over me, like a wave of pure

energy, and I felt the presence of God in that dingy

little room. I went home that night and for the ﬁrst

time in years I did not have to open the cupboard with

the half-gallon jug of vodka in it—not that night or any

night since. God had restored me to sanity, and I took

Step Two the very moment I surrendered and ac-

cepted my powerlessness over alcohol and the un-

manageability of my life.

I attended at least one meeting every day, emptied

ashtrays, washed coffeepots, and on the day I took a

thirty-day chip, a friend took me to an A.A. get-to-

gether. I was in absolute awe of the power of 2,000-

plus sober alcoholics holding hands, saying the ﬁnal

prayer together, and I wanted to stay sober more than

I wanted life itself. Returning home, I begged God on

my knees to help me stay sober one more day. I told

God to take the house, take the job, take everything if

that’s what was needed for me to stay sober. That day

I learned two things: the real meaning of Step Three

and to always be careful what I prayed for.

After ﬁve months of sobriety, I lost that six-ﬁgure

job with the ﬁrm. The wreckage of my past had caught

up with me, and I was out of work for a year. That job

would have been lost whether I was drunk or sober,

but thank goodness I was sober or I probably would

have killed myself. When I was drinking, the prestige

of the job was my self-worth, the only thing that made

me worth loving. Now I was starting to love myself

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because A.A.’s had unconditionally loved me until I

could. At ﬁve months I realized that the world might

never build a shrine to the fact that I was sober. I un-

derstood that it was not the world’s job to understand

my disease; rather it was my job to work my program

and not drink, no matter what.

At nine months of sobriety I lost the big house that

I bought just to prove to you I couldn’t possibly be an

alcoholic. In between ﬁve and nine months, my house

was robbed, I had a biopsy on my cervix, and I had my

heart broken. And the miracle of all miracles was that

I didn’t have to drink over any of it. This from a

woman who had had to drink over all of it. I was so

unique and so arrogant when I got here, I think God

knew that He had to show me early on that there was

nothinga drink would make better. He showed me

that His love and the power of the Steps and the

Fellowship could keep me from picking up a drink

one day at a time, sometimes one hour at a time, no

matter what. A drink would not bring back the job,

the house, or the man, so why bother?

I found everything I had ever looked for in

Alcoholics Anonymous. I used to thank God for put-

ting A.A. in my life; now I thank A.A. for putting God

in my life. I found my tribe, the social architecture

that fulﬁlls my every need for camaraderie and con-

viviality. I learned how to live. When I asked how I

could ﬁnd self-esteem, you told me, “by doing worth-

while acts!” You explained the Big Book had no chap-

ters titled “Into Thinking” or “Into Feeling”—only

“Into Action.” I found plenty of opportunity for action

in A.A. I could be just as busy and helpful to others as

I wanted to be as a sober woman in Alcoholics

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Anonymous. I was never a “joiner,” but I got deeply

involved in A.A. service because you told me if I did,

I would never have to drink again. You said as long as

I put A.A. ﬁrst in my life, everything that I put second

would be ﬁrst class. This has proved to be true over

and over again. So I continued to put A.A. and God

ﬁrst, and everything I ever lost was returned many

times over. The career that I lost has been restored

with even greater success. The house that I lost has

been replaced by a townhouse that is just the right

size for me. So, here I am, sober. Successful. Serene.

Just a few of the gifts of the program for surrendering,

suiting up, and showing up for life every day. Good

days and bad days, reality is a wild ride, and I wouldn’t

miss it for the world. I don’t question how this pro-

gram works. I trust in my God, stay involved in A.A.

service, go to lots of meetings, work with others, and

practice the principles of the Steps to the best of my

willingness each day. I don’t know which of these

keeps me sober, and I’m not about to try to ﬁnd out.

It’s worked for quite a few days now, so I think I’ll try

it again tomorrow.

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(8)

BECAUSE I’M AN ALCOHOLIC

This drinker ﬁnally found the answer to her nag-

ging question, “Why?”

Isuppose Ialways wondered who I was. As a

child, isolated in the country, I made up stories,

inventing myself along with imaginary companions to

play with. Later, when we moved to a large city and I

was surrounded by kids, I felt separate, like an out-

cast. And although I learned to go along with the cul-

tural norm as I grew up, still, underneath, I felt

different.

Alcohol helped. At least I thought it helped until I

saw the oppressive thirty-year shadow it cast on my

life. I discovered it in college, and although at ﬁrst I

didn’t drink often (didn’t have the opportunity),

whenever I started, I drank as long as there was any

alcohol around. It was a reﬂex. I don’t remember lik-

ing the taste, but I liked that it seemed to bring me to

life and get me through a date or a party able to talk.

It moved me outside of that hole I felt in myself and

lowered the wall I created between me and any per-

son or situation that made me uncomfortable.

For ten years, through college and graduate school

interspersed with jobs, I drank periodically, so it was

easy enough to think that I was a social drinker.

Looking back, I see that alcohol helped me construct

an image of myself as a sophisticated metropolitan

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woman, diminishing my feelings of being a backward

country girl. I studied vintage wines and selected

them with care to accompany the gourmet dishes I

learned to make. I read about the correct drinks for

various occasions. I learned to put just the tiniest whiff

of dry vermouth into my martinis. Meanwhile, my tol-

erance for alcohol grew, so that while at ﬁrst I got sick

or passed out, as time went on I could hold larger

quantities without any visible effects. Until the next

morning’s hangover.

Behind the façade, my real life seemed just out of

reach. I wanted to consider myself grown up, but in-

side I felt small and helpless, hardly there at all. I

would look at my friends—delightful, interesting,

good people—and try to deﬁne myself through them.

If they saw something in me that made them want to

be with me, I must have something to offer. But their

love for me was not a substitute for loving myself; it

didn’t ﬁll the emptiness.

So I continued spinning fantasies, and now alcohol

fueled my dreams. I would make great discoveries,

win the Nobel Prize in medicine and in literature as

well. Always the dream was somewhere else, further

off, and I took a series of geographical cures in search

of myself. I was offered a job in Paris and jumped at

the chance. I packed my trunk, left my apartment to

my boyfriend, and sailed off, thinking that at last I

would ﬁnd my real home, my real self.

I began to drink daily and rationalized that in

France, of course, you have to have wine with meals.

And after the dinner, after the wine, then there were

liqueurs. My journals and letters bear witness in the

deterioration of my handwriting as the evening wore

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on, drinking as I wrote. It was there too that I ﬁrst be-

came dependent on alcohol. After work, on the way to

the Alliance Française for classes, I’d stop at a bistro

for a glass of cognac to give me courage to get me

there—my need greater than the embarrassment of

being a woman drinking alone in the 1950s. One

vacation, I went to visit friends in Scotland, traveling

slowly through the English and Welsh countryside.

The bottles of cognac and Benedictine I’d brought as

gifts for them I drank in little hotel rooms miles

before I got there. As long as it lasted, I could stay out

of the pubs.

Europe hadn’t proved to be the change that would

repair my life, and I started west again. It was in

Cambridge that I pronounced my ﬁrst resolutions

about cutting down—New Year’s resolutions I recy-

cled for a dozen years while my drinking and my life

kept getting worse. Alcohol had enslaved me. I was in

bondage to it, although I kept assuring myself that

drinking was a pleasure and a choice.

Blackouts began, vacant places in my life when

hours would disappear, lost to memory. The ﬁrst time

was after I’d given a dinner party. The next morning I

woke up without remembering that I’d told my guests

good night and gone to bed myself. I searched the

apartment for clues. The table was cluttered with

dessert dishes and coffee cups. Bottles were empty,

and the glasses too. (It was my custom to polish off

any drinks that were left.) My last memory was some-

time during dinner. Did we ever ﬁnish? But there

were the plates. I was terriﬁed that I’d done some-

thing horrendous, until my friends called to tell me

they’d enjoyed the evening.

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One time we sailed from Guadelupe to a little is-

land for a picnic, swam to shore from the ship. After

lunch, and quantities of wine, I was with a French ski

instructor talking to a troop of small boys on their way

home from school, trying to explain to those tropical

islanders what snow is like. I remember them giggling.

The next thing I knew, I was back at the camp, walk-

ing to the dining room—apparently after swimming

back to the ship, sailing to the port, then taking a rick-

ety bus across the island. I had no memory of what I

had done during those hours between.

The blackouts increased, and my terror increased

with them. Telephone bills would inform me that I’d

made late-night calls to distant places. I could tell

from the numbers whom I’d called, but what had I said?

Some mornings I woke up with a stranger who had

brought me home from a party the night before.

These things weighed heavily on me, but I couldn’t

stop the drinking that had caused them. That too

gnawed away any remnants of self-respect I might

have had. I was incapable of controlling my drinking

and my life.

I needed a drink to go anyplace—to the theater, a

party, a date, and, later, to work. I would leave my

apartment, lock the door, and start down the stairs,

and then turn around and go back in for another drink to

get me where I planned to go. I needed a drink to do

anything—to write, to cook, to clean the house, to

paint the walls, to take a bath.

When I passed out and fell into bed early, I woke

up at four or ﬁve and had Irish coffee to start the day.

I discovered that beer was better than orange juice to

ease my hangover. Afraid my colleagues or students

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would smell my breath at work, I was careful to keep

my distance. When I got up late and rushed off to the

lab, fortiﬁed only with coffee, my hands shook so

badly it was impossible to weigh out the milligrams of

compounds needed for an experiment. When I went

out to lunch with another alcoholic, we might never

get back to work that day.

Somehow I still managed to keep my job and most

of my friends, social drinkers who were urging me to

cut down on the alcohol. That counsel only made me

mad, but I was concerned myself. I asked the thera-

pist I was seeing, sometimes with beer in hand, would

I have to stop? His answer was that we had to ﬁnd out

why I drank. I’d already tried but was never able to

ﬁnd out why until I learned the answer in A.A.—be-

cause I’m an alcoholic.

With my attempts to cut down, I stopped keeping

alcohol around the house, drank up whatever was

there, over and over deciding not to get more. Then

on the way home after work or an evening out, I’d

have to see if I could scrape together enough money

for a bottle. There were liquor stores just about every

block, and I rotated them so the salesmen wouldn’t

know how much I drank. On Sundays when the liquor

stores were closed, I had to make do with beer or hard

cider from the grocery.

The horrors grew. Inner horrors. On the surface it

looked as though I was more or less keeping it to-

gether, but day by day I was dying inside, ﬁlled with

fears I couldn’t name but which shook me to the core.

My worst fear was that I was an alcoholic. I wasn’t

sure what that was, except that I might end up down

on the Bowery in New York, where I had seen drunks

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curled up on the sidewalk. I made another New Year’s

resolution—to stop drinking entirely until I could han-

dle it and then, I told myself, I could go back to wine

and beer.

Hands trembling, body shaky, head splitting, I sur-

vived that ﬁrst day until I was fairly safe in bed in

analcohol-free apartment. Somehow I made it

through a couple more days, miserable in withdrawal.

In spite of managing to stay dry that time, I have

nodoubt that resolution would have crumbled like

theothers and I would have been drinking again if I

hadn’t found A.A.

I had left the therapist who hadn’t been able to tell

me why I drank, and on New Year’s Eve, I went to a

party at the home of my new therapist. A few days

later in the group, the therapist said, “You’re drinking

even more than I realized. You’re an alcoholic. I think

you should stop drinking, see a doctor, and go to A.A.”

My resolution had endured three days and I

protested, “I’m not an alcoholic!” That was my very last

denial.

“Say it the other way,” he suggested. “I am an alco-

holic.” It came out in a whisper, but it sounded right.

I’ve said it thousands of times since then, and with

gratitude. What I was most afraid to admit that

evening was what would set me free.

The therapist told me then and there to call some-

one who had been in our therapy group, a doctor on

the staff of a hospital alcoholism service. “I’ll call her

tomorrow,” I said.

“Call her now.” He handed me the telephone.

When I asked her if I was an alcoholic, she said that

from what she’d seen of my drinking I might be and

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suggested that I talk with her boss. Terriﬁed, I made

an appointment and kept it. She told me the symp-

toms of alcoholism, and I had them all. She gave me a

list of A.A. meetings and recommended one.

I went to that meeting—a small women’s group. I

was scared and in withdrawal. Someone greeted me

and I muttered my name aloud. Someone brought me

a cup of coffee. People gave me their phone numbers

and urged me to call, to pick up the telephone instead

of a drink. They were warm and friendly. They said

keep coming back.

And I did. For weeks I sat in the back of the rooms,

silent when others shared their experience, strength,

and hope. I listened to their stories and found so many

areas where we overlapped—not all of the deeds, but

the feelings of remorse and hopelessness. I learned

that alcoholism isn’t a sin, it’s a disease. That lifted the

guilt I had felt. I learned that I didn’t have to stop

drinking forever, but just not pick up that ﬁrst drink

one day, one hour at a time. I could manage that.

There was laughter in those rooms and sometimes

tears, but always love, and when I was able to let

itin,that love helped me heal.

I read everything I could about this disease I have.

My readings recounted the course I had lived and

predicted the way I would die if I continued drinking.

I had access to a good medical library, but after a

while, I realized the genetics and chemistry of the dis-

ease were of no use to me as an alcoholic. All that I

needed to know about it, what would help me get

sober, help me recover, I could learn in A.A.

I was blessed to live in a city where there were

meetings at all hours of the day and night. There I

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would be safe. And there, within a few blocks of my

apartment, at last I would ﬁnd the self I had traveled

thousands of miles in search of. The slogans on the

walls, which at ﬁrst made me shudder, began to impress

me as truths I could live by: “One Day at a Time.”

“Easy Does It.” “Keep It Simple.” “Live and Let Live.”

“Let Go and Let God.” “The Serenity Prayer.”

Commitment and service were part of recovery. I

was told that to keep it we have to give it away. At ﬁrst

I made the coffee and later volunteered at the inter-

group ofﬁce answering telephones on the evening

shift. I went on Twelfth Step calls, spoke at meetings,

served as group ofﬁcer. Ever so gradually I began to

open. Just a crack at ﬁrst, with my hand on the door

ready to slam it shut in a moment of fear. But my fears

subsided too. I found that I could be there, open to all

kinds of people from this solid base that we shared.

Then I began to go back out into the world, carrying

that strength with me.

I found that now I could do many things without

adrink—write, answer the telephone, eat out, go to

parties, make love, get through the day and the

evenings. Sleep at night and get up the next morning

ready to begin another day. I was amazed and proud

to have gone a week without a drink, then a month.

Then I lived an entire year sober, through my birth-

day, Christmas, problems, successes, the mixture that

makes up life.

I healed physically, felt good, my senses returned. I

began to hear the delicate sound of autumn leaves rat-

tling in the wind, to feel the touch of snowﬂakes on

my face, to see the ﬁrst new leaves of spring.

Then I began to heal emotionally, to experience

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feelings that had long been so deeply buried they had

atrophied. For a time I ﬂoated on that pink cloud.

Then I cried for a year, raged for another year. My

feelings returned and then began to settle down to

reasonable size.

Above all, I healed spiritually. The steps took me on

that path. I had admitted I was powerless over alco-

hol, that my life had become unmanageable. That was

what got me through the door. Then I came to believe

that a Power greater than myself could restore me to

sanity. And eventually, I made a decision to turn my

will and my life over to the care of God as I under-

stood God. Years before, in my search, I had explored

numerous religions and dropped them because they

preached a patriarchal God, which I felt never in-

cluded me. Alcoholics Anonymous, I was told, is a

spiritual program, not a religious one. Through my

years of darkness, some spark of spirit remained in

me, helped me survive until I found my way into A.A.

Then, nurtured by the program, that inner spirit grew,

deepened, until it ﬁlled the emptiness I had so long

felt inside. Step by step I moved to a spiritual awak-

ing. Step by step I cleared up the past and got on with

the present.

A.A. is my home now, and it is everywhere. I go to

meetings when I travel here or in foreign countries,

and the people are family I can know because of what

we share. As I write this, in my twenty-eighth year of

sobriety, I am amazed to look back and remember the

woman—or child—I was then, to see how far I’ve

come out of that abyss. Alcoholics Anonymous has en-

abled me to move from fantasies about what I might

do with my life into living it, one day at a time. In my

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ﬁrst move that was not a geographic, I left the city and

moved to the country. I left research and became a

gardener. I discovered that I am a lesbian and that I

love women. I’m fulﬁlling a long-time dream of writ-

ing ﬁction that’s being published. But these are things

I do, aspects of the life I’m living in sobriety. The most

precious discovery is who I really am—like all of us, a

being far beyond any of the ego-selves, any of the fan-

tasies I’d made up.

That sense of being different, which had long

plagued me, disappeared when I saw the threads that

run through all of us. Sharing our stories, our feelings,

it is the areas where we are the same that impress me.

The differences are but delightful ﬂourishes on the

surface, like different-colored costumes, and I enjoy

them. But the basic ways we are human, the basic

ways we simply are, stand out to me now. I came to

see that we all are really one, and I no longer feel

alone.

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(9)

IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN WORSE

Alcohol was a looming cloud in this banker’s bright

sky. With rare foresight he realized it could become a

tornado.

How cana person with a ﬁne family, an attrac-

tive home, an excellent position, and high

standing in an important city become an alcoholic?

As I later found out through Alcoholics Anonymous,

alcohol is no respecter of economic status, social and

business standing, or intelligence.

I was raised like the majority of American boys,

coming from a family of modest circumstances, attend-

ing public schools, having the social life of a small

midwestern town, with part-time work and some

athletics. The ambition to succeed was instilled in me

by my Scandinavian parents who came to this country

where opportunities were so great. “Keep busy; al-

ways have something constructive to do.” I did work

ofall kinds after school and during vacations, trying

toﬁnd that which would appeal most as a goal for a

life work. Then there was wartime service to interrupt

my plans, and an education to be picked up after the

war. After that came marriage, getting started in

business, and a family. The story is not very different

from that of thousands of other young men in my

generation. It shows nothing or no one to blame for

alcoholism.

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The drive to get ahead, to succeed, kept me too

busy for many years to have any great experience

withsocial life. I would have begrudged the time or

money for alcohol. In fact I was afraid to try it for

fearthat Iwould wind up like many examples I had

seen of excessive drinking in the army. I was intoler-

ant of people who drank, particularly those who drank

to an extent that interfered with their on-the-job

performance.

In time I became an ofﬁcer and director of one of

the largest commercial banks in the country. I

achieved recognized and national standing in my pro-

fession, as well as becoming a director in many im-

portant institutions having to do with the civic life of

alarge city. I had a family to be proud of, actively

sharing in the responsibilities of good citizenship.

My drinking did not start until after I was thirty-ﬁve

and a fairly successful career had been established.

But success brought increased social activities, and I

realized that many of my friends enjoyed a social drink

with no apparent harm to themselves or others. I dis-

liked being different so, ultimately, I began to

jointhem occasionally.

At ﬁrst it was just that—an occasional drink. Then I

looked forward to the weekend of golf and the nine-

teenth hole. The cocktail hour became a daily routine.

Gradually, the quantity increased and the occasions

for a drink came more frequently: a hard day, worries

and pressure, bad news, good news—there were more

and more reasons for a drink. Why did I want in-

creasingly greater quantities of alcohol? It was fright-

ening that drink was being substituted for more

andmore of the things I really enjoyed doing. Golf,

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hunting, and ﬁshing were now merely excuses to drink

excessively.

I made promises to myself, my family, and friends—

and broke them. Short dry spells ended in heavy

drinking. I tried to hide my drinking by going places

where I was unlikely to see anyone I knew. Hang-

overs and remorse were always with me.

The next steps were bottle hiding and excuses for

trips in order to drink without restraint. Cunning,

bafﬂing, powerful—the gradual creeping up of the fre-

quency and quantity of alcohol and what it does to a

person is apparent to everyone but the person in-

volved.

When it became noticeable to the point of comment,

I devised ways of sneaking drinks on the side. “Re-

hearsals” then became a part of the pattern, stopping

at bars on the way to or from the place where drinks

were to be served. Never having enough, always crav-

ing more, the obsession for alcohol gradually began to

dominate all my activities, particularly while traveling.

Drink planning became more important than any

other plans.

I tried the wagon on numerous occasions, but I al-

ways felt unhappy and abused. I tried psychiatry, but

of course I gave the psychiatrist no cooperation.

I was living in constant fear that I would get caught

while driving a car, so I used taxis part of the time.

Then I began to have blackouts, and that was a con-

stant worry. To wake up at home, not knowing how

Igot there, and to realize I had driven my car, became

torture. Not knowing where I had been or how I got

home was making me desperate.

It now became necessary to have noon drinks—at

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ﬁrst just two, then gradually more. My hours of work

were ﬂexible, so that returning to the ofﬁce was not

always important. Then I became careless and re-

turned sometimes when I shouldn’t have. This wor-

ried me. The last two years of my drinking, my entire

personality changed to a cynical, intolerant, and arro-

gant person completely different from my normal self.

It was at this stage of my life that resentments came

in. Resenting anyone and everyone who might inter-

fere with my personal plans and ways of doing things

—especially for any interference with my drinking—I

was full of self-pity.

I will never know all the people I hurt, all the

friends I abused, the humiliation of my family, the

worry of my business associates, or how far reaching

itwas. I continue to be surprised by the people I meet

who say, “You haven’t had a drink for a long time,

haveyou?” The surprise to me is the fact that I didn’t

know that they knew my drinking had gotten out of

control. That is where we are really fooled. We think

we can drink to excess without anyone’s knowing it.

Everyone knows it. The only one we are fooling is

ourselves. We rationalize and excuse our conduct be-

yond all reason.

My wife and I had always encouraged our children

to bring their friends home at any time, but after a

fewexperiences with a drunken father, they eliminated

home as a place to entertain friends. At the time this

didn’t mean much to me. I was too busy devising

excuses to be out with drinking pals.

It seemed to me my wife was becoming more intol-

erant and narrow-minded all the time. Whenever we

went out, she appeared to go out of her way to keep

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me from having more than one drink. What alcoholic

can be satisﬁed with one drink? After every cocktail

party or dinner party she would say she couldn’t un-

derstand how I could get in such a drunken stupor on

one drink. She of course didn’t realize how cunning

analcoholic can be and the lengths to which he will

goin ﬁnding ways to satisfy the compulsion for more

and more drinks after having had the first one.

Neither did I.

Finally our invitations became fewer and fewer as

friends had more experience with my drinking pattern.

Two years before I joined A.A., my wife took a long

trip during which she wrote me she just couldn’t re-

turn unless I did something about my drinking. It was

a shock of course, but I promised to stop and she re-

turned. A year later, while we were on a vacation trip,

she packed up to go home because of my excessive

drinking, and I talked her out of it with the promise I

would go on the wagon for at least a year. I pro-

mised, but within two months, I began again.

The following spring she left me one day without

giving me any idea of where she had gone, hoping

thiswould bring me to my senses. In a few days an

attorney called on me and explained that something

would have to be done, as she couldn’t face returning

to me as I was. Again I promised to do something

about it. Broken promises, humiliation, hopelessness,

worry, anxiety—but still not enough.

There comes a time when you don’t want to live

and are afraid to die. Some crisis brings you to a point

of deciding to do something about your drinking

problem—to try anything. Help you once continually

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rejected, suggestions once turned aside are ﬁnally ac-

cepted in desperation.

The ﬁnal decision came when my daughter, follow-

ing a drunk of mine that ruined my wife’s birthday,

said, “It’sAlcoholics Anonymous—or else!” Of course,

this suggestion had been made before on a number of

occasions, but like all alcoholics I wanted to handle my

problem my own way, which really meant I didn’t

want anything to interfere with my drinking. I was try-

ing to ﬁnd an easier, softer way. By now it had become

difﬁcult to visualize a life without alcohol.

However, my low had been reached. I realized I

had been going down and down. I was unhappy my-

self, and I had brought unhappiness to all who cared

for me. Physically I couldn’t take it any more. Cold

sweats, jumpy nerves, and lack of sleep were becom-

ing intolerable. Mentally, the fears and tensions, the

complete change in attitude and outlook bewildered

me. This was no way to live. The time for decision

hadarrived, and it was a relief to say yes when my

family said they would call Alcoholics Anonymous

forme—a relief, even though I dreaded it, feeling that

this was the end of everything.

Early the next morning a man whose name I knew

well, a lawyer, called on me. Within thirty minutes

Iknew A.A. was the answer for me. We visited most

of that day and attended a meeting that night. I don’t

know what I expected, but I most certainly didn’t

visualize a group of people talking about their drink-

ing problems, making light of their personal tragedies,

and at the same time enjoying themselves.

However, after I heard a few stories of jails, sani-

tariums, broken homes, and skid row, I wondered if I

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really was an alcoholic. After all, I hadn’t started to

drink early in life, so I had some stability and maturity

to guide me for a while. My responsibilities had been

a restraining inﬂuence. I had had no brushes with the

law, though I should have had many. I had not yet

lostmy job or family, even though both were on the

verge of going. My ﬁnancial standing had not been

impaired.

Could I be an alcoholic without some of the hair-

raising experiences I had heard of in meetings? The

answer came to me very simply in the ﬁrst step of

theTwelve Steps of A.A. “We admitted we were

powerless over alcohol—that our lives had become un-

manageable.” This didn’t say we had to be in jail, ten,

ﬁfty, or one hundred times. It didn’t say I had to lose

one, ﬁve, or ten jobs. It didn’t say I had to lose my

family. It didn’t say I had to ﬁnally live on skid row

and drink bay rum, canned heat, or lemon extract. It

did say I admitted I was powerless over alcohol—that

my life had become unmanageable.

Most certainly I was powerless over alcohol, and for

me, my life had become unmanageable. It wasn’t how

far I had gone, but where I was headed. It was im-

portant to me to see what alcohol had done to me

andwould continue to do if I didn’t have help.

At ﬁrst it was a shock to realize I was an alcoholic,

but the realization that there was hope made it easier.

The bafﬂing problem of getting drunk when I had

every intention of staying sober was simpliﬁed. It was

a great relief to know I didn’t haveto drink any more.

I was told that I must want sobriety for my own

sake, and I am convinced this is true. There may be

many reasons that bring one to A.A. for the ﬁrst time,

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but the lasting one must be to want sobriety and the

A.A. way of living for oneself.

From the start I liked everything about the A.A.

program. I liked the description of the alcoholic as a

person who has found that alcohol is interfering with

his social or business life. The allergy idea I could

understand because I am allergic to certain pollens.

Some of my family are allergic to certain foods. What

could be more reasonable than that some people,

including myself, were allergic to alcohol?

The explanation that alcoholism was a disease of a

two-fold nature, an allergy of the body and an obses-

sion of the mind, cleared up a number of puzzling

questions for me. The allergy we could do nothing

about. Somehow our bodies had reached the point

where we could no longer absorb alcohol in our sys-

tems. The whyis not important; the factis that one

drink will set up a reaction in our system that requires

more, that one drink is too much and a hundred

drinks are not enough.

The obsession of the mind was a little harder to

understand, and yet everyone has obsessions of various

kinds. The alcoholic has them to an exaggerated de-

gree. Over a period of time he has built up self-pity

and resentments toward anyone or anything that in-

terferes with his drinking. Dishonest thinking, preju-

dice, ego, antagonism toward anyone and everyone

who dares to cross him, vanity, and a critical attitude

are character defects that gradually creep in and be-

come a part of his life. Living with fear and tension

inevitably results in wanting to ease that tension,

which alcohol seems to do temporarily. It took me

some time to realize that the Twelve Steps of A.A.

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were designed to help correct these defects of charac-

ter and so help remove the obsession to drink. The

Twelve Steps, which to me are a spiritual way of living,

soon meant honest thinking, not wishful thinking,

open-mindedness, a willingness to try, and a faith to

accept. They meant patience, tolerance, and humility,

and above all, the belief that a Power greater than

myself could help. That Power I chose to call God.

A willingness to do whatever I was told to do sim-

pliﬁed the program for me. Study the A.A. book—

don’t just read it. They told me to go to meetings, and

I still do at every available opportunity, whether I

amat home or in some other city. Attending meetings

has never been a chore to me. Nor have I attended

them with a feeling of just doing my duty. Meetings

are both relaxing and refreshing to me after a hard

day. They said, “Get active,” so I helped whenever I

could, and I still do.

A spiritual experience to me meant attending

meetings and seeing a group of people all there for

the purpose of helping each other; hearing the Twelve

Steps and the Twelve Traditions read at a meeting;

and hearing the Lord’s Prayer, which in an A.A. meet-

ing has such great meaning—“Thy will be done, not

mine.” A spiritual awakening soon came to mean try-

ing each day to be a little more thoughtful, more con-

siderate, a little more courteous to those with whom I

came in contact.

To most of us, making amends will take the rest of

our lives, but we can start immediately. Just being

sober will be making amends to many we have hurt by

our drunken actions. Making amends is sometimes

doing what we are capable of doing but failed to do

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because of alcohol—carrying out community respon-

sibilities such as community funds, Red Cross, edu-

cational and religious activities in proportion to our

abilities and energy.

I was desperately in earnest to follow through and

understand what was expected of me as a member of

A.A. and to take each step of the twelve as rapidly

aspossible. To me this meant telling my associates

that I had joined Alcoholics Anonymous; that I didn’t

know what was expected of me by A.A., but that what-

ever it was, it was the most important thing in life for

me; that sobriety meant more to me than anything in

this world. It was so important that it must come

ahead of anything.

There are many short phrases and expressions in

A.A. that make sound sense. “First Things First.”

Solve our immediate problems before we try to solve

all the others and get muddled in our thinking and

doing. “Easy Does It.” Relax a little. Try for inner

contentment. No one individual can carry all the bur-

dens of the world. Everyone has problems. Getting

drunk won’t solve them. “Twenty-four hours a day.”

Today is the day. Doing our best, living each day to

the fullest is the art of living. Yesterday is gone, and

we don’t know whether we will be here tomorrow.

Ifwe do a good job of living today, and if tomorrow

comes for us, then the chances are we will do a good

job when it arrives—so why worry about it?

The A.A. way of life is the way we always should

have tried to live. “Grant us the serenity to accept the

things we cannot change, courage to change the things

we can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”

These thoughts become part of our daily lives. They

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are not ideas of resignation but of the recognition of

certain basic facts of living.

The fact that A.A. is a spiritual program didn’t scare

me or raise any prejudice in my mind. I couldn’t af-

ford the luxury of prejudice. I had tried my way and

had failed.

When I joined A.A., I did so for the sole purpose of

getting sober and staying sober. I didn’t realize I

would ﬁnd so much more, but a new and different

outlook on life started opening up almost immediately.

Each day seems to be so much more productive and

satisfying. I get so much more enjoyment out of living.

I ﬁnd an inner pleasure in simple things. Living just

for today is a pleasant adventure.

Above all, I am grateful to A.A. for my sobriety,

which means so much to my family, friends, and busi-

ness associates, because God and A.A. were able to do

for me something I was unable to do for myself.

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TIGHTROPE

Trying to navigate separate worlds was a lonely

charade that ended when this gay alcoholic ﬁnally

landed in A.A.

Drinking was alwaysa part of my family

background. All the men in my family drank;

my father—and later, my brothers—were heavy

drinkers. As long as a person held down a job, didn’t

embarrass his family or friends too frequently, and

kept out of trouble, he was entitled to get drunk on

aregular basis. Drinking was an adult thing to do, a

part of growing up. I don’t believe it ever crossed

mymind that I shouldn’t drink.

I was raised in a conservative religion, and I com-

muted to religious schools some distance from home.

Because I had a quick mind and was comfortable

withacademics, I became something of a teacher’s

pet. As a result, I was a serious, shy, somewhat book-

ish child and teenager who found it difﬁcult to relate

to my peers. So when I went away to college, I was

analcoholic waiting to happen. My relation to alcohol

was a love affair from the very beginning. Although

Iwasn’t too thrilled with the taste, I loved the effects.

Alcohol helped me to hide my fears; the ability to

converse was an almost miraculous gift to a shy and

lonely individual.

It was at this time that I also began to struggle with

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the question of my sexuality. For me, the idea of being

homosexual—the word gaywasn’t then in common

use—was unthinkable. Drinking helped me to forget

and evade. Also, it provided some cover; when you are

drunk, people are not surprised at an inability or dis-

inclination to make any serious moves toward a

woman. This struggle continued throughout years of

unsuccessful dating and pretending.

When I eventually decided to act on my desires, the

guilt and the shame—as well as the drinking—in-

creased. Now I had to hide not only my thoughts but

also my conduct. I always tried to project the image of

the conservative, masculine, deep-voiced loner with

the mysterious, possibly tragic, but always heterosex-

ual love affair in the past. I wound up living two sep-

arate and distinct lives—that of the gay man with

friends and interests to match and that of the straight

man with a totally separate set of friends and interests.

I had to walk this tightrope while trying to build a

solid professional life as well. After college I had gone

on to law school, where drinking on a daily basis be-

came the norm. I justiﬁed myself with the thought

that a few drinks helped me to relax and “focus” on

my studies. Somehow, I managed to do well in law

school and to land several prestigious legal positions

afterward. I soon learned that I could not drink dur-

ing the day; if I had even one drink at lunch, the rest

of the afternoon would be lost. Instead, I postponed

my drinking until immediately after work and would

then make up for lost time.

Work in a law ﬁrm added a third side to my already

divided life. Now I had to try to maintain social rela-

tions with clients, members, and associates of the ﬁrm,

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in addition to my gay and straight friends from my pri-

vate lives. Needless to say, as the drinking increased,

things became ever more confused. Eventually, the

pressures became too great. I had formed a serious re-

lationship and decided that I could no longer carry on

the deception. Instead, I would change careers and go

into teaching.

For a while things seemed to be going well. But

theslide toward active alcoholism was slowly acceler-

ating. I had had my ﬁrst blackout several years before.

At that time I told myself that if it ever happened

again, I would stop drinking. It happened again—and

again and again—but I didn’t stop. I was always able

to come up with some explanation, excuse, or ration-

alization that justified my continued drinking. In

time,personality changes began to occur with regular-

ity when I drank. I had always had a sharp tongue;

when drinking, I frequently became vitriolic. At other

times I could be charming and affectionate, some-

times too much so. People never knew just what I

would do or say.

After a few years I was a nightly blackout drinker.

My lover drank heavily as well, and I began to com-

pare my drinking with his. I argued to myself that I

could not have a problem because his drinking was

worse than mine at times. In fact, I suggested that he

might try A.A. When he did try this Fellowship, I did

all I could to undermine his efforts to get sober—his

recovery would present an obvious, if unacknowl-

edged, threat to my drinking. Eventually, the stress

became too much and we broke up, but not before I

had succeeded in undermining his recovery.

The slide continued. Most of my friends were un-

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willing to put up with my conduct—the verbal and

sometimes physical abuse, the midnight phone calls,

the forgotten invitations, and the selﬁsh disregard of

anything but my own need to drink. Those few friends

who did not withdraw were forced away by my re-

sentments and increasing paranoia. I cut people out of

my life, refusing to return phone calls and ignoring

them when we met by chance. By the end of my

drinking, only two people were willing to have any-

thing to do with me on a social basis, and both were

heavy drinkers who were not surprised by my actions.

The cases in which disaster struck when I drank

outside my home increased. I made inappropriate

passes at parties, or at people at work—both men and

women. At other times I awakened battered or with

my watch or wallet missing, or in the company of

strangers whose names I did not remember and did

not want to know. There were the inevitable injuries

and accidents. I was ejected from bars because I

would steal tips or change from bartenders or other

customers to pay for the drinks I could no longer af-

ford. At other times I would get into arguments and

be forced to leave.

In consequence, I made the seemingly logical deci-

sion not to drink outside the house. Instead, most of

my drinking was now solitary. When I left work, I

would have a few stiff drinks at dinner and then go

home. I would stop off at the kitchen to pick up a

glass, some ice, and some mixer. I would go to my

bedroom, where I kept half-gallon bottles of gin and

vodka, and “read” while the ice melted, the mixer ran

out, and sometimes the glass broke. Every night was

blackout drinking. The really bad times were when I

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would have to struggle outside to a liquor store or bar

late at night, weaving and trying not to stagger, be-

cause I had miscalculated and run out of alcohol.

I found it increasingly difﬁcult to do anything more

than work and drink. I was afraid to use public trans-

portation or even to walk on the streets. My stomach

was constantly upset and my doctor had diagnosed a

number of intestinal disorders. Even though I rarely

drank away from home, my body was covered with

bruises because I often fell down during blackouts. I

never wore short-sleeved shirts, even in summer, be-

cause people would ask me about the bruises. One

morning I awoke with a numb leg and found that I

had somehow ruptured two spinal discs while in a

blackout at home.

For the last four years I lived alone in a small

house. The ceiling of one room had collapsed, and

plaster dust was everywhere, coating the garbage and

newspapers that littered the ﬂoor. Empty food car-

tons, beer cans, bottles, and dirty clothes lay where

they were tossed. I had gotten a cat because the mice

were out of control. But I was not conscientious about

cleaning up after the cat. It is not surprising that I had

few visitors and neighbors tended to avoid me.

The last few months were ﬁlled with fear and self-

pity. I began to contemplate suicide with increasing

regularity, yet I was afraid of dying. I remember think-

ing that this life would go on and on, never getting

better and slowly fading away to nothing.

Then I began to hear the whispers. I became con-

vinced that there were people living in my house. I

couldn’t see them, except for occasional glimpses out

of the corner of my eyes, and so I concluded that they

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were small and somehow living in the walls or under

the stairs. I could hear them plotting to kill me. There

were nights when I went to bed with a knife in hand

to protect myself. Other nights I locked myself in the

bathroom so they couldn’t get me. One night I left a

shot of vodka on the mantelpiece so they would go

after that and leave me alone.

Then a miracle occurred. An evening came when I

decided to have one drink outside and then go straight

home. I had that drink and left for my house. The next

thing I remember is waking up the next morning with

a stranger I had picked up in a bar. Apparently I had

gone on autopilot and, in a blackout resulting from

just one drink, had gone on a tear. The look of disgust

and pity on the face of that stranger was the jolt I

needed. I suddenly realized that my life was totally in-

sane, that my drinking was out of control, and that I

was either an alcoholic or a candidate for committal to

the local asylum. Not wanting to be locked up, I de-

cided to try Alcoholics Anonymous.

I called my former lover, and he put me in contact

with an individual who took me to my ﬁrst meeting.

Although I can barely recall anything about that meet-

ing, I heard two things I have never forgotten. The

ﬁrst was “You don’t have to drink again.” This was a

total revelation to me. For a long time I had believed

that alcohol was one of the few positive things left in

my life. I looked forward to my ﬁrst drink every

evening and thought that alcohol was holding my life

together. I had to drink to survive, let alone to have

any comfort. Yet here, people who had been in the

same boat were telling me that I didn’t have to drink.

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I don’t think I believed them that night, but it gave

me enough hope to avoid drinking the rest of the day.

The second thing I heard was “You don’t have to be

alone anymore.” This too was a revelation. For years

Ihad rejected or been rejected by friends, lovers,

family, and God. I was alone and afraid. My life had

narrowed to work and the bottle, and work remained

in the picture only because it was necessary to enable

me to buy the bottle. The isolation and loneliness that

alcoholism brought weighed heavily on me, and those

words lifted an immense burden of fear. Again, I’m

not sure that I completely believed, but I felt hope for

the ﬁrst time in years.

I did not fall in love with A.A. at ﬁrst glance. The

man who took me to my ﬁrst meeting later became

my ﬁrst sponsor, and he had to put up with objections,

arguments, questions, and doubts—everything a

trainedbut very muddled legal mind could throw at

him. He was gentle with me. He did not push his

opinions on me. He had the sense to see that I was

soafraid and so used to being alone that I could not

face a “hard sell” approach. He listened to my ques-

tions, answered some, and suggested that I could best

answer others myself. He refused to argue but was

willing to explain and share his own experiences. I had

asked him to be my sponsor before I knew what he

did for a living and felt I could not back out of the

relationship when I discovered he was a minister.

My alcoholism and my lifestyle had led me to reject

the religion and the God of my upbringing; I had

never replaced them. Instead, I was an agnostic,

doubting the existence of God but afraid to say so in

case I was wrong. My self-pity and sense of victimiza-

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tion led me to doubt that a caring God could exist; if

He did, why had He given me so many problems? I

was very wary of the members who talked of their

spiritual lives.

My sponsor was a living damper on my intolerance.

But even more, he told me that it would be all right

for me to doubt God, that A.A. was not a religious

program and, to belong, I did not have to adhere to any

set of beliefs.

He suggested that for me a good starting point

would simply be recognition of the fact that I had

failed in running the world—in short, acceptance of

the fact that I was not God. He also suggested that I

might try occasionally to act as if I believed.

Somewhere I had heard that it is easier to act yourself

into a new way of thinking than to think yourself into

a new way of acting, and this made sense in the con-

text of “acting as if.”

I also thought that the people in meetings some-

times seemed too standofﬁsh and overly concerned

with their friends and acquaintances rather than with

me, the newcomer. Well on my way toward develop-

ing a resentment, I expressed this to my sponsor. He

suggested that I might ﬁnd people more communica-

tive if I took the coffee-making commitment for the

group I had joined. Although I thought I was far too

special to make coffee, I did ﬁgure that as coffee

maker I would have the chance to select decent cook-

ies, and so I agreed. My sponsor was right again.

People did start to speak with me—if only to complain

about the coffee and cookies. But once a conversation

starts, communication frequently continues.

I started to work on the steps, and even with my

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difﬁculty over the Third Step and “the God concept,”

I began to develop a sense of trust in the A.A. group

and in the ideals of the Fellowship as a manifestation

of a Power greater than myself. Although for many

years I did not come to an acceptance of a God who

intervened personally and directly in the lives of indi-

viduals, I was able to accept the idea of a force that

moved in the rooms and animated A.A. members with

a sense of unconditional love. That satisﬁed my spiri-

tual needs for a long time.

A later sponsor took me through Steps Eight and

Nine and provided me with support during some try-

ing times. In my third year of sobriety, I was bedrid-

den for over a month as a result of that earlier injury

to my spinal discs, my father died, a relationship

ended, and the AIDS epidemic started to hit home

among my friends and acquaintances. Over the course

of that and the next few years, almost half of my gay

friends died. I learned in that year that if I ask for

help, my Higher Power will never give me anything I

can’t handle.

It was in this period that I started to turn to service

beyond the group level. I had helped in founding the

ﬁrst gay A.A. group in my part of town and was

elected general service representative after having

served in other group ofﬁces. I knew nothing of gen-

eral service at that time, and I decided to learn what

it was all about so I could do a decent job and be able

to pass it on to a successor as quickly as possible. After

two years I went on to do a number of other service

jobs for A.A.

In all these positions I never felt obligated to con-

ceal or deny my sexuality. I have always felt that the

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representatives of groups in my area were concerned

only with how we carried the message of recovery, not

with what I might do in my personal life.

When I ﬁrst came to this Fellowship, I had lost my

health and sanity, my friends, much of my family, my

self-respect, and my God. In the years since, all of

these have been restored to me. I no longer have the

sense of impending doom. I no longer wish for death

or stare at myself in the mirror with loathing. I have

come to terms with my Higher Power; after more than

a dozen years in the A.A. Fellowship, I was able to

join a religious group and have now become active in

that organization. I have a full, happy life, with friends

and loving family. Recently I retired and have begun

to travel throughout the world. I have attended and

felt welcome at A.A. meetings wherever I have gone

inside and outside the United States. Even more im-

portant, I have returned to my home group and am

still asked to make coffee. I now have an extended

family that is international in scope, all the members

of which are joined by bonds of shared pain and joy.

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FLOODED WITH FEELING

When a barrier to God collapsed, this self-described

agnostic was at Step Three.

When i ﬁrstcame to A.A., I thought every-

one had drunk more than I had, that every-

body had gotten into more trouble. But I kept coming

to meetings, and after a while, I began to hear the be-

ginnings of their stories. I came to realize that I was

on the same road. I just hadn’t gone as far—yet.

I had my ﬁrst drink in my senior year of high

school. That ﬁrst night, I slipped out of the window so

my parents wouldn’t hear me leave. There were four

of us, and we only brought four bottles of home brew.

I never made that mistake again!

The next week, a bunch of us went camping, and

we brought cases of beer. We ﬁnished it all. The oth-

ers drank a lot too, but I was the one who woke up in

the middle of the night and started wandering around

the countryside by the light of the moon. I was the

one who walked for miles searching for something. I

know now what I was looking for. Unlike the rest of

them, I wanted another drink.

I had a great time that summer between high

school and college. It revolved around drinking: drink-

ing and football, drinking and hunting, drinking and

playing pool, drinking and driving. Nothing really bad

happened, but it could have. I nearly got arrested. A

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friend just missed being shot. The car I was riding in

stopped just before it crashed.

I don’t think most moderate, social drinkers re-

member so clearly the night they had their first

drink.I’m sure that very few of them make that date

into an annual celebration by getting as drunk as pos-

sible. It was in my second year of drinking that I

started saying that if you can still feel your face, you’re

not drunk enough. In my third year I drank home-

made peach wine, and when it was gone, I had some

whiskey. That night, I vomited, in a blackout.

Soon I found that I didn’t get as sick on vodka.

Drinking vodka was like something out of science ﬁc-

tion—I could be someplace one moment and instantly

transported to somewhere else the next. I could

neverseem to ﬁnd that happy balance. I remember

going to a party. I started drinking, and suddenly

Icould talk to anybody. I was having a lot of fun, but

I kept on drinking. Soon I could barely walk. A friend

drove me home that night, but I sometimes drove

acar when I was too drunk to walk.

I became a teacher and didn’t drink too often for a

while. When I did drink, I almost always got drunk.

The teachers would get together a couple times a year

for a poker party. I usually didn’t drink anything. One

time I did, and I made a fool of myself. I decided that

drinking just wasn’t fun anymore. I quit.

My cure for drinking was isolation. I would get up,

go to work, come home, watch TV, and go to bed. It

got to the point where I couldn’t remember anything

good that had ever happened. I couldn’t imagine any-

thing good ever happening in the future. Life had

shrunk down to an endless, awful now. The depression

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became so bad that only medical treatment kept me

from killing myself. After seven months the doctor

took me off the medication. I wasn’t suicidal, but I

wasn’t very happy, either.

A new teacher came to my school, and I invited my-

self over to her place for a drink. I remember telling

her, as I lifted the glass, that this might not be such a

great idea but, “I believe it’s worth the risk.” As casu-

ally as that, I began drinking again. At the winter

break she went to visit her boyfriend. I was alone

again.

Two days before Christmas I went to a party. I

wasn’t going to drink because I had driven there and

Iknew that drinking and driving was a bad idea for

me. I wasn’t feeling particularly good or bad—just a

little uncomfortable because I didn’t know most of

thepeople there. I was sitting on the couch one

minute and up drinking a glass of wine the next.

There was no conscious premeditation at all.

This is the point when many people say, “And I

went on drinking for ten more years.” Instead, an odd

thing happened. A few days later a teacher came up to

me at work and said that she was an alcoholic and that

she was going to A.A. She had never seen me drink, so

I don’t know what made her do that.

The next day I asked her how often she went to

meetings. “Once a week?” I asked. No. She said that

she had been going nearly every day for almost six

months. That seemed a little extreme, but I thought

that maybe if I went to a meeting with her, it might

help her out. Besides, I was lonely.

Halfway through the meeting I had the strangest

idea. People were introducing themselves as alco-

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holics, and I had the urge to do the same. This was pe-

culiar because I wasn’t, of course. Later, my friend

asked me what I thought of the meeting. I said that I

didn’t really know. It was only much later I realized

that for the ﬁrst time in years, I felt that I belonged.

The next day we went to another meeting, and this

time I did say I was an alcoholic. I went to the third

meeting by myself. I was nervous. I felt as if I were

about to jump out of my skin. I did something that

was amazing to me. Before the meeting I stuck out

myhand and introduced myself as a newcomer. I had

someone to talk to. I calmed down.

From time to time I would tell the truth. I said in a

meeting that I was afraid to get a sponsor because I

was afraid he might ask me to do something. I left that

meeting with a phone number. I called it, and sure

enough, my new sponsor started leading me through

the steps, using the Big Book.

I called him every day. I told him that I just didn’t

want to be an alcoholic. He said it didn’t matter what

I wanted. The question I had to answer for myself was

whether I was or I wasn’t. He even suggested that I

could try a little controlled drinking if I wasn’t sure. I

knew I had never been able to do that. I didn’t have

to do any more “research.” All I really had to do was

review the drinking I had already done.

I remember telling a friend years ago that I didn’t

have a drinking problem, I had a stopping problem.

We laughed. It was true, but there was something else

going on, something that never occurred to me until I

came to A.A. I didn’t just have a stopping problem. I

had a starting problem too. No matter how often I

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stopped, or for how long, I always started drinking

again.

After not drinking for three months, I was on the

phone with the friend who had taken me to that ﬁrst

meeting. I was complaining to her about problems at

work and how my sponsor didn’t understand me.

Later in the conversation I mentioned that even when

I described myself as agnostic, I thought maybe some-

thing was watching out for me. She asked, “Isn’t it

about time you made a decision?”

I knew where to look in the Big Book, and I had

been careful to avoid it until then. I turned to the

Third Step Prayer and quietly read it to her over the

phone. Nothing happened. I didn’t expect anything to

happen. Then, for some reason, I turned back to the

words, “No one among us has been able to maintain

anything like perfect adherence to these principles.”

They echoed in my mind.

Something happened. A barrier collapsed. Without

moving or speaking, I was carried away on a ﬂood of

emotion, yet at the same time, I was completely aware

of myself and my surroundings. I could hear my

friend’s voice asking what had happened to me. I

couldn’t answer. I still can’t explain it.

I know that I took the Third Step (turning my will

and my life over to a Higher Power) that night be-

cause I began writing a Fourth Step inventory the

next day, and I continued to write until I did the Fifth

Step with my sponsor. Soon I had a list of people I had

harmed. I talked about each of the amends with my

sponsor. By the time I had started setting things right

with my family, I began to feel a lot better.

More than eleven years later it’s hard to recapture

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the feelings of that night. What do I believe as a re-

sult? I can say that doubting God’s existence was no

barrier at all to a spiritual experience. Also, I can say

that having such an experience didn’t lead me to any

certainty about God. Alcoholics Anonymous gives me

the freedom to believe and to doubt as much as I

need to.

I do know that my life is different now. I haven’t

hada drink since I came to A.A. I have fewer resent-

ments, and I don’t spend much time thinking about

thepast. I’ve found that my experience can be of help

toother people. I have come to believe that hard

timesare not just meaningless suffering and that

something good might turn up at any moment. That’s

abig change for someone who used to come to in the

morning feeling sentenced to another day of life.

WhenI wake up today, there are lots of possibilities. I can

hardly wait to see what’s going to happen next.

I keep coming back because it works.

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(12)

WINNER TAKES ALL

Legally blind but no longer alone, she found a way

to stay sober, raise a family, and turn her life over to

the care of God.

My parents werevery much in love and

had been married a couple of years when

they decided to start a family. They were so excited

when their ﬁrst son was born. They owned their own

small business, and with the arrival of their son their

lives seemed perfect—until tragedy struck. When

their son was about two years old, my parents were

eating at a local restaurant, and he was dancing to the

music of the juke box and having a good time. He fol-

lowed some older children outside and was hit by a

car. My parents carried him in an ambulance to a hos-

pital thirty miles away, where he was pronounced dead

on arrival. My parents were stricken with grief.

One miracle that brought them some joy in the

midst of all the pain was that Mom found out she was

pregnant. When this little girl was born, she brought

them great joy. She did not take the place of her

brother, but in her own right she did bring them joy.

They tried again to have another little boy, but they

had me instead. Not only was I a girl, but I was also

born legally blind. A year or so later they ﬁnally did

get the boy they wanted, and there was a big party to

celebrate his birth.

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From the very beginning I felt different and un-

wanted. At a very young age, as children do, I had to

make sense out of my life, so I came to the conclusion

that I was bad and God knew I was bad, so God made

me handicapped to punish me. I thought that the un-

dertow of sadness in my family was because of me.

Later I realized that a part of it might have been due

to my handicap, but there was still a lot of grieving

going on. My father turned to alcohol and was a very

angry man. When we were growing up, he was very

critical. I was told things on a daily basis, like I was

dumb and lazy. When I started school, I truly realized

how different I was from other children. Children

were very cruel and made fun of me. I could tell you

many stories of times I was treated badly, and al-

though the stories would be different, the feeling was

always the same. I was not good enough, and I hurt.

Special education was mostly for the mentally re-

tarded, so I did not get much support from my teach-

ers, though there were two teachers who made a

difference in my life. One was a third-grade teacher

who got me large-print books. It felt so good that

someone understood I had a problem, but that was

overruled by the embarrassment I felt trying to carry

those big books around. The other teacher was a

freshman high school teacher who ﬂunked me. It was

as if I heard her say, “You can do better.” All the other

teachers just let me pass, whether I knew the material

or not. When I got out of high school, I felt as if I had

gotten out of some kind of prison. I graduated 150th

out of a class of 152,and I felt that I was dumb.

It was during my high school years that I discovered

alcohol, and my problems were over. Now I was pretty

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and smart. For the ﬁrst time I felt as if I ﬁt in. I still

could not see—oh well, no big deal, I felt good.

I got married and had two children. I married a

man who was not or could not be honest. For several

years after we were married, I did not drink. My sis-

ter went through a divorce and moved to the town I

was living in. To be a good sister I went out with her,

for she knew no one in the town. We went to a coun-

try western place that had a beer bust. You just paid a

certain amount to get in, and you could drink all you

wanted to drink. I thought I had arrived in heaven.

We did this several times a week, and then she started

meeting people and started dating. Well, I couldn’t

drive, so I started drinking more and more at home.

Several years later alcohol had control over my life.

I had a tee shirt that I just loved; it said, “I used to

hate myself in the morning. Now I sleep till noon.”

That described my feelings totally.

When my daughter had to go to the hospital, I

stayed sober for the ﬁve days she was there and told

myself that I had licked the alcohol problem. On the

way home from the hospital, I got drunk again. I can-

not tell you the number of times I tried to stop on my

own. My son would look at me and say,”Mom, why do

you have to drink so much?” He was about eleven

years old at the time. So one night I got on my knees

and said, “God, change me or let me die.”

It was at this point in my life that I called Alcoholics

Anonymous and asked for help. They sent two ladies

over to my house. They sat with me, and I told them

that I drank because my marriage was bad. One of the

ladies held my hand and said, “That is not why you

drink.” I told them I drank because I was part

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German. She patted my hand and said, “No, that’s not

why you drink.” Then I told them I drank because I

was legally blind. They said, “No, that’s not why you

drink,” and they started to explain to me that alco-

holism is a disease. They shared their stories with me

and told me how alcohol had taken over their lives.

I started going to meetings, and my story sounded

so dull next to some of the stories I heard. The most

interesting thing I could think to tell was about the

time my friends, who were also drunk, let me drive

the car. I almost got us all killed—but what fun!

Legally blind, drunk, and behind the wheel of a car.

God was really taking care of me and the other people

on the road that night; I just didn’t know it at the

time.

The truth is, most of my drinking was done at home

alone. I would call people and talk, and the following

mornings were awful, trying to piece together what

Ihad said. I would say things to my husband like,

“Wasn’t that an interesting call last night,” hoping he

would volunteer information. My hands were begin-

ning to shake without the alcohol, yet when I got to

A.A., I wasn’t sure I belonged because my drunkalog

was not exciting.

Then one night at an A.A. meeting a friend said that

even though he had been in jail and done lots and lots

of stuff, he was no different from me. He felt the

same things I felt. It was then that I knew I was

notunique, that the people did understand the pain

inside me.

I met a lady who had a handicapped child, and we

learned so much from each other. One important

thing that I learned was that handicappedis not a

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four-letter word. Handicappedis not a dirty word. I

learned that I was not bad—that I was one of God’s

special children, that God had a plan for my life. The

people of A.A. showed me how my past could and

would become an asset. I got a sponsor and started

working the steps. The promises of the Big Book

started coming true for me. The feeling of uselessness

and self-pity went away, and I could see how my ex-

periences could help others.

When I was three years sober, I made one of the

most difﬁcult decisions I had ever made. I left the

marriage. I did not leave because I didn’t love him. I

still love him, but the marriage was not a healthy place

for me to be. I found myself with two children to

support. I was legally blind and had no job skills.

When I moved out, I ﬁrst moved into public housing

for blind people. This was a shocking experience for

me, but it was full of growth. For the ﬁrst time in my

life, I was learning to accept my handicap. Before this

I would plan out my day as if I could see and then

plan it out again based on the fact that my vision was

limited.

Through the commission for the blind, I got in-

volved in a program that helps blind people become

self-employed. After three months of training, I

movedto a city a couple of hundred miles away where

I knew no one. I lived in an apartment that was about

a mile from a coffee shop that I operated. I would

walk to work at 6:30a.m., carrying $200in opening

cash on a dark road, and I was afraid. I had two peo-

ple working for me, and on my second day one of

them did not show up. I had never run a business be-

fore, and my three months of training just didn’t seem

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enough. It was a hard time for me. A lady from a

major food company came by to take my grocery

order, and I didn’t have a clue how much coffee,

bacon, or hamburger meat I needed. She shared with

me what the previous manager had ordered and

helped me place an order.

God only knows how we got on the subject, but she

was a member of A.A. and later would become my

new sponsor. She picked me up and took me to meet-

ings. At one of the meetings, I met a guy who for the

next year picked me up and drove me to work. I paid

him a dollar each morning. I am sure that did not

cover his gas, but it helped me to feel I was paying my

way. For the ﬁrst time in my life, I was now supporting

myself.

This is just an example of how God works in my life.

No longer did I have to drink, but it was much more

than that. Everything I needed was provided. I had a

God of my understanding that helped me in every as-

pect of my life.

In working the steps, my life changed. I think dif-

ferently today; I feel different today. I am new. We

have a sign at the A.A. meetings I go to that says,

“Expect a Miracle.” My sobriety is full of miracles.

When my son ﬁlled out an application for college, I

ﬁlled one out too, and was accepted. Soon I will be a

senior, and I have a 3.71grade point average. Thanks

to A.A. I have come a long way from being near the

bottom of my high school class. It takes me a lot

longer to read the material, so I have a CCTV (I put

my book under this camera and it comes out in big

print on a monitor). I have a talking calculator that

helped me get through statistics and a telescope that

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can help me see the board. I accept help from the dis-

abled student services and gladly make use of the vol-

unteer notetakers.

I learned to accept the things I could not change (in

this case my vision) and change the things I can (I

could be grateful for and accept the visual aids instead

of being embarrassed and rejecting them as I had

when I was younger).

I have already told you about some of the miracles

that have happened. However, there’s more. I want to

tell you how I feel inside. I am no longer spiritually

bankrupt. It’s as if I have a magic source in my life that

has provided me with all I need. I just celebrated my

twelfth year of sobriety a couple of months ago. When

I ﬁrst came to A.A., I didn’t know who I was. My

sponsor said, “Great—if you don’t know who you are,

you can become whomever God wants you to be.”

Today I am doing things that I never dreamed

possible. More importantly, it is the peace and serenity

I feel inside that keeps me coming back. I have been

through hard times in and out of sobriety, but before

A.A. it didn’t matter how good things got—I always

had a feeling that something was wrong. Since A.A., it

doesn’t matter how bad things get—I always have a

feeling that everything is going to be all right.

In working the Twelve Steps, my life and my old

way of thinking have changed. I have no control over

some of the things that happen in my life, but with the

help of God I can now choose how I will respond.

Today I choose to be happy, and when I’m not, I have

the tools of this program to put me back on track.

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(13)

MEAN ALCOHOLIC?

Alcohol’s wringer squeezed this author—but he

escaped quite whole.

When i tryto reconstruct what my life was like

“before,” I see a coin with two faces.

One, the side I turned to myself and the world, was

respectable—even, in some ways, distinguished. I was

father, husband, taxpayer, home owner. I was club-

man, athlete, artist, musician, author, editor, aircraft

pilot, and world traveler. I was listed in Who’s Who

inAmericaas an American who, by distinguished

achievement, had arrived.

The other side of the coin was sinister, bafﬂing. I

was inwardly unhappy most of the time. There would

be times when the life of respectability and achieve-

ment seemed insufferably dull—I had to break out.

This I would do by going completely “bohemian” for

anight, getting drunk, and rolling home with the

dawn. Next day, remorse would be on me like a tiger.

I’d claw my way back to respectability and stay there

—until the inevitable next time.

The insidiousness of alcoholism is an appalling thing.

In all the twenty-ﬁve years of my drinking, there were

only a few occasions when I took a morning drink. My

binges were one-night stands only. Once or twice,

during my early drinking, I carried it over into the

second day, and only once, that I can remember, did

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itcontinue into the third. I was never drunk on the

job, never missed a day’s work, was seldom rendered

totally ineffective by a hangover, and kept my liquor

expenses well within my adequate budget. I con-

tinuedto advance in my chosen ﬁeld. How could such

a man possibly be called an alcoholic? Whatever the

root of my unhappiness might turn out to be, I

thought, it could not possibly be booze.

Of course I drank. Everybody did in the set which

I regarded as the apex of civilization. My wife loved

todrink, and we tied on many a hooter in the name

ofmarital bliss. My associates, and all the wits and

literary lights I so much admired, also drank. Evening

cocktails were as standard as morning coffee, and I

suppose my average daily consumption ran a little

more or less than a pint. Even on my rare (at ﬁrst)

binge nights, it never ran much over a quart.

How easy it was, in the beginning, to forget that

those binges ever happened! After a day or two of

groveling remorse, I’d come up with an explanation.

“The nervous tension had piled up and just had to

spillover.” Or, “My physical plant had got a little run-

down and the stuff rushed right to my head.” Or, “I

gotto talking and forgot how many I was taking and

ithit me.” Always we’d emerge with a new formula

foravoiding future trouble. “You’ve got to space your

drinks and take plenty of water in between,” or “Coat

the stomach with a little olive oil,” or “Drink anything

butthose damn martinis.” Weeks would go by without

further trouble, and I’d be assured I’d at last hit on

the right formula. The binge had been just “one of

those things.” After a month it seemed unlikely that it hap-

pened. Intervals between binges were eight months.

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My growing inward unhappiness was a very real

thing, however, and I knew that something would

haveto be done about it. A friend had found help in

psychoanalysis. After a particularly ugly one-nighter,

my wife suggested I try it, and I agreed. Educated

child of the scientiﬁc age that I was, I had complete

faith in the science of the mind. It would be a sure

cure and also an adventure. How exciting to learn

theinward mysteries that govern the behavior of

people, how wonderful to know, at last, all about my-

self! To cut a long story short, I spent seven years

and$10,000on my psychiatric adventure, and

emerged in worse condition than ever.

To be sure, I learned many fascinating things and

many things that were to prove helpful later. I learned

what a devastating effect it can have on a child to

coddle him and build him up, and then turn and beat

him savagely, as had happened to me.

Meanwhile I was getting worse, both as regards

myinward misery and my drinking. My daily alco-

holic consumption remained about the same through

all this, with perhaps a slight increase, and my binges

remained one-nighters. But they were occurring with

alarming frequency. In seven years the intervals be-

tween them decreased from eight months to ten days!

And they were growing uglier. One night I barely

made my downtown club; if I’d had to go another

ﬁftyfeet, I’d have collapsed in the gutter. On another

occasion I arrived home covered with blood. I’d

deliberately smashed a window. With all this it was

becoming increasingly hard to maintain my front of

distinction and respectability to the world. My per-

sonality was stretched almost to splitting in the effort;

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schizophrenia stared me in the face, and one night I

was in a suicidal despair.

My professional life looked ﬁne on the surface. I

was now head of a publishing venture in which

nearlya million dollars had been invested. My opin-

ions were quoted in Timeand Newsweekalong with

pictures.I addressed the public by radio and TV.

Itwasafantastic structure, built on a crumbling

foundation. It was tottering and it had to fall. It did.

After my last binge I came home and smashed my

dining room furniture to splinters, kicked out six

windows and two balustrades. When I woke up sober,

my handiwork confronted me. It is impossible for me

to reproduce my despair.

I’d had absolute faith in science, and only in science.

“Knowledge is power,” I’d always been taught. Now

Ihad to face up to the fact that knowledge of this

sort,applied to my individual case, was notpower.

Science could take my mind apart expertly, but it

couldn’t seem to put it together again. I crawled back

to my analyst, not so much because I had faith in him,

but because I had nowhere else to turn.

After talking with him for a time, I heard myself

saying, “Doc, I think I’m an alcoholic.”

“Yes,” he said, surprisingly, “you are.”

“Then why in God’s name haven’t you told me so

during all these years?”

“Two reasons,” he said. “First, I couldn’t be sure.

The line between a heavy drinker and an alcoholic is

not always clear. It wasn’t until just lately that, in

yourcase, I could draw it. Second, you wouldn’t have

believed me even if I had told you.”

I had to admit to myself that he was right. Only

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through being beaten down by my own misery would

I ever have accepted the term “alcoholic” as applied

tomyself. Now, however, I accepted it fully. I knew

from my general reading that alcoholism was irre-

versible and fatal. And I knew that somewhere along

the line I’d lost the power to stop drinking. “Well,

Doc,” I said, “what are we going to do?”

“There’s nothing I can do,” he said, “and nothing

medicine can do. However, I’ve heard of an organiza-

tion called Alcoholics Anonymous that has had some

success with people like you. They make no guaran-

tees and are not always successful. But if you want to,

you’re free to try them. It might work.”

Many times in the intervening years I have thanked

God for that man, a man who had the courage to ad-

mit failure, a man who had the humility to confess

that all the hard-won learning of his profession could

not turn up the answer. I looked up an A.A. meeting

and went there—alone.

Here I found an ingredient that had been lacking

inany other effort I had made to save myself. Here

was—power!Here was power to live to the end of any

given day, power to have the courage to face the next

day, power to have friends, power to help people,

power to be sane, power to stay sober. That was

sevenyears ago—and many A.A. meetings ago—and

Ihaven’t had a drink during those seven years. More-

over, I am deeply convinced that so long as I continue

to strive, in my bumbling way, toward the principles

Iﬁrst encountered in the earlier chapters of this book,

this remarkable power will continue to ﬂow through

me. What isthis power? With my A.A. friends, all I

can say is that it’s a Power greater than myself. If

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pressed, all I can do is follow the psalmist who said it

long before me: “Be still,and know that Iam God.”

My story has a happy ending but not of the conven-

tional kind. I had a lot more hell to go through. But

what a difference there is between going through hell

without a Power greater than one’s self, and with it! As

might have been predicted, my teetering tower of

worldly success collapsed. My alcoholic associates

ﬁred me, took control, and ran the enterprise into

bankruptcy. My alcoholic wife took up with someone else,

divorced me, and took with her all my remaining

property. The most terrible blow of my life befell

meafter I’d found sobriety through A.A. Perhaps the

single ﬂicker of decency that shone through the fog

ofmy drinking days was a clumsy affection for my

twochildren, a boy and a girl. One night my son,

when he was only sixteen, was suddenly and tragically

killed. The Higher Power was on deck to see me

through, sober. I think He’s on hand to see my son

through too.

There have been some wonderful things too. My

new wife and I don’t own any property to speak of,

and the ﬂashy successes of another day are no longer

mine. But we have a baby who, if you’ll pardon a lit-

tlepost-alcoholic sentimentality, is right out of heaven.

My work is on a much deeper and more signiﬁcant

level than it ever was before, and I am today a fairly

creative, relatively sane human being. Andshould I

have more bad times, I know that I’ll never again have

to go through them alone.

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(14)

THE PERPETUAL QUEST

This lawyer tried psychiatrists, biofeedback, relax-

ation exercises, and a host of other techniques to con-

trol her drinking. She finally found a solution,

uniquely tailored, in the Twelve Steps.

When i wasa newly minted lawyer starting out

in the practice of criminal law, there were ﬁve

of us in our law ofﬁce. My favorite lawyer was the ec-

centric, disheveled, wild-eyed Irish law professor who

was brilliant or crazy, depending on your point of view,

constantly cleaning out his pipe bowl with a black ﬁn-

gernail and tossing back vodka martinis whenever he

got the chance. Then there was the new but world-

weary litigation lawyer who told endless tales of his

former life of white wine and bouillabaisse under the

Mediterranean sun as he conducted his exporting

business on the Riviera. Why would he leave such an

ideal, wine-drenched job in sunny climes to slog away

at law school? I kept wondering. There was also a

giant good-hearted bear of a man, who today is a

judge, who spent more time listening and helping oth-

ers than he did practicing criminal law. Into this ofﬁce

landed a pair of know-it-all, fast-acting, but not too

experienced young lawyers: my husband and me.

Within a dozen years, three of these ﬁve promising

lawyers were dead from alcoholism, struck down at

thepeak of their careers. The judge is still and always

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has been a sober judge. And I somehow unwittingly,

and even while drinking, turned into a corporate coun-

sel and later, thankfully, became a member of

Alcoholics Anonymous. The professor’s kidneys gave

out from one too many martinis; the exporting lawyer

kept drinking until he died, despite a liver transplant;

my ex-husband died in a ﬁre on what was to be, he

hadsaid, his last drunk before going to A.A. again, when

I was ten years sober. I have been to too many pre-

mature funerals due to our good friend alcohol.

My husband and I met and married in law school in

a romantic haze of alcohol, twinkling lights, and much

promise. We stood out as the only young married cou-

ple in our class. We worked and played hard, camped

and hiked and skied, threw fabulous parties for our

sophisticated friends, and prided ourselves on staying

away from drugs. In fact, it was fear that kept me away

from drugs—fear that I might not get called to the

bar(that’s the other bar, the legal one) if I were

convicted of possession of illegal street drugs. More

importantly, my best friend was wonderful, powerful

alcohol, and I loved it.

Until I was four years old, I lived upstairs from a tav-

ern, where I saw a few drunks bounced around. My

mother worked for relatives who also lived over the

tavern, and whoever had time looked after me.

Despitemy pleas, my mother married a violent man,

and we moved away to a life that made my tavern life

look really holy. I kept running away back to the tav-

ernuntil it was demolished. I still fondly look at

picturesof that place.

By the age of fourteen I had my ﬁrst drunk, which

ended in a minor police visit to my home. By the age

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of eighteen Iwas a daily drinker, and by age twenty-

one I had my ﬁrst year-long binge in France, which I

euphemistically referred to as my study year abroad. I

came home very sick anddrunk. A few months later I

went to bed with a bottle of Scotch one night and de-

cided I would go to law school. If you are having trou-

ble, try something that is even more difﬁcult, to “show

them.” That was my philosophy. It was enough to

drive me to drink, and it did.

At law school we used to drink a lot of beer in student

pubs, debating whether rocks had souls and what was

the nature of the judicial process, as though it had never

been considered before. As new lawyers, my husband

and I eagerly beavered in the ofﬁce earlyin the morning

before running off to court to fearlessly defend the

downtrodden. Lunch was the training ground for the

perpetual quest for the best martini—usually two or

three of them, good for takingaway the knot that by this

time had permanentlylodged itself in my stomach. (I

didn’t know thatit represented fear and that I was not a

fearless defender after all.) Afternoons would be full

ofcreative legal arguments in court. If court ﬁnished

early, maybe we’d make it back to the ofﬁce, maybe

not.

Evenings we drank with the best of them: lawyers,

writers, media types, everyone vying to tell the best

stories, which of course got funnier and funnier the

more we drank and the later it got. When I drank, the

fear evaporated and I became articulate and appar-

ently very, very funny—or so they said then. Years

later I drank so much that I was no longer funny. But

at the time, the drinks and the stories and the cama-

raderie were as wonderful as I was witty. We would

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get home to sleep by one or two in the morning, and

the next day we would be up early to start all over

again. The fortitude and resilience of youth made us

invincible.

Unfortunately, by the time we thought it was time

to have a “real life” and maybe start a family, the mar-

riage disintegrated. I was then twenty-eight years old,

getting divorced, drinking all the time, and seeing a

psychiatrist three times a week, trying to solve my

problem, whatever it was.

I thought I had found part of the answer when I

stumbled into a private controlled-drinking program,

which helped me, during the initial thirty-day manda-

tory period of abstinence, to hook a very large rug,

row by row, well into many late nights. “One more

row!” I kept saying, gritting my teeth against a drink.

My period of abstinence also helped me get a better

job inthe corporate world, away from all those hard-

drinking criminal lawyers, and a new three-story, four-

bedroom house. Just what every single woman

needs!It helped me to quit the psychiatrist. During

this abstinence, I also got out of a sick relationship,

which reproduced the violence of my childhood.

Incredibly, I did not connect the improved manage-

ability of my life in this short period of abstinence to

the absence of booze. It didn’t matter in the long

run,because unfortunately, I started to get drunk

again. I recall being ﬁxated on that ﬁrst glass of wine

I was allowed to drink the day my coach informed me

that I was ready to start drinking in controlled fashion.

My tongue was almost hanging out.

Many drunks later, I tried everything else I could

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ﬁnd: more therapy, different psychiatrists (it was al-

ways to be the next one who would solve my prob-

lem), biofeedback, relaxation exercises, Antabuse, lots

of self-help books from Freud to Jung, to every cur-

rent fad that was published or taught. All to no avail,

of course, because I’d always end up drunk.

Came the day when I realized that I couldn’t keep

dragging myself off to work in the morning and spend-

ing half the energy of every day concealing the fact

that I was a barely functioning drunk. I would go

home to drink until I passed out, come to in the mid-

dle of the night terriﬁed, listen to the radio, and get

worldwide telephonitis, ﬁnally dozing off at dawn, just

in time to be awakened by the alarm and start the

process all over again. I gave up on relationships of

any signiﬁcance, saw my friends less, and stopped

committing myself to most social occasions because I

could never count on being sober. More and more, I

just worked and went home to drink—and the drink-

ing was starting to outstrip the working.

One day I was so hungover at lunchtime I called a

friend and had a little cry. “I’ve tried everything and

nothing works,” I said, reciting my litany of doctors

and different therapies. I did not remember that

thirteenyears earlier, when I was twenty-one years

old, I had attended a few meetings of Alcoholics

Anonymous after waking up one morning not knowing

where I was. I had just started law school and was ter-

riﬁed most of the time, so I went on a binge to quell

the fear, which only got worse. I have no idea what

made me go to A.A. way back then. But there were

noyoung people at the meetings, and people kept

marveling at how young and fresh I looked. (No one

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at A.A. said that when I came back thirteenyears later.)

My friend suggested that we contact a man she

knew who was a member of Alcoholics Anonymous,

and I agreed to call him. “Perhaps he could call you,”

she said helpfully, which was the key, because by that

night I was just ﬁne and didn’t need any outside help

aside from a drink or two. But he kept phoning and

bothering me about going to a meeting. When he told

me he went to A.A. meetings three or four times a

week, I thought, Poor man, he has nothing better to

do. What a boring life it must be for him, running

around to A.A. meetings with nothing to drink! Boring

indeed: no bouncing off walls, no falling down stairs,

no regular trips to hospital emergency rooms, no lost

cars, and on and on.

My ﬁrst meeting back at A.A. was on an unseason-

ably hot June night, but there was not a cool drink in

sight in that church basement. The smoke could have

choked a horse (today, it is much improved), and a fa-

natical woman with smiling bright eyes eagerly ex-

plained to me that they had this important book I

should buy. Thinking that they were doing the book

promotion because they needed the money, I said

ﬁrmly, “I’ll give you the money, but I don’t want your

book!” Which about sums up my attitude and explains

why, for the next few months, I continued to get

drunk in spite of dragging my body to meetings every

few days. I would stare at the large vodka bottle in my

kitchen cupboard and say, “You won’t get me!” but it

did; I always lost the battle and ended up drunk.

My last hangover was on a Friday before a long

summer weekend. I had struggled through the day

feeling small and hopeless, hiding the trembling of my

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hands when I had to sign documents, and desperately

working to wrap my tongue around words during

meetings. Later that Friday night, after an agonizingly

long workday, I was dragging myself up the deserted

street thinking that the whole world, except for me,

had someplace to go on that long weekend, and what’s

more, they all had someone to go with.

The ﬁrst difference between that night and all the

others was that I did not immediately go directly to a

bar to get lubricated or home with my regular giant

weekend supply of booze. Instead I went to my club

to swim, where strangely enough I also did not drink.

I was so hungover that I had to give up trying to swim

and instead wrapped myself in a bathrobe and sat in a

dark corner of the locker room lounge for two hours,

feeling desperately sorry for myself.

I don’t know what happened during those two

hours, but close to eight o’clock, I leaped up, jumped

into my clothes, and raced off to a meeting I’d had no

intention of attending. It was a bit like getting a rap on

the head with an invisible hammer and having my

brain ﬂip over, because the meeting seemed to be rad-

ically different from the last time I had been there.

The people looked animatedly alive, the weirdos who

had been attending before were absent that night, and

the books on display actually looked interesting. I

bought the book Alcoholics Anonymous, listened in-

tently, and then, for the ﬁrst time, I went for coffee

with those people and listened some more.

Late that night at home, there was a presence in the

room with me, even though I lived alone. The next

morning I knew I didn’t have to drink. That night I

went to a Step meeting where they discussed Step

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Two, “Came to believe that a Power greater than our-

selves could restore us to sanity,” and I actually talked

about God, the one who had abandoned me when I

was very little, very frightened, and very hurt. In the

weeks and months that followed, I did everything

thatwas suggested to me. I went to a meeting every

day, read the books and literature, and got a sponsor

who told me to have a quiet time every morning and

try to pray and meditate or at least sit still for a few

minutes, before racing off for the day. Since I prided

myself on adhering to the intellectual principle of not

having contempt for anything prior to investigation,

Itried to keep an open mind no matter what anyone

said and how stupid I thought it was. That probably

saved my life.

I joined a downtown group that met near my ofﬁce

right after work at 5:15. (I would not have made it to

8:00p.m.) Soon, I got into service. I was given bank

books, notes of business meetings, and various other

instructions and told to do whatever was necessary to

keep the meeting going. I did that job for quite some

time. I also instituted regular business meetings and

found an eager newcomer to whom I eventually

turned over the bank book and papers.

I had a lot of problems in those early days, but no

matter what the problem, I was repeatedly told to

seek more spiritual development, something that did

not interest me. I was also told that my purpose here

on earth was to be of maximum service to God and

the people around me, and that didn’t interest me too

much either. However, I said nothing, listened, and

kept going to meetings, mostly Step discussions, where

I heard people talk about how they practiced the Steps

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and about the Big Book, our selﬁshness, and helping

others. Sometimes, I thought they were nuts, those

meetings; often I thought they were boring, but I kept

listening and tried to relate.

Soon after a friend of mine was killed by a drunk

going the wrong way on the freeway, a truck driver

talked about driving long hauls drunk. I was horriﬁed

and repelled, until I paused to recall that I used to

drive when I couldn’t walk straight. When my friend

was killed, my A.A. friends said, “Don’t drink! Don’t

think! Go to meetings!” I went to a meeting where

Isobbed and gnashed my teeth, but I didn’t drink.

I became as compulsive about A.A. as I had been

about drinking, which was necessary because I had

been told to spend as much time at meetings as I had

spent drinking. I went to every A.A. get-together pos-

sible and was saturated with A.A. I listened to tapes of

A.A. talks. I read and reread the literature and books,

laughing into the night over Dr. Bob and the Good

Oldtimers. I signed up for the Loners-Internationalist

Meetingin print (LIM)and shared the meetings I

attended in letters to people who could not get to

meetings. This helped me to remember what I had

heard, and my sharing helped someone else. I once

wrote to a man who received my letter the same day

he had killed someone in a car accident, which would

no doubt make one very, very thirsty.

Many years later, although alcohol is not part of my

life and I no longer have the compulsion to drink, it

can still occur to me what a good drink tastes like and

what it can do for me, from my stand-at-attention al-

coholic taste buds right down to my stretched out tin-

gling toes. As my sponsor used to point out, such

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thoughts are like red ﬂags, telling me that something

is not right, that I am stretched beyond my sober

limit. It’s time to get back to basic A.A. and see what

needs changing. Thatspecial relationship with alcohol

will always be there, waiting to seduce me again. I can

stay protected bycontinuing to be an active member

of A.A.

The hardest thing I had to deal with in sobriety

wasmy own anger and the violence I lived through

inmy childhood. I had forgiven those involved as best

I could, but the mind seems never to forget. I had

gratefully received years of outside help because I was

told that my drinking was only the symptom of deeper

troubles. Yet despite the help of many professionals,

Iknow I would never have recovered from violence

and alcoholism without A.A.’s Twelve Steps, which

areuniquely tailored for people like me.

Just as importantly, I believe that I recovered

through the grace of a Higher Power, despite the fact

that I was very angry and wanted nothing to do with

God when I arrived at Alcoholics Anonymous. In fact,

I did not need to ﬁnd God. I only needed an open

mind, and the spirit found me.

When I was ﬁve years sober, I met a man in A.A.

who was also ﬁve years sober. He said that the rocks

in my head ﬁt the holes in his. Today we have a

daughter who has never seen her parents drink and

who sees them try to help others in Alcoholics

Anonymous. We have a nice home and sober family

life in a community with lots of A.A. friends and meet-

ings. It’s a long, long way from that ﬁrst A.A. meeting,

and it couldn’t get much better.

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(15)

A DRUNK, LIKE YOU

The more he listened at meetings, the more he came

to know about his own drinking history.

Usually ourstories start out by telling what

we were like, what happened, and what we are

like now. For me, what it was like was nothing in

particular—no problems, nothing special happened.

Nothing that I realized, anyhow. Only much later,

when I started listening to other people and what

happened to them and when and how, did I realize

that those things were in my past also.

My story starts in the middle. What happened? My

family and I were attending a relative’s bris, a Jewish

ritual circumcision and baby-naming ceremony. After

the ceremonies and brunch I fell asleep. When it was

time to leave, they woke me up. The car ride home

was very quiet. The wife and my two kids said noth-

ing. Later that day I found out what the problem was.

When they came to wake me, I was very belligerent

and threatening. I scared them. They were afraid I

would hit them. That was it. I could see that some-

thing had to be done. My wife’s sister-in-law, who is a

social worker, suggested we see a counselor. I thought

that might be a good idea. I was having anxiety attacks

for no reason. I used to be able to demonstrate prod-

ucts to high-level executives of the corporation I

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worked for with no problem; now even minor product

showcases were becoming difﬁcult.

Also, I was having trouble getting technicians to

workfor me. In the past I had had my pick because I was

good to work for and the projects were fun, with in-

teresting new ideas. I always had a quick temper, but

now things were getting out of hand. I would do

thingslike beat up my desk with my desk chair.

And the most serious thing to me was that I was

contemplating suicide. I had an actual plan—a plan

for an accident that would raise no question in the

minds of the insurance company. So in a moment of

sanity, I decided it would be a good idea to seek help.

If I hadn’t lost my marbles, they were at the least

veryloose.

So my wife and I found a psychiatric social worker at

the local Jewish Family Services agency. She saw usas

a couple, then individually, then together, and so it

went. When we were together, we worked on our

interpersonal problems. When I saw her by myself,

shewould talk about drinking. I don’t know why she

kept bringing it up. I drank, but not that much. I never

even mentioned my drinking except maybe to say,

“Yes, I do drink,” when she asked. It wasn’t the prob-

lem—the other things were. One day she read me

some questions from a pamphlet, which I answered

honestly. She concluded that maybe I drank too much,

and we talked about that for several sessions.

One day she asked if I could limit myself to ﬁve

drinks in a day. I said, “Sure.” Was I surprised when I

found that I couldn’t. That should have been my

ﬁrstclue that she might be right, but it didn’t occur

tome.

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Then I hit on a clever solution. I have several aca-

demic degrees, and someone as smart as I was could

solve this problem. The idea was to put off the ﬁrst

drink as long as possible and go to bed after the last

drink. That worked out okay, and I told the counselor

I was able to keep it to ﬁve a day with little or no

problem. But she said if you had to control something,

it was out of control.

During one session she suggested that I try not

drinking at all one weekend. “Okay,” I said. She also

suggested that I send the kids off somewhere for the

weekend because I might be irritable.

I used to watch a lot of late-night movies—it was

my time to relax by having a few drinks, a habit

thatstarted in night school when I had a full-time job

and was studying chemistry at night. I had seen movie

versions of what happened to people who had

drinking problems: The Lost Weekend, Days of

Wineand Roses, and others. And so I was nervous

about raging, losing control, and maybe being violent

as my wife had said I was. So we packed up the kids

and the booze (all of it) and took all to my wife’s

parents.

Much to my surprise the weekend went well—no

problems—and in the next session I told my counselor

so. She said, “What about the meeting?” I said, “What

meeting?” She said, “The A.A. meeting.” I said, “What

A.A. meeting? We never talked about that.” She said I

had agreed to go to an A.A. meeting. So out came a

meeting list. She explained about open and closed

meetings. I decided on one I thought would be okay

for me—a men’s discussion group. They would be my

kind of people, and the time ﬁt into my schedule. The

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meeting list started on Sunday. I never started a proj-

ect or anything else on a Sunday. Monday was my

M.A.S.H. night. Tuesday was Tuesday Night at the

Movies,and I am a big old-movie fan. So Wednesday

is when I decided to try this A.A. meeting.

The meeting went okay. We talked about some-

body’s problem with an anonymity break at his doc-

tor’s ofﬁce. The people at the meeting were telling

him stuff that made no sense to me, like “Live and Let

Live,” “Easy Does It,” “One Day at a Time,” “use the

Serenity Prayer,” “talk to your sponsor,” and as we

went around the table it came my turn. Since they

were all saying they were alcoholics, it wasn’t too hard

for me to say my name and, “Hi, I’m an alcoholic,”

and suggest that the man should just go to another

doctor. He thanked me very much, and after the

meeting he said to be sure and come back next week.

During the meeting, somebody mentioned spend-

ing too much time at discussion tables when we

should have been spending more time at First Step ta-

bles for newcomers. So I went to the First Step table

the following week. The discussion was very interest-

ing. I didn’t think I was “powerless over alcohol,” but

I knew “my life was unmanageable.”

One night we were talking about when we started

drinking, and I was saying that I drank all my life.

Actually I was given my ﬁrst drink at my bris. That is

usually done when a boy is eight days old. So I said all

Jewish boys start drinking early. I had to admit that

after that it was just the usual milk and juice until I

could sit up at the table with the family, and then

there would be kiddush wine every Friday night. Not

great stuff—what we got was sweet wine and seltzer,

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so I didn’t drink very much of it. I didn’t like it. Later

I learned the deﬁnition of a social drinker: some-

onewho could take it or leave it.

When I was about ten years old, we all came back

from my cousin’s bar mitzvah services to celebrate at

my grandmother’s house. There I had my ﬁrst real

drink. All the adults went over to the table for a

schnapps. There were all these little tiny glasses in

front of various liquor bottles and everybody was hav-

ing one, so I had one too. It was good. It was smooth

and warm and wonderful. I liked it and went back for

another. This one wasn’t smooth—it was hot going

down, not as wonderful.

After that I drank what I could, when I could,

where I could. Not much, not often, not as a ten-year-

old. At that First Step table we ﬁgured out, or they did

anyhow, that that was alcoholic drinking—having one

and going back for a second right away. I know now I

never had just one drink, ever.

One night they were talking about how much they

drank, and one guy said he had so many beers, the

next guy talked about shots, one about mixed drinks I

never heard of, another about so many pints, and on it

went around the table. When my turn came, I said I

didn’t know. “Wow, that much,” they said. “No,” I said.

I meant I didn’t know the amount. I drank mostly at

home and poured some in a tall glass and drank that

and did it several times. “Well, how many times did

you reﬁll?” “I don’t know.”

Somebody asked it another way. He wanted to

know, how many did I buy? “Well,” I said, “I stopped

in the package store every day and bought one.” “Oh,”

he said. “How many did you have left at the end of the

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week?” Well, he had me there. “None,” I said. He

said, “a bottle-a-day man.” I never got to say another

word—it was settled over my objections.

I saw the counselor once a week, and I went to this

men’s meeting once a week, and everything was get-

ting better. Once I saw somebody get a ninety-day pin.

I decided not to get one. Even though I couldn’t see

it from where I was sitting, I wasn’t going to wear an

A.A. sign. One day somebody got a ninety-day pocket

piece that he could rub for luck, and I decided to get

one of those. After my three months were up, I went

to the literature guy and bought one. He said it would

be nice if it was presented to me in front of everybody.

I wasn’t too keen on getting up in front of everyone.

He said it would be good for the newcomers; it would

show them that the program worked. So I told him

okay and asked the leader of the First Step table to

give it to me. They were paying him to run the meet-

ing, or so I thought at the time. (Later I found out

that they were reimbursing him for the snacks.) So the

following week I got my pocket piece and thanked

everybody for giving me the power over alcohol. Now

I was more powerful than alcohol because for the ﬁrst

time in a long time I could choose not to use it.

A couple of weeks later the large company I was

with, which had relocated me and my family at their

expense, had a large staff cutback, and I was cut

back—ﬁred. I thought I was ﬁre-proof. I was in a very

important position, doing important work. I was the

chief researcher in developing a new product; I was

sitting in on strategic planning meetings. I was very

upset. After all, I was better now and back to being a

good employee and team player again, but to no avail.

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We were able to stay on site in special ofﬁces set

aside for us to conduct our job search. As part of this

job search, I was allowed to go to a professional con-

vention being held in the Southwest.

Now somehow, between the time I lost my job and

my ﬂight to the convention, I decided maybe I was

not an alcoholic and I needed to test that theory. After

all, I was a researcher, and things had to be tested. I

decided that on the plane (it seemed like a safe place)

I would put the question to the test. If I could have

one drink and no more, I was not an alcoholic—alco-

holics can’t do that. So when the stewardess came by

to ask me if I wanted a drink, I said, “Yes.” She put

two little bottles’ worth in a glass (“No ice, thank you

very much”) and went up the aisle. On her way back

she asked if I wanted another, and I said, “Yes.” I

drank for the whole ﬂight—before dinner, during din-

ner, and after dinner. As we approached our destina-

tion, I searched in my pocket for a pen to ﬁll out the

in-ﬂight magazine response card. I found this large

coin. I took it out to see what it was. It was my ninety-

day pocket piece, and I was reminded of what I was

doing. And the thought came to me: Wow, those guys

at the meeting were right—I am powerless over alco-

hol. I put that coin back in my pocket and from that

day to this, some 151⁄2years later, I have had no urge

to drink.

When I got back to my meeting, I told them what

hadhappened. I don’t know why—it was not like the old

me to ’fess up to anything. They were concerned only

whether I was still drinking. And I said, “No, I’m not.”

Iwas worried that they were going to take my coin

back.All they wanted to know was what I was going to

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do now. I had no idea. They did, however. They said

Ineeded a sponsor—so I found a sponsor. They said I

needed more meetings. “How many?” I wanted to

know.They said I only had to go to meetings on days

Iwould have had a drink. They said I needed to

identify,not compare. I didn’t know what they meant.

What was the difference? Identifying, they said, was

trying to see how I was like the people I was with.

Comparing, they told me, was looking for differences,

usually seeing how I was better than others.

One day we were talking about spiritual awaken-

ings. Everyone talked a little about what happened to

them and when and how and all that. Then it came my

turn. I said I hadn’t had one yet, but I was open to it.

Well, two people were trying to talk at the same

time. “What have you been telling us about the air-

plane ﬂight all this time?” “Well,” I said, “I was drink-

ing and the coin reminded me of what I did. And I

decided I was powerless and couldn’t drink anymore

and stopped.” One man said, “Well, that’s it. What

more do you want?” I said, “What about the blinding

white ﬂash?” “What about it?” he said. “Read the Big

Book. The Appendix explains the concept of a sudden

change and a gradual change, and that not everybody

has a blinding ﬂash.” “Oh,” I said, “That was it—that

was mine?” “Yes,” I was told. “What more do you

want?” Actually I wanted something more dramatic,

and my sponsor said what he so often did: “So?” And

I found myself saying, “Well, if that’s it, it will have to

do.” “Have to do?” he replied. “It was bigger and bet-

ter than most, and more importantly, it worked. You

stopped and didn’t start again.”

Well, that worked for me. I have stayed in the

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Fellowship of Alcoholics Anonymous long enough to

ﬁnd the program in the Big Book and to practice all

its principles in all my affairs on a daily basis.

The last big hurdle was closing the meeting with the

Lord’s Prayer. As a Jew, I was uncomfortable with it

and decided to talk to my sponsor about it. So I said,

“The Lord’s Prayer bothers me. I don’t like closing

with it.” “Oh,” he said, “what’s the problem?” “Well,

I’m Jewish and it’s not a Jewish prayer.” “Well then,”

he said “say it in Jewish.” I said, “It would still be the

Lord’s Prayer.” “Right,” he said. “Then say something

else that you like. Your Higher Power, whatever you

call it, is helping you, and you need to say thank you.”

That was a big step for me; I ﬁnally began to sepa-

rate the religious aspects of my life from A.A.’s spiri-

tual program. Now the big difference to me is that

religion is the ritual, and we all differ there, and spir-

ituality is the way we feel about what we do. It’s about

my personal contact with my personal Higher Power,

as I understand Him.

Everything has turned around. I found a new job,

which I then decided to leave. I opened my own busi-

ness. I was able to put my two sons through college at

large universities. My oldest son’s great passion was to

go on road trips to get away from home when it was

time to come home on school breaks; now he comes

home regularly and brings friends. The younger son

comes home often and calls regularly.

My marriage is no longer on the brink and is better

than ever. And the best is yet to come. All this and

more I owe to the Fellowship in the rooms and the

program in the book.

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ACCEPTANCEWASTHEANSWER

The physician wasn’t hooked, he thought—he just

prescribed drugs medically indicated for his many ail-

ments. Acceptance was his key to liberation.

If there ever wasanyone who came to A.A. by

mistake, it was I. I just didn’t belong here. Never

in my wildest moments had it occurred to me that I

might like to be an alcoholic. Never once had my

mother even hinted at the idea that, when I grew up,

I might like to be president of A.A. Not only did I not

think that being an alcoholic was a good idea, I didn’t

even feel that I had all that much of a drinking prob-

lem! Of course, I had problems,all sorts of problems.

“If you had my problems, you’d drink too” was my

feeling.

My major problems were marital. “If you had my

wife, you’d drink too.” Max and I had been married

for twenty-eight years when I ended up in A.A. It

started out as a good marriage, but it deteriorated

overthe years as she progressed through the various

stages of qualifying for Al-Anon. At ﬁrst, she would

say, “You don’t love me. Why don’t you admit it?”

Later, she would say, “You don’t like me. Why don’t

you admit it?” And as her disease was reaching the

terminal stages, she was screaming, “You hate me! You

hate me! Why don’t you admit you hate me?” So I

admitted it.

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I remember very well saying, “There’s only one

person in the world whose guts I hate worse than

yours, and those are my own.” She cried a bit and went

to bed; that was the only answer to problems that she

had left. I cried a bit and then mixed myself another

drink. (Today, we don’t have to live like that any

more.)

Max hadn’t gotten that way because I didn’t care.

Indeed, it seemed that I cared too much. I had sent

her to four consecutive psychiatrists, and not one of

them had gotten me sober. I also sent my kids to psy-

chiatrists. I remember, one time, even the dog had a

psychiatric diagnosis. I yelled at Max, “What do you

mean, ‘The dog just needs more love’? You tell that

dumb cat-and-dog doctor he’s not a Beverly Hills psy-

chiatrist. All I want to know is, why does that dog wet

in my lap every time I hold him?” (That dog hasn’t

wetmy pants once since I joined A.A., and neither

have I!)

The harder I worked with Max, the sicker she got.

So, when it ended up at a psycho ward, I wasn’t all

that surprised. But then, when that steel door slammed

shut, and she was the one that went home, I truly

wasamazed.

I had begun to drink in the early years of pharmacy

school, in order to get to sleep. After going to school

all day, working in the family drugstore all evening,

and then studying until one or two in the morning, I

would not be able to sleep soundly, with everything I

had been studying going round in my head. I would

be half asleep and half awake, and in the morning I

would be both tired and stupid. Then I found the solu-

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tion:At the end of study time, I would drink two

beers, jump in bed, sleep real fast, and wake up smart.

I drank my way through schools and always got

honors. And as I went through pharmacy school,

graduate school, medical school, internship, residency,

and specialty training, and ﬁnally, went into practice,

my drinking kept increasing. But I thought it was be-

cause my responsibilities were increasing. “If you had

my responsibilities, if you needed the sleep like I do,

you’d drink too.”

My drinking took place after work hours. I remem-

ber ﬁnding myself in the middle of the night in the

doctors’ parking lot at the hospital with one foot in

thecar and one foot on the ground, not knowing

which was the lead foot; ﬁnding myself hanging up the

telephone—then realizing I had gotten out of bed, an-

swered the phone, turned on the light, and carried on

a conversation with a patient. I didn’t know whether I

had told him to rush to the hospital and I’d meet him

there, or to take two aspirin and call me in the morn-

ing. With a problem like that, I couldn’t go back to

sleep. So I’d sit up, watch old Wallace Beery movies

on all-night TV, and drink.

The longer the drinking continued, the shorter the

time the alcohol would keep me asleep; I would have

to drink myself back to sleep again and again through-

out the night. But I never became a morning drinker.

Instead, I had a 5:00a.m. shutoff time. If it was one

minute before ﬁve, I’d drink myself back to sleep. If it

was one minute after, I’d stay up and act like a martyr

all day. It became progressively harder to get up in

themorning, until one day I asked myself what I

would do for a patient who felt this rotten. The answer

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came right back: I’d give him something to pep

himup.

So I immediately started taking and shooting pep

pills. Eventually, I was taking forty-ﬁve milligrams of

the long-acting Benzedrine and forty-ﬁve of the short-

acting just to get out of bed in the morning. I took

more through the day to increase the high, and more

to maintain it; when I overshot the mark, I’d take

tranquilizers to level off. The pep pills affected my

hearing at times: I couldn’t listen fast enough to hear

what I was saying. I’d think, I wonder why I’m saying

that again—I’ve already said it three times. Still, I

couldn’t turn my mouth off.

For the leveling-off process, I just loved intravenous

Demerol, but I found it hard to practice good medicine

while shooting morphine. Following an injection, I

would have to keep one hand busy scratching my con-

stantly itching nose and would also have sudden un-

controllable urges to vomit. I never got much effect

out of codeine and Percodan and the tranquilizers.

However, for a period of time I was injecting Pento-

thalintravenously to put myself to sleep. That’s the

stuff used when the oral surgeon puts the needle in

your vein and says, “Count to ten,” and before you get

to two, you’re asleep. Instant blackout was what it was,

and it seemed delightful. I didn’t feel I could lie in

bed and squirt the stuff in my veins while my kids and

wife stood around watching me, so I kept the drug in

my bag and the bag in the car and the car in the

garage. Luckily, the garage was attached to the house.

In the garage I would put the needle in my vein and

then try to ﬁgure out exactly how much medication to

inject to overcome the pep pills while adding to the

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sleeping pills while ignoring the tranquilizers, in order

to get just enough to be able to pull out the needle,

jerk the tourniquet, throw it in the car, slam the car

door shut, run down the hall, and fall in bed before I

fell asleep.

It was hard to judge the right amount. One night

Ihad to put myself back to sleep three times, and

then I ﬁnally decided to give it up. But to do so, I had

to get all the stuff out of the house and out of my pos-

session. In the end I had to do the same with alcohol

and allpills. I wasn’t able to quit chemicals as long as

they were in the house. If they were around, I always

found a need for them—especially the pills. I never in

my life took a tranquilizer, sedative, or pep pill be-

cause I was a pillhead. I always took it because I had

the symptom that only that pill would relieve. There-

fore, every pill was medically indicated at the time it

was taken. For me, pills don’t produce the desire to

swallow a pill; they produce the symptoms that require

that the pill be taken for relief. As a physician and

pharmacist who had grown up in a drugstore-home,

Ihad a pill for every ill, and I was sick a lot.

Today, I ﬁnd I can’t work my A.A. program while

taking pills, nor may I even have them around for dire

emergencies only. I can’t say, “Thy will be done,” and

take a pill. I can’t say, “I’m powerless over alcohol,

butsolid alcohol is okay.” I can’t say, “God could re-

store me to sanity, but until He does, I’ll control myself

—with pills.” Giving up alcohol alone was not enough

for me; I’ve had to give up all mood- and mind-

affecting chemicals in order to stay sober and com-

fortable.

On two occasions, over weekends, I had decided I

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would take absolutely nothing. On each occasion I

hada convulsion on Sunday morning. Both times my

reaction was that I had had nothing to drink the night

before, so obviously alcohol had nothing to do with it.

The neurologist in charge of my case didn’t think to

ask me whether I drank, and I didn’t think to tell him.

As a result, he couldn’t ﬁgure out why I had the con-

vulsions, and he decided to send me to the Mayo

Clinic. It seemed to me I needed a consultation ﬁrst.

I happened to be the best diagnostician I knew at the

time, and certainly I knew my case better than anyone

else. So I sat down with me and went over the facts

behind the convulsions: personality changes, daily

headaches, sense of impending doom, sense of impend-

ing insanity. Suddenly, it was obvious to me: I had a

brain tumor and would die, and everyone would be

sorry for me. The Mayo Clinic seemed like a good

place to have my diagnosis conﬁrmed.

After nine days of tests at Mayo, I was put in the

locked ward—of all places! That’s when that steel door

slammed shut, and Max was the one who went home.

I didn’t like being on the nut ward, and I particularly

didn’t like being forced to ice cookies on Christmas

Eve. So I raised enough fuss that they ﬁnally agreed to

let me sign out, against medical advice. Max accepted

responsibility for me after I had promised never to

drink again, never to take another pill, never to swear

again, and never to talk to girls again. We got on the

plane and immediately had a big ﬁght over whether

I’d drink the free booze. Max won; I didn’t drink it.

But by God, I wouldn’t talk or eat either! And that

washow Max and I and our two daughters spent

Christmas Day, eight years ago.

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When we got home, I got a bottle of Scotch and

went to bed. The next day, Max called the neurologist

and told him about the Mayo psychiatrist’s opinion.

He arranged for me to see a local psychiatrist, who

quickly decided I should be in the mental-health unit

of our local hospital. The people there insisted on put-

ting me in a ward, when Max and I both knew I ought

to have a private room. Finally, she asked, “Do you

realize he’s on the staff of this hospital?” And I got my

private room.

Time went by very, very slowly on my second nut

ward. I never could quite get the knack of it and kept

asking myself, “What’s a nice guy like me doing in a

place like this?” They wanted me to make leather belts,

of all things! Had I gone to school all those years just

to sit and make leather belts? Besides, I couldn’t un-

derstand the instructions. The girl had explained them

to me four times, and I was too embarrassed to ask

her again. (I am pleased to state, however, that I had

gone to only a very few A.A. meetings before I was

able to make a really beautiful pair of moccasins—and

half of a wallet. I wore those moccasins every night for

the next seven years, until they wore out. For my sev-

enth A.A. birthday, my program-oriented, Al-Anon

wife had my moccasins bronzed. Now I own perhaps

the most costly pair of moccasins anyone has ever

seen, and they help me remember where I’ve been.)

In the hospital I hung on to the idea I’d had most of

my life: that if I could just control the external envi-

ronment, the internal environment would then become

comfortable. Much of my time was spent writing letters,

notes, orders, and lists of things for Max, who was also

my ofﬁce nurse, to do to keep the world running while

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I was locked up. One has to be pretty sick to do that,

and perhaps one has to be even sicker to come back

every day for a new list, as she did. (Today we don’t

have to live that way. Max still works with me in the

ofﬁce, but we have turned our wills and our lives and

our work over to the care of God. Each with the other

as a witness, we took the Third Step out loud—just

asit says in the Big Book. And life keeps getting sim-

pler and easier as we try to reverse my old idea, by

taking care of the internal environment via the Twelve

Steps, and letting the external environment take care

of itself.)

One day as I sat there in the hospital, my psychia-

trist walked up behind me and asked, “How’d you like

to talk to the man from A.A.?” My reaction was that

I’d already helped all the patients on the ward, and I

still had plenty of problems of my own without trying

to help some drunk from A.A. But, by the look on the

psychiatrist’s face, I could tell that it would really

make him happy if I agreed. So, for no better reason

than to make him happy, I agreed. Very shortly, I re-

alized that had been a mistake—when this big clown

came bounding into the room, almost shouting, “My

name is Frank, and I’m an alcoholic, ha-ha-ha!” I

really felt sorry for him; the only thing in life he had

to brag about was the fact that he was an alcoholic. It

wasn’t until later that he told me he was an attorney.

Against my better judgment, I went to a meeting

with him that night, and a strange thing began to hap-

pen. The psychiatrist, who had generally been ignor-

ing me, now became quite interested; every day he

would ask me all kinds of questions about the A.A.

meetings. At ﬁrst I wondered whether he was alco-

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holic himself and was sending me to ﬁnd out about

A.A. But it quickly became obvious that he had this

childish notion instead: If he could get me to go to

enough meetings while in the hospital, I would con-

tinue to go after he let me out. So, for no better

reason than to fool him, I asked Frank to take me to a

meeting every night. And Frank did set me up for a

meeting every night except Friday, when he thought

he might have a date with his girl friend. “That’s a

devil of a way to run an organization,” I thought, and

I reported Frank to the psychiatrist, who didn’t seem

perturbed; he just got someone else to take me on

Fridays.

Eventually the psychiatrist discharged me from the

hospital, and Max and I began going to meetings our-

selves. Right from the start, I felt that they weren’t

doing anything for me, but they sure were helping

Max. We sat in the back and talked only to each other.

It was precisely a year before I spoke at an A.A. meet-

ing. Although we enjoyed the laughter in the early

days, I heard a lot of things that I thought were stupid.

I interpreted “sober” as meaning “drinking but not

being drunk.” When a big, healthy-looking young fel-

low stood up there and said, “I’m a success today if I

don’t drink today,” I thought, “Man, I’ve got a thou-

sand things to do today before I can brag about not

taking a drink, for God’s sake!” Of course, I was still

drinking at the time. (Today there is absolutely noth-

ing in the world more important to me than my keep-

ing this alcoholic sober; not taking a drink is by far the

most important thing I do each day.)

It seemed that all they talked about at meetings was

drinking, drinking, drinking. It made me thirsty. I

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wanted to talk about my many bigproblems; drinking

seemed a small one. And I knew that giving up “one

drink for one day” wouldn’t really do any good.

Finally, after seven months, I decided to try it. To this

day, I am amazed at how many of my problems—most

of which had nothing to do with drinking, I believed—

have become manageable or have simply disappeared

since I quit drinking.

I had already given up all the narcotics, most of the

pills, and some of the alcohol when I ﬁrst came to A.A.

By early July I had tapered off alcohol completely, and

I got off all pills in the ensuing few months. When the

compulsion to drink left, it was relatively easy to stay

off alcohol. But for some time, it was difﬁcult to keep

from taking a pill when I had an appropriate symp-

tom, such as a cough, pain, anxiety, insomnia, a mus-

cle spasm, or an upset stomach. It has gotten

progressively easier. Today I feel I have used up my

right to chemical peace of mind.

It helped me a great deal to become convinced that

alcoholism was a disease, not a moral issue; that I had

been drinking as a result of a compulsion, even though

I had not been aware of the compulsion at the time;

and that sobriety was not a matter of willpower. The

people of A.A. had something that looked much bet-

ter than what I had, but I was afraid to let go of what

I had in order to try something new; there was a

certain sense of security in the familiar.

At last, acceptance proved to be the key to my drink-

ingproblem. After I had been around A.A. for seven

months, tapering off alcohol and pills, not ﬁnding the

program working very well, I was ﬁnally able to say,

“Okay, God. It istrue that I—of all people, strange as

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it may seem, and even though I didn’t give my per-

mission—really, really am an alcoholic of sorts. And

it’s all right with me. Now, what am I going to do

about it?” When I stopped living in the problem and

began living in the answer, the problem went away.

From that moment on, I have not had a single com-

pulsion to drink.

And acceptance is the answer to allmy problems

today. When I am disturbed, it is because I ﬁnd some

person, place, thing, or situation—some fact of my life

—unacceptable to me, and I can ﬁnd no serenity until

I accept that person, place, thing, or situation as being

exactly the way it is supposed to be at this moment.

Nothing, absolutely nothing, happens in God’s world

by mistake. Until I could accept my alcoholism, I

could not stay sober; unless I accept life completely

onlife’s terms, I cannot be happy. I need to concen-

trate not so much on what needs to be changed in the

world as on what needs to be changed in me and in

my attitudes.

Shakespeare said, “All the world’s a stage, and all

the men and women merely players.” He forgot to

mention that I was the chief critic. I was always able

to see the ﬂaw in every person, every situation. And I

was always glad to point it out, because I knew you

wanted perfection, just as I did. A.A. and acceptance

have taught me that there is a bit of good in the worst

of us and a bit of bad in the best of us; that we are all

children of God and we each have a right to be here.

When I complain about me or about you, I am com-

plaining about God’s handiwork. I am saying that I

know better than God.

For years I was sure the worst thing that could

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happen to a nice guy like me would be that I would

turn out to be an alcoholic. Today I ﬁnd it’s the best

thing that has ever happened to me. This proves I

don’t know what’s good for me. And if I don’t know

what’s good for me, then I don’t know what’s good or

bad for you or for anyone. So I’m better off if I don’t

give advice, don’t ﬁgure I know what’s best, and just

accept life on life’s terms, as it is today—especially my

own life, as it actually is. Before A.A. I judged myself

by my intentions, while the world was judging me by

my actions.

Acceptance has been the answer to my marital prob-

lems. It’s as though A.A. had given me a new pair of

glasses. Max and I have been married now for thirty-

ﬁve years. Prior to our marriage, when she was a shy,

scrawny adolescent, I was able to see things in her that

others couldn’t necessarily see—things like beauty,

charm, gaiety, a gift for being easy to talk to, a sense

of humor, and many other ﬁne qualities. It was as if I

had, rather than a Midas touch which turned every-

thing to gold, a magnifying mind that magniﬁed what-

ever it focused on. Over the years as I thought about

Max, her good qualities grew and grew, and we mar-

ried, and all these qualities became more and more

apparent to me, and we were happier and happier.

But then as I drank more and more, the alcohol

seemed to affect my vision: Instead of continuing to

see what was good about my wife, I began to see her

defects. And the more I focused my mind on her de-

fects, the more they grew and multiplied. Every defect

I pointed out to her became greater and greater. Each

time I told her she was a nothing, she receded a little

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more into nowhere. The more I drank, the more she

wilted.

Then, one day in A.A., I was told that I had the

lenses in my glasses backwards; “the courage to

change” in the Serenity Prayer meant not that I

should change my marriage, but rather that I should

change myself and learn to accept my spouse as she

was. A.A. has given me a new pair of glasses. I can

again focus on my wife’s good qualities and watch

them grow and grow and grow.

I can do the same thing with an A.A. meeting. The

more I focus my mind on its defects—late start, long

drunkalogs, cigarette smoke—the worse the meeting

becomes. But when I try to see what I can add to the

meeting, rather than what I can get out of it, and when

I focus my mind on what’s good about it, rather than

what’s wrong with it, the meeting keeps getting better

and better. When I focus on what’s good today, I have

a good day, and when I focus on what’s bad, I have a

bad day. If I focus on a problem, the problem in-

creases; if I focus on the answer, the answer increases.

Today Max and I try to communicate what we feel

rather than what we think. We used to argue about

our differing ideas, but we can’t argue about our feel-

ings. I can tell her she ought not to think a certain way,

but I certainly can’t take away her right to feel how-

ever she does feel. When we deal in feelings, we tend

to come to know ourselves and each other much better.

It hasn’t been easy to work out this relationship

withMax. On the contrary, the hardest place to work

this program has been in my own home, with my own

children and, ﬁnally, with Max. It seems I should have

learned to love my wife and family ﬁrst; the newcomer

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to A.A., last. But it was the other way around. Eventu-

ally I had to redo each of the Twelve Steps speciﬁcally

with Max in mind, from the First, saying, “I am pow-

erless over alcohol, and my homelife is unmanageable

by me,” to the Twelfth, in which I tried to think of her

as a sick Al-Anon and treat her with the love I would

give a sick A.A. newcomer. When I do this, we get

along ﬁne.

Perhaps the best thing of all for me is to remember

that my serenity is inversely proportional to my expec-

tations. The higher my expectations of Max and other

people are, the lower is my serenity. I can watch my

serenity level rise when I discard my expectations.

Butthen my “rights” try to move in, and they too can

force my serenity level down. I have to discard my

“rights,” as well as my expectations, by asking myself,

How important is it, really? How important is it com-

pared to my serenity, my emotional sobriety? And

when I place more value on my serenity and sobriety

than on anything else, I can maintain them at a higher

level—at least for the time being.

Acceptance is the key to my relationship with God

today. I never just sit and do nothing while waiting

forHim to tell me what to do. Rather, I do whatever

is in front of me to be done, and I leave the results up

to Him; however it turns out, that’s God’s will for me.

I must keep my magic magnifying mind onmy ac-

ceptance and offmy expectations, for my serenity is

directly proportional to my level of acceptance. When

I remember this, I can see I’ve never had it so good.

Thank God for A.A.!

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WINDOW OF OPPORTUNITY

This young alcoholic stepped out a second-story

window and into A.A.

Igot soberwhile I was still in college. Once,

outside of a meeting, I overheard a conversation

between another sober student and a woman who

lived in the town where I went to school. She was

explaining why so many local residents disliked the

students. She described the common perception of

students as arrogant and self-centered, and went on

totell the following story.

“I am a nurse and I work in the emergency room.

Two years ago a student was brought in by ambulance

in the middle of the night. He had gotten drunk,

walked through a second-story window, and fallen

twentyfeet headﬁrst into a concrete window well. He

wasbrought in covered with blood. His head had

swollen to the size of a watermelon. He kept swear-

ingat the nurses and doctors, telling them to keep

their hands off of him, and threatening to sue them.

He was, without a doubt, the single most obnoxious

person I have ever met.”

At that point I interrupted her. “That was me,” I

said. “That was my last drunk.” I had walked through

that window when I was nineteen years old.

How had I gotten there? I had always been a “good

kid” growing up, the kind of son other mothers loved.

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Iwas at the top of my classes academically and had

been in almost no trouble for the ﬁrst seventeen years

of my life. I would like to say that was because of my

well-developed moral ﬁber; in fact, much of it was a

result of fear. My earliest memories included threats

by myparents to throw me out onto the street for the

slightest acts of disobedience. The thought of being

forced to live on the street is pretty terrifying for a six-

year-old. Those threats, coupled with a fair amountof

physical punishment, kept me frightened and obedi-

ent.

As I grew older, however, I made a plan. I would be

dutiful until I graduated from high school. Then I

would escape to college, secure my economic future,

and never go home again. Just after my eighteenth

birthday, I left for college. I was, I thought, ﬁnally

free. I was in for a rude awakening.

Like many alcoholics, I had spent much of my life

feeling different, as though I just didn’t quite ﬁt in. I

covered those feelings and my low self-esteem by

being one of the smartest people in any group, if not

the smartest. Additionally, I became a performer in

crowds, always ready with a quick joke to point out the

humor in any situation. I managed to bring a great

deal of laughter into my life.

I went to a college ﬁlled with people who had also

spent their entire lives at or near the top of their aca-

demic classes. Suddenly, I was no longer special. To

make matters worse, many of them had what I only

dreamed of—money. My family was strictly working

class, struggling to get by on what my father earned.

Money had always been a big issue, and I equated it

with security, prestige, and worth. My father was fond

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of saying that the sole purpose of life is to make

money. I had classmates whose names were household

words that connoted wealth. I was ashamed, ashamed

of my family and ashamed of myself. My shaky conﬁ-

dence crumbled. I was terriﬁed of being found out. I

knew that if others discovered who I really was, they

wouldn’t like me and I would be left alone, worthless

and alone.

Then I discovered alcohol. I had tried it a few times

in high school, but never enough to get drunk. I knew

that getting drunk meant being out of control. My es-

cape plan required that I always keep my wits about

me. I was too afraid to be out of control. When I got

to college, however, that fear left me. In order to ﬁt in,

I pretended, at ﬁrst, that I had as extensive a drinking

history as any of my classmates. It was not long before

my history surpassed everyone’s.

My drinking career was short and destructive, and

my alcoholic progression was very fast. I got drunk for

the ﬁrst time in October. By November people were

willing to wager money that I could not go one week

without a drink. (I won and, in celebration, drank my-

self sick.) By January I was a daily drunk and by

Aprila daily drug user as well. I didn’t last too long.

As I look back on that period, I realize how true it

is that one of the primary differences between alco-

holics and nonalcoholics is that nonalcoholics change

their behavior to meet their goals and alcoholics

change their goals to meet their behavior. Everything

that had been important to me, all of my dreams,

goals, and aspirations, were swept away in a wave of

booze. I realized quickly that I could not drink and

function at any high level. That did not matter. I was

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willing to give up anything so that I could keep drink-

ing. I went from being a solid A student to nearly

ﬂunking out of school, from being anointed a class

leader to being shunned as a pariah. I almost never

went to class and did little of the required reading.

Inever attended any of the many cultural events

sponsored by the college. I forsook everything that

makes college worthwhile in favor of drinking.

Occasionally, some sliver of pride would work its way

through the chaos, resentment, and fear and cause

meto look at my life. But the shame was too great,

and I would drive it back down with bottles of vodka

and cases of beer.

Because my college was fairly small, it did not take

long for me to come to the attention of the college

deans. It was under their watchful eyes that I ﬁrst

agreed to enter counseling. While the administration

saw this as an opportunity to help a troubled student,

I saw it as a bargain. I would go to counseling to make

them happy, and they would owe me one. Not sur-

prisingly, the counseling had no effect. My daily drink-

ing continued unabated.

About a year later I realized that I was in trouble. I

had failed a class during the winter term (I had rarely

attended and had not turned in the term paper on

which 50percent of our grade was based). The spring

term was looking equally bleak. I was enrolled in a

class that I had attended only once. I had not written

any of the required papers or bothered to show up for

the midterm examination. I was bound for failure and

expulsion. My life had become unmanageable, and I

knew it.

I went back to the dean who had guided me into

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counseling and, for the ﬁrst time, admitted to myself

and to someone else that I had a problem with alco-

hol. I didn’t think I was an alcoholic. I wasn’t even

sure what that was. But I knew my life was out of con-

trol. The dean allowed me to withdraw from that class

the day before the ﬁnal exam on one condition—I had

to enter a treatment center. I agreed.

A few days went by. With the pressure lifted, my

life did not look so unmanageable. In fact, it looked

asif I was back in the saddle. So, I thanked the dean

for his help but told him that I would be okay on my

own. I did not go to a rehab. Two weeks later I walked

through a second-story window.

After insulting the emergency room personnel, I

slipped into unconsciousness, where I remained for

ﬁve days. I awoke in a neck brace with complete dou-

ble vision. My parents were furious. I was ﬂown home

and the future looked bleak. God’s timing, however, is

impeccable.

My college had a long history of drinkers, including

Dr. Bob. At the time of my accident, the deans were

assessing how to respond to student alcohol abuse

andwere waiting to try out their latest idea. Alcoholics

Anonymous. I was the test case. They told me in no

uncertain terms that I would never get back into this

college unless I went to A.A. Under that pressure, I

went to my ﬁrst meeting.

Looking back, that may have been the ﬁrst healthy

decision I ever made with respect to alcohol. One

deﬁnition of a bottom is the point when the last thing

you lost or the next thing you are about to lose is more

important to you than booze. That point is different

for everyone, and some of us die before we get there.

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For me, though, it was clear. I was willing to do any-

thing to get back into school.

I went to my ﬁrst A.A. meeting with absolutely no

idea what A.A. was about. I am from a large Irish

Catholic family and have had several relatives in and

out of the program. A.A., like prison, was shameful,

however, and was never discussed. I also had no idea

what alcoholism was. I remember a girlfriend once

told me that her mother had a drinking problem but

that she was not an alcoholic. Curious, I asked what

the difference was. “An alcoholic,” she told me, “is

someone who needs to drink alcohol every day, even if

it is only one drink. A person with a drinking problem

does not have to drink every day but once she starts,

she cannot stop.” By that deﬁnition, I was an alcoholic

with a drinking problem.

I was surprised by my ﬁrst meeting. It was in a

church and, whatever I had expected, it was not this.

The room was ﬁlled with well-dressed, smiling, happy

people. No rancid coats or three-day beards. No

bloodshot eyes, wheezing coughs, or shaky hands, but

laughter. Someone was talking about God. I was sure

I was in the wrong place.

Then a woman introduced herself and said that she

was an alcoholic. I knew then I was in A.A. She spoke

about feelings, of insecurity replaced by conﬁdence,

fear replaced by faith, resentment replaced by love,

and despair replaced by joy. I knew those feelings. I

had insecurity, fear, resentment, and despair. I could

not believe it. Here was a person who was happy. It

seemed like a long time since I had seen one of those.

After the meeting, people welcomed me with open

arms and gave me their telephone numbers. The dis-

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cussion meeting was followed by a speaker meeting,

where I had my ﬁrst awakening in A.A. The speaker

said, “If you’re an apple, you can be the best apple you

can be, but you can never be an orange.” I was an

apple all right, and for the ﬁrst time I understood that

I had spent my life trying to be an orange. I looked

around at a room ﬁlled with apples and, if I was un-

derstanding the speaker, most of them were no longer

trying to be oranges.

My progress in A.A., however, was slow. I refused to

go to meetings outside of my neighborhood, which

meant that I went only Tuesday and Thursday nights.

I always felt better after a meeting. I remember times

when something upsetting would happen on a Friday

and I would tell myself, “I wish it were Tuesday so I

could go to the meeting.” No matter how many sug-

gestions I heard and how many rides were offered,

however, I simply would not go to meetings on those

other nights.

People gave me many other good suggestions as

well. They suggested that I stay out of relationships.

Iwas young and single, and I rejected this idea out

ofhand. For the ﬁrst year I bounced from one sick

relationship to another. They suggested that I get a

sponsor. I had no idea what a sponsor was and was too

proud to ask, but I was sure I didn’t need one. After

all, I was smarter than the rest of these people. They

might need someone to tell them how to run their

lives, but double vision, neck brace, and all, I was

doing just ﬁne on my own. People suggested that I

ﬁnd a Higher Power. I was not fooled. I knew when

they said Higher Power they meant God. And I knew

that God waited for me to step out of line just once so

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that he could take his revenge. I wanted no part of

God.

With this resistance I plodded along for a few

months. Whenever people asked me how I was doing,

I would say, “Fine, just ﬁne,” no matter how hard I was

crying inside. Then I reached the crossroads. I was

sober about six months, and I was not getting any bet-

ter. I contemplated suicide almost every day. My emo-

tions swung between paralyzing despair and

murderous rage, often in the space of a single mo-

ment. I was not happy, joyous, or free. I was miser-

able, and I was sick of it.

I decided I had had enough. I went to my Tuesday

night meeting, fully intent on sharing honestly. I ar-

rived at the meeting and no one else was there. This

meeting, which routinely numbered twenty people,

was empty. I waited for a few minutes and was prepar-

ing to leave, when a man whom I barely knew walked

through the door. He suggested that he and I have a

meeting. I was sure it was a bad idea. He asked me

how I was doing. That was all I needed. The pain,

fear, misery, anger, loss, resentment, and despair came

pouring out. For the next forty-ﬁve minutes I talked at

this man, who continued to nod his head, smile, and

say, “Yeah, I remember feeling that way.” For the ﬁrst

time I made completely honest contact with another

human being. I showed someone who I really was,

without fear of rejection. I took an action that was de-

signed to make me feel, rather than just look, better. I

was met with acceptance and love.

When I had ﬁnished talking, he told me something

simple: “You don’t have to drink over it.” What an

idea! I had thought that situations made me drink. If

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I was angry, I drank. If I was happy, I drank. Bored or

excited, elated or depressed, I drank. Here was a man

telling me that, independent of my life situation, I did

not have to drink. If I stuck with A.A., I could stay

sober under any and all conditions. He gave me hope,

and in many ways, he symbolized the door through

which I ﬁnally walked into Alcoholics Anonymous.

I began to change. I began to pray. I became ac-

tively involved in working the steps. I had previously

dismissed them as the tools of mental inferiors; now I

embraced them as the rungs on the ladder to salva-

tion. I began working with a sponsor and became ac-

tive in my home group. I did not understand how

making coffee or cleaning up after meetings could

have anything to do with staying sober, but older

members told me that service would keep me sober,

so I tried it. It worked.

My life began to change. Just before my ﬁrst an-

niversary, I was readmitted to my college. I arrived

back on campus terriﬁed. All I had known there was

drinking. How was I ever going to stay sober under

these conditions? The answer was simple—I threw

myself into A.A. Some very loving people took me

under their wings. I had the opportunity to perform a

fair amount of Twelfth Step work with other students,

and by the time I graduated, there was a thriving A.A.

community at that school.

After graduation I attended law school. I arrived to

ﬁnd an A.A. that was very different from that to which

I had grown accustomed. I was sure I would get drunk

because “those people weren’t doing it right!” My

sponsor back at college, aware of my propensity for

ﬁnding fault, assured me that if my new friends were

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not “doing it right,” it was my obligation to show them

how. So I did. Driven by fear and conceit, I set out to

remake A.A. in my image. I am certain that if mem-

bership had depended upon being liked, I would have

been expelled.

After some time I called my sponsor to report my

progress. He stopped me short with a simple question:

“These people who aren’t doing it right, are they stay-

ing sober?” I admitted that, despite their failings, they

were staying sober. “Good,” he said. “You have told

them what A.A. is. Now it’s time for you to listen to

ﬁgure out how they are staying sober.” I followed that

suggestion and began to listen. Slowly but surely,

some wisdom and humility began to creep in. I be-

came more teachable. I found God working all around

me where previously I was sure I had been alone.

When I opened my eyes enough to see the miracle, I

found that it was right in front of my face. I was grow-

ing in God’s love.

I was fortunate to have an opportunity to spend

time abroad during law school. That was something I

had dreamed of doing while drinking, but when push

came to shove, I drank. Now sober, I have been in

meetings in probably a dozen countries and have al-

ways been amazed at the message that transcends all

linguistic and cultural differences. There is a solution.

Together, we can live soberly, joyously, and freely.

My life has been one of great joy. I am now thirty-

three years old, and God willing, in one month I will

celebrate my fourteenth sober A.A. anniversary. I am

surrounded by loving friends on whom I depend and

who depend on me. I have reconciled with my par-

ents, from whom I had been estranged. My life is

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ﬁlled with laughter again, something that alcohol had

taken away.

I was married shortly after my ninth anniversary to

a loving woman. One week before my twelfth anniver-

sary, our son was born. Through him I learned more

about unconditional love, the value of wonder, and the

sheer joy of being alive. I have a wonderful job that

(most days) I appreciate. I am active in A.A. service

work and have both a sponsor and several sponsees

with whom it is a privilege to work. All of those are

gifts from God. I express my gratitude by enjoying

them.

I once knew a woman who was crying before a

meeting. She was approached by a ﬁve-year-old girl

who told her, “You don’t have to cry here. This is a

good place. They took my daddy and they made him

better.” That is exactly what A.A. did for me; it took

me and it made me better. For that I am eternally

grateful.

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(1)

MY BOTTLE, MY RESENTMENTS,

AND ME

From childhood trauma to skid row drunk, this hobo

ﬁnally found a Higher Power, bringing sobriety and a

long-lost family.

When i rodeinto a small mountain town in

anempty freight car, my matted beard and

ﬁlthy hair would have reached nearly to my belt, if

I’dhad a belt. I wore a lice-infested, grimy Mexican

poncho over a reeking pajama top, and a ragged

pairof jeans stuffed into cowboy boots with no heels.

I carried a knife in one boot and a .38revolver in the

other. For six years I’d been ﬁghting for survival on

skid rows and riding across the country in freights. I

hadn’t eaten in a long time, so was half starved and

down to 130pounds. I was mean and I was drunk.

But, I’m ahead of myself. I believe my alcoholism

really began when I was eleven years old and my

mother was brutally murdered. Until then my life had

been much the same as any of the other boys who

lived in a small town during that period.

One night my mother failed to return home from

her job at a car manufacturing plant. The next morn-

ing there was still no sign of her or any clue to why

she had disappeared; with great apprehension the

police were called. Since I was a mama’s boy, this was

especially traumatic for me. And to make matters

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unbelievably worse, a few days later the police came

and arrested my father. They had found mom’s muti-

lated body in a ﬁeld outside of town and wanted to

question him. In that instant the family life I knew

was destroyed! My father was soon returned because

the police had found a pair of glasses that did not be-

long to him at the murder scene. This clue led to the

man who had so brutally killed my mother.

At school the gossip was vicious. At home there was

chaos and no one would tell me what was happening,

so I withdrew and began to block out the reality

around me. If I could pretend it didn’t exist, it might

go away. I became extremely lonely and deﬁant. The

confusion, pain, and grief had begun to subside when

an article appeared in a murder mystery magazine

about my family’s misfortune. The children at school

started the gossip and scrutiny all over again. I re-

treated further and became angrier and more with-

drawn. It was easier that way, because people would

leave me alone if I acted disturbed even before they

tried to inquire.

Because my father was unable to care for all nine of

us, the family had to be split up. About a year later he

remarried, and my oldest brother offered to take me

in. He and his new wife tried to help me, but I was

just so defensive there was little they or anyone else

could do. Finally, I took a job after school sorting soda

bottles in a grocery store, where I found I could for-

get if I worked hard enough. In addition, it was a good

place to steal beer and be a big guy with the other kids

in school. That’s the way my drinking began, as a way

to make the pain go away.

After several years of semidelinquent adolescence, I

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was old enough to join the marines. Leaving behind

the origin of my bitterness, I thought my life would be

better and the drinking not so bad. However, during

boot camp, I recognized that this was not the answer.

The discipline, the authority, the tight schedule went

against my very nature, but it was a two-year stint, so

there had to be a way to function in spite of the

angerand now hatred that seethed through me. Every

night found me at a bar drinking until they threw me

out. That got me through the week; on weekends we

went to a club nearby. This place was managed by

people who drank as much as or more than I did. I be-

came a constant customer. Arguments and ﬁghts were

a regular occurrence.

I managed to complete the two years, was given an

honorable discharge, and was sent on my way. Leaving

the marine base behind and feeling homesick for my old

environs, I hitchhiked back to my old hometown and

returned to my brother’s home. I soon found work as

a painter for a construction company in town. By now

drinking had become a constant part of my life.

Through some friends I met a woman I really cared

for and soon we were married. A year later our daugh-

ter was born, and eventually two boys. Oh, how I

loved my brood! This nice little family should have

settled me down, but instead my drinking progressed.

It ﬁnally reached the point where I was intolerable to

live with, and my wife ﬁled for divorce. I just went

berserk, and the sheriff ordered me to leave town. I

knew if I stayed, my anger at my wife for taking those

children away from me would get me into more trou-

ble than even I could handle, so once again I set off.

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I left with my hatred, resentment, and the clothes on

my back. This time for good.

In the largest city close by I could be found, dead

broke, drinking myself into oblivion on skid row. At

ﬁrst a day-labor job provided for rent and food, but

before long all the money had to go for booze. I found

a mission where someone in need could sleep and eat

free. But the bugs were so bad, the food so terrible,

and people were such thieves, I decided that it was

easier to just sleep outside and that I really didn’t

need to eat so often. So I found that hobo jungles,

parked cars, and abandoned houses made nice places

for my bottle, my resentments, and me. No one dared

to bother me! I was utterly bewildered at where life

had taken me.

Other hobos I met taught me the safest way to hop

on a moving freight train and how to protect myself.

They told me who were the easiest people to get a

handout from and how to scam them. My biggest

problem at that time was to ﬁnd a way to get enough

to drink to keep the reality of my life at bay. I was con-

sumed by hate! For the next six years I went from skid

row to skid row. One boxcar headed in any direction

was as good as another. I had no place to go. One

thing about it, I never got lost, because I never cared

where I was! I crossed the United States three times,

with no plan, no reason, not eating half the time. I

hung out with other misﬁts like myself. Someone

would say they were hiring in Florida, or New York, or

Wyoming, and off we’d go. But by the time we would

ﬁnally get there, they would say they were not hiring

anymore. That was all right, because we didn’t want to

work anyway.

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One scorching day, when I was in a desert town

drinking, something unusual happened. I felt as

though I had reached the point where I couldn’t go

on. To get away from everyone I managed to ﬁnd

some booze and started walking out into the desert,

thinking, I’ll just go until I die. Soon, so drunk I

couldn’t walk another step, I fell to the ground and

moaned, “Oh, God! Please help me.” I must have

passed out because, hours later, I came to and found

my way back to town. At the time I had no idea what

made me change my mind about death. Today I know

it was that my Higher Power took over my life.

By this time I was so wild-eyed and ﬁlthy, people

would shy away from me. I hated the look of fear

ontheir faces when they saw me. They looked at me

as if I were not human, and maybe I wasn’t. In one

large city I took to sleeping on the grates with a piece

of plastic over me so I wouldn’t freeze. One night I

found a clothing drop box I could get into; it made a

nice warm place to sleep and I could get new

clothesin the morning. In the middle of the night

someone threw in more clothes. I opened the top,

looked out, and shouted, “Thanks!” That woman

threw up her hands and ran away screaming, “Lordy,

Lordy!” She jumped into her car and screeched off.

I was just about as sad a ﬁgure of a man as is possi-

ble when I jumped off that freight. I found an empty

refrigerator car sitting on a siding and took up resi-

dence in it. Here you could get welfare very easily, so

off I went to apply. Now I could eat! It was my third

time in this town, so I headed straight for my favorite

bar. Here I met a barmaid who drank like a ﬁsh and

was as mean a woman as I had ever seen, but she had

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a place to live, so I moved in. And thus began the ro-

mance of a lifetime!

I ﬁnally had a roof over my head, sheets, and food!

All we did was drink and ﬁght, but she worked at the

bar so it kept us going. With just enough cash for

booze, we drank continuously for several months.

Then, on my way to ﬁnd a drink, I ran into one of my

old hobo buddies, an older man. I remembered him

as an excessive drinker, an “alcoholic.” And here he

was walking toward me down the street in a white

shirt, tie, and suit, looking marvelous! With a big smile

on his face, he told me he’d quit drinking, and how

he’d managed to do it, and how much better he felt.

My ﬁrst thought was If he can do that, I can do that

—and much better, because I’m only thirty-three.

He took me down to this club where there were

some other recovered alcoholics. I drank coffee while

they all told me how they had changed. It looked like

they might have something here! If they could do this,

maybe, just maybe, I could too. Their enthusiasm was

catching. I began to feel excitement inside but had no

idea why. I rushed off to tell my new girlfriend about

what had happened and how great it would be if we

quit drinking. “You’re nuts!” she yelled at me. “You

can just drag your rear back to your refrigerator car;

I’ve got parties to go to!” Although I seemed unable to

transmit my excitement, I told her more.

The next day we both quit drinking. There are no

words to explain why it happened or how it happened;

it just did. It was a miracle! Every day we were able to

stay sober was another gift from a Higher Power I had

given up on many long years before.

The next year we took a job managing a camp out-

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side of town where drunks were sent to get dried out

and sobered up. It was our responsibility to see that

they had food and stayed out of trouble. Both tasks

were almost impossible at times, but we kept trying.

With some support from oldtimers in A.A., we lasted a

year. This was a volunteer job and we had little money

for ourselves. When the year was up, I went over the

list of drunks who had been through the place, 178in

all. I exclaimed to my partner, “Not a single one of

them is sober today!” “Yeah,” she replied, “but you

and I are!” And so, on that happy note, we were then

married.

My sponsor told me if I wanted to form a relation-

ship with my Higher Power, it would be necessary for

me to change. At a meeting one night a member said,

“It’s not how much you drink, it’s what drinking does

to you.” That statement changed my whole attitude.

Of course I had to surrender and accept I was an al-

coholic. I had a hard time giving up the anger at my

ex-wife for taking my kids, at the man who murdered

my mother, and at my father for what I felt was de-

serting me. But these resentments eased with time

asI began to comprehend my own defects of charac-

ter. I became acquainted with some monks in a

nearbymonastery who listened to my story with some

amazement and were able to help me understand

myself. At the same time my sponsor and other old-

timers who had taken us under their wings loved us

back to rejoin society.

Gradually the ice that was my heart melted and I

changed as my relationship with my Higher Power

grew. Life began to take on a whole new meaning. I

made what amends were possible but knew I would

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have to return to my childhood home to clear up that

part of my past. But we were busy with our own paint

contracting company now, and as the years passed by,

the opportunity to go back home just did not come.

As the months following the day we quit drinking

have turned into years, I have become increasingly

more devoted to this program that saved not only my

life, but my wife’s also. Eventually I became involved

in A.A. service and helped get a central ofﬁce started

for our groups. We both became active in general

service and began traveling all over the state going to

meetings. To my surprise, both of us were given the

opportunity to serve as delegates to the General

Service Conference. What joy we found in this! One

of my most memorable moments was when at the

opening of the conference the chairman of A.A.’s

General Service Board said: “We are all gathered here

tonight, not as individuals, but for the betterment of

Alcoholics Anonymous all over the world.” The years

ﬂashed back to when I was on the grates outside that

very hotel, frantically trying to keep from freezing. I

was overwhelmed by God’s grace just to be there!

One day a friend of mine who writes for a living

asked if he could write the story of my life for a mag-

azine. He assured me there would be no anonymity

problems, so I agreed. I had been sober for almost

twenty-ﬁve years at this time and had no idea what

God, as I understand him, was about to do for me. My

oldest brother, the one who had taken me in, just hap-

pened to subscribe to this magazine and just hap-

pened to read the article. Thus began an amazing

chain of events that has altered not only our lives,

butthe lives of my family and many others. It is noth-

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ing short of a modern-day miracle. God has done for

me what I could not do for myself!

The article gave the name of the town I live in, so

after my brother and sister-in-law ﬁnished reading the

story, they called directory assistance and phoned

me—the ﬁrst time we had spoken in more than thirty

years. I burst into tears, and so did they. They told me

that after my disappearance following the divorce, my

family had tried repeatedly to locate me. They were

concerned because someone had told them I was

either dead or had left the country. I felt bad that I

had worried them like that, but in my self-centered-

ness it had simply never occurred to me that they

cared that much. One by one I talked to all my broth-

ers and sisters in the next twenty-four hours. My

brother gave me the phone number of my own daugh-

ter, whom I hadn’t seen for twenty-seven years, and I

called her. Next I talked to both my sons. Oh, God,

what an experience! I was so overwhelmed by all the

memories and the lost years that it was difﬁcult for me

even to speak. I spent several weeks crying as all the

old hurts rose to the surface and were healed.

Later we had a big family reunion back in my home-

town. It was a happy day for all of us to be together

for the ﬁrst time since we were split up. My father had

passed away, but all his children were there with their

families—a large and joyous crowd. Finally, after all

those years of wondering about my family, my Higher

Power had acted through my friend to undo the tan-

gled circumstances and allow me to make amends to

the people who had been hurt by my bitterness.

I believe that I am living proof of the A.A. saying

“Don’t give up until the miracle happens.”

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(2)

HE LIVED ONLY TO DRINK

“I had been preached to, analyzed, cursed, and

counseled, but no one had ever said, ‘I identify with

what’s going on with you. It happened to me and this

iswhat I did about it.’”

On looking backat my life, I can’t see anything

that would have warned me or my family of

thedevastation that alcoholism had in store for us. To

our collective memory there was no drinking on either

side of the family. We were from a long Southern

Missionary Baptist tradition. My father was a minister,

and I attended his church every Sunday with the rest

of the family and, like them, was very active in reli-

gious work. My parents were also educators; my fa-

therwas principal of the school I attended, and my

mother taught there. They were both champions of

community outreach and well respected. There was

caring and togetherness among us. My maternal

grandmother, herself a deeply religious woman who

lived with us, helped raise me and was a living exam-

ple of unconditional love.

Early on, the values of morality and learning were

impressed on me. I was taught that if you were well

educated and morally upstanding, there was nothing

that could stand in the way of your success in this life

or hereafter. As a child and young man, I was evan-

gelical—literally drunk with moral zeal and intellec-

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tual ambition. I excelled in school and dreamed of a

career in teaching and helping others.

It was not until I was an adult, away from the fam-

ily and doing graduate work at a prestigious East

Coast university, that I had my ﬁrst real drink of alco-

hol. I had tasted beer and a little wine before that and

long since decided that fruit juice tasted better. I had

neverbeen inside a bar until one evening some fellow

students persuaded me to go with them to a local

cocktail lounge. I was fascinated. I still remember the

hazy, smoky atmosphere, the hushed voices, the tinkle

of ice in the glasses. It was pure sophistication. But

most of all I remember that ﬁrst sensation of the

warm whiskey radiating through my body.

I drank so much that night that nobody believed I

hadn’t been drinking all the time, and I didn’t get

drunk, although there were parts of the evening that I

didn’t remember the next day. But more important

than anything else that night, I belonged. I was at

home in the universe; I was comfortable with people.

Despite my active church and school life as a child, I

had never felt really comfortable; I was actually very

nervous and insecure around people and most of the

time forced myself to be outgoing like my parents

because I thought it was my duty. But this night in

thebar was like no other time in my life. Not only

wasI completely at ease, but I actually loved all the

strangers around me and they loved me in return, I

thought, all because of this magic potion, alcohol.

What a discovery. What a revelation!

The following year I began my career as a teacher.

My ﬁrst job was at a college ﬁfty miles from my home-

town. Before the school year ended, I had been asked

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to resign because of my drinking. Within that short

space of time, drinking had become an accepted way

of life. I loved booze. I loved people who drank and

the places where they drank. At that time in my life,

although I had lost my ﬁrst job and embarrassed my

family, it never occurred to me that alcohol could be a

problem. From that ﬁrst night at the bar a year earlier,

I had made a profound decision that was to direct my

life for many years to come: Alcohol was my friend

and I would follow it to the ends of the earth.

After that ﬁrst job there were many more that I

lost,all because of my drinking. I taught in many

schools and in different states. I was no longer the

moral young man who had seen his destiny in helping

people live better. I was loud and arrogant, angry, abu-

sive, always blaming and confronting others. I was get-

ting arrested and beaten up. I had developed a foul

mouth and was frequently drunk in classes and in

public places. Finally my teaching career ended in

total dishonor. My family could not understand what

was happening to me, nor could I. In moments of

clarity, I was full of shame, guilt, and remorse; I had

become an embarrassment to all who had had faith in

me; to others I had become a joke. I wanted to die.

Now alcohol had become the only friend I had.

I wound up in an insane asylum, which probably

saved my life. I do not remember how I got there;

Ido know that I had become suicidal. I became com-

fortable there, and months later I cried when I was

dismissed. I knew by that time that I could not make

it in the world. I was safe behind the barred hospital

windows and wanted to stay there for the rest of my

life. I could not drink there, but tranquilizers and

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other drugs abounded and I helped myself to them.

The word alcoholicwas never mentioned. I do not be-

lieve the doctors knew much more about alcoholism

than I did.

When I was released from the asylum, I moved to a

large city to make a new beginning. My life had be-

come a series of new beginnings. In time I picked up

the drink, got good jobs, and lost them as I had in the

past. All the fear and remorse and terrible depression

returned tenfold. It still did not register that the

drinking might be the cause of all this misery. I sold

my blood. I prostituted myself; I drank more. I be-

came homeless and slept in the bus and train termi-

nals. I scrounged cigarette butts off the sidewalks

anddrank from a common wine bottle with other

drunks.I drank my way to the men’s municipal shelter

and made it my home. I panhandled. By this time I

lived only to drink. I did not bathe or change clothes;

I stank; I became thin and ill; I had begun to hear

voices and accepted them as death omens. I was

frightened, arrogant, enraged, and resentful of man,

God, and the universe. There was nothing else to live

for, but I was too frightened to die.

It was at this point that a woman who was a social

worker on skid row and a sober member of Alcoholics

Anonymous sat me down in her ofﬁce and told me her

story—how she drank, what happened, and how she

got sober. No one had ever done this before. I had

been preached to, analyzed, cursed, and counseled,

but no one had ever said, “I identify with what’s going

on with you. It happened to me, and this is what I did

about it.” She got me to my ﬁrst A.A. meeting that

same evening.

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The people at the meetings gathered around me

inkindness in those early days, and I did not drink.

But the spiritual demons of withdrawal descended on

me. I was black, and these people were white. What

did they know about suffering? What could they tell

me? I was black and bright, and the world had consis-

tently rejected me for it. I hated this world, its people,

and its punishing God. Yet I believed the people in

A.A. were sincere and whatever they believed in was

working for them. I just did not believe that A.A.

would work for me as a black drunk.

I genuinely believed that I was different until much

later, when I had what I now know to be my ﬁrst spir-

itual awakening: that I was an alcoholic and I didn’t

have to drink! I also learned that alcoholism, as an

equal opportunity illness, does not discriminate—is

not restricted to race, creed, or geography. At last I

was released from the bondage of my uniqueness.

In early sobriety I had to continue to live in a ﬂop-

house ﬁlled with active drunks. Not drinking, I be-

came acutely aware of my surroundings—the foul

smells, the noise, the hostility and physical danger.

Myresentments mounted at the realization that I had

ﬂushed a career down the drain, disgraced and alien-

ated my family, and been relegated to the meanest of

institutions, a skid row shelter. But I was also able to

realize that this bonﬁre of resentment and rage was

beckoning me to pick up a drink and plunge in to my

death. Then I realized that I had to separate my so-

briety from everything else that was going on in my

life. No matter what happened or didn’t happen, I

couldn’t drink. In fact, none of these things that I was

going through had anything to do with my sobriety;

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the tides of life ﬂow endlessly for better or worse,

both good and bad, and I cannot allow my sobriety to

become dependent on these ups and downs of living.

Sobriety must live a life of its own.

More important, I came to believe that I cannot do

this alone. From childhood, despite the love I experi-

enced, I had never let people, even those closest to

me, inside my life. All my life I had lived the deepest

of lies, not sharing with anyone my true thoughts and

feelings. I thought I had a direct line to God, and I

built a wall of distrust around myself. In A.A. I faced

the pervasive “we” of the Twelve Steps and gradually

realized that I can separate and protect my sobriety

from outside hazards only inasmuch as I rely on the

sober experience of other A.A. members and share

their journey through the steps to recovery.

The rewards of sobriety are bountiful and as pro-

gressive as the disease they counteract. Certainly

among these rewards for me are release from the

prison of uniqueness, and the realization that partici-

pation in the A.A. way of life is a blessing and a privi-

lege beyond estimate—a blessing to live a life free

from the pain and degradation of drinking and ﬁlled

with the joy of useful, sober living, and a privilege to

grow in sobriety one day at a time and bring the mes-

sage of hope as it was brought to me.

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(3)

SAFE HAVEN

This A.A. found that the process of discovering who

he really was began with knowing who he didn’t want

to be.

Prison.What a wonderful life it is. Here I am,

sitting in a cell waiting for my hotpot to heat

up so I can have a cup of instant coffee and reminisce.

As I ponder my current circumstance, I reﬂect on the

undeniable fact that I am well into my fourth year

ofincarceration. I still wake up some mornings wish-

ing it were all a bad dream.

I didn’t grow up in a home that used alcohol, but

when I took my ﬁrst drink at the age of thirteen, I

knew I would drink again. Being raised in a home

founded onhigh moral standards didn’t seem to instill

any fearof consequences once I took a drink of booze.

Sometimes as I rode my bicycle around the neigh-

borhood, I would spy a grown-up in his yard drinking

beer. Returning later, when I knew he was not at

home, I would break into his home to steal the golden

beverage from the refrigerator.

I recall too well the morning when another guy and

I stole my dad’s credit card and pickup truck so we

could run off to California to become movie stars. We

had a pistol so we could rob stores when the time

came to stock up on beer, cash, and cigarettes. Before

the ﬁrst day of travel was over, however, I told my

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friend I couldn’t go on any longer and needed to re-

turn home. I knew my mom and dad were climbing

the walls with worry by now. My friend refused to turn

back, so I let him out of the truck; I never saw him

again. My parents may have recognized my behavior

as some serious adolescent rebellion, but they had no

idea it was fueled by the disease of alcoholism.

At age sixteen I got a part-time job as a disc jockey

for a local radio station. Those in a position to know

observed that I had a knack for this kind of work, so I

dropped out of high school and started spinning

records full time. Drinking and partying went hand

inhand with this job. Soon, a pattern began that

lastedfor many years. When the alcoholism became

obvious to my employers and began to affect my job

performance, I would simply resign and seek employ-

ment with another broadcasting company.

I recall one day when I was doing a midday show, I

realized I could not go another minute without a

drink. I put on an album and quietly walked out of

theradio station unnoticed. I drove to a liquor store

and bought a bottle of whiskey, got back in my car,

turned on the radio, and started drinking. As I sat

there listening to song after song, the album eventu-

ally came to an end, and all you could hear was the

needle scratching against the turntable. Someone at

the station ﬁnally realized I was no longer in the con-

trol room and put on another record.

During my years in the broadcast industry, I worked

from time to time as a radio storm chaser. It was my

job to use radar information to follow the storm and

spot tornados, hail, ﬂooding, and storm-related haz-

ards or damage. I would then use a cellular phone in

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my vehicle to give live reports over the radio while

chasing the storm. One night the storm was extremely

turbulent. Our listening audience was larger than ever

as I gave my live report, sounding as if I were on the

front lines of a war zone.

The following day a newspaper honored our station

with a nice article about the professional job we did

on weather coverage. But what no one knew was that

all of those “professional” storm reports were called

infrom the safety of my back patio as I ad-libbed a

little better with each fresh glass of bourbon and cola.

Periodically I worked as a broadcast journalist and

reported many news stories on location. I regularly

drank on the job and was frequently loaded when calls

came in about alcohol-related automobile accidents.

There I was with microphone in one hand and ﬂask in

the other as I jumped into the news van and rushed

tothe scene of an accident, just as drunk or more so

than the one who caused it. It was inevitable that I

would one day becomethe news, rather than just re-

port it, by causing a serious accident as a result of my

drinking.

I had experienced run-ins with the law several

times—for not paying ﬁnes, public intoxication, ﬁght-

ing, and driving while intoxicated. But nothing could

compare with the time the police asked me to come

downtown for questioning concerning a murder. I

hadbeen drinking the night before and had gotten

involved in a dangerous incident. I knew I hadn’t com-

mitted a murder, but here I was being considered a

prime suspect. An hour or two into questioning it was

determined that I had not committed the crime, and I

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was released. This was quite enough to get my full

attention though.

I went home and called a friend I had seen at the

local mall a week earlier. I hadn’t talked to her for a

couple of years, but I had noticed how different she

looked and behaved. As we spoke, she said she hadn’t

had a drink for over a year. She told me about a group

of friends who were helping her stay sober. I lied to

her and claimed I hadn’t had a drink myself for

quitesome time. I don’t think she believed me, but

she gave me her phone number and encouraged me

to call if I would like to meet her friends. Later, when

I worked up the nerve to call her, I admitted that I

had a drinking problem and wanted to stop. She

picked me up and took me to my ﬁrst A.A. meeting.

In Alcoholics Anonymous, I knew I had found a

protective haven. But during the ensuing 41⁄2years I

fell into the category known, in A.A. parlance, as a

“chronic slipper.” I might get a good six months of so-

briety under my belt, but then I would get a bottle to

celebrate.

I did all the things that were suggested for me not

to do. Within my ﬁrst year around A.A., I made some

major decisions, like getting married, renting the most

expensive apartment I could ﬁnd, not using my spon-

sor, avoiding the steps, hanging around old haunts

with my old drinking pals, and talking more than lis-

tening during meetings. In short, I wasn’t responding

to the miracle of A.A. My disease progressed and I be-

came a regular patient in detox hospitals, intensive

care units, and treatment centers. Permanent insanity

was drawing near, and the gates of death were in view.

There is a saying that alcoholics either get sobered

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up, locked up, or covered up. Since I was not gen-

uinely willing to do what it took to get sobered up, I

had the other options to face. I never dreamed it

would happen so quickly.

It was a beautiful September weekend just before

Labor Day. I made the decision to buy a case of beer

and a bottle of wine. Later in the evening I drank

whiskey on top of the beer and wine, blacked out,

committed a drunken crime, was arrested, and within

ten days was convicted and sentenced to twenty years

in prison. I guess an alcoholic death can come in

much the same way: I drink, I black out, I die. At least

with prison I would have another chance at life some-

where down the line.

I can’t start to describe the forced humility that is

placed upon an alcoholic who comes to prison.

Although I deserved to be in prison, the trauma was

horrible. The only encouragement and hope I was

able to ﬁnd was from reading the personal stories in

the back of a tattered Big Book I found in my cell.

Then one day I heard something that was music to my

ears. A correctional ofﬁcer announced that an A.A.

meeting was to be held in the chapel. When I walked

into the meeting, I took a seat in the circle of chairs,

where I once again found a protective haven.

As I pen this story, 31⁄2years have passed since that

meeting in the chapel. I’ve moved to a larger prison

unit and have remained very active in the awesome

program of Alcoholics Anonymous. A.A. has accom-

plished so many things in my life today. It has given

me my sanity and an all-around sense of balance. Now

willing to listen and take suggestions, I have found

that the process of discovering who I really am begins

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with knowing who I really don’t want to be. And al-

though the disease of alcoholism inside of me is like

gravity, just waiting to pull me down, A.A. and the

Twelve Steps are like the power that causes an air-

plane to become airborne: It only works when the

pilot is doing the right things to make it work. So, as I

have worked the program, I have grown emotionally

and intellectually. I not only have peace withGod, I

have the peace of God through an active God

consciousness. I have not only recovered from alco-

holism, I have become whole in person—body, spirit,

soul.

I’ve had one “God-thing” after another happen to

me since submitting myself to the principles of A.A.

The trial ofﬁcials who convicted me and the victims of

my crime have all decided to support my early release

from prison. Coincidence? I think not. I’ve received

letters from former employers who have heard of my

sobriety and have offered me employment again in the

radio industry. These are just samples of God doing

for me what I couldn’t do for myself.

One of the things I have committed to do in return

for God’s grace is to immediately become active in a

correctional committee upon my release. Bringing the

A.A. message back into jails and prisons is extremely

important to me and my own sobriety today.

From experience, I’ve realized that I cannot go

back and make a brand-new start. But through A.A., I

can start from now and make a brand-new end.

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(4)

LISTENING TO THE WIND

It took an “angel” to introduce this Native

American woman to A.A. and recovery.

Istarted drinkingwhen I was around eleven

years old. I stayed with my brother and his wife

just outside of Gallup, New Mexico. We were poor.

The smell of beans and fresh tortillas symbolized

home to me. I slept in a bed with three other children,

where we huddled close to keep warm in the freezing

winter. The snow was deep around us.

I had a hard time reading and understanding

schoolwork, so I skipped school every chance I got.

My dad and grandma had told me the old stories

about the longhouse and the travels of our people

across the deserts and mountains of this country. I met

a boy and together we ditched school and stole a

truck. We drank tequila and explored the red mesas

together. Sometimes we sat in the shade of the trading

post directly across the street from the tracks. When

the train rumbled through the dusty small town near

the reservation, it promised glamorous places far away.

When I was ﬁfteen years old, I arrived alone in San

Francisco with a guitar, a small suitcase, and $30. I

went to several taverns and coffeehouses in search of

a job singing. I believed I could pursue a career as a

performer. Three days later I found myself sleeping in

a doorway to stay out of the rain that had fallen all day.

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I was broke and cold, and had nowhere else to go. The

only thing I had left was my pride, which prevented

me from trying to reach my brother by phone or ﬁnd-

ing my way back to the only people who ever really

knew me.

Sometime in the middle of the long, restless night,

a kindly middle-aged white man laid his hand on my

shoulder. “Come on, young lady,” he said. “Let’s get

you to someplace warm and get you something to eat.”

The price he asked in return seemed little, consider-

ing the cold rainy night behind me. I left his hotel

with $50in my hand. Thus began a long and some-

what proﬁtable career in prostitution. After working

all night, I would drink to forget what I had to do to

pay the rent until the sunrise brought sleep. The

weeks passed.

I started stealing and robbed a gas station and a

liquor store. I made very few friends. I had learned to

trust no one. One night, around eight o’clock, a car

pulled up to the curb just as I had settled myself, half

drunk,against the wall of a building. I ﬁgured I had

met my companion for the evening. We made the ap-

propriate conversation to conﬁrm the deal, and I got

into the car. Suddenly I felt a deafening blow to my

temple. I was knocked senseless. In a desolate area

across town, I was pulled from the car, pistol whipped,

and left to die in the mud with rain falling softly

uponme. I came to in a hospital room with bars on

the windows. I spent seven weeks there, having re-

peated surgeries and barely recognizing my surround-

ings each time I woke up. Finally, when I was able to

walk around a little, a policewoman came and I was

taken to county jail. It was my third arrest in two

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months. Nearly two years on the streets had taken

itstoll.

The judge said I could not be rehabilitated, and I was

charged with eighteen counts of felony. I would not see

the streets again for nearly twenty-six months. I was

seventeen years old. The ﬁrst few months I would have

done just about anything for a drink. I knew I was pow-

erless over the drugs, but I really couldn’t see what harm

there was in alcohol. In the summer I was released. I

wasn’t sure where I was going, but a nice cold beersure

sounded like a refreshing celebration of freedom. I

bought a six-pack and a bus ticket.

When I got off the bus, I got a waitressing job in a

bar. By the end of my ﬁrst shift, however, I had

enough money to get a bottle and a sleazy motel room

nearby.

A few weeks later I saw him, the only Indian I had

met in a very long time. He was leaning over a pool

table when I came to work. I put on my apron,

grabbed a tray, and headed straight for him to see if

he needed a reﬁll.

“Who let you off the reservation?” he asked. I was

furious, humiliated, and embarrassed.

That man became the father of my ﬁrst-born child.

My relationship with him lasted only a few months

and was the ﬁrst of many mutually abusive relation-

ships that would continue over the next few years. I

found myself alone, drunk, homeless, and pregnant

ina matter of weeks. Afraid that I would wind up

backin jail, I went to live with my brother and sister-

in-law.

My brother had gotten a very good job and moved

to Hawaii. My son was born there, and on the day of

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his birth, I found my purpose in life: I was born to be

a mom. He was beautiful. Straight black hair and dark

eyes. I had never felt like this in my life. I could put

my past behind me once again and move forward

intoa new life with my child.

After a year or so I became bored with my life in

the islands and the guy I had been dating. I said good-

bye to my waitress job and my family, and moved to

California with my one-year-old son.

I needed transportation, but cars cost too much

money. Where could I get lots of money? It did not

seem appropriate to go back to prostitution in the

same town where I was raising my son. I could take

the bus to the next town, work all night, and come

home in the morning if I could get someone to watch

my little boy. The night job paid well. As long as I

didn’t work close to home where my child would

attend school, everything would be fine. Also, I

coulddrink on the job. I kept the welfare, though,

because it provided health insurance.

I did quite well ﬁnancially. After one year I found

a beautiful large apartment that had a view of the

ocean, bought a new car and a purebred Collie dog.

The social workers started getting very nosy. I could

not ﬁgure out what their problem was. I led a double

life. By day I was super-mom, and by night I was a

drunken hooker.

I met a wonderful man at the beach, and we fell in

love. Everything was like heaven on earth until he

asked where I worked! Of course, I lied. I told him I

worked for the government and held a top security

clearance, which required complete secrecy. That’s

why I had to work nights, undercover, out of town,

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onweekends. Now, maybe he would stop asking

somany questions. But instead he proposed.

We moved in together and my working arrange-

ments became nearly impossible to live with. So did

my conscience. One night on my way to work, I sat

inrush-hour trafﬁc on the freeway. I broke down in

tears and felt all the lies of my life burst open inside

of me. I hated myself and I wanted to die. I couldn’t

tell him the truth, but I couldn’t continue to lie to

himeither. Suddenly a great light came on. It was the

best idea I had ever had. I got off the freeway at the

next ramp, drove home, and told him I got ﬁred! He

took it well, and we celebrated with a huge bottle of

wine.

It took a lot of booze to cover the nightmares of my

past, but I was sure I could get around this small

problem before long. I never did. The relationship

broke up over my drinking, and I packed my little

carand moved myself, my son, our dog, and three

catsto the mountains.

This mountain town was a place I had visited as a

child with Dad and Grandma. Memories of the stories

of my childhood and our Indian people ﬂooded in. I

got a job cleaning cabins for a local resort lodge and

got back on welfare. Shortly after our move, my son

started school. By this time I was consuming nearly a

ﬁfth of tequila each day, and blackouts were occurring

on a regular basis.

One day I got up as usual. The last thing I remem-

ber was feeling so shaky I could hardly stand up. I ate

a tablespoon of honey, hoping it would give me the

necessary sugar rush. The next conscious memory was

the emergency room. They said I was suffering from

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malnutrition. I was nearly thirty pounds underweight.

They had the audacity to ask me how much I drank!

What could that possibly have to do with anything? I

promised I would never do it again.

For the ﬁrst time in my life, I tried very hard to

quitdrinking. After a few days of shakes and nausea, I

decided that a shot of tequila wouldn’t hurt. I had

managed to put on a little weight, but six months later

I collapsed and was diagnosed with a bleeding ulcer.

Iwas in the hospital for four days that time. They

toldme that if I didn’t stop drinking, I would proba-

bly die.

My son called his grandparents, and they traveled

tothe mountains to visit us. I had not seen them for

years. We got along much better than I expected.

Therelationship they formed with my son was

incredible. My dad took his grandson hiking in the

wilderness, and mom helped out with looking after

him while I worked. My health continued to fail.

Myparents wound up moving to our town in an at-

tempt to help their grandson and me.

My dad and I decided to go to a Native American

gathering. I hadn’t been to one of these pow wows

since I was a child. When we heard the drums and

watched the dancers, I felt some great passion well up

inside me. I felt like an outsider. I wanted a drink. I

wore my hair down to my waist and wore a lot of

turquoise jewelry I had collected over the years. I

looked like the people, but I certainly didn’t feel like

one of them. I felt as if they all knew something I

didn’t.

In an effort to prove I was getting better, I started

hitting the streets again in order to make more money.

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I told my parents that I was going down the mountain

to visit friends. I received my third arrest for drunk

driving on one of the trips back, after working all

weekend. The night in jail seemed a long time to go

without a drink.

Weeks and months passed, and the blackouts con-

tinued getting worse. Then I met a man in a local

bar.I didn’t like him very well, but he had quite a lot

of money, and he sure liked me. He took me to nice

restaurants and brought me expensive gifts. As long

asI had a buzz on, with a few drinks, I could tolerate

him.

One thing led to another, and we wound up mar-

ried. The most powerful motive I had was getting out

of the streets and being provided for. I had begun

tothink I did not have much longer to live. The faces

of my doctors were looking more and more grim

everytime I went into the hospital to dry out.

The marriage was a farce, and it didn’t take long

forthis man to ﬁgure that out. Someone had told

himabout my past, and he demanded to know the

truth. I was tired, nauseated, and drunk. I just didn’t

care anymore, so I admitted everything. We fought

every day after that, and my visits to the hospital be-

came more frequent. One afternoon I decided I no

longer wanted to live and got the gun from over the

ﬁreplace. I owe my life to the man I had married. He

heard my child scream from out back and came run-

ning into the house. He grabbed the gun and wrestled

it away from me. I was numb and couldn’t ﬁgure out

what had happened. My son was taken away from me

by the authorities, and I was placed in a locked ward

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for the criminally insane. I spent three days there on

legal hold.

After I was released, most of the next few weeks

was a blur. One night I caught my husband with

another woman. We fought and I followed him in my

car and tried to run him down, right in the middle of

the main street in town. The incident caused a six-car

pileup, and when the law caught up with me later, I

was sent to the locked ward again. I do not remember

arriving there, and when I woke up, I didn’t know

where I was. I was tied to a table with restraints

around my wrists, both ankles, and my neck. They

shot heavy drugs into my veins and kept me like that

for a long time. I was released ﬁve days later. When I

left, there was no one there to drive me home, so I

hitchhiked. The house was dark and locked, and no

one was anywhere around to let me in. I got a bottle

and sat in the snow on the back porch and drank.

One day I decided I’d better go to the laundromat

and wash some clothes. There was a woman there

with a couple of kids. She moved around quickly,

folding clothes and stacking them neatly in a couple

ofhuge baskets. Where did she get her energy?

Suddenly I realized I had to put my clothes into the

dryers. I couldn’t remember which washers I had put

them in. I looked into probably twenty different wash-

ers. I made up my mind how to handle the situation.

I would stay here until everyone else had left. I would

keep whatever clothes were left behind, as well as my

own. As the other woman ﬁnished her tasks, she was

writing something down on a small piece of paper. She

loaded her baskets and kids into her car, and came

back into the laundromat. She came right up to me

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and handed me the small blue paper. I couldn’t make

out what it said. I smiled politely and slurred a

friendly “Thank you.” Later I made out the telephone

number and the handwritten message below: “If you

ever want to stop drinking, call Alcoholics Anony-

mous, 24hours a day.”

Why had she given me this, and what made her

think I was drinking? Couldn’t she see that my bottle

was soda? Of all the nerve! I was mortiﬁed! I folded

the paper neatly and put it in the back pocket of my

jeans. As the next few weeks passed, I became sicker

by the day. One morning I woke up alone as usual. I

hadn’t seen my husband in a long time. I needed a

drink, and the bottle on the bedside table was dry.

Irose on my shaky legs, but they refused to hold my

weight. I fell to the ﬂoor and began crawling around

the house looking for a bottle. Nothing! This meant I

had to leave the house and get to a store.

I found my empty purse on the ﬂoor, but I knew

Icould never make it to the car. I became terriﬁed.

Who could I call? I never saw any friends anymore,

and there was no way I could call family. I remem-

bered the number in the pocket of my jeans. I hadn’t

even gotten dressed for several days. Where were the

jeans?

I searched the house until I found them on the ﬂoor

of the bedroom. The number was in the pocket. After

three tries I managed to dial the number. A woman’s

voice answered.

“I . . . uh . . . got this number from you . . .uh . . .

Is this A.A.?” I asked.

“Yes. Do you want to stop drinking?”

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“Please, yes. I need help. Oh, God.” I felt the ﬁery

tears run down my face.

Five minutes later she pulled into my driveway.

Shemust have been some kind of an angel. How

hadshe appeared from nowhere that day in the laun-

dromat? How had she known? How had I kept her

number all that time without losing it?

The A.A. woman made sure I had no more alcohol

in the house. She was very tough on me for a long

time. I went to meetings every day and started taking

the steps. The First Step showed me that I was pow-

erless over alcohol and anything else that threatened

my sobriety or muddled my thinking. Alcohol was only

a symptom of much deeper problems of dishonesty

and denial. Now it was a matter of coming to grips

with a Power greater than myself. That was very hard

for me. How could all these whitepeople even begin

to think they could understand me? So they brought a

sober Indian woman up to work with me for a day.

That was a very powerful day. That Indian woman cut

me no slack at all. I will never forget her. She con-

vinced me I was not unique. She said these whitefolks

were the best thing that ever happened to me.

“Where would you be without them?” she asked.

“What are the alternatives? You got any better ideas

for yourself? How many Indiansdo you know who are

going to help you sober up?” At the time, I couldn’t

think of any. I surrendered behind the tears of no an-

swers and decided to do it their way. I found the

Power greater than myself to be the magic above the

heads of the people in the meetings. I chose to call

that magic Great Spirit.

The Twelve Steps worked like a crowbar, prying

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into my dishonesty and fear. I didn’t like the things I

learned about myself, but I didn’t want to go back

where I had come from. I found out that there was no

substance on the planet that could help me get hon-

est. I would do just about anything to avoid working

on myself.

The thing that kept me sober until I got a grip on

honesty was the love in the rooms of Alcoholics

Anonymous. I made some friends for the ﬁrst time in

my life. Real friends that cared, even when I was

broke and feeling desperate. At twenty-two months of

sobriety, I was ﬁnally able to complete an honest in-

ventory. TheFifth Step enabled me to see my part in

my resentments and fears. In the chapter “How It

Works,” in the Big Book, I was shown some questions.

The answers to these questions provided me with

knowledge about my reactions to the conditions in my

life. Every response to every resentment, real or imag-

ined, had been sick and self-destructive. I was allow-

ing others to control my sense of well-being and

behavior. I came to understand that the behavior,

opinions, and thoughts of others were none of my

business. The only business I was to be concerned

with was my own! I asked my Higher Power to re-

move from me everything that stood in the way of

myusefulness to Him and others, and to help me

builda new life.

I met my current husband in an A.A. meeting.

Together we carry the message to Indian people on

reservations all over the country. I started at the ﬁfth-

grade level in school when I had been sober nearly

two years. After college I started my own business.

Today I publish the books I write. Our daughter was

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born during my early sobriety, and she is in high

school now. She has never seen her mother take a

drink. Our family has returned to the spirituality of

our ancestors. We attend sweat lodges and other an-

cient ceremonies with our people on sovereign native

land. We take panels of sober Natives into Indian

boarding schools and institutions, and share about re-

covery.

My life is ﬁlled with honesty today. Every action,

word, prayer, and Twelfth Step call is an investment in

my spiritual freedom and fulﬁllment. I am in love and

proud to be a Native American. At an A.A. meeting on

an Indian reservation, I heard the words “Sobriety is

traditional.” I stand at the top of the sacred mountain,

and I listen to the wind. I have a conscious daily con-

tact with my Creator today, and He loves me.

Everything is sacred as a result of the Twelve Steps

and the love and recovery in Alcoholics Anonymous.

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(5)

TWICE GIFTED

Diagnosed with cirrhosis, this sick alcoholic got

sobriety—plus a lifesaving liver transplant.

Today is sunday,my favorite day of the week.

Things are usually peaceful, and I always get

that wonderfully humbling, it’s amazing to be alive,

feeling. I am happy to say that very few days go by

without that feeling.

Sunday used to be pretty wild in the old days. That

is what I call my drinking days, the old days. It was

thelast day of the weekend, ﬁnishing up a few days of

partying with my friends. I never went anywhere

thatwas not a party, and if in doubt about the occa-

sion, I’d think of a good one and bring the party with

me. Icannot remember a time without booze in my

life.Even when I was young and didn’t drink myself,

liquor was always around. I do remember a time at

the beginning of my drinking, thinking to myself that

I was not and would never become an alcoholic,

knowing in a very personal way exactly how an alco-

holic lived. I was a teenager then, and I ﬁgured I was

just having fun and could control everything about my

drinking. By the time I actually reached legal drinking

age, I had deﬁnitely gone beyond weekend party

drinking, and Sunday once again became the ﬁrst day

of the week, soon to become a week of daily drinking.

During my young adulthood, drinking was the way

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I related to others. I did not know anyone who did not

drink, and all of my interests, friendships, and more

intimate relationships revolved completely around

drinking. Over the years, by all appearances, I grew up

and got a life, but it was only a façade. I never did ma-

ture other than in the physical way. I appeared normal

on the outside. I knew I drank and so did everyone

else, but I behaved pretty well and, only by chance,

managed to stay out of harm’s way, except for a few

occasions. Looking back now, the picture of my life

before I got sober looks like a long series of unﬁnished

matters. Through the years I had quit on everything

that ever mattered: college, going for promotions, re-

lationships—at least the relationships that demanded

any work.

Then a few things began to change. Some years be-

fore I ﬁnally gave up drinking, my body started to give

me signals that continuing on this course might not

beas carefree as it had seemed up to that point. When

stomach problems began, I visited a doctor, and when

queried about my drinking habits, I glossed over the

idea that I overindulged. Tests were run, but no real

diagnosis was ever conﬁrmed. I was advised to main-

tain a healthy diet and watch alcohol intake, along

with other prudent suggestions from the doctor. I was

still young, and I thought to myself that just giving my

body a break, by slowing down, would allow me to

bounce back. Over the next few years I had quite a

few episodes of feeling sick, and of course having

never attended to the real problem, my drinking was

still escalating. When my symptoms started to multiply,

I ﬁnally had to consider the real possibility that drink-

ing was the cause of all my health problems. For very

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brief moments I somehow realized that giving up the

booze was probably in my future. With that realization

came fear and so many questions. How will I live?

What will I do with my life? Certainly a life without

booze meant I would not have fun, and surely I would

not be fun.

Up until the moment I realized I might have to give

up drinking, I had believed I was perfectly happy. I

had a ﬁne life, a good job, a nice place to live, a car,

friends, all the things I thought I needed in life. Ideas

of getting help to quit drinking had surfaced but were

ﬂeeting and never grew into anything like reaching

out. My health had ﬁnally taken a serious turn for the

worse. I was frequently unable to get out of bed even

to go to work, and strange new problems were ex-

hibiting themselves with regularity. I resolved to di-

vorce myself from the bottle, but trying to stop alone

was disastrous. During the dry periods, I was very

weak and sick. Then at times I would drink, and it was

out of control. I would isolate and binge; those last

drunks ended in episodes of uncontrollable shaking,

dry heaves, and even hallucinations. At the end I was

scared and suffering, and I felt as though I were

absolutely alone in the world.

A series of circumstances brought me to a new

doctor. I had to see a doctor because once again I had

become fearfully ill, and I was unable to work. My

stomach was distended, and my ankles were swollen

nearly twice their normal size due to ﬂuid retention.

The whites of my eyes had yellowed from jaundice, I

had spidery broken veins all over my body, my skin

itched all over and took on an eerie greenish-gray ap-

pearance. My blood had apparently thinned, because

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the lightest touch would cause a terrible bruise and

even a small scratch would bleed for a very long time.

Dark marks appeared on my face and arms, my hair

began to fall out, and because I had no appetite at

all,Iwas very weak and extremely fatigued. The new

physician took one look at my appearance and my

blood test results, and asked if I drank. I said that I

used to but had abstained for quite a while. This was

a blatant lie.

In reality the only person who was being fooled was

me. My new doctor explained that I had a disease

called cirrhosis of the liver. How far it had progressed

was hard to tell, but by the symptoms I was having

and the results of my tests, the disease seemed fairly

advanced. The picture he painted was very bleak. As

the disease worsened, I would become sicker and

weaker, and ﬁnally there would be a slow and painful

progression, usually ending in a fatal episode of bleed-

ing into the stomach or lapsing into a coma and death.

With that, he referred me to a special clinic, not an

ordinary group of doctors but a liver transplant clinic.

The initial interview with this group of doctors

made it clear that if I wanted to live, I was going to

have to prove that alcohol was no longer going to be

part of my life. I was thirty-seven years old at the time,

a relatively young woman for what was happening to

my body. I was suddenly very afraid of dying, and I

was desperate.

I had attended A.A. meetings prior to that time, but

the words of the doctors had somehow, ﬁnally, begun

to clear the way. At the meeting that ﬁrst night more

of what the people in A.A. were saying started to pass

through my ears, and into my head, and ﬁnally into my

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heart. The members of Alcoholics Anonymous offered

me a gift, a gift of life. I found myself willing, and

after some weeks of just showing up, I began to believe

that this program could work for me. The next six

months were spent in A.A. meetings every single day,

at least one, sometimes two or three. I found a won-

derful, patient sponsor who helped me to work the

steps and practice the principles.

During the six months of evaluation by the clinic, I

was given a blood test at least weekly, sometimes ran-

domly, to validate that I was not drinking. I had

weekly meetings with the psychiatrist on the trans-

plant team. My family members attended some of

those meetings, and the doctor also had contact with

my sponsor. Another mandate was that I enter some

type of psychotherapy with a professional, either

group or individual sessions. This too was not some-

thing I would have chosen for myself, but it has

turned out to be a very positive force in my life. At the

time of the evaluation, there had to be evidence that I

was doing everything possible to assure my continued

sobriety. After a six-month period I was ofﬁcially

listedas a candidate for a liver transplant.

By the time my name was placed on the transplant

waiting list, I had become very sick. My liver had pro-

gressively continued to shut down, and the ofﬁcial

wait had really just begun. I had no way of knowing

how long it would be before a suitable organ would

become available or how long it would be before I

rose to the top of the list. At times I felt resentful of

the selection process, the tests, the close supervision

of my A.A. program, and the seemingly endless wait.

Unquestionably it was only because of the program of

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Alcoholics Anonymous that I was able to let go of that

resentment. I actually found an abundance of peace

and serenity during those months preceding the sur-

gery. After another six months I was given a second

chance and a second gift of life. The surgery itself was

a wonderful success, and my recuperation was un-

marked by setbacks.

Some years have passed, and as I look back from

the clarity of this moment, I know that the way here

for me could not have been by an easier path. I would

not willingly have stopped the course my life was on.

I needed harsh reality to see the damage that alcohol

abuse causes, in so many ways. I needed to be forced

into acceptance and humility.

My physical being has certainly undergone a trans-

formation, but the major transformation has been

spiritual. The hopelessness has been replaced by

abundant hope and sincere faith. The people of

Alcoholics Anonymous have provided a haven where,

if I remain aware and keep my mind quiet enough, my

Higher Power leads me to amazing realizations. I ﬁnd

joy in my daily life, in being of service, in simply

being. I have found rooms full of wonderful people,

and for me each and every one of the Big Book’s

promises have come true. The things that I have

learned from my own experience, from the Big Book,

and from my friends in A.A.—patience, acceptance,

honesty, humility, and true faith in a Power greater

than myself—are the tools I use today to live my life,

this precious life.

Today my life is ﬁlled with miracles big and small,

not one of which would ever have come to pass had I

not found the door of Alcoholics Anonymous.

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(6)

BUILDING A NEW LIFE

Hallucinating and restrained by sheriff’s deputies

and hospital staff, this once-happy family man re-

ceived an unexpected gift from God—a ﬁrm founda-

tion in sobriety that would hold up through good

times and bad.

We had beenin the ﬁelds all day baling hay.

When the work was done, the men brought

out a gallon of muscatel. I took a few drinks because

Iwanted to be like the men, and for a few minutes

Ifelt like one of them. Then I fell asleep under the

outdoor table where my mother fed the workers.

When I was found, they carried me into bed, and the

next day I got a scolding. I was six years old.

My early years were spent on my aunt and uncle’s

farm. They raised me after my father and mother di-

vorced. My father kept my two brothers and two sis-

ters; my grandmother took me, the baby, and when

raising a baby was too much for her, I ended up on the

farm.

Life was hard work in those days. We ate what we

grew ourselves, plus the few store items we traded for.

By age eight I was guiding a horse-drawn plow by my-

self. In the family and in our farming community, we

spoke only Spanish. It wasn’t until I went to school

that I was forced to speak English and was told that

speaking Spanish wasn’t right. I never felt I was as

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smart as the other kids or as good as anyone else. On

the farm I knew I could do anything; in school it was

a different story.

At thirteen I was tall, strong, and looked older. My

aunt and uncle had sent me to live with a family in a

larger town to get schooling they hoped would help me.

I went around with guys who were eighteen, and they

took meto a Halloween party. I almost choked on the

ﬁrst sip of the whiskey they were passing around, but by

the second sip, I thought it was pretty good stuff. It

made me feel like one of the guys. It didn’t matter that

I was only thirteen; I felt just as old as they were. By the

end of the night, I had passed out in the outhouse and

had to be carried home by a friend.

By ﬁfteen, picking produce in the summer to earn

money, I was sneaking out nightly to drink beer in the

ﬁelds with the other pickers. Primed with beer, I

could talk to girls and go to dances. I was just like

everyone else; I could enjoy the day. I was the equal

of others, even if they were older.

The next summer I began working construction

during school vacation. I was working with the older

men, and at the end of the day, I went to the bar with

them. The bartender would put the beer in front of

the man next to me, but it was intended for me. I

loved Fridays—payday—when we went out and got

loaded. I started getting liquor on weekends so I could

go to dances. I was hanging around with guys who

drank like me. We’d put our money together to get

enough booze for the night, and because I looked

older, I bought the liquor. I could talk to the girls. I

was a big shot with the guys because I had the booze

and the girls.

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Two days before Christmas I was on the way to

basic training. On the train’s next to last stop, my bud-

dies from home and I got off and rushed to the bar to

buy liquor to celebrate Christmas. Back on the train,

we were warned that the M.P.’s were throwing bottles

out the windows, so we drank ours hard and fast and

got loaded.

After basic we were sent to different bases. I didn’t

drink often because I wanted to get ahead, but every

time I drank, I wouldn’t stop until everything was

gone. I didn’t know how to say, “I’m going to quit

now.”

At home on leave, I married a young woman from

my hometown, and our ﬁrst daughter was born the

next year. When I came home from the air force,

soonafter that, the party really started. A big hero like

me! I drank only on weekends at ﬁrst, drinking and

dancing with my old buddies and their new wives. The

only car accident I was in while drunk happened that

year. It was a hit-and-run on a parked car, and my

buddy just pulled the car’s fender off the front of my

car and we kept on driving. The next morning we

looked in the paper to see if the accident was men-

tioned. It wasn’t, and we were never found out.

The same construction company I had worked for

in the summers as a high school kid hired me as an ap-

prentice carpenter. I was smart and learned fast. Then

I got too smart and forgot all that company had done

for me. I complained to them about money I thought

they had promised, and they ﬁred me.

Using the G.I. Bill I went to mechanic’s school at

night and got a job with the city. That’s when I really

started drinking. These guys had a ritual. As soon as

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they got to work, they bought a bottle of wine. At ﬁrst

I didn’t participate. I didn’t drink wine, not a tough

guy like me. But then one day I decided I might as

well drink. I had a couple and I liked it. For the next

ﬁve years, I drank every day.

Finally I was injured on the job and sent home for

a week, but I was supposed to call in every day. But I

didn’t, I couldn’t; I was drunk every day. On the fourth

day the boss came to my house to check on me. I

wasn’t there, but I returned, drunk, before they left.

They didn’t say anything, but the next day the union

leader told me I was going to get ﬁred. I went to city

hall and resigned.

Three more daughters had been born to my wife

and me during those years. I was ﬁlled with remorse,

guilt, and fear because I didn’t have a job. I knew I

had screwed up. There was no unemployment then.

To my mind it was bad luck, not me. I took whatever

construction work I could get, even nonunion, what-

ever there was.

My ﬁrst son was born, and my second son two years

later. I had recovered my pride and wondered why

Ishould make all this money for other people. I

thought I should become a contractor and make it

formyself, so I took the exam and got my license. I

curtailed my drinking a little bit and business started

getting good, so I started drinking more. I’d go to

thebar and leave my crews working by themselves. By

the third year I spent all my time in bars. I couldn’t

ﬁnish the jobs I had, and I had spent all the money.

Iwas in bad shape. I was a full-blown alcoholic, blam-

ing God and bad luck. It had me down; I just couldn’t

get back up, and I lost my business.

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For the next three years I was working odd jobs,

two days here, three days there. I was barely making

it, with a big family to support. I didn’t bring home

enough. I drank it up. My wife was griping and

cussing, and I just wanted to get away from it all.

I started taking jobs out of town. One time I was a

foreman for an aluminum siding company. I don’t

know how we got jobs ﬁnished. Every morning I was

hung-over, sick. The workers would have to wait for

me to start. At noon I would go to the bar to ﬁx my-

self up, and then I would party at night.

There was only ﬁghting at home, and I ﬁnally

moved out so the kids wouldn’t see me drunk. Now I

can really drink, I thought. My wife went on welfare,

and I even stopped contributing after a while. I had to

have enough to drink. I continued to work construc-

tion, but I wasn’t very dependable. I’d work okay for

three or four weeks, and then I wouldn’t want to get

up in the morning. I’ll get another job, I would think,

but I always got ﬁred.

A few years later I was arrested driving while intox-

icated, but it was reduced to reckless driving, with the

help of a state police buddy of mine. I was told, how-

ever, that if I had one more offense, they would take

my license away. That was at the same time as myﬁrst

try at A.A. I couldn’t get sober, and I couldn’t get

drunk. I was feeling scared, remorseful, guilty. I ran to

a hamburger stand near my apartment, looked in the

phone book for the number of a clubhouse for A.A.’s,

and gave them a call. Two men came to my apartment

and stayed with me, drinking coffee until after the

bars closed. They kept coming, taking me to meetings

for a month. I thought I was doing okay, so I didn’t

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need it anymore. It felt like those two guys were after

me, bothering me too much. So I got drunk to get

back at them.

After that I moved to California. My kids were on

welfare while I was touring all over. I never knew

anyone could make the money I made in union con-

struction jobs in California, so I drank it up. I didn’t

feel bad about the kids because I was drunk all the

time. I sent them presents. When I got sober, I felt

bad about them, so I’d drink again. I couldn’t stand

being sober because I couldn’t stand thinking about

how I hadn’t taken care of my own kids.

I did a lot of drinking on the job. Carpenters

worked in shorts and had coolers of beer. There were

beer cans all around the job site. I would go to the all-

night store early every morning to buy a bottle of wine

for my thermos, to keep me going until lunch. Then

I’d buy wine at lunch for the afternoon. And on my

way home I’d buy a six-pack of beer and a bottle of

wine for my evening. That was the cycle of my life.

Once, I was stopped because my truck was “weav-

ing” while I was driving home from a friend’s house,

and they gave me a D.W.I. It meant a $300ﬁne and

one year of probation, and I didn’t think I would make

it, so I decided to move back home.

I spent three months on unemployment, which to

me meant three months of partying. When the money

ran out, I looked for a job. Even though my California

union card meant nothing, I got a job as a foreman

back with my ﬁrst employer. I look back on that now

and I think, was God good to me, or what? And I was

blaming God all this time for my troubles.

Since it was my ﬁrst job in some three months, I

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celebrated, staying drunk. I would go to the job site

and get the workers set up, then take off to drink.

Thislasted until the day I told off the owner of a com-

pany we were working for, and I got ﬁred. That job put

me on the union hiring list, however, and I got good

jobs, with good companies. I began to try to get sober.

Sometimes I could last for a week or two. Then I

would get drunk again. I was seeing the kids a lot

then. I moved into an apartment behind my wife’s

house, sharing it with my father-in-law. My daughters

were married by then, and my sons were in junior

highschool. I wasn’t included in family events, but I

wasthere.

That year I went to an alcohol treatment program

twice. The ﬁrst time I was in treatment, I was shaving

at the mirror in the bathroom and it seemed to me

that my beard was growing back in as fast as I could

shave it off. Even though I was in a hospital gown, I

escaped, running down the streets and jumping up

and over fences. I was on the porch of a woman’s

house banging on the door for her to let me in when

the police arrived. I tried to convince them she was

my wife and my children were inside, but they saw the

hospital bracelet on my wrist, and they took me back

tothe program.

Those were the days when they strapped you down

to protect you when you went into D.T.’s. They were

the worst D.T.’s I had ever experienced. I had never

been so scared in my life. I thought gangsters were

after me and they were going to kill me. They had me

tied down, so I tried to be very quiet and hide so they

wouldn’t ﬁnd me. The doctor told me that if I went

into D.T.’s like that again I might not come out. I

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stayed sober three months after that experience, going

to some A.A. meetings. Then I drank again. A few

months later I was back in the treatment program, not

as sick this time, and I stayed sober for three more

months.

Then I went on a ten-day binge. I was ﬁlled with

fear and I couldn’t walk. I had to crawl to make it to

the bathroom. I eventually cleaned myself up and

managed to work. Then a Thanksgiving party on the

job started me back drinking every day through

Christmas. I was laid off after that; then I really got

down to some serious drinking. By mid-January I was

having hallucinations that would not go away.

I called a residential treatment program and said I

wanted help. They told me I could be admitted in

three days. I drank to maintain for those three days.

Amazingly, I knew that once I got to the program my

drinking would be over.

One of my daughters drove me to the program and

helped me ﬁll out the paperwork. I almost fell down

going into the building. My hallucinations began

again, and the staff moved me to a room with a

padded ﬂoor they called the TV room. I began to

think I was in prison and these guys wanted to kill me.

When they opened the door to the room, I ran for a

window down the hall, thinking I would escape. They

grabbed me, afraid I would try to jump through it. I

kept hitting my shoulder against the wall trying to

break out and picked at nails with my ﬁngertips until

they were raw. The staff called the sheriff’s depart-

ment, and it took three deputies, two counselors, and

two nurses to hold me down and give me a shot.

Finally I lay there quietly, ready to die like a man.

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It was three days later when I woke up, naked and

stinking. They cleaned me up and I felt great. I’d

never felt so good, like I’d never had a drink. I went

to the treatment sessions and listened to everything

that was said. They took us out to A.A. meetings. I

wanted what the A.A.’s had. I don’t think I ever

wanted anything as much as I wanted the program. I

saw men dressed in suits in those days, looking good.

That’s how I wanted to be. The thought of a drink has

not entered my mind since. I’ve thought of doing

some crazy things but never about taking a drink. To

me sobriety is a gift from God to me. If I drank, it

would be giving the gift back. If you return a gift, the

person takes it back, right? If God takes it back, I’m

dead.

In my ﬁrst year in A.A. I was going to at least seven

meetings a week. I just loved it. I dressed up in suits

like the men I had seen. I went to work building a

mall, and there was an A.A. member working there

who had eight years of sobriety, and we would share

together every day. I know now God put that guy

there for me.

During that year, I was offered a job with the city

and one with a construction company out of town. My

sponsor counseled me to stay where I had the support

of my group and my A.A. friends; I was too young in

the program for an adventure. I went with the city and

am now retired from there. A guy like me—with one

employer for eighteen years!

Once I was sober, my wife took me back. I felt that

I had to go back to take care of the kids I had once

left on welfare. My third son is our A.A. baby. I also

got to see all our boys play sports. There were other

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A.A.’s with kids on the teams, and we would hang

around together at the games. I really enjoyed myself.

My sobriety baby is now in college. I have beautiful

relationships with all my kids.

Pushed by my sponsor, I got into service work right

away, and I really enjoyed it. Now I’m a general ser-

vice representative of a Spanish-speaking group,

learning how to express myself about this great gift of

sobriety in my original language.

There have been some hard times too during these

years of sobriety. When I was ﬁve years sober, the

daughter who drove me to the treatment program and

helped me get admitted disappeared. My A.A. friends

helped me search for her, but she has never been

found. Her mother and I raised her three daughters. I

did not have to take a drink. I went to lots of meetings

to relieve the pain. When I lost a second daughter to

cancer a few years ago, I did the same thing.

What I’ve learned is that it doesn’t matter what

hardships and losses I’ve endured in sobriety, I have

not had to go back to drinking. As long as I work the

program, keep being of service, go to meetings, and

keep my spiritual life together, I can live a decent life.

When I look back now, I think I stopped maturing

at ﬁfteen when I started to get drunk with the older

guys. I wanted to feel at peace with myself and com-

fortable with other people. I never found it in drink-

ing. The belonging I always wanted I have found in

A.A. and in sobriety. I don’t think about drinking. God

is there. My sponsor is there. All the credit belongs

toGod. On my own I could not have quit. I know, I

tried it.

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(7)

ON THE MOVE

Working the A.A. program showed this alcoholic

how to get from geographics to gratitude.

Ithought my lifehad come to an end when I

arrived at my first meeting of Alcoholics

Anonymous at twenty-eight years old. I had been

drinking since my early teens, and to my way of think-

ing, booze hadbeen the answer to my problems, not

the problem itself. Even I had to admit, though, that

my life had gotten pretty bad and my options were

quickly running out. In a moment of desperation, I

agreed to go to oneA.A. meeting.

It is easier to see now, as I look back on my drink-

ing days, that from the very beginning alcohol had

been a part of nearly every disaster in my life. As a

very young boy, perhaps ten or eleven years old, I had

begun to steal drinks when my parents were not look-

ing, or my friends and I would convince someone

from the local high school to buy us some beer.

Slowly, but very steadily, my problems began to grow

from there.

It started with simple episodes at school. My bud-

dies and I would split a six-pack over lunch and

thought nobody would notice. It never occurred to me

that a thirteen-year-old could not easily hide the ef-

fects of even a single beer. By the time I was fourteen

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or ﬁfteen, things were getting far more serious, and

the consequences of my drinking were getting more

costly in every way—socially, morally, ﬁnancially.

A turning point came when I was ﬁfteen. My mom

was in the middle of an ugly divorce. Through no-

body’s fault but my own, I decided that I had the an-

swer. Ina drunken brawl, having planned every step

of my actions, I attempted to kill my stepfather. I

vaguely remember being dragged out of the house by

the police and came to, yet again, trying to answer for

what I had done while drunk. The results were that

Iwas eventually given a choice by the judge: Go to

juvenile hall until I was twenty-ﬁve years old, or leave

the state until I was at least twenty-one. I did not want

to go to juvenile hall, so I did the math and decided

the better part of valor was to get as far away from

there as I could.

Over the next thirteen years, until I graced the

doors of A.A. for the ﬁrst time, life really never got

any better. I did, however, learn the ﬁne art of geo-

graphics. Frommy home on the East Coast, I landed

in Japan. Then I moved back to the United States and

to New England, then out to California, where over

the next six years Isaw my alcoholism take me to new

depths of disgrace, embarrassment, and despair. As

one of my early A.A. sponsors used to say, I didn’t

hang out with lowercompanions—I had become one.

The speciﬁcs are pretty much the same as for most

alcoholics. I went places I used to swear I would never

go. I did things I could not imagine myself doing. I

hung out with people that at one time I would cross

the street to avoid. There came a time when, looking

into the mirror, I honestly did not know just who was

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looking back at me. To say that I had arrived at a

“jumping-off point” is an understatement. Life just

could not go on like this much longer.

I began the process of speeding up the day when

life would end. My doctor has six or seven suicide at-

tempts on my medical records. Most were pitiful ef-

forts to reach out for help, although I didn’t see it at

the time. My last such attempt was very public and

demonstrated that I had lost touch with reality and

with any sense of what my actions could do to others.

A friend took pity on me, I think, and invited me to

his home for Thanksgiving. His parents were in town

from the East Coast, and he was having a big party.

There at the dinner table, I stood up and attempted

suicide in front of everyone. The memory of that has

always stuck in my mind as the deﬁnition of “pitiful,

incomprehensible demoralization” that the Big Book

talks about. What is sadder is that my actions had

made sense to me at the time.

As a result of that episode, I ended up seeing a psy-

chiatrist to ﬁnd out what was wrong with me. At our

very ﬁrst session she invited me to “tell me about

yourself.” I proceeded to do so, only to be told to stop

after I had only spoken for ﬁve minutes or so. She ex-

plained that she really only had two things to say to

me: that she thought I hadn’t told the truth since I

walked into the ofﬁce, and that I was an alcoholic. (It

took me a long time to understand how a description

of my life could make anyone think I was a drunk.)

The doctor said that if I was going to continue to see

her, I had to agree to do two things. First, she gave me

a business card with a phone number on it. She said

the next time I tried to kill myself, I should call that

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number ﬁrst. Second, she was going to give me a book

to read, and she wanted me to read the ﬁrst few hun-

dred pages before our next meeting. Before I left that

day, she gave me a copy of the Big Book.

It took some time, but I eventually made it to my

ﬁrst meeting. I had gone out on New Year’s Eve.

When I came to, I thought it was the next morning. As

I held my head steady, popped some aspirin, and tried

to drink a cup of coffee, I glanced at the front page of

the newspaper. It was January 9, and I had been in

ablackout for over a week. After everything else that

had happened, that was terrifying enough to get me to

my ﬁrst meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous.

When I drove up to that ﬁrst meeting, though, I

saw that the address I had was actually a church. As a

nice Jewish boy, I was not about to wander into a

church; I knew that I would not be welcome. I hid on

the ﬂoorboards of the car and peeked out the window,

waiting for the drunks to walk by. Everyone looked

normal, so I ﬁgured I might be in the wrong place. I

was about to leave, but then I saw a drinking buddy of

mine go by. I jumped out of my car and greeted him.

Funny thing, but it was his ﬁrst meeting of Alcoholics

Anonymous also. What a coincidence! In we walked—

into a world that has turned everything in my life in-

side out.

I didn’t like A.A. and the people in it for a long

time. I didn’t trust anyone, and I got tired of sitting at

meetings listening to other newcomers as they began

to talk of ﬁnding God, having their families return to

them, being treated with respect by society, and ﬁnd-

ing some peace of mind. It never occurred to me that

they had sponsors and were working the Twelve Steps

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of recovery. I had what I now call “a sponsor of the

month.” I always had a sponsor, but whenever one of

them would “lovingly suggest” I do something, I

would ﬁre them and move on to someone else. I re-

mained angry, bitter, and isolated, even though I was

going to ﬁve or six A.A. meetings per week and was

not drinking. At seven months sober I was getting a

little bored with A.A. and began to wonder if this was

all there was to life. The concept of not drinking again

seemed a little extreme, and I thought that perhaps it

would be different this time.

Then something happened that I now believe helped

me to stay sober and ﬁnd my Higher Power. I woke up

one morning and couldn’t feel my legs. I could still

walk with a little difﬁculty, but it got worse as time

passed. Several months and lots of medical examina-

tions, doctors, hospital visits, and tests later, I was diag-

nosed with multiple sclerosis. The path since then has

been quite a journey. I now either walk with crutches

or use a wheelchair. There have been lots of times I

wanted and intended to drink again. During my second

year of sobriety, I slowly became angrier and angrier. I

was in what one of my sponsors now refers to as “the

angry years.” I was one of those people we see at meet-

ings and wonder how they stay sober.

At my home group, members didn’t give up on me;

they loved me anyway. One day the group’s general

service representative announced she was moving and

would have to give up her commitment, and they

elected me to her job. They explained to me that a se-

rious, two-year service commitment was exactly what I

needed. I tried to explain that I was not eligible, but

they told me to go to the monthly general service

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business meeting and tell them my problems with

serving. Needless to say, they didn’t allow me to quit

either.

Along the way I learned, in spite of myself, that the

best thing about A.A. service jobs is that, for a period

of time, I got out of myself. At some point I began to

shut my mouth and actually listen to what other peo-

ple were saying at meetings. After white-knuckling it

for almost two years in A.A., I ﬁnally broke down and

saw that I could not stay sober all by myself, but I was

terriﬁed of going back to drinking. After all my suicide

attempts I had no fear of dying, but I could not stand

the idea that I would go back to living that way again.

I was at what the oldtimers and our literature refer

toas a “jumping-off point.” I didn’t know what to do.

One evening I did the unimaginable—at least for

me. After picking up my sponsor of the month to go

to a meeting, I informed him that I was ready to work

the Twelve Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous. In most

respects my life began again that night. That man took

me through the steps in a loving, gentle way that for

the remainder of my life I will be grateful for. He

taught me to look inward at my soul, to welcome a

Higher Power into my life, and to reach out to others.

He taught me how to look into a mirror and to like,

and even respect, the man who looked back at me.

When I reached the Ninth Step, I began to hesitate

in my enthusiasm. One morning I woke up covered in

sweat and could not get over a nightmare I had—that

this was my last day of sobriety. After calling friends

and my sponsor, I knew what had to be done. I spent

the entire day, more than eight or nine hours, going

into people’s ofﬁces and making my amends. Some

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were thrilled to see me. One woman called the police.

When they arrived, it turned out the policeman was in

A.A., and he convinced the woman not to press

charges. I even ran into someone who I had thought was

dead, so I took a “dead guy” to lunch and made my

amends to him also. For the ﬁrst time I thought, and

actually felt, as if I was a member of Alcoholics

Anonymous, with something to share at meetings.

When I was four years sober, I took a trip back to

my home city, one of the very few times since I had

left so many years before under the threat of jail time.

I made amends to the man I had attempted to kill

when I was ﬁfteen years old. I visited, and made

amends to, several people who had sat at that

Thanksgiving dinner table and had watched me at-

tempt suicide in front of them. I came home ex-

hausted but knew thatI had somehow done the right

thing. It is probably no coincidence that the following

year my old friend invited me back for Thanksgiving

dinner.

A.A., and the steps of recovery, have shown me how

to look at events in a different way. I can now under-

stand how some things, which once seemed like

majordisasters, turned out to be blessings. Certainly

my alcoholism ﬁts that category. I am truly a grateful

alcoholic today. I do not regret the past nor wish to

shut the door on it. Those events that once made me

feel ashamed and disgraced now allow me to share

with others how to become a useful member of the

human race. My physical disability has not altered that

attitude; if anything, it has enhanced it. Long ago I

learned that no matter how uncomfortable I was phys-

ically, I felt better by getting out of myself and help-

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ing someone else. It has also helped to learn how to

laugh at myself and to not take myself so seriously. I

am aware that I am not the only person on this earth

with problems.

Through my experiences in general service, A.A.

has shown me how widespread and diverse the pro-

gram is. I have traveled throughout the United States

and even went to Israel for several months a few years

ago. While there, I attended meetings andwas the sec-

retary to a meeting located in a bomb shelter.

Like everyone else I have good days and bad days.

Unlike my attitude while I was still drinking, however,

I rarely dread what is going to happen to me today. I

have even had the chance to see my father come

intoA.A. We have been to numerous A.A. conventions

together and have shared more with each other in the

past few years than we ever had before. I think we are

bothat peace with our pasts and comfortable with

thepresent.

In the past several years I have gone back to school

and begun a new career. As I roll around in my

wheelchair, I am amazed when I realize that I hon-

estly cannot imagine life to be anything different

thanwhat it has been—and that is just ﬁne with me.

The tools of sobriety and recovery in A.A. are there

for me to use in all aspects of my life, and all I ever

need is the willingness to do what is in front of me. I

am grateful that a drunk like me was fortunate enough

to live until I arrived in Alcoholics Anonymous.

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(8)

A VISION OF RECOVERY

A feeble prayer forged a lasting connection with a

Higher Power for this Mic-Mac Indian.

Ithought i was differentbecause I’m an

Indian.” I heard that statement from many

Natives at my early A.A. meetings. I would only shrug

and say to myself: You think you’re different, what

about me? I’m a red-headed Indian.

I grew up on a reservation in Canada. As a young

fellow, I was a proud Mic-Mac Indian. My family had

a reputation: They were hard drinkers, violent and

tough, and I was proud of this. I was told that my

grandfather had been the chief of our band, but he

had to step down because he went to jail for shooting

a man. Jail was almost a badge of honor in my family,

or so it seemed to me. As a small boy, I remember

standing on top of a case of beer (there were always

lots around the house), saying to myself: In a few years

I will be this tall.

There were times, though, when I witnessed my fa-

ther’s rages and I was full of fear. I swore that I would

not be like him, but I didn’t see that alcohol and the

rages were related.

I always thought I was different. On many occa-

sionsI wished I had black hair like my friends. Mic-

Mac was the language in our home, but I would not

speak it. All my family spoke Mic-Mac, but when they

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spoke to me, I would answer in English. I believed I

couldn’t speak Mic-Mac as well as my parents, so I re-

solved not to speak it at all.

I was ten years old when I had my ﬁrst drink of

alcohol. On New Year’s Eve I stole two glasses of

vodka from my parents. I can’t say that it did what

itwas supposed to do, for I got deathly sick, threw up,

and had diarrhea. The next day I was full of fear

thatmy parents would ﬁnd out. I learned my lesson

for a while.

A few years later, in junior high school, a few

friends and I got a bottle of rum from a bootlegger. I

got really drunk, and it was great. I remember having

a feeling of complete freedom. I drank for the next ﬁf-

teen years. Drinking became a major part of my life

andI thought it was normal. Then came the violence,

the ﬁghting, the illegal acts, and the image of “the

tough guy.” My family was proud of me, and some

relatives would actually encourage me.

I spent a number of years in and out of juvenile

correctional facilities, and after my eighteenth birth-

day, I began spending time in county jail. I actually got

a high when I came home, knowing that my friends

and relatives would respect me more because I had

been in jail and was becoming a man.

While in a juvenile detention center about 500

miles from my home, I received word that my mother

was dying of cancer. I was able to get a pass and re-

turn home to spend time with her. One evening my

family asked me if I would stay home with my

motherand give her the medicine she was required to

take. I had already had a few drinks and was anxious

to get out and party with my friends, but I reluctantly

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agreed to stay. Self-pity set in, and all I could think

ofwas the good time I could have been having. I got

very impatient with my mother, and when she re-

fusedto take her medicine, I almost forced it into

hermouth; then I left to join my friends. The next

morning I woke up in county jail, about 100miles

from home. I had attempted a break-and-enter, and

was caught by the police.

That very evening, as I sat in jail, my mother

died.Iwas allowed out for the funeral, and I still

recall how alone I felt, even when I was with my

family. I felt shame and remorse, and for years to

come I believed I was somehow responsible for my

mother’s death. This incident haunted me for years.

Alcohol would take it away for a while, but the re-

morse always returned. I tried to comfort myself by

saying that my lifestyle was a part of my destiny

justlike many of my family members, but this did

notremove the remorse.

I can remember only one good thing that happened

during this time. As my mother lay dying, I talked

toher in the Mic-Mac language. She seemed so

happy, and she told me that it sounded beautiful to

hear me speaking Mic-Mac. I cherish this memory.

I was to meet a young girl and have a son. Proud, I

named him after myself, and my drinking slowed

down for a little while. One day I promised my son

that “tomorrow” I would take him to the movies. I

really meant it from the bottom of my heart, and I was

looking forward to it. That night I took a drink, and it

led to many more. The next day I was hung-over, and

even though I had promised to go to the movies that

afternoon, I took a drink to ﬁx myself up. That drink

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was followed by many more, and I justiﬁed them by

telling myself: My son is so young, he will never re-

member the movie. The day after the promised

movieI was guilty and remorseful, and felt I was just

no good. I faced my son, only to hear him talking ex-

citedly about going to a movie. I couldn’t say anything,

for the movie was no longer playing. I left his mother

to explain.

The next few years saw me living back in the old

home with my father, as my girl had left me, taking

myson. My drinking escalated even more, as did

theguilt, remorse, and fear. I was hospitalized for

dehydration, had a mild stroke, spent a week in a psy-

chiatric ward, and suffered a number of alcoholic

seizures. I lost the trust of my family and friends. They

simply could not rely on me for anything. I would

stopfor a while, but I always drank again.

I can certainly identify with our co-founder Bill W.

when he says on page 4of the Big Book: “...the old

ﬁerce determination to win came back.” I would take

a drink, and then I knew everything was going to be

all right. I was going to clean up my act; everything

was going to change—you’ll see. It didn’t; nothing

changed. I tried so many ways of beating the game:

Iwent to church and took a pledge; I went to a

Nativesweat lodge; I would do something so I would

be put in jail; I vowed to stay away from hard

liquor.Nothing worked. Then came the pills to stop

the shakes and get off the sauce for a while.

One evening during a party at my home, an argu-

ment led to ﬁghting, as usual. One of my brothers

stabbed me in the back with a knife, and I fell to the

ﬂoor unconscious. I came to in the hospital. They told

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me that one lung had collapsed, and they had a drain

in my lung that came out the side of my body. The

very next day some friends came to visit me, bringing

a bottle of liquor. I still had that pride. I was still the

tough guy. I lay there in bed with tubes draining

mylung and smoked cigarettes and drank liquor.

Later, in A.A., I had the nerve to question Step Two

and wonder why I had to be “restored to sanity.”

I can honestly say that nothing worked for me until I

joined Alcoholics Anonymous. Eventually I ended up

ina treatment center, and after a twenty-eight-day pro-

gram, I began attending A.A. meetings on a regular

basis. The treatment center introduced me to the Big

Book of Alcoholics Anonymous, and I left there know-

ing that the only hope for me was the Twelve Steps.

I was told that A.A. is a spiritual program and that I

had better have a Higher Power. I knew nothing of

God or Higher Powers, and I began trying to ﬁnd one.

At ﬁrst I thought that since I was a Native, maybe I

should practice the Native traditional ways. Then I

thought maybe I should go to the church on the reser-

vation. Then I believed that if I went to enough A.A.

meetings and just sat there, I would have a vision and

achieve recovery. One day a member asked me if I

believed that there actually was a Higher Power. I did

believe there was a God of some sort or another. He

told me that was enough. He said with that belief and

attending meetings, I would ﬁnd a Higher Power of

my own understanding. Today I am thankful for that

advice.

After three months in A.A., I returned home one

evening after a meeting to hear the music and laugh-

ter of a party next door. Some of my drinking buddies

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were at that party, and I just knew I was going to end

up there. I did not want to drink, yet the party was

like a magnet. I was full of fear as I ran across the

street to a pay telephone. I called my sponsor, but

there was no answer. Panic set in as I ran home. In the

house I went into my bedroom and sat on the side of

the bed. I looked up and said these words: “Well,

Buddy, I guess there’s just you and me.” Believe it

ornot, it worked; those simple words worked.

Something happened: A little peace came over me,

anxiety left, and then I lay down and fell asleep. I slept

well that night, the ﬁrst good sleep in a long time.

That feeble request to God worked. I was honest and

really wanted God’s help. From that day on, I knew

that Ihad found a Higher Power and that He would

helpme.

Over the next few months my life slowly began to

change as I worked on Step One of our recovery pro-

gram. I listened to speakers and began a Big Book

study with an older member. In Mic-Mac folklore

there are little people we call Bugalademujs. They live

in the mountains, but they often sneak into our homes

to play tricks on us, usually at night so we won’t see

them. When I noticed that Chapter 4of the Big Book,

“We Agnostics,” had appeared to change, I told A.A.

members that the Bugalademujs were fooling around

with my Big Book. You know what—they are still at it

today.

I now understand that the spiritual malady should

be my main concern and that the more faith I have,

the fewer problems I will have. Today I have more

faith than I ever had, and as my faith grows, my fears

lessen.

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For a guy who has spent years in jails, hospitals,

psychiatric wards, a guy who just could not stop drink-

ing, there was only one answer—Alcoholics Anony-

mous and the Twelve Steps. I was very fortunate that

I was steered in the right direction. A dramatic change

has taken place in my life. Soon I hope to celebrate

my second anniversary of continuous sobriety. In two

years my whole life has changed. Today I sponsor oth-

ers. I understand the word compassion, and I feel it. I

am working on Step Eight at the present time, and I

just know that more happiness is to come into my life

as I “trudge the Road of Happy Destiny.”

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(9)

GUTTER BRAVADO

Alone and unemployable, he was given two options

by the court, get help or go to jail, and his journey

toward teachability began.

Iwas bornin a major midwestern city at the tail

end of the baby boom. My parents were not

well-to-do, but they were employed and pursuing the

American dream in the mid-1950s. Dad was an ex-

policeman who had put himself through law school

and worked with banks and as a real estate broker.

Mom had graduated from a well-known East Coast

college, majoring in journalism, and moved west to

marry my father and raise a family. Both were children

of hard-working European immigrants.

Growing up, my big brother and I went to church

on Sundays and attended parochial schools. We had

plenty to eat and more than just the basic necessities

of life. I was a smart but mischievous kid, and at some

point I decided it was easier to lie than to suffer the

consequences of my pranks. Dad was big on law and

order but especially didn’t like liars. We often had

conﬂicts. Other than this, my early childhood was a

relatively happy one.

Eventually my brother went off to college, and I

started venturing into the world on my own. I enjoyed

my friends and our many adventures. This is where

my ﬁrst experiments with alcohol began. Sharing a few

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beers or a stolen bottle with friends on Friday nights

was my approach to maturity and adulthood. In school

I developed the reputation of never quite working up

to my potential. I felt the world took things much

tooseriously. Where I saw myself as fun-loving and

happy-go-lucky, others saw irresponsibility and inso-

lence. A rebellious nature soon started to surface.

In the mid-sixties I had the opportunity to visit my

brother, who had a fellowship at a university in

California. These were heady times, and my experi-

ences there left a lasting impression on me. There was

music in the air and dancing in the streets. Little won-

der that after returning to the Midwest I soon became

a discipline problem. Disillusioned with what I saw as

the mundane trivialities of school, I found it harder

and harder to concentrate. I longed for the carefree

life. By the fall of 1968, after leaving three different

schools, I decided I’d had enough. So I quit the

books,packed my guitar, left home, and headed back

to the West Coast ﬁlled with the optimism of youth

and intending to make a life for myself.

My tiny grubstake soon started to run out, and work

was hard to ﬁnd. I panhandled a little but found I

wastoo proud for it or, more likely, not hungry

enough. I began living hand-to-mouth, but my survival

skills were not as sharp as I thought. In warmer

weather I camped in the woods near the coastal high-

way. The barking of the sea lions made it hard to

sleep. With winter approaching, I roamed the water-

front and the streets, sleeping in storerooms and seedy

hotels or ﬂopping with migrant farm workers in town

for their off-season.

What had begun as an adventure was turning into a

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nightmare. My moments of escape from this uncom-

fortable reality came when I persuaded someone to

share their wine or vodka. With a drink in me, my

conﬁdence returned, my direction seemed clear-cut,

and I reveled in lofty plans and dreams for the future.

Drinking to escape became as important as eating to

survive. All of the gutter bravado and determination

crumbled when, in the end, I ran up against the law.

The authorities sent me packing back to the Midwest

with nothing more than the clothes on my back.

Arriving home, I dazzled my friends with exagger-

ated tales of exotic people and strange happenings,

some of them true. We went straight out drinking,

andI picked up right where I left off. Always the ob-

ject was to go out and “get wasted.” Though I some-

times had trouble holding my liquor, I was willing to

try harder. I felt the key to successful drinking was

thesame as it is in musicianship—practice, practice,

practice.

After an attempt at college, I sought employment,

often with a hangover. The jobs I found I considered to

be menial. I did not yet know that all work is honorable.

The maintenance crews, the electroplating, the factory

work, and the pharmaceutical industry (after emptying

the trash, I started on the shelves) were all on my

résumé. My thievery, tardiness, and absenteeism, the

reasons for my dismissals, weren’t on my résumé. I was

becoming generally dissatisﬁed, but I did not know that

the problem was within me. I wanted some of the ﬁner

things in life, but upon realizing they took effort, I

dismissed them as trappings of the establishment.

Watching out for a bag of money bythe side of the road

was more my idea of planning for the future.

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In spite of my drinking, I managed to save a little

money. With my ﬁrst thousand dollars I bought a

motorcycle. With this I purchased a lifestyle more

than a means of transportation. For years afterward I

lived the biker lifestyle. At times raw and exciting, my

existence revolved around building and drag racing

motorcycles. Ride hard, live fast, and die young were

the new rules. Weekdays I spent bar-hopping the

neighborhoods. Weekends would ﬁnd me in the clubs

downtown. As the years passed, my circle of friends

grew smaller. Some died accidentally, some were

killed, some went to jail, and some just developed the

good sense to get out and grow up. These were the

ones I didn’t understand. I sure wasn’t making any

new friends, so more and more I found myself a loner.

In the mid-seventies I was hired by the steel indus-

try, a union job at good pay. Soon I bid to a craft job

and started learning the electrical trade. The work was

hot, dirty, and dangerous. Everyone worked swing

shiftand at the end of my turn, I felt as if I had sur-

vived an ordeal. The ﬁrst stop was the tavern on top of

the hill. Many times there was no second stop. Liquor

was not the only recreational substance available

there, and I was no stranger to any of them. This was

where I got my ﬁrst bar tab, so no matter how broke

I was, I could always stop in for drinks after work.

While the guys around me were buying homes, raising

families, and otherwise living responsibly, I was al-

ready having trouble keeping my utilities on and

mycar running. I saw to it that I paid my bar tab,

however.

My life became the pursuit of intoxication. After a

few drinks I felt more normal and in control. I

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changed from a furtive loner into a party animal. My

jokes were funnier, the girls were prettier, I shot

better pool, and the juke box played better tunes. I

could look people in the eye and mingle with the best

of them.

Every so often I took work-related college courses.

Spending time with normal people, I began to see

how wild I had become. My cherished individualism

was turning into isolationism. I had a growing un-

easiness that I was in a vicious circle. I had no

friends—only acquaintances. This fact was under-

scored by the bullet holes in my car, courtesy of one

acquaintance I had double-crossed. My only sense of

relief was in the bottle, but even that was beginning to

fail me. My dreams had long since faded, my direc-

tionwas unclear, my conﬁdence lost, and the drinking

would not restore them as it once had. Personal hy-

giene became an afterthought. There were times

when I would try to live without drinking, but it was

difﬁcult, often ending at the most inappropriate times.

I cleaned up for special occasions such as holidays,

funerals, job interviews, and court dates, only to fail

inthe ﬁnal hour, snapping back to the bottle like a

rubber band. Planned abstinence was extremely

stressful.

The downward spiral of my life began making

smaller circles. My driving record included many

accidents and a ticket list that would raise a police-

man’s eyebrows. When I carried insurance, it was high

risk. I grew sneakier and less outwardly defiant.

Despite breaking laws routinely for years, I stayed out

of big trouble for the most part. A few times they al-

most had me, but I managed to scam on technicalities

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or I got yet another break. Finally an indiscretion

committed years earlier came back to haunt me. I was

about to have a forced encounter with the federal

judicial system. I began to feel like a clown juggling

too many balls. Each ball represented a problem I was

keeping up in the air. My arms were weary and I knew

I couldn’t keep on much longer, but I was not about

to give up. My pride and ego wouldn’t let me. Bosses,

judges, co-workers, lawyers, car notes, bar tabs, loan

sharks, utility payments, landlords, my girlfriend, peo-

ple I had double-crossed—I looked to all these as the

source of my problems, while overlooking the most

basic problem: my drinking and myself. I’d known for

a long time that I desperately wanted off this merry-

go-round, but I had no idea how to do it.

The judge had no trouble coming up with a few

ideas, however. I got house arrest with electronic

monitoring and strictly supervised probation with ran-

dom urinalysis for openers. Five years in the peniten-

tiary waited after that. I still played the angles, until

itbecame clear to the authorities that I could not

liveup to the conditions of my probation. It didn’t

matter what the consequences were—I couldn’t not

drink, and I gave up trying. When the court eventually

called me in for my violations, they gave me two

choices: get help or go to jail. After careful thought I

chose the ﬁrst. Now either they were going to send

me someplace, or I could send myself. I chose the sec-

ond, and they gave me a week to make arrangements.

Procrastinating to the end, it took me three. This is

when, once again, desperate, cornered, and at my low-

est, I said the only prayer I still knew: “God help

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me—if you get me out of this one, I’ll never do it

again.” My life was ﬁnally out of my control.

No longer the party animal, I was broke and my

rent was overdue. I had dirty dishes piled in the sink

and moldy pots on the stove. Bags of garbage and

bottles were lined up by the door and the toilet had

stopped. Piles of stolen junk were sitting on the ﬂoor.

I had been wearing my clothes much too long and, ex-

cept for a box of macaroni and cheese or a pot pie, I

was not eating. When a knock came at the door, I

would run into the bathroom and peep out the win-

dow to see who was coming to get me. Not drinking

wasn’t an option, but drinking didn’t help. Such was

my condition as I left the house to check myself into

the hospital for my day of reckoning.

Outside of being very nervous, I don’t remember

much about admissions because I was so loaded at

thetime. After a few hours I began to feel safer. My

apprehension slowly turned to relief. Maybe they

could help me after all. I had no idea how sick I was

to become. The ﬁrst ﬁve of my seventeen days in

detox were hell. I could do little more than lie in bed.

It had been years since I was sober that long. After a

week I felt a little better and began surveying my sur-

roundings. Istarted my own counter-evaluations. I

found the doctors and nurses to be knowledgeable

and professional, but I sensed that while they knew

much about alcoholism, they had learned it in books—

they had notlived it. I did not need knowledge. I

needed solutions. No one but the hopeless really knew

what it felt like to exist without hope. The skeptic in

me came out, searching for every loophole and excuse

to pick things apart and to divert attention from my

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condition. My initial optimism was beginning to waver.

Was thisall there was?

However, there was one man on the staff who

seemed different. He seemed very comfortable and at

ease with a bit of a knowing sparkle in his eye. This

guy was clearly not as stuffy as the rest, and when he

told me his story, I was surprised to ﬁnd it very simi-

lar to mine—only his was no secret. He mentioned

being a member of Alcoholics Anonymous. How

couldit be that he obviously had the respect of the

staff after having lived a life of crime? How could it

bethat he was a lot like me but had made it back?

Here was someone who was sober, yet cool; humble,

yet ﬁrm in his convictions; serious, but not without

asense of humor. This was one to whom I could re-

late and maybe even trust. He may have saved my life

just by being there, and to this day he doesn’t even

know it.

Over the next few days I was still not talking much,

but I was listening and watching. I learned more

about how Alcoholics Anonymous works and met

more of its members. I found out it was not some-

thingthey left at the hospital as they went home; it

was a way of life. I found out it was spirituality, not

religion. I saw them enjoying themselves, and they

allagreed on one thing: If I wanted to change my life

as they had changed theirs, I could, as long as I be-

came willing to do what they did. I became fascinated.

Here I was, the scum of the earth, yet they came to

me and invited me to join them. I started to feel that

if I was ever going to try something different, I’d bet-

ter do it now. It might be my last chance. After all, I

still had to deal with the authorities, and I had nothing

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to lose by playing along. So I read their book, I

startedto work their steps, and (with the door closed

and the lights out) I asked for a little help from a

Higher Power as they suggested. Finally, they highly

recommended that I attend their meetings—espe-

cially the ﬁrst night out.

I walked out of there on a sunny afternoon. I in-

tended to go to a meeting that night, but I also had ten

dollars in my pocket and a reason to celebrate. I was

sober for twenty-two days, and I was feeling pretty

good aboutmyself. Soon my old instincts began to

take over. Sunny day. Ten bucks. Celebration. Feeling

good. Before I knew it, I was walking into the back

door of one of my old watering holes. The smell of al-

cohol hit me when I entered, and my mouth watered.

I sat down at the bar. I ordered my usual ginger

wash.Couldn’t I make it just one day without drink-

ing? At this last question I realized that yes, since I

put it that way, I probably could make it just one day

without drinking. Besides, I was going to a meeting

that night and who knows, they might have breatha-

lyzers there. I put down my dollar, got off that stool,

and walked back out the door. After all, I could drink

tomorrow if I wanted to—and that’s just what I

planned to do.

At my ﬁrst meeting that night the people fulﬁlled

their responsibility—they made me welcome. I met

others like me and it felt good. Maybe this thing was

for real. So I went to another meeting, and I got the

same feeling. Then another meeting. The tomorrows

came and went, and to this day, I still haven’t found

itnecessary to take another drink. That was well over

six years ago.

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The meetings gave me what my sponsor likes to

callone of the most important words in the Big

Book:A.A. put a “we” in my life. “We admitted we

were powerless over alcohol. . . .” I no longer had to

be alone. Fellowship and activity kept me coming

back long enough to work the Twelve Steps. The

moreI did, the better I felt. I started hanging out

withmy sponsor and some active people at the

meetings. They showed me how gratitude is some-

thing that is demonstrated, not talked about—grati-

tude is action. They suggested I was lucky to still have

a car, even though it was a junker; therefore, I might

consider taking the less fortunate to meetings. They

reminded me you can’t teach anything to a know-it-all,

so remain teachable. When old behaviors started to

creep back in, they called me on it. When life just

didn’t feel right, they talked about developing faith

and relying on my Higher Power. They told me lack

ofpower was my dilemma and that there is a solution.

I took to A.A. immediately and believed like a

childthat if I leveled my pride enough to thoroughly

follow their path, I’d get what they had. And it

worked. Starting out, I just wanted to keep the au-

thorities off my back. I never bargained for this pro-

gram’s changing the course of my life or showing me

the way to freedom and happiness.

Still very impatient, I wanted the whole deal

rightaway. That’s why I related so well to the story

about a wide-eyed new person and an oldtimer. When

the newcomer approached the oldtimer, envying

hisaccomplishments and many years of sobriety, the

oldtimer slapped down his hand like a gavel and said,

“I’ll trade you even! My thirty years for your thirty

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days—right now!” He knew what the newcomer had

yet to ﬁnd out: that true happiness is found in the

journey, not the destination.

So today I’m much more comfortable with life, as

Alcoholics Anonymous has promised, and I know

they’re right when they say it keeps getting better.

Mycircumstances have steadily improved as my spiri-

tual life grows and matures. Words cannot begin to

describe the feelings in my heart as I sometimes pon-

der how much my life has changed, how far I’ve come,

and how much there is yet to discover. And though

I’m not sure where my journey may take me next, I

know I’ll owe it to the grace of God and to three

words of the Twelve Steps: continue, improve, and

practice.

Oh, and one more thing they told me: Humility is

the key.

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EMPTY ON THE INSIDE

She grew up around A.A. and had all the

answers—except when it came to her own life.

Ispent my life“acting as if”—either acting as

ifI knew (I didn’t ask teachers questions in

school; they might ﬁnd out I didn’t know the answer)

or acting as if I didn’t care. I always felt as though

everyone else had been given the directions to life

andI had been somewhere else when God was

handing them out. To me, you either knew how to do

something or you didn’t. You could play the piano, or

you couldn’t. You were a good ballplayer, or you

weren’t.

I don’t know where I learned the attitude that it

wasn’t all right not to know, but it was a certainty in

my life, and it almost killed me. The concept of set a

goal, work for the goal, achieve the goal was foreign

tome. You either “had it” or you didn’t, and if you

didn’t, you couldn’t let on—you might look bad. I

never once stopped to consider that others might

really have to work hard for what they had. Gradually

my attitude translated into contempt for those who

did know—leave it to an alcoholic to look down on

someone who is successful!

My father joined Alcoholics Anonymous when I was

seven. Many of my childhood Friday nights were

spent at open A.A. meetings because we couldn’t

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afford a babysitter (I was the kid sitting over in the

corner with a book). What effect did it have? I knew

that being alcoholic meant you couldn’t drink any

more and that you had to go to A.A. As my drinking

career began, I was always careful not to utter the “A”

word in connection with my name. At my house I

would have been handed a meeting schedule. Besides,

I knew that A.A. was all old guys that drank coffee,

smoked, and ate donuts—I had been there. (Looking

back, I’m sure most of those “old guys” were barely

thirty.) So no A.A. for me. That would mean not drink-

ing. And when I drank, life changed.

I was ﬁfteen the ﬁrst time I got drunk. I can tell you

where I was, who I was with, what I was wearing. It

was an important day for me. Within a year I was

aposter child for adolescent treatment of alcoholism.

My grades plunged, my friends changed, I wrecked

acar, my appearance went downhill, I was suspended

from school. (When I ﬁrst got sober, I wondered why

my parents never checked me into treatment. Then

Iremembered they didn’t have adolescent treatment

centers when I was a teen. As a matter of fact, I still

have ceramics Dad made me in the psychiatric ward,

because when hewas drinking, they didn’t have treat-

ment centers.) I was always ready with a promise to do

better, to try harder, to apply myself, to live up to my

potential. Potential—now there is the curse of every

budding alcoholic.

I managed to graduate somehow and went on to

college, where I promptly ﬂunked out. I couldn’t

make it to class. Hindsight has shown me two reasons

for this. First, if someone else had a free period, I

tagged along with them. I thought that I had to be

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with my friends all the time. I was afraid that if

theyspent any time without me, they might begin to

wonder, Why do I hang out with her anyway? They

might realize they had a better time without me. And

then they might tell other people, who would tell

other people, and I’d be alone.

Second, social conversation was a skill that I never

acquired. When I met someone, I felt totally inade-

quate. To me, when I said “Hi, my name is ———,”

there followed a deafening silence, as if they were

thinking, So? How did people have conversations any-

way? How did they meet and then begin to talk as if

they had known each other for years? For me it was

one more thing that it wasn’t all right not to know. So

I kept drinking. When I drank, it didn’t matter.

It’s important to interject here that I loved to drink.

Drinking put me into the middle of life. I was a so-

cialdrinker—drinking made me extremely social. I

didn’t particularly like drinking with other women; I

drank with the big boys. I always had a tremendous

capacity for alcohol, and I learned to shoot an excel-

lent game of pool, which made me quite popular in

the local tavern scene. At one point I even had my

own motorcycle. When I read “Bill’s Story” in the Big

Book and he said, “I had arrived,” I knew what he

meant.

For fourteen years my drinking took me places I

never meant to go. First I moved south, since I knew

the town I grew up in was my problem. (I once heard

a guy remark in a meeting that there are three or four

states that should just post signs on their borders:

“This state doesn’t work either!”) I did the things

women do. My ﬁrst marriage was really a one-night

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stand that lasted ﬁve years—I certainly couldn’t admit

that I had made a mistake. We had two children and

Iwanted out, but to leave would have meant taking

responsibility. I just drank until he threw me out.

Then it was his fault the marriage failed.

At one point before moving home, I lost a job that

meant a lot to me, as the direct result of my drinking.

For the ﬁrst time, I went to a meeting of Alcoholics

Anonymous and said, “I am an alcoholic.” When I had

gone to meetings with my dad I always just said, “I’m

with him.” I called my father and told him I went to

ameeting. Within a week he mailed me a box con-

taining the book Alcoholics Anonymous, a tape of his

A.A. talk, a couple of meditation books, a copy of

Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions, and a few other

odds and ends. I think he had been saving up for the

day I was willing.

So, divorced, I moved back home. Within a year I

was under arrest for child endangerment. I had left

my sleeping children home alone and gone to drink.

They were removed from my custody and placed with

my mother. Then started my rounds of the treatment

centers. I could talk a good game. After all, I had

grown up with A.A. I was the one the counselors

asked to talk to other women who were reluctant to

leave their kids long enough to go into treatment. I

could give the whole speech: “We can’t be good moth-

ers if we’re not sober.” The problem was, inside, I was

relieved that my kids had to live with my mom. It was

too hard to be a parent. But I couldn’t tell people

that—they might think I was a bad mom.

And I wasa bad mom. I was a terrible mom. No, I

didn’t beat them, and of course I told them I loved

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them. But the message my kids got from me was “Yes,

I love you; now go away.” They had to be practically

invisible in their own home. I had absolutely nothing

to give them emotionally. All they wanted was my love

and attention, and alcoholism robbed me of the ability

to give it. I was empty on the inside.

While I was in treatment, my dad died and I inher-

ited almost enough money to kill myself. I got to drink

the way I wanted to for 21⁄2years. I’m sure I got here

faster because of it.

Near the end, I was living in an attic apartment; the

money was long gone. It was November, cold and

gray. When I woke up at 5:30,it was gray outside. Was

it 5:30a.m. or 5:30p.m.? I couldn’t tell. I looked out

the window, watching people. Were they going to

work? Or coming home? I went back to sleep. When

I woke again, it would either be light or dark. Opening

my eyes, after what seemed like hours, it was only

5:45. And gray. I was twenty-eight years old.

I ﬁnally got on my knees and asked God for help. I

couldn’t go on the way I was living. I had been in the

apartment since August and hadn’t bothered to un-

pack. I wasn’t bathing. I couldn’t answer my phone. I

couldn’t show up on weekends to visit my kids. So I

prayed. Something made me go dig through a box,

and I found the Big Book my father had sent me years

earlier (I always tell new people to buy the hardcover

version—for some reason they are harder to throw

away). I read “Bill’s Story” again. This time it made

sense. This time I could identify. I slept, holding the

book like a teddy bear. I woke up feeling rested for

the ﬁrst time in months. And I didn’t want to drink.

I would love to tell you that I have been sober ever

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since, but that is not the case. I didn’t want to drink

that day, but I took no action to insure against it. You

see, I believe that we get more than one “moment of

grace” from God—but it is up to us to seize the mo-

ment by taking action. But I heeded the voice that

said, “You may as well drink. You know you’re going

to.”

For the next few days every time I went to my

favorite watering hole, I was surrounded by people

talking about sobering up. My bartender wanted to

quit drinking. The guy I was shooting pool with talked

about going back to A.A. Someone next to me at the

bar was talking about being at the local clubhouse for

A.A.’s. I did stop drinking (sort of) for a few months

but eventually went on the bender that would end

itall.

By the end of two weeks of drinking, nobody was

speaking to me, so I headed south, where I was sure

they all missed me. There was no homecoming pa-

rade. People barely remembered me, and by the end

of a week, I was out of money. I couldn’t even book a

plane ticket home. I had less than one dollar, and I

had one of thosehangovers. I knew if I tried to sit in

the airport bar long enough for someone to buy me a

drink, it would be obvious that was my intent, and my

pride couldn’t bear the thought of being asked to

leave. I brieﬂy considered mugging a little old lady

and stealing her purse, but I knew I would end up

picking on the one who was still in shape.

If there had been one more dollar, I might not be

sober today. Once I was drinking, I always had a plan,

but that day, by the grace of God, I was out of plans.

I didn’t have one single better idea. I called Mom, told

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her where I was, and asked her to ﬂy me home. She

later told me she almost didn’t do it, but she was

afraid they’d never see me again.

She deposited me at the local detox center, where

she told me I could go in or not but that she was done

with me. I was on my own. Detox gave me the same

message. I thought they should send me on to a treat-

ment center—thirty days of hot meals and rest was

sounding pretty good to me—but they told me I al-

ready knew everything treatment was going to teach

me, that I should go do it and save the bed for some-

one who needed it. I have been sober ever since. I

was ﬁnally accountable for my own recovery. I was re-

sponsible for taking the action. One of my favorite

games had always been making it someone else’s job

to see that I got my work done. That game was over.

I had never expected to live to see thirty. Suddenly

I was 291⁄2and showing no signs of dying anytime

soon. I knew in my heart that I would live whether I

drank or not, and that no matter how bad it was, it

could always get worse. Some people get sober be-

cause they’re afraid to die. I knew I would live, and

that was far more terrifying. I had surrendered.

The ﬁrst night out of detox I went to a meeting, and

the woman speaking commented that alcoholism had

taken her to the point where she didn’t want to work

and didn’t want to care for her daughter, she just

wanted to drink. I couldn’t believe it! That was me!

She became my ﬁrst sponsor, and I came back.

The second night I sat in what I now call the “new

guy chair”—second row, against the wall (if you sit in

back they know you’re new, and if you sit in front you

might have to talk to someone). When it came time to

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hold hands and pray at the end of the meeting, I had

no hand to hold on one side. I remember thinking

“Iwill never ﬁt in here” and hanging my head. I felt

my hand being taken—someone in front of me had

taken the time to be sure that the circle was complete.

To this day I don’t know who it was, but that person is

the reason I came back the next night—that person

saved my life. And I kept coming back.

The local clubhouse had a noon Big Book meeting

every day, and I went, every day. Not to get sober,

mind you, and certainly not to learn about what was in

the book. Here was my thinking: I knew you were

supposed to read your Big Book every day, and they

went around the room reading an entire chapter, so

that should count, right? This also took up nearly

thirty minutes, so it was less likely that I would get

called onto talk. And the meeting was at noon, which

left mynights free. I ﬁgured out all of that with my

keen alcoholic mind!

Luckily, I forgot that God is in charge of results. I

was ﬁnally taking action, and my motives didn’t mat-

ter. I thought I’d go through the Big Book once, then

“graduate” to discussion meetings, but there was a lot

of laughter in that room, so I kept going. I was not one

of those people who walked into meetings and said,

“Thank God, I’m home.” I did not particularly want

what they had; I just didn’t want what I had any-

more—that was the humble beginning I needed.

The convenience of the noon meeting meant that

Iwent to two meetings every day; I had nothing else

to do at night. I began to notice people there with sev-

eral years of sobriety—my own laziness had thrown

me in with some of the most active people in

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Alcoholics Anonymous. What I found out was that

people who attend Big Book meetings on a regular

basis tend to read the book and do what it says.

When I was two weeks sober, a man’s nine-year-old

daughter was killed by a drunk driver, and three days

later he was at a meeting saying he had to believe it

wasn’t for nothing. That maybe one alcoholic would

get sober because of it. As I left that day, I found my-

self wondering what would have happened if that

hadbeen my kids, or me? What would they remem-

ber about me? A feeling came over me (I know now it

was gratitude), and I realized that I could call my chil-

dren right then and tell them I loved them. That I

could show up when I said I would. That my word

could be worth something to them. That even though

I might always just be “mom who comes over on the

weekends,” I could be a good weekend mom. I had a

chance to move forward with them, forging a relation-

ship built on a foundation of God and Alcoholics

Anonymous, rather than always trying to make up for

the past. One year later I was able to share with that

man that maybe it hadn’t been for nothing, because

my life changed that day.

By the time a month passed, my feet were ﬁrmly

planted in Alcoholics Anonymous. And I kept coming

back. I cannot begin to list all the wonderful things

that have happened in my years here. My kids were

four and six when I got sober, and they have “grown

up” in A.A. I brought them to open meetings, and the

people there gave them what I couldn’t in the early

days—love and attention. Gradually they became part

of my life again, and today I have custody of my chil-

dren.

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I remarried in Alcoholics Anonymous, to a man who

believes in A.A. the way I do. (I knew we were off to

a good start when he didn’t get angry that I stood him

up to go on a Twelfth Step call.) We agreed to never

be higher than third on each other’s list, with God

always ﬁrst and Alcoholics Anonymous second. He is

my partner and my best friend. We both sponsor sev-

eral people, and our house is ﬁlled with love and

laughter. Our telephone never stops ringing. We share

the joy of a common solution.

We have had some tough times. Our son is the third

generation of A.A.’s in my family. After a suicide at-

tempt at age fourteen, we found out he too was an al-

coholic. After his one year in A.A., it’s hard to tell what

will happen, but we trust Alcoholics Anonymous, even

on the days we don’t trust our son. Our daughter is a

beautiful, conﬁdent teenager who has found her own

path to God without having to drink. She is the prod-

uct of the love and faith of Alcoholics Anonymous.

I still have a sponsor and a home group today. I am

a member of Alcoholics Anonymous in good standing.

I learned how to be a good A.A. member by watching

good A.A. members and doing what they do. I learned

how to have a good marriage by watching people with

good marriages and doing what they do. I learned how

to be a parent by watching good parents and doing

what they do. And I ﬁnally have the freedom of be-

lieving that it is all right not to know.

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(11)

GROUNDED

Alcohol clipped this pilot’s wings until sobriety and

hard work brought him back to the sky.

Iam an alcoholic.I am part Comanche Indian

and grew up poor but in a loving home until

alcoholism took both of my parents. Then the divorces

came, three for each parent, and I learned the anger

that is such a part of alcoholic family life. I vowed I

would never be an alcoholic. Active in my Indian

community, I saw what the alcohol did there also, and

Iwas repelled and disgusted by it.

I graduated from high school at seventeen and im-

mediately left to join the marine corps. I found a

home there, relishing the tough discipline, cama-

raderie, and esprit de corps. I excelled and was one of

three who were promoted upon graduation from boot

camp. Four and a half years later I was given an op-

portunity to go into ﬂight training. Success at the end

of the eighteen-month period would mean pilot

wingsand an ofﬁcer’s commission. Again I excelled.

Although most of my peers had college educations

and fear of failure constantly plagued me, I graduated

near the top of my class.

I excelled at something else also. Drinking was

encouraged; the pilot persona was one of hard, gutsy

ﬂying with equally hard drinking, and attendance at

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happy hour was considered a duty. I did not need any

encouragement and reveled in the squadron cama-

raderie, good-natured joking, and competition at these

events.

One year into my training, I reported for the ﬁnal

phase and met a young beauty. I was drunk the night

I met her, and she would have nothing to do with me,

but I could never have approached her without the

false courage the alcohol gave me. The next day I saw

her again, this time sober, and we began to date. I

graduated from ﬂight training on her twentieth birth-

day, and she pinned my gold wings and my second

lieutenant bars on me. We were married two weeks

later. We have just celebrated our thirty-ﬁfth anni-

versary, and she is the most wonderful person I could

everhave found.

We immediately had two young sons, and I left to

goto war in Vietnam. Thirteen months later I re-

turned. I spent 111⁄2years total time in the marine

corps before deciding to get out because of the fam-

ilyseparation my military career required. Ihad seen

enough family chaos to know that I could never allow

that to occur in my own family, so reluctantly, even

painfully, I resigned my commission and joined a

major airline. I had gained a reputation in the marines

I was proud of. I had many accomplishments to my

credit, a good combat record with decorations, and

skill as a pilot.

Slowly I worked my way up within the airline struc-

ture and ﬁnally became a captain after twenty years. It

had been a strife-ridden company, and our family en-

dured some tough times. During one of the lengthy

labor strikes, we adopted a baby girl. She completed

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our family. Nearly half Chippewa Indian, she was a

beautiful baby of seventeen days when we took her

home with us.

My drinking continued to escalate, but I did not be-

lieve I was any different from my drinking comrades.

I was very wrong. I had two charges of driving under

the inﬂuence, years apart, which I wrote off to bad

luck, and I paid handsome legal fees to get the

charges reduced. This was years before the Federal

Aviation Administration began cross-checking drivers’

records against pilot licenses.

One night, after a hard afternoon and late evening

of drinking, I and my two fellow ﬂight crew members

were arrested. We were charged with violation of

afederal law that prohibits the operation of a common

carrier while impaired. It had never been used against

airline pilots before. I was devastated. Suddenly I was

thrust into an experience beyond my worst nightmare.

I arrived home the next day, sick at heart and un-

able to look my wife in the face. Ashamed and de-

stroyed, I saw two doctors that day and was diagnosed

as an alcoholic. I was in treatment that night, going in

with only the clothes on my back. The news media

had picked up the story, and it was blared all over the

world, on all the major television networks, and my

shame and humiliation were beyond words. All the

light in my life had gone out, and I entertained the

idea of suicide. I could not envision ever smiling again

or having a day with a bright horizon. I was hurting

more than I ever knew a human could hurt, and I just

wanted the pain to end.

I became notorious in commercial aviation, and the

media had a ﬁeld day with me. I lost my FAA med-

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icalcertiﬁcate because of my diagnosis of alcoholism,

and the FAA issued an emergency revocation of all

mylicenses. I thought about my parents (now both

dead), my Indian people, and all those I had previ-

ously considered alcoholics, and I knew I had become

exactly what I vowed I would never become.

I learned my career was over via the six o’clock

news one week after entering treatment. I refused to

watch TV, but my fellow patients kept me informed. I

was the lead story on the news for weeks. I was joke

fodder for the late-night TV comics as they ridiculed

me, my profession, and my airline.

I also learned I was going to federal prison. The

sentence was mandatory if convicted, and there was

no doubt in my mind that I would be. With nothing

left, I dedicated myself to learning about recovery. I

fervently believed that the key to my sobriety, and

hence my survival, lay in the power of all I was being

taught, and I spent no idle moments in treatment. I

worked as hard as I had worked to earn my wings, but

this time my life was at stake. I struggled to regain a

spiritual connection as I underwent one legal crisis

after another.

I got out of treatment determined to complete

ninety A.A. meetings in ninety days but was afraid my

court date would interfere, so I completed my ninety

meetings in sixty-seven days. I went through an in-

tense, media-covered three-week trial. On most

evenings after the day in court, I sought refuge in A.A.

meetings and renewed my strength for the coming

day. Recovery and all I had learned allowed me to

handle things much, much differently than my two co-

defendants. Many spoke of my serenity throughout

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this experience of horror, which surprised me. Inside

I did not feel what others seemed to see.

I was found guilty and sentenced to sixteen months

in federal prison. My two codefendants received

twelve-month sentences and chose to remain free

pending appeals, while I chose to go into prison and

get it over. I had learned how to live life on life’s terms

and not my own. From somewhere back in my high

school days, I remembered a poem that says some-

thing to the effect of, “Cowards die a thousand deaths,

a brave man only once,” and I wanted to do what had

to be done. I was terriﬁed of walking into prison but

told my children that I could not come out the back

door until I walked through the front. I remembered

that courage was not the absence of fear; it was the

ability to continue in the face of it.

On the day I entered prison, nine of my fellow

pilots began making our family’s house payments,

which they did for nearly four years. After my release

from prison, I made four attempts to get them to let

ustake over, and they refused each time. So many

came to help us from places we could never have

imagined.

I served 424days in the federal prison system. I

started an A.A. meeting in prison, which was opposed

by the prison administration, and they hassled us

weekly as we came together to meet. The weekly

meeting was a quiet oasis in the desert, a few mo-

ments of serenity in a prison full of bedlam.

My prison term was followed by three years of pro-

bation, which restricted my travel and had thirteen

other conditions. Upon release from prison, no longer

a pilot, I returned to the same treatment center where

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I had once been a patient, and worked full-time with

other alcoholics. Pay was minimal, but I found I was

effective at reaching others, and I wanted desperately

to pay back some of what so many had given me. I did

that for twenty months.

For a long time I did not consider ﬂying again, but

I could not purge the dream of doing so from my

heart. One of my meditation books had said, “Before

any dream can come true, there must ﬁrst be a

dream.” I had been told if I wanted to ﬂy again, I

would have to begin at the very bottom, with a private

license, even though I had previously held the high-

estlicense the FAA awarded, the air transport pilot li-

cense. I studied for and took all the lengthy FAA

written examinations. I had to go back and relearn

things I had learned thirty years before and had long

since forgotten. I had, unexpectedly, been able to

reacquire my FAA medical certiﬁcate after proving

the quality of my sobriety for more than two years.

The trial judge had put sanctions on me that made

it impossible for me to ﬂy again because of my age.

My lawyer had become my friend and worked for

three years after my conviction without taking a cent

from me. He was one more person who entered my

life in a manner I could only ascribe to some kind of

Divine Providence. He took a motion to the judge to

lift the sanctions, and the tears came ﬂooding down

my cheeks when he called to let me know the judge

had approved it. With the lifting of those sanctions,

the impossible became slightly less impossible. An ex-

traordinary amount of work was left to do, but at least

the attempt could now be made.

None of my friends thought it possible to regain

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licenses literally from the ground up, but I had

learned how to do many things one day at a time, one

small step at a time, so I went after the licenses in ex-

actly that manner. Had I chosen to view the whole

panorama of licensing requirements, I would have

quit; they were simply too overwhelming. But one day

and one thing at a time they were doable. So I did

them.

I knew no one would ever hire me to ﬂy passen-

gers.I was an ex-con, a convicted felon, a drunk. I had

doubts as to whether anyone would even allow me to

ﬂy cargo. It took several months for the FAA to

process my licenses and mail them to me. On the

exact day they arrived, another miracle occurred. I re-

ceived a phone call from the head of the pilot union,

who informed me that the president of the airline

haddecided personally to reinstate me. I had not

pursued the legal grievance process I was entitled to,

because I knew my actions could never be defended

or excused. I had steadfastly accepted responsibility,

infront of TV cameras and in the treatment center,

because my recovery demanded rigorous honesty.

It was almost beyond my ability to believe that the

president of the airline could ever consider having me

work for them again. I marveled at the courage of

such a man and such an airline. What if I relapsed?

What if I ﬂew drunk again? The media would have

aﬁeld day. For days afterward, as I awoke each morn-

ing, my ﬁrst thought was that it had only been a

dream, that it could not possibly have occurred.

Almost four years after my arrest and the explosive

devastation of my life, I signed my back-to-work

agreement. Restored to full seniority, given the retire-

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ment I had lost, and once again an airline pilot! A

large crowd gathered to watch me sign the document.

So much had happened in my life. I lost almost

everything I had worked to acquire. My family had

suffered public shame and humiliation. I had been the

object of scorn, shame, and disgrace. Yet much more

had also happened; every loss had been replaced with

rewards. I had seen the promises of the Big Book

come true in a magnitude I could never have imag-

ined. I had gotten sober. I had regained my family,

and we were once again close and loving. I had

learned how to use the Twelve Steps and to live the

wonderful program that was founded so many years

ago by two drunks.

It took several years, but I learned to be grateful for

my alcoholism and the program of recovery it forced

me into, for all the things that had happened tome

and forme, for a life today that transcends and far ex-

ceeds anything I had previously known. I could not

have that today if I had not experienced all the yes-

terdays.

My back-to-work agreement said I would retire as a

copilot. But the miracles in this program have never

ceased for me, and last year I was notiﬁed that the

president of my airline had granted permission for me

to once again be a captain.

I retired at age sixty, and I checked out as a 747

captain, which means my ﬁnal year at my airline con-

cluded in the left seat. The circle, so sacred to my

Indian people, will once again have been completed.

I take little credit for all that has happened. I suited

up and showed up, but the process of A.A., the grace

of a loving God, and the help of so many around me

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have been far more responsible for all the events in

my life. Today one of my sons has more than 31⁄2years

of sobriety after nearly losing his life to alcohol and

drugs. He is truly one more miracle in my life for

which I am so deeply grateful.

I have returned to my Indian people once again

after a long shame-ﬁlled absence. I am dancing again

and returning to the old ways I left behind. I have

spoken at two Native American A.A. conventions,

something I never thought I’d see when I was a

youngster growing up. Adversity truly introduces us to

ourselves. But we need never deal with our adversities

alone as long as we can ﬁnd another alcoholic in a

meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous.

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(12)

ANOTHER CHANCE

Poor, black, totally ruled by alcohol, she felt shut

away from any life worth living. But when she began

a prison sentence, a door opened.

Iam an african-americanalcoholic. I don’t know

when I became an alcoholic, but I do believe I

became one because I drank too much too often.

I always blamed my drinking on being poor, or on

anything other than the truth—that I liked what booze

did for me, that when I had a drink I was as big and

had as much as the next person. I would never admit

that I was drinking too much or spending money that

I should have used to buy food for my two little boys.

As time went on, I drank more. I was not able to

hold a job—no one wants a drunk around. I was always

able to get a boyfriend who had a drinking joint or

sold whiskey, but it didn’t last long. I would embarrass

everyone by coming in drunk or passing out. Then it

got to the place where I couldn’t drink without getting

in jail. On one of these trips, the judge must have

thought I was worth saving, for instead of sending me

to jail, he sent me to A.A. for one month.

I went to A.A. At least, my body went. I hated every

minute of it. I couldn’t wait until the meeting was over

to get a drink. I was afraid to drink before the meet-

ing. I thought if they smelled whiskey on my breath,

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they would lock me up, and I couldn’t live without my

bottle. I hated that judge for sending me to a place

with all those drunks. I wasn’t an alcoholic!

Oh, I might drink too much at times—everyone I

knew drank. But I don’t remember that any of them

ever went to sleep in joints and woke up with no shoes

on in the winter or fell out of chairs. But I did. I don’t

remember any of them getting put out in the winter

because they didn’t pay their rent. But to me, whiskey

meant more than a home for my sons.

Things got so bad, I was afraid to go on the street,

so I turned to Mothers’ Aid. That was one of the worst

things that could have happened to an alcoholic

woman. I would wait for the mailman each month,

like any good mother, but as soon as he handed me my

check, I put on my best dress and went looking for

myalcoholic friend. Once I started drinking, I didn’t

care that the rent wasn’t paid or that there was no

food in the house or that my boys needed shoes. I

would stay out until my money was gone. Then I

would go home full of remorse, and wonder what

Iwas going to do until I got my next check.

In time, I began to go out and forget the way back

home. I would wake to ﬁnd myself in some beat-up

rooming house, where roaches were crawling over

everything. Then the time came when I couldn’t afford

whiskey, so I turned to wine. Finally I got so low-

down,I was ashamed of my friends’ seeing me, so I

went to the worst joints I could ﬁnd. If it was daylight,

I would go down alleys to make sure no one saw me.

I felt that I didn’t have anything to live for, so I

triedsuicide many times. But I would always wake up

in the psychiatric ward to begin another long treat-

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ment. After a while I found that the psycho ward was

a good place to hide when I had taken something

stolen to the pawnshop. I thought if the cops did come

to the hospital, the doctors would tell them I was crazy

and didn’t know what I was doing. But then one good

doctor told me there was nothing wrong with me ex-

cept drinking too much. He said if I came back again,

they would send me to the state hospital. I didn’t want

that, so I stopped going to the psycho ward.

Now I had gotten to the place where I would wake

up with black eyes and not know where I got them, or

wake up with a lot of money and not know where I got

it. Later I found out that I went into stores and stole

clothes, then sold them. One morning I woke up with

a thousand dollars. I was trying to remember where it

came from, when two of the biggest cops I ever saw

walked in and took me to jail. It came out that I had

sold a woman a fur coat. The cops had picked her up,

and she told them she had bought it from me. I got

out on bail right away, but when I went to trial, the

judge gave me thirty days. When my thirty days were

up, I started back on my rounds. I didn’t last long.

They tell me that I killed a man during that period,

but I can’t remember anything. It was a total blackout

for me. Because I had been drunk, the judge gave me

only a twelve-year sentence in prison.

By the grace of God, I only served three years. It

was there that I really found out what A.A. was. I had

rejected A.A. on the outside, but now it came to me in

prison. Today I thank my Higher Power for giving

meanother chance at life and A.A. and being able to

try and help some other alcoholic. I have been home

for a year and have not taken a drink in four years.

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Since I have been in A.A., I have more friends than

I ever had in my life—friends who care about me and

my welfare, friends who don’t care that I am black

andthat I have been in prison. All they care about is

that I am a human being and that I want to stay sober.

Since I’ve been home, I have been able to gain the

respect of my two sons again.

The only thing that bothers me is that there are only

about ﬁve African-Americans in A.A. in my city. Even

those don’ttake part in A.A. functions as I would like

to see them do. I don’t know if it’s force of habit or

something else that keeps them in one place, but I do

know that in A.A. there is much work to do, and none

of us can do it standing still.

I do think that some of the African-Americans

here—and otherplaces too—are afraid to go to other

meetings. I just want to say that you don’t have to be

afraid, because no one at any A.A. meeting will bite

you. There are no color bars in A.A. If you give us a

try, you will see that we are really human beings, and

we will welcome you with open arms and hearts.

I’m writing this during an A.A. convention, where

Ihave spent the weekend with nothing but white

people. They haven’t eaten me yet! I have not seen a

black face but mine since I’ve been here, and if I

didn’t look in the mirror, I wouldn’t know that I was

black, because these people treat me as one of them,

which I am. We all have the same sickness, and in

helping one another, we are able to stay sober.

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(13)

A LATE START

“It’s been ten years since I retired, seven years since

I joined A.A. Now I can truly say that I am a grateful

alcoholic.”

Iam a seventy-ﬁve-year-oldalcoholic. For

ﬁfty-ﬁve of those seventy-ﬁve years I led what is

known as a normal middle-class life. Alcohol had as

little part in it as candied yams—nice when there but

unmissed when absent. The home in which I grew up

included two loving parents, one older brother, a con-

stant ﬂow of house pets, riding horses, and friends

who were welcomed. Discipline in our house was

strict but not out of line with the thinking prevalent

during the ﬁrst quarter of the twentieth century; cer-

tainly I don’t consider that I was in any way abused.

Iattended private school and later a midwestern col-

lege. I married, had children, worked, experienced the

pain of the death of my parents and of a child. Knew,

too, the pleasure of real friends and ﬁnancial success.

I enjoyed horseback riding, swimming, tennis, and had

quiet evenings ﬁlled with children, books, and friends.

What happened to me somewhere between the

ages of ﬁfty-ﬁve and sixty-three? I’ve no idea! Was life

too much? Did some latent gene suddenly take on a

ﬁerce life of its own? I don’t know. What I do know is

that at sixty-ﬁve I was a crawling, dirty maggot of a

woman, willing to tarnish all I’d worked for and to

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desecrate every dear relationship Ihad. I know too

that through a wonderful set of God-guided circum-

stances and people, I was led to theonly possible

course of behavior that will keep mesane, sober, con-

structive, and happy.

I was twenty when I had my ﬁrst drink, and al-

though I liked the taste, I didn’t like the way it made

me feel. Ididn’t drink again until I was in my early

thirties andthought it made me seem cool and so-

phisticated. During these early years, a couple of

drinks were enough, and I often nursed one Scotch on

the rocks for a full evening. When I was thirty-ﬁve, my

twelve-year-old son was diagnosed with an incurable

cancer and within afew months my husband de-

manded a divorce. For the following ﬁve years while

my son lived, I seldom drank and never drank alone.

Agony, fear, hurt, and exhaustion did not make me a

drunk. Happiness opened that door much, much later.

During my mid-forties, my interest in alcohol began

to gain momentum. Although I had continued to

work, I had otherwise isolated myself to care for my

son andhis younger sister, each of whom required a

special dose of stability, love, and security. Soon after

my son’s death, I made a decided effort to reenter the

adult world. My debut encouraged my drinking. It

wasnot yet obsessive, but drinking became more and

more a part of my daily life. I no longer entertained

without serving cocktails and seldom attended gather-

ings where liquor wasn’t provided. I always managed

to ﬁnd the post-activity drinking crowd whether it was

after dog obedience training or an oil painting class.

During my late forties, it was not unusual for me to

have a drink alone in the evening, although there were

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still many days when I didn’t drink at all. Any event

was an occasion for excessive celebration, and there

were increasingly frequent weekends when I drank

myself to a hangover-creating high. Nevertheless, it

wasduring this period that I received a major job pro-

motion.

I was forty-nine when my second husband and I

were married. Years before, we had dated through

high school and two years of college but then were

separated by World War II. Each of us had married

elsewhere, divorced, and thirty years later we met by

chance. We had ten years of laughter, sharing, and

wonderment well laced with martinis and Scotch on

the rocks. By the time I was sixty, anyone wise in the

ways of alcoholism would have known I was in for big

trouble. Happy plans dissolved into pouts, arguments

began, and meals burned. Hurricanes of anger rushed

through our once-happy cottage. We agreed we were

drinking too much. We tried the switch technique, the

time control schedule, the drink-only-on-weekends

ploy. Nothing worked. Between us we were badly

damaging our budget. My husband losthis job, and

then for two harrowing yearsI watched him die of al-

coholism. But I learned nothing from his death, and

my drinking escalated as I bottle-fed my sorrow.

My early sixties saw me drunk every night and more

and more frequently calling in sick or for personal

leave. Life was pure and unadulterated hell! At work,

I was often shaking so badly that I hesitated to give

dictation because I would have to sign the letters. I

made every possible excuse to meet someone for a

“business luncheon” so that I could have a drink or

two. As my alcoholism accelerated, my absenteeism

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increased and my productivity diminished. I bounced

checks, pawned silver, mourned, and I continued my

drinking.

Finally on one cold winter day, I called Alcoholics

Anonymous, and that evening two ladies took me to a

meeting. We had a twenty-ﬁve-minute ride in the car,

and I remember how good it was to talk about my fear

and shakes, how kind they were without encouraging

my self-pity. I remember being given a cup of coffee I

could hardly handle and hearing impossible promises

that would materialize if I would only make the im-

possible commitment. I did want to stop. The ladies

suggested that I go to a women’s meeting the next

night, and I did. I had a drink ﬁrst, of course, and

when it came time to identify myself, I stated that my

brain told me I was an alcoholic but the rest of me

didn’t believe it. The next night it snowed, and I

stayed home and drank. That was the end of my ﬁrst

try at A.A.

Some months later I invited my daughter and son-

in-law for dinner to celebrate her birthday. They

found me sprawled across the living room ﬂoor, passed

out cold. What a mournful birthday present! It took

very little persuasion to convince me to go into the

detoxiﬁcation program at the local hospital. I knew I

was in trouble; I was ashamed and heartbroken that I

had caused her such hurt. Seven days in detox and

eight weeks of really good help from a psychologist,

and I was dry, sober, and ready to face the world

again. The doctor strongly suggested that I participate

in the local A.A. program, but I would have none of it.

I was cured—I needed no further help.

A year and a half later I retired. I was enjoying my

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new freedom and gave myself permission to have a

drink only when I was dining out. That worked so well

that I made a new rule: I could have a cocktail before

dinner and an after-dinner drink. Then I made a rule

that said I could serve alcohol to my friends in my

home. That of course is the rule that sent me spinning

right back down into fearful drunkenness. I was worse

than before. My self-imposed hell was in my own

home. Unbathed, in the same nightclothes day after

day, afraid of the phone, the doorbell, and the dark-

ness. If the clock said six, I wouldn’t know whether it

was morning or evening. Days ran into each other in

an agonizing blur. I crawled to bed, drank when I

came to, and sat shivering in fear of some unknown

tragedy that I thought was about to descend on me. I

remember wailing because I couldn’t make coffee, sit-

ting curled in a corner trying to sort out how I could

commit suicide without making a mess. I might have

tried, but I was afraid no one would ﬁnd me before I

started to stink.

Once again my daughter came to my rescue, and I

checked into the detox program at the hospital. This

time I was there for ten days. During that time, A.A.

meetings were made available at the hospital. I was

genuinely touched by the fact that they were led by a

young man in a leg cast and on crutches, especially

when I realized that he came as a volunteer. And twice

before I left, I was given a leave of absence to attend

local A.A. meetings.

Others have stated that they eagerly embraced the

A.A. program. Unlike them, I did not enter the rooms

willingly, nor did I ﬁnd myself immediately at home.

However, I had no other option. There was no escape

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route that I had not tried, none that had not led to an-

other failure. I was sixty-nine years old. I had neither

time nor health to waste. For six months I didn’t

drink, attended meetings, and sometimes read the Big

Book. I went to meetings exactly on time, sat quietly,

and left as soon as the meeting closed. In no way was

I a part of the group. I was not impressed by the

sayings and didn’t really believe the messages I heard.

Then one day I was called on to share, and I proceeded

to explode. I announced that in no way was I a “grate-

ful alcoholic,” that I hated my condition, that I did not

enjoy the meetings, and that I did not leave the meet-

ings refreshed. I found neither ease nor growth in the

Fellowship.

My healing began with the arrogance of that state-

ment. One of the women came to me after the meet-

ing and told me I was about to “go out.” She offered

to help me ﬁnd a sponsor and led me to exactly the

person I needed. This lady had nineteen years of so-

briety and, even more important, a wealth of experi-

ence in helping and guiding alcoholics through the

steps of A.A. By no means do I intend to imply that I

leaped with pleasure into the program. I stalled and

resented and refused to accept each step as it came

up. I felt challenged by each new concept and resent-

ful toward my sponsor, who seemed intent on reduc-

ing me to abject stupidity. It was years before I

realized that I resented the changes the program

asked me to make, not my sponsor.

With the patience of unconditional love, she led me

to acknowledge ﬁrst that I was powerless over my al-

coholism; then that others before me had conquered

their illness. That there had to be some source of help

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higher than any one of us and that, together, we were

a well of strength on which any one of us could draw.

From that point it was not hard to venture into the

realization that a Power greater than any one of us

existed, and with that understanding I found direction

to my own special Higher Power. On that spiritual foun-

dation I began to build a new life.

The Third Step was the most difﬁcult for me. But

having completed it, I found that I could face or un-

tangle the other steps if, and when, I could remember

to relax, trust the program, and implement the step

rather than ﬁght it. Accepting my Higher Power did

not fully change my attitude of resistance. It just made

yielding to instruction a more rational and acceptable

mode of behavior. For each step, I still had to go

through the process of recognizing that I had no

control over my drinking. I had to understand that the

steps of Alcoholics Anonymous had helped others and

could help me. I had to realize that if I did want

sobriety, I had better do the steps whether I liked

them or not. Every time I ran into trouble, I ulti-

mately found that I was resisting change.

My mentor had to remind me that A.A. is not just a

project. A.A. offers me an opportunity to improve the

quality of my life. I came to recognize that there is

always a deeper and wider experience awaiting me.

Early in my growth I remember thanking my sponsor

for the hours and hours she had given me. She said,

“Don’t you think that you will do the same for some-

one else some day?” I replied, “I will never be re-

sponsible to or for anyone else ever again.” That

refusal to make any kind of repayment to the program

delayed my offering to be of service in any capacity

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and consequently delayed my maturing process. Not

until two years had passed was I willing to act as group

secretary. It was four years before I was willing to

sponsor anyone. Today it is with real gratitude that I

am allowed into the lives of a few women. My own un-

derstanding is broadened and deepened by their in-

ﬂuence in my life. As the newcomer and I examine

each step, both she and I receive new insight and ﬁnd

an additional facet to this jewel of sobriety. I’m proud

now to be a part of the Fellowship that showed me

thepath up and out of hell. Now I am eager to share

my experience as others have shared theirs with me.

Small miracles keep offering new opportunities just

when I need change and growth. New friends have

shown me hidden truths in those sayings that I once

found so shallow. The lessons of tolerance and accep-

tance have taught me to look beyond exterior appear-

ances to ﬁnd the help and wisdom so often lurking

beneath the surface. All my sobriety and growth, men-

tally, emotionally, and spiritually, are dependent upon

my willingness to listen, understand, and change.

During my ﬁfth year, as a part of my annual per-

sonal inventory, I realized that I had not succeeded in

developing a spiritual depth in my program. I had ac-

cepted what I was taught but had not gone in search

of the private growth that I saw in others. I watched

for and found people who take the program with them

as they live, work, and play in the real world. Through

their leadership, by precept and example, I am ﬁnding

the daily excitement essential to my development as a

person and to my contact with my Higher Power.

I approached Alcoholics Anonymous with fear and

hesitation. Then, urged by the dread of what was be-

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hind me, I took tiny delicate steps onto this new path.

When I found the footing was ﬁrm, each tentative

move brought me a little nearer to trust. Conﬁdence

grew, faith in my Higher Power expanded, and I came

to recognize a light I had not known existed.

Something within me shifted and welcomed a new

source of strength, understanding, tolerance, and love.

That selﬁsh, withdrawn woman who announced that

she would “never be responsible to or for anyone ever

again” now ﬁnds sincere warmth in just being avail-

able. I count it a privilege to help another drunk.

It’s been ten years since I retired, seven years since

I joined A.A. Now I can truly say that I am a grateful

alcoholic. Had I not become a drunk, I would have

become another sober but sad statistic. At seventy-ﬁve

I would be a lonely, unproductive old woman, watch-

ing TV, doing needlepoint, in my home without

friends, and sinking further and further into an old age

depression. As it is, A.A. has ﬁlled my days with

friends, laughter, growth, and the feeling of worth that

is rooted in constructive activity. My faith in, and con-

tact with, my Higher Power shines more brightly than

I dreamed it could. Those promises I thought were

impossible are a viable force in my life. I am free to

laugh all of my laughter, free to trust and be trusted,

free to both give and receive help. I am free from

shame and regret, free to learn and grow and work. I

have left that lonely, frightening, painful express train

through hell. I have accepted the gift of a safer, hap-

pier journey through life.

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(14)

FREEDOM FROM BONDAGE

Young when she joined, this A.A. believes her seri-

ous drinking was the result of even deeper defects. She

here tells how she was set free.

The mental twiststhat led up to my drinking

began many years before I ever took a drink,

forI am one of those whose history proves conclusively

that my drinking was “a symptom of a deeper trouble.”

Through my efforts to get down to “causes and con-

ditions,” I stand convinced that my emotional illness

has been present from my earliest recollection. Inever

did react normally to any emotional situation.

The medical profession would probably tell me I

was conditioned for alcoholism by the things that hap-

pened to me in my childhood. And I am sure they

would be right as far as they go, but A.A. has taught

me I am the result of the way I reactedto what hap-

pened to me as a child. What is much more important

to me, A.A. has taught me that through this simple

program I may experience a change in this reaction

pattern that will indeed allow me to “match calamity

with serenity.”

I am an only child, and when I was seven years old,

my parents separated very abruptly. With no ex-

planation at all, I was taken from my home in Florida

to my grandparents’ home in the Midwest. My mother

went to a nearby city to go to work, and my father,

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being an alcoholic, simply went. My grandparents

were strangers to me, and I remember being lonely,

terriﬁed, and hurt.

In time I concluded that the reason I was hurt was

because I loved my parents, and I concluded too that

if I never allowed myself to love anybody or anything,

I could never be hurt again. It became second nature

for me to remove myself from anything or anybody I

found myself growing fond of.

I grew up believing that one had to be totally self-

sufﬁcient, for one never dared to depend on another

human being. I thought that life was a pretty simple

thing; you simply made a plan for your life, based

upon what you wanted, and then you needed only

thecourage to go after it.

In my late teens I became aware of emotions I’d not

counted on: restlessness, anxiety, fear, and insecurity.

The only kind of security I knew anything about at

that time was material security, and I decided that all

these intruders would vanish immediately if I only

hada lot of money. The solution seemed very simple.

With cold calculation I set about to marry a fortune,

and I did. The only thing this changed, however, was

my surroundings, and it was soon apparent that I could

have the same uncomfortable emotions with an unlim-

ited checking account that I could on a working girl’s

salary. It was impossible for me to say at this point,

“Maybe there is something wrong with my philoso-

phy,” and I certainly couldn’t say, “Maybe there is

something wrong with me.”It was not difﬁcult to con-

vince myself that my unhappiness was the fault of the

man I had married, and I divorced him at the end of

a year.

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I was married and divorced again before I was

twenty-three years old, this time to a prominent band

leader—a man whom many women wanted. I thought

this would give me ego-strength, make me feel wanted

and secure, and alleviate my fears, but again nothing

changed inside me.

The only importance in all of this lies in the fact

that at twenty-three I was just as sick as I was at thirty-

three, when I came into A.A. But at that time I appar-

ently had no place to go because I had no drinking

problem. Had I been able to explain to a psychiatrist

the feelings of futility, loneliness, and lack of purpose

that had come with my deep sense of personal fail-

ureat this second divorce, I seriously doubt that the

good doctor could have convinced me that my basic

problem was a spiritual hunger. But A.A. has shown

me this was the truth. And if I had been able to turn

to the church at that time, I’m sure they could not

have convinced me my sickness was within myself, nor

could they have shown me that the need for self-

analysis that A.A. has shown me is vital if I am to sur-

vive. So Ihad no place to go. Or so it seemed to me.

I wasn’t afraid of anything or anybody after I

learned about drinking. It seemed right from the be-

ginning that with liquor I could always retire to my lit-

tle private world where nobody could get at me to

hurt me. It seems only ﬁtting that when I did ﬁnally

fall in love, it was with an alcoholic, and for the next

ten years I progressed as rapidly as is humanly pos-

sible into what I believed to be hopeless alcoholism.

During this time, our country was at war. My hus-

band was soon in uniform and among the ﬁrst to

gooverseas. My reaction to this was identical in many

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respects to my reaction to my parents leaving me when

I was seven. Apparently I’d grown physically at the

customary rate of speed, and I had acquired an aver-

age amount of intellectual training in the interven-

ing years, but there had been no emotional maturity

atall. I realize now that this phase of my development

had been arrested by my obsession with self, and my

egocentricity had reached such proportions that ad-

justment to anything outside my personal control was

impossible for me. I was immersed in self-pity and

resentment, and the only people who would support

this attitude or who I felt understood me at all were

the people I met in bars and the ones who drank as I

did. It became more and more necessary to escape

from myself, for my remorse and shame and humilia-

tion when I was sober were almost unbearable. The

only way existence was possible was through rational-

izing every sober moment and drinking myself into

complete oblivion as often as I could.

My husband eventually returned, but it was not

long until we realized we could not continue our mar-

riage. By this time I was such a past master at kidding

myself that I had convinced myself I had sat out a war

and waited for this man to come home, and as my re-

sentment and self-pity grew, so did my alcoholic

problem.

The last three years of my drinking, I drank on my

job. The amount of willpower exercised to control my

drinking during working hours, diverted into a con-

structive channel, would have made me president, and

the thing that made the willpower possible was the

knowledge that as soon as my day was ﬁnished, I could

drink myself into oblivion. Inside, though, I was

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scared to death, for I knew that the time was coming

(and it couldn’t be too remote) when I would be un-

able to hold that job. Maybe I wouldn’t be able to

holdany job, or maybe (and this was my greatest fear)

I wouldn’t care whether I had a job or not. I knew it

didn’t make any difference where I started, the inevi-

table end would be skid row. The only reality I was

able to face had been forced upon me by its very repe-

tition—I had to drink;and I didn’t know there was

anything in the world that could be done about it.

About this time I met a man who had three mother-

less children, and it seemed that might be a solution

to my problem. I had never had a child, and this had

been a satisfactory excuse many times for my drinking.

It seemed logical to me that if I married this man and

took the responsibility for these children that they

would keep me sober. So I married again. This caused

the comment from one of my A.A. friends, when I

told my story after coming into the program, that I

had always been a cinch for the program, for I had

always been interested in mankind—I was just taking

them one man at a time.

The children kept me sober for darn near three

weeks, and then I went on (please God) my last drunk.

I’ve heard it said many times in A.A., “There is just

one good drunk in every alcoholic’s life, and that’s

theone that brings us into A.A.,” and I believe it. I

was drunk for sixty days around the clock, and it was

my intention, literally, to drink myself to death. I

wentto jail for the second time during this period for

being drunk in an automobile. I was the only person

I’d ever known personally who had ever been in jail,

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and I guess it is most signiﬁcant that the second time

was less humiliating than the ﬁrst had been.

Finally, in desperation, my family appealed to a

doctor for advice, and he suggested A.A. The people

who came knew immediately I was in no condition to

absorb anything of the program. I was put in a sani-

tarium to be defogged so that I could make a soberde-

cision about this for myself. It was here that I realized

for the ﬁrst time that as a practicing alcoholic, I had no

rights. Society can do anything it chooses to dowith

me when I am drunk, and I can’t lift a ﬁnger to stop it,

for I forfeit my rights through the simple expedient of

becoming a menace to myself and to thepeople

around me. With deep shame came the knowledge too

that I had lived with no sense of social obligation nor

had I known the meaning of moral responsibility to

my fellow men.

I attended my ﬁrst A.A. meeting eight years ago,

and it is with deep gratitude that I’m able to say I’ve

not had a drink since that time and that I take no

sedation or narcotics, for this program is to me one of

complete sobriety. I no longer need to escape reality.

One of the truly great things A.A. has taught me is

that reality too has two sides; I had only known the

grim side before the program, but now I had a chance

to learn about the pleasant side as well.

The A.A. members who sponsored me told me in

the beginning that I would not only ﬁnd a way to live

without having a drink, but that I would ﬁnd a way to

live without wantingto drink, if I would do these

simple things. They said if you want to know howthis

program works, take the ﬁrst word of your question—

the “H” is for honesty, the “O” is for open-mindedness,

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andthe “W” is for willingness; these our Big Book

calls the essentials of recovery. They suggested that I

study the A.A. book and try to take the Twelve Steps

according to the explanation in the book, for it was

their opinion that the application of these principles in

our daily lives will get us sober and keep us sober. I

believe this, and I believe too that it is equally impos-

sible to practice these principles to the best of our

ability, a day at a time, and still drink, for I don’t think

the two things are compatible.

I had no problem admitting I was powerless over

alcohol, and I certainly agreed that my life had

become unmanageable. I had only to reﬂect on the

contrast between the plans I made so many years ago

for my life with what really happened to know I

couldn’t manage my life drunk or sober. A.A. taught

me that willingness to believewas enough for a begin-

ning. It’s been true in my case, nor could I quarrel

with “restore us to sanity,” for my actions drunk or

sober, before A.A., were not those of a sane person.

My desire to be honest with myself made it necessary

for me to realize that my thinking was irrational. It

had to be, or I could not have justiﬁed my erratic be-

havior as I did. I’ve been beneﬁted from a dictionary

deﬁnition I found that reads: “Rationalization is giving

a socially acceptable reason for socially unacceptable

behavior, and socially unacceptable behavior is a form

of insanity.”

A.A. has given me serenity of purpose and the oppor-

tunity to be of service to God and to the people about

me, and I am serene in the infallibility of these prin-

ciples that provide the fulﬁllment of my purpose.

A.A. has taught me that I will have peace of mind in

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exact proportion to the peace of mind I bring into the

lives of other people, and it has taught me the true

meaning of the admonition “happy are ye who know

these things and do them.”For the only problems I

have now are those I create when I break out in a rash

of self-will.

I’ve had many spiritual experiences since I’ve been

in the program, many that I didn’t recognize right

away, for I’m slow to learn and they take many guises.

But one was so outstanding that I like to pass it on

whenever I can in the hope that it will help someone

else as it has me. As I said earlier, self-pity and resent-

ment were my constant companions, and my inventory

began to look like a thirty-three-year diary, for I

seemed to have a resentment against everybody I had

ever known. All but one “responded to the treatment”

suggested in the steps immediately, but this one posed

a problem.

This resentment was against my mother, and it was

twenty-ﬁve years old. I had fed it, fanned it, and nur-

tured it as one might a delicate child, and it had

become as much a part of me as my breathing. It had

provided me with excuses for my lack of education,

my marital failures, personal failures, inadequacy, and

of course, my alcoholism. And though I really thought

I had been willing to part with it, now I knew I was

reluctant to let it go.

One morning, however, I realized I had to get rid of

it, for my reprieve was running out, and if I didn’t get

rid of it I was going to get drunk—and I didn’t want

to get drunk anymore. In my prayers that morning I

asked God to point out to me some way to be free of

this resentment. During the day, a friend of mine

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brought me some magazines to take to a hospital

group I was interested in. I looked through them. A

banner across one featured an article by a prominent

clergyman in which I caught the word resentment.

He said, in effect: “If you have a resentment you

want to be free of, if you will pray for the person or

the thing that you resent, you will be free. If you will

ask in prayer for everything you want for yourself to

be given to them, you will be free. Ask for their

health, their prosperity, their happiness, and you will

be free. Even when you don’t really want it for them

and your prayers are only words and you don’t mean

it, go ahead and do it anyway. Do it every day for two

weeks, and you will ﬁnd you have come to mean it and

to want it for them, and you will realize that where

you used to feel bitterness and resentment and hatred,

you now feel compassionate understanding and love.”

It worked for me then, and it has worked for me

many times since, and it will work for me every time

Iam willing to work it. Sometimes I have to ask ﬁrst

for the willingness, but it too always comes. And be-

cause it works for me, it will work for all of us. As an-

other great man says, “The only real freedom a human

being can ever know is doing what you ought to do

because you want to do it.”

This great experience that released me from the

bondage of hatred and replaced it with love is really

just another afﬁrmation of the truth I know: I get ev-

erything I need in Alcoholics Anonymous—and every-

thing I need I get. And when I get what I need, I

invariably ﬁnd that it was just what I wanted all the

time.

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(15)

A.A. TAUGHT HIM TO HANDLE

SOBRIETY

“God willing, we...may never again have to deal

with drinking, but we have to deal with sobriety every

day.”

When I hadbeen in A.A. only a short while, an

oldtimer told me something that has affected

my life ever since. “A.A. does not teach us how to

handle our drinking,” he said. “It teaches us how to

handle sobriety.”

I guess I always knew that the way to handle my

drinking was to quit. After my very ﬁrst drink—a tiny

glass of sherry my father gave me to celebrate the New

Year when I was thirteen—I went up to bed, dizzy

with exhilaration and excitement, and I prayed I

wouldn’t drink anymore!

But I did, when I reached college age. Much later,

when I progressed to full-blown alcoholism, people

told me I should quit. Like most other alcoholics

Ihave known, I didquit drinking at various times—

once for ten months on my own and during other

interludes when I was hospitalized. It’s no great trick

to stop drinking; the trick is to staystopped.

To do that, I had come to A.A. to learn how to

handle sobriety—which is what I could not handle in

the ﬁrst place. That’s why I drank.

I was raised in Kansas, the only child of loving par-

ents who just drank socially. We moved frequently.

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Infact, I changed schools every year until high school.

In each new place, I was the new kid—a skinny, shy

kid—to be tested and beaten up. As soon as Ihad

begun to feel accepted, we moved again.

By the time I reached high school, I was an over-

achiever. An honor student in college, I became editor

of the yearbook. I sold my ﬁrst article to a national

magazine while still an undergraduate. I also began to

drink at fraternity parties and beer busts.

Upon graduation I ventured to New York to pursue

my writing career. I landed a good job with a com-

pany publication and was moonlighting on other mag-

azines. Regarded as something of a “boy wonder,” I

began to see myself that way. I also began visiting bars

after work with my older associates. By age twenty-

two, I was a daily drinker.

Then I joined the navy and was commissioned as an

ensign to write speeches for admirals. Later I went

tosea, serving as gunnery ofﬁcer on a destroyer escort

and emerging a lieutenant commander. I also got into

my ﬁrst disciplinary trouble caused by drinking, on

two separate occasions.

In the last year of my navy service, I was married

toa lovely, lively girl who enjoyed drinking. Our

courtship was mainly in bars and night spots when my

ship was in New York. On our honeymoon we had

iced champagne by the bedside day and night.

The pattern was set. By twenty-nine I was having

trouble coping with life because of my drinking. Neu-

rotic fears plagued me, and I had occasional uncon-

trollable tremors. I read self-help books. I turned to

religion with fervor. I swore off hard liquor and turned

to wine. I got sick of the sweetness and turned to ale.

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TOHANDLESOBRIETY555

It wasn’t strong enough, so I added a shot of vodka—

and was right back to worse trouble than before. I

began sneaking drinks when playing bartender for

guests. To cure my dreadful hangovers, I discovered

the morning drink.

The early promise of the “boy wonder” faded, and

my career began to drift. Although my ambition still

ﬂickered, it now took the form of fantasizing. My

values became distorted. To wear expensive clothes,

tohave bartenders know what to serve me before I

ordered, to be recognized by headwaiters and shown

to the best table, to play gin rummy for high stakes

with the insouciance of a riverboat gambler—these

were the enduring values in life, I thought.

Bewilderment, fear, and resentment moved into my

life. And yet my ability to lie outwardly and to kid

myself inwardly grew with every drink I took. Indeed,

I hadto drink now to live, to cope with the demands

of everyday existence. When I encountered disappoint-

ments or frustrations—as I did more and more fre-

quently—my solution was to drink. I had always been

oversensitive to criticism and was acutely so now.

When I was criticized or reprimanded, the bottle was

my refuge and comfort.

When I was faced with a special challenge or social

event—such as an important business presentation or a

dinner party—I had to fortify myself with a couple of

belts. Too often I would overdo it and behave badly at

the very time I wanted to be at my best! For instance,

the ﬁftieth wedding anniversary of my wife’s parents

was the occasion for a huge family reunion at our

home. Despite my wife’s entreaties to take it easy, I ar-

rived home in bad shape. I remember being dragged,

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556ALCOHOLICSANONYMOUS

drink in hand, from under the grand piano, where I

had hidden, to be locked in my room in disgrace.

Above all, I was suffering inner pain because my

performance and my accomplishments in life failed to

live up to my own expectations of myself. I hadto

anesthetize that pain with alcohol. Of course, the

more I drank, the more unrealistic my expectations

became and the poorer my performance, and the gap

widened. So the need to drink grew still greater.

At age forty I developed a large lump in my pot-

belly, and I feared it was a tumor. The doctor pro-

nounced it a badly enlarged liver and said I had to

quit drinking. I did. I went on the wagon, with no out-

side help and with no real difﬁculty—except that I

didn’t enjoy life without drinking. I had to cope with

the demands of everyday living without my comforter,

my anesthetic, my crutch. And I didn’t like it.

So when my liver had recovered after ten months,

Iresumed drinking. At ﬁrst, just one drink, on occa-

sion. Then drinks came more frequently but were

carefully spaced out. Soon my drinking was as bad as

ever—allday long every day. But I was trying fran-

tically tocontrol it. And it had gone underground now,

because everyone knew I shouldn’t be drinking. In-

stead of drinking in fancy bars and clubs, I had to

carry abottle of vodka in my briefcase, duck into public

toilets, and gulp from the bottle, trembling, in order

to keep from falling apart.

Over the next two years I sickened rapidly. The

enlargement of my liver degenerated into cirrhosis.

Ivomited every morning. I could not face food. I

suffered frequent blackouts. I had severe nosebleeds.

Bruises appeared mysteriously over my body.

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Ibecame so weak, I could barely drag myself around.

My employer gave me one warning, then another.

My children avoided me. When I awoke in the middle

of the night with shakes and sweats and fears, I would

hear my wife weeping quietly in bed beside me. My

doctor warned me that if I kept on, I might have

esophageal hemorrhaging and die. But now all choice

was gone. I had to drink.

What my doctor had warned me about ﬁnally hap-

pened. I was attending a convention in Chicago and

carousing day and night. Suddenly I began vomiting

and losing rectally great quantities of blood. Hopeless

now, I felt it would be better for my wife, my children,

and everyone in my life if I went ahead and died. I

found myself being lifted onto a stretcher and whisked

away in an ambulance to a strange hospital. I awoke

next day with tubes in both arms.

Within a week I was feeling well enough to go

home. The doctors told me that if I ever took another

drink, it might be my last. I thought I had learned my

lesson. But my thinking was still confused, and I was

still unable to deal with everyday living without help.

Within two months I was drinkingagain.

In the next half-year I experienced two more eso-

phageal hemorrhages, miraculously surviving each one

by a hair. Each time, I went back to drinking—even

smuggling a bottle of vodka into the hospital as soon

as the blood transfusions had ceased. My doctor ﬁnally

declared he could no longer be responsible for me

and sent me to a psychiatrist who practiced in the

same suite of ofﬁces. He happened to be, by the grace

of God, Dr. Harry Tiebout, the psychiatrist who prob-

ably knew more about alcoholism than any other in

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the world. At that very time he was a nonalcoholic

trustee on the General Service Board of Alcoholics

Anonymous.

It was the late Dr. Tiebout, then, who persuaded

me to seek help through A.A. I acquired a sponsor and

began attending meetings but continued to drink.

Within a few days I found myself drying out on a

drunk farm. While there, I read the Big Book and the

Grapevine and began the slow road back to health and

sanity through the recovery program of A.A.

As the sober days grew into sober months and then

into sober years, a new and beautiful life began to

emerge from the shambles of my former existence. The

relationship between my wife and me was restored to

a love and happiness that we had not known even

beforemy alcoholism became acute. (She no longer

weeps in the night.) As our children grew up, I was

able to be a father to them when they most needed

one. My company advanced me rapidly once my re-

liability was established again. Regaining my health,

Ibecame an avid jogger, sailor, and skier.

All these things and many, many more, A.A. gave

me. But above all, it taught me how to handle sobriety.

I have learned how to relate to people; before A.A., I

could never do that comfortably without alcohol. I

have learned to deal with disappointments and prob-

lems that once would have sent me right to the bottle.

I have come to realize that the name of the game is

not so much to stop drinking as to stay sober.Alco-

holics can stop drinking in many places and many

ways—but Alcoholics Anonymous offers us a way to

stay sober.

God willing, we members of A.A. may never again

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have to deal with drinking, but we have to deal with

sobriety every day. How do we do it? By learning—

through practicing the Twelve Steps and through shar-

ing at meetings—how to cope with the problems that

we looked to booze to solve, back in our drinking days.

For example, we are told in A.A. that we cannot

afford resentments and self-pity, so we learn to avoid

these festering mental attitudes. Similarly, we rid our-

selves of guilt and remorse as we “clean out the gar-

bage” from our minds through the Fourth and Fifth

Steps of our recovery program. We learn how to level

out the emotional swings that got us into trouble both

when we were up and when we were down.

We are taught to differentiate between our wants

(which are never satisﬁed) and our needs (which are

always provided for). We cast off the burdens of the

past and the anxieties of the future, as we begin to

livein the present, one day at a time. We are granted

“the serenity to accept the things we cannot change”

—and thus lose our quickness to anger and our sensi-

tivity to criticism.

Above all, we reject fantasizing and accept reality.

The more I drank, the more I fantasized everything. I

imagined getting even for hurts and rejections. In my

mind’s eye I played and replayed scenes in which I

was plucked magically from the bar where I stood

nursing a drink and was instantly exalted to some posi-

tion of power and prestige. I lived in a dream world.

A.A. led me gently from this fantasizing to embrace

reality with open arms. And I found it beautiful! For,

at last, I was at peace with myself. And with others.

And with God.

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APPENDICES

THE A.A. TRADITION

To those now in its fold, Alcoholics Anonymous has made

the difference between misery and sobriety, and often the

difference between life and death. A.A. can, of course,

mean just as much to uncounted alcoholics not yet

reached.

Therefore, no society of men and women ever had a more

urgent need for continuous effectiveness and permanent

unity. We alcoholics see that we must work together and

hang together, else most of us will finally die alone.

The “12 Traditions” of Alcoholics Anonymous are, we

A.A.’s believe, the best answers that our experience has yet

given to those ever-urgent questions, “How can A.A. best

function?” and, “How can A.A. best stay whole and so

survive?”

On the next page, A.A.’s “12 Traditions” are seen in their

so-called “short form,” the form in general use today. This

is a condensed version of the original “long form” A.A.

Traditions as first printed in 1946. Because the “long form”

is more explicit and of possible historic value, it is also

reproduced.

The Twelve Traditions

One—Our common welfare should come first; personal

recovery depends upon A.A. unity.

Two—For our group purpose there is but one ultimate

authority—a loving God as He may express Himself in our

group conscience. Our leaders are but trusted servants;

they do not govern.

Three—The only requirement for A.A. membership is a

desire to stop drinking.

Four—Each group should be autonomous except in matters

affecting other groups or A.A. as a whole.

Five—Each group has but one primary purpose—to carry

its message to the alcoholic who still suffers.

Six—An A.A. group ought never endorse, finance or lend

the A.A. name to any related facility or outside enterprise,

lest problems of money, property and prestige divert us

from our primary purpose.

Seven—Every A.A. group ought to be fully self-supporting,

declining outside contributions.

Eight—Alcoholics Anonymous should remain forever

nonprofessional, but our service centers may employ special

workers.

Nine—A.A., as such, ought never be organized; but we may

create service boards or committees directly responsible to

those they serve.

Ten—Alcoholics Anonymous has no opinion on outside

issues; hence the A.A. name ought never be drawn into

public controversy.

Eleven—Our public relations policy is based on attraction

rather than promotion; we need always maintain personal

anonymity at the level of press, radio and films.

Twelve—Anonymity is the spiritual foundation of all our

Traditions, ever reminding us to place principles before

personalities.

The Twelve Traditions

(The Long Form)

Our A.A. experience has taught us that:

1.—Each member of Alcoholics Anonymous is but a small

part of a great whole. A.A. must continue to live or most of

us will surely die. Hence our common welfare comes first.

But individual welfare follows close afterward.

2.—For our group purpose there is but one ultimate

authority—a loving God as He may express Himself in our

group conscience.

3.—Our membership ought to include all who suffer from

alcoholism. Hence we may refuse none who wish to

recover. Nor ought A.A. membership ever depend upon

money or conformity. Any two or three alcoholics gathered

together for sobriety may call themselves an A.A. group,

provided that, as a group, they have no other

affiliation.

4.—With respect to its own affairs, each A.A. group should

be responsible to no other authority than its own

conscience. But when its plans concern the welfare of

neighboring groups also, those groups ought to be

consulted. And no group, regional committee, or individual

should ever take any action that might greatly affect A.A. as

a whole without conferring with the trustees of the General

Service Board. On such issues our common welfare is

paramount.

5.—Each Alcoholics Anonymous group ought to be a

spiritual entity having but one primary purpose—that of

carrying its message to the alcoholic who still suffers.

6.—Problems of money, property, and authority may easily

divert us from our primary spiritual aim. We think,

therefore, that any considerable property of genuine use to

A.A. should be separately incorporated and managed, thus

dividing the material from the spiritual. An A.A. group, as

such, should never go into business. Secondary aids to A.A.,

such as clubs or hospitals which require much property or

administration, ought to be incorporated and so set apart

that, if necessary, they can be freely discarded by the

groups. Hence such facilities ought not to use the A.A.

name. Their management should be the sole responsibility

of those people who financially support them. For clubs,

A.A. managers are usually preferred. But hospitals, as well

as other places of recuperation, ought to be well outside

A.A.—and medically supervised. While an A.A. group may

cooperate with anyone, such cooperation ought never go so

far as affiliation or endorsement, actual or implied. An A.A.

group can bind itself to no one.

7.—The A.A. groups themselves ought to be fully

supported by the voluntary contributions of their own

mem-

bers. We think that each group should soon achieve this

ideal; that any public solicitation of funds using the name of

Alcoholics Anonymous is highly dangerous, whether by

groups, clubs, hospitals, or other outside agencies; that

acceptance of large gifts from any source, or of

contributions carrying any obligation whatever, is unwise.

Then too, we view with much concern those A.A. treasuries

which continue, beyond prudent reserves, to accumulate

funds for no stated A.A. purpose. Experience has often

warned us that nothing can so surely destroy our spiritual

heritage as futile disputes over property, money, and

authority.

8.—Alcoholics Anonymous should remain forever

nonprofessional. We define professionalism as the

occupation of counseling alcoholics for fees or hire. But we

may employ alcoholics where they are going to perform

those services for which we might otherwise have to engage

nonalcoholics. Such special services may be well

recompensed. But our usual A.A. “12 Step” work is never to

be paid for.

9.—Each A.A. group needs the least possible organization.

Rotating leadership is the best. The small group may elect

its secretary, the large group its rotating committee, and

the groups of a large metropolitan area their central or

intergroup committee, which often employs a full-time

secretary. The trustees of the General Service Board are, in

effect, our A.A. General Service Committee. They are the

custodians of our A.A. Tradition and the receivers of

voluntary A.A. contributions by which we maintain our

A.A. General Service Office at New York. They are

authorized by the groups to handle our over-all public

relations and they guarantee the integrity of our principal

newspaper, the A.A. Grapevine. All such representatives

are to be guided in the spirit of service, for true leaders in

A.A. are but trusted and experienced servants of the whole.

They derive no real authority from their titles; they do not

govern. Universal respect is the key to their usefulness.

10.—No A.A. group or member should ever, in such a way

as to implicate A.A., express any opinion on outside

controversial issues—particularly those of politics, alcohol

reform, or sectarian religion. The Alcoholics Anonymous

groups oppose no one. Concerning such matters they can

express no views whatever.

11.—Our relations with the general public should be

characterized by personal anonymity. We think A.A. ought

to avoid sensational advertising. Our names and pictures as

A.A. members ought not be broadcast, filmed, or publicly

printed. Our public relations should be guided by the

principle of attraction rather than promotion. There is

never need to praise ourselves. We feel it better to let our

friends recommend us.

12.—And finally, we of Alcoholics Anonymous believe that

the principle of anonymity has an immense spiritual

significance. It reminds us that we are to place principles

before personalities; that we are actually to practice a

genuine humility. This to the end that our great blessings

may never spoil us; that we shall forever live in thankful

contemplation of Him who presides over us all.

I I

SPIRITUAL EXPERIENCE

The terms “spiritual experience” and “spiritual awakening”

are used many times in this book which, upon careful

reading, shows that the personality change sufficient to

bring about recovery from alcoholism has manifested itself

among us in many different forms.

Yet it is true that our first printing gave many readers the

impression that these personality changes, or religious

experiences, must be in the nature of sudden and

spectacular upheavals. Happily for everyone, this

conclusion is erroneous.

In the first few chapters a number of sudden revolutionary

changes are described. Though it was not our intention to

create such an impression, many alcoholics have

nevertheless concluded that in order to recover they must

acquire an immediate and overwhelming “God-

consciousness” followed at once by a vast change in feeling

and outlook.

Among our rapidly growing membership of thousands of

alcoholics such transformations, though frequent, are by no

means the rule. Most of our experiences are what the

psychologist William James calls the “educational variety”

because they develop slowly over a period of time. Quite

often friends of the newcomer are aware of the difference

long before he is himself. He finally realizes that he has

undergone a profound alteration in his reaction to life; that

such a change could hardly have been brought about by

himself alone. What often takes place in a few months

could seldom have been accomplished by years of self-

discipline. With few exceptions our members find that they

have tapped an unsuspected inner resource which they

presently identify with their own conception of a Power

greater than themselves.

Most of us think this awareness of a Power greater than

ourselves is the essence of spiritual experience. Our more

religious members call it “God-consciousness.”

Most emphatically we wish to say that any alcoholic capable

of honestly facing his problems in the light of our

experience can recover, provided he does not close his

mind to all spiritual concepts. He can only be defeated by

an attitude of intolerance or belligerent denial.

We find that no one need have difficulty with the

spirituality of the program. Willingness, honesty and open

mindedness are the essentials of recovery. But these are

indispensable.

“There is a principle which is a bar against all information,

which is proof against all arguments and which cannot fail

to keep a man in everlasting ignorance—that principle is

contempt prior to investigation.”

—Herbert Spencer

III

THE MEDICAL VIEW ON A.A.

Since Dr. Silkworth’s first endorsement of Alcoholics

Anonymous, medical societies and physicians throughout

the world have set their approval upon us. Following are

excerpts from the comments of doctors present at the

annual meeting* of the Medical Society of the State of

New York where a paper on A.A. was read:

Dr. Foster Kennedy, neurologist: “This organization of

Alcoholics Anonymous calls on two of the greatest

reservoirs of power known to man, religion and that

instinct for association with one’s fellows . . . the ‘herd

instinct.’ I think our profession must take appreciative

cognizance of this great therapeutic weapon. If we do not

do so, we shall stand convicted of emotional sterility and of

having lost the faith that moves mountains, without which

medicine can do little.”

Dr. G. Kirby Collier, psychiatrist: “I have felt that A.A. is a

group unto themselves and their best results can be had

under their own guidance, as a result of their philosophy.

Any therapeutic or philosophic procedure which can prove

a recovery rate of 50% to 60% must merit our

consideration.”

Dr. Harry M. Tiebout, psychiatrist: “As a psychiatrist, I

have thought a great deal about the relationship of my

specialty to A.A. and I have come to the conclusion that our

particular function can very often lie in preparing the way

for the patient to accept any sort of treatment or outside

help. I now conceive the psychiatrist’s job to be the task of

breaking down the patient’s inner resistance so that which

is inside him will flower, as under the activity of the A.A.

program.”

Dr. W. W. Bauer, broadcasting under the auspices of The

American Medical Association in 1946, over the NBC

network, said, in part: “Alcoholics Anonymous are no

crusaders; not a temperance society. They know that they

must never drink. They help others with similar problems .

. . In this atmosphere the alcoholic often overcomes his

excessive concentration upon himself. Learning to depend

upon a higher power and absorb himself in his work with

other alcoholics, he remains sober day by day. The days

add up into weeks, the weeks into months and years.”

Dr. John F. Stouffer, Chief Psychiatrist, Philadelphia

General Hospital, citing his experience with A.A., said:

“The alcoholics we get here at Philadelphia General are

mostly those who cannot afford private treatment, and A.A.

is by far the greatest thing we have been able to offer them.

Even among those who occasionally land back in here

again, we observe a profound change in personality. You

would hardly recognize them.”

The American Psychiatric Association requested, in 1949,

that a paper be prepared by one of the older members of

Alcoholics Anonymous to be read at the Association’s

annual meeting of that year. This was done, and the paper

was printed in the American Journal of Psychiatry for

November 1949.

(This address is now available in pamphlet form at nominal

cost through most A.A. groups or from Box 459, Grand

Central Station, New York, NY 10163, under the title

“Three Talks to Medical Societies by Bill W.”—formerly

called “Bill on Alcoholism” and earlier “Alcoholism the

Illness.”)

_________

* 1944

I V

THE LASKER AWARD

In 1951 the Lasker Award was given Alcoholics

Anonymous. The citation reads in part as follows:

“The American Public Health Association presents a

Lasker Group Award for 1951 to Alcoholics Anonymous in

recognition of its unique and highly successful approach to

that age-old public health and social problem, alcoholism . .

. In emphasizing alcoholism as an illness, the social stigma

associated with this condition is being blotted out . . .

Historians may one day recognize Alcoholics Anonymous to

have been a great venture in social pioneering which

forged a new instrument for social action; a new therapy

based on the kinship of common suffering; one having a

vast potential for the myriad other ills of mankind.”

THE RELIGIOUS VIEW ON A.A.

Clergymen of practically every denomination have given

A.A. their blessing.

Edward Dowling, S.J.,* of the Queen’s Work staff, says,

“Alcoholics Anonymous is natural; it is natural at the point

where nature comes closest to the supernatural, namely in

humiliations and in consequent humility. There is

something spiritual about an art museum or a symphony,

and the Catholic Church approves of our use of them.

There is something spiritual about A.A. too, and Catholic

participation in it almost invariably results in poor Catholics

becoming better Catholics.”

The Episcopal magazine, The Living Church, observes

editorially: “The basis of the technique of Alcoholics

Anonymous is the truly Christian principle that a man

cannot help himself except by helping others. The A.A.

plan is described by the members themselves as ‘self-

insurance.’ This self-insurance has resulted in the

restoration of physical, mental and spiritual health and self-

respect to hundreds of men and women who would be

hopelessly down and out without its unique but effective

therapy.”

Speaking at a dinner given by John D. Rockefeller Jr. to

introduce Alcoholics Anonymous to some of his friends,

Dr. Harry Emerson Fosdick remarked:

“I think that psychologically speaking there is a point of

advantage in the approach that is being made in this

movement that cannot be duplicated. I suspect that if it is

wisely handled—and it seems to be in wise and prudent

hands—there are doors of opportunity ahead of this project

that may surpass our capacities to imagine.”_____

* Father Ed, an early and wonderful friend of A.A., died in the

spring of 1960.

V I

HOW TO GET IN TOUCH WITH A.A

In the United States and Canada, most towns and cities

have A.A. groups. In such places, A.A. can be located

through the local telephone directory, newspaper office, or

police station, or by contacting local priests or ministers. In

large cities, groups often maintain local offices where

alcoholics or their families may arrange for interviews or

hospitalization. These so-called intergroup associations are

found under the listing “A.A.” or “Alcoholics Anonymous”

in telephone directories.

At New York, USA, Alcoholics Anonymous maintains its

international service center. The General Service Board of

A.A. (the trustees) administers A.A.’s General Service

Office, A.A. World Services, Inc., and our monthly

magazine, the A.A. Grapevine.

If you cannot find A.A. in your locality, visit our Web site:

www.aa.org; or a letter addressed to Alcoholics

Anonymous, Box 459, Grand Central Station, New York,

NY 10163, USA, will receive a prompt reply from this

world center, referring you to the nearest A.A. group. If

there is none nearby, you will be invited to carry on a

correspondence which will do much to insure your sobriety

no matter how isolated you are.

Should you be the relative or friend of an alcoholic who

shows no immediate interest in A.A., it is suggested that

you write the Al-Anon Family Groups, Inc., 1600

Corporate Landing Parkway, Virginia Beach, VA 23456,

USA.

This is a world clearing house for the Al-Anon Family

Groups, composed largely of the wives, husbands and

friends of A.A. members. This headquarters will give the

location of the nearest family group and will, if you wish,

correspond with you about your special problems.

V I I

THE TWELVE CONCEPTS

(Short Form)

A.A.’s Twelve Steps are principles for personal recovery.

The Twelve Traditions ensure the unity of the Fellowship.

Written by co-founder Bill W. in 1962, the Twelve

Concepts for World Service provide a group of related

principles to help ensure that various elements of A.A.’s

service structure remain responsive and responsible to

those they serve.

The “short form” of the Concepts, which follows, was

prepared by the 1974 General Service Conference.

I. Final responsibility and ultimate authority for A.A. world

services should always reside in the collective conscience of

our whole Fellowship.

II. The General Service Conference of A.A. has become,

for nearly every practical purpose, the active voice and the

effective conscience of our whole Society in its world

affairs.

III. To insure effective leadership, we should endow each

element of A.A.—the Conference, the General Service

Board and its service corporations, staffs, committees, and

executives—with a traditional “Right of Decision.”

IV. At all responsible levels, we ought to maintain a

traditional “Right of Participation,” allowing a voting

representation in reasonable proportion to the

responsibility that each must discharge.

V. Throughout our structure, a traditional “Right of

Appeal” ought to prevail, so that minority opinion will be

heard and personal grievances receive careful

consideration.

VI. The Conference recognizes that the chief initiative and

active responsibility in most world service matters should

be exercised by the trustee members of the Conference

acting as the General Service Board.

VII. The Charter and Bylaws of the General Service Board

are legal instruments, empowering the trustees to manage

and conduct world service affairs. The Conference Charter

is not a legal document; it relies upon tradition and the

A.A. purse for final effectiveness.

VIII. The trustees are the principal planners and

administrators of overall policy and finance. They have

custodial oversight of the separately incorporated and

constantly active services, exercising this through their

ability to elect all the directors of these entities.

IX. Good service leadership at all levels is indispensable for

our future functioning and safety. Primary world service

leadership, once exercised by the founders, must

necessarily be assumed by the trustees.

X. Every service responsibility should be matched by an

equal service authority, with the scope of such authority

well defined.

XI. The trustees should always have the best possible

committees, corporate service directors, executives, staffs,

and consultants. Composition, qualifications, induction

procedures, and rights and duties will always be matters of

serious concern.

XII. The Conference shall observe the spirit of A.A.

tradition, taking care that it never becomes the seat of

perilous wealth or power; that sufficient operating funds

and reserve be its prudent financial principle; that it place

none of its members in a position of unqualified authority

over others; that it reach all important decisions by

discussion, vote, and, whenever possible, by substantial

unanimity; that its actions never be personally punitive nor

an incitement to public controversy; that it never perform

acts of government, and that, like the Society it serves, it

will always remain democratic in thought and action.

A.A.Pamphlets

44 Questions

A.A. Tradition—How It Developed

Members of the Clergy Ask About A.A.

Three Talks to Medical Societies by Bill W.

Alcoholics Anonymous as a Resource for the Health Care Professional

A.A. in Your Community

Is A.A. for You?

Is A.A. for Me?

This Is A.A.

A Newcomer Asks . . .

Is There An Alcoholic in the Workplace?

Questions and Answers on Sponsorship

A.A. for the Woman

A.A. for the Native North American

A.A. and the Gay/Lesbian Alcoholic

Can A.A. Help Me Too?—Black/African Americans Share Their Stories

A.A. for the Older Alcoholic—Never Too Late

The Jack Alexander Article

Letter to a Woman Alcoholic

Young People and A.A.

A.A. and the Armed Services

The A.A. Member—Medications and Other Drugs

Do You Think You’re Different?

Is There an Alcoholic in Your Life?

Inside A.A.

The A.A. Group

G.S.R.

Memo to an Inmate

The Twelve Steps Illustrated

The Twelve Traditions Illustrated

The Twelve Concepts Illustrated

Let’s Be Friendly With our Friends

How A.A. Members Cooperate

A.A. in Correctional Facilities

A Message to Correctional Facilities Adminstrators

A.A. in Treatment Facilities

Bridging the Gap

If You Are a Professional

A.A. Membership Survey

A Member’s-Eye View of Alcoholics Anonymous

Problems Other Than Alcohol

Understanding Anonymity

The Co-Founders of Alcoholics Anonymous

Speaking at Non-A.A. Meetings

A Brief Guide to A.A.

What Happened to Joe

It Happened to Alice

(Two above are full-color,comic-book-style pamphlets)

Too Young?

(Above is a cartoon pamphlet for teenagers)

It Sure Beats Sitting in a Cell

(Above is an illustrated pamphlet for inmates)

Complete order forms available from A.A. General Service Ofﬁce:

Box 459, Grand Central Station, New York, NY 10163

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