The eloquence of even a little-schooled, rough-and-tumble speaker at an AA Open Meeting can prove surprising, and also moving. This results because speakers can talk about themselves with a rare degree of openness and trust made possible by AA’s unique qualities as an organization. Also motivating the speakers are deep convictions that what they say with complete honesty mightily helps buttress their own sobriety and may even help save someone else’s life. Such sharing of “experience, strength, and hope” between one alcoholic and another has represented one of AA’s main curative powers from the beginning.
The following two examples may just barely suggest how some speaker at an AA Open Meeting might have a powerful effect on the alcoholic/addict in your life.
• Oil-Rigs Roustabout from a Rich Family
“Hi, I’m Frank. I’m an addict and alcoholic,” says the powerfully built, lean young man standing at the front of the room. You’re in the basement room of a church parish hall at an after-dinner hour one weekday evening. You and the very mixed assortment of some thirty or so people are sitting on metal folding chairs. Frank, the speaker, has given the currently common opening remark whenever a member talks at a meeting (one’s nickname or first name and “I’m an alcoholic” or “addict”). Two lettered signs hang on the front wall. One is headed, THE TWELVE STEPS. The other is titled: THE TWELVE TRADITIONS.
Frank relates how he grew up on the two-hundred-acre estate of his folks in the rolling hills outside Seattle. He got shipped off to private boarding school when only ten years old. He hated it at first. He soon ran across some other boys who turned him on to pot and speed. In a couple of years they added LSD to the mix. Tripping out on all this stuff was just great, he found. He found it all still more exciting when he went on to dealing in drugs himself.
Frank got caught and kicked out around age sixteen or so. At the next two boarding schools the same thing happened. Mom and Dad then shipped him off to two wilderness-survival, Outward Bound—style programs, one in the American Rockies, and the other in the Peruvian Andes. Then came a couple of very foggy college years heavily laced with alcohol and finally ending with his expulsion for again dealing drugs.
Once home, Frank took his big Harley-Davidson motorcycle out touring and wound up in the Texas oil fields. He started work there as a roustabout on the rigs drilling new wells. Even more than the very dangerous and very heavy physical labor with huge steel casings and drill bits and guide chains, he liked the company of really tough guys who drank as hard as he did starting right after every day’s work. Drinking and work filled his life seven days a week. In two years in the oil fields, Frank took off only one day, a Christmas Day. Gruesome accidents on the job crippled or killed a friend now and then, but Frank kept right on working.
Finally that got too crazy, so he tried college again for a while. By this time he couldn’t stand being anywhere but alone at the far end of the bar while he drank. On campus one day, some young college punk carelessly bumped him aside to go through a door. In a lightning oil-field reaction, Frank slammed the boy against the wall but stopped just before beating him senseless. That alarmed Frank. He felt he’d turned into an animal. He left the college and biked home on the Harley.
By this time the booze and the drugs had him completely. He slaved like a dog maintaining his parents’ estate, doing all the mowing, all the dangerous tree work of felling huge trees and clearing new fields and pruning dead limbs, all the painting and repairs on the outbuildings and mansion. He worked alone. Nights he went off by himself to drink at bars. Towering rages would sweep over him on his workdays outdoors, and he would smash logs and rocks.
Most of the time, though, he felt absolutely hopeless, and in a black despair. Drinking and drugs no longer brought any cheer or excitement. They merely dulled the hopelessness and pain for just a few minutes. And when he went any more than a few hours without them, the black despair dropped down to terror, and he started feeling physically sick.
One night when Frank felt especially wretched, a boyhood friend whom he used to drink with came by. The friend asked Frank to come along with him to an AA meeting. Frank has no idea why he said yes. He did go along. Frank guesses that he’d reached the point where he was sick and tired of being sick and tired, as an old AA saying goes. Or maybe some angel just smiled on him that night, he says.
Frank is one of the lucky ones for whom AA clicked almost from the start. It felt like he had come home at last. For years he’d thought that he was the only one on the planet who acted and reacted the way he did. But here was a whole roomful of people who had gone through many of the same kinds of experiences and who’d felt the same hopelessness. And from their smiles and the light in their eyes and what they said of their lives, they had found a way out. He wanted what they had.
• How AA Members Fight Urges to Drink or to Drug
He was amazed especially that they fought off that irresistible craving to drink and to drug. How? With various basic tools, perfected by many over the years. A prime one is that AA members don’t vow to quit forever. They simply don’t drink or drug today. They quit “one day at a time,” as they endlessly remark. And if that gets too tough, they don’t use for just one hour at a time. Or on occasion, one minute at a time. And they are given phone numbers by other men (or other women, for a woman). And if they feel an urge to use getting strong, they phone or see another member and confess the urge and get bolstered by the member not to give in because that insane urge will soon pass and be gone.
Another vital basic for him, Frank says, was the saying, “It’s the first drink that gets you drunk—not the tenth or fifteenth.” This is paradoxically true for anyone who has become addicted—the addict has lost the power to decide when to stop or how to act after the first drink or drug. Frank likes the time-honored comparison to getting hit by a train. “It’s the locomotive that kills you,” he says, “not the caboose.”
At the start Frank was told that it gets better and it keeps on getting better the longer you stay with the AA program. Frank briefly sums up how he worked the Twelve Steps of the AA program with his AA sponsor as his experienced guide. Those steps especially opened up a whole new life for him, he says.
Now he has a wife he’s crazy about and two darling little kids. He’s gotten free of the stifling influence of his mom and dad, yet has still found how to give them his full affection. He started his own landscaping business, and it’s doing very well. Thanks to the program, he says, his life has gotten better than he’d ever dreamed.
For the newcomer, he says: If it happened for me, it can happen for you. Just keep coming. Don’t drink or drug, and go to meetings one day at a time, and you, too, will get a great life.
• Regal Beauty Who Had Everything but Couldn’t Stop
“Hi. I’m Elaine, and I’m an alcoholic.” The speaker at this AA meeting has a really striking appearance, you think. She’s tall, trim, blond, blue-eyed, tanned, and chic in a simple, sleeveless black tube dress.
She grew up in Winnetka, a fashionable suburb on Lake Michigan, north of Chicago, where her dad was a very successful lawyer, she says. Their lives were extremely comfortable. Tutors, summer trips to Europe, country club parties and sports, expensive cars, a splendid house right on the lake.
Her mom and dad drank, of course. Everyone did. For her parents, it was one of the social graces, part of good living. On holidays, many weekends, and special occasions, cocktails before dinner, vintage wines with dinner, and fine liqueurs and cordials after dinner.
Mom and Dad let Elaine have occasional sips of one of the sweet wines like port or sherry as an older child. In her teens, they carefully introduced her to proper drinking, “drinking like a lady,” when she began going out to dances and parties on dates. Elaine hadn’t yet reached legal drinking age, but no one in their set paid any attention to that—except not to get caught. Mom and Dad did warn and guard her against taking any chances with drunk drivers.
Elaine fell deeply in love with one endearing boy in her late teens, even though on occasion he’d get terribly drunk. And one day she was heartbroken to hear that, driving home late the night before, he’d killed himself skidding off a curve and hitting a tree. She says that that may have had much to do with her deciding while in college to become a certified alcoholism counselor, a CAC.
Shaking her head, Elaine says it’s unbelievable how she never saw her drinking start to be a problem. She went on after college to marry a corporation lawyer, have two children, and go back into her counseling work when the kids were in high school. Their life was much the same as her life had been while growing up—gracious good living, with no money problems at all.
George, her husband, worked hard and, on occasion, drank hard. Elaine had no trouble keeping up with his drinking. In fact, at parties when he was starting to slur his speech and sway on his feet, Elaine would still be steady as a rock and would drive them home.
Her drinking began to change so gradually that it was only by looking back that she could glimpse what had happened, Elaine says. First it was having another highball or two once George had been tucked into bed after she’d driven them home. Then it was downing cocktails—“just one or two,” she recalls having told herself—in the kitchen while getting dinner when George was away on one of his many business trips.
One evening at dinner, George joked that he liked her new habit of fixing them cocktails every night without fail. But, he went on, what might her counseling clients think of her possibly heading down the same road as them? He laughed loud and long at the thought.
Elaine, though, was aghast. No more drinking that anyone sees, she silently swore to herself. She went on getting George cocktails, and going out to dinners and parties with him just as before. But on all these occasions, she drank only tonics, juices, or spring waters—no alcohol. If George or anyone asked, she’d casually say she just didn’t care for alcohol anymore, but certainly didn’t want to spoil anyone else’s enjoyment of drinking.
In time, in a slow unfolding, Elaine found her life turning ever more hard and bleak. She had so much to do, every day! Every minute, with her home, her kids, her work, their social life—it was always go, go, go! She felt she deserved some relief, had to have some relief.
Finally, one night after everyone was asleep, she got a vodka bottle from the liquor cabinet and took it into her walk-in clothes closet. Her mind was a blank. It felt like a dream, but she knew it was real.
She huddled down on the floor in a corner and drank right from the bottle. Oh, what relief! What blessed relief! She kept on drinking until she passed out. Some time before morning, she woke with a sharp stab of terror of being found out. She soundlessly put the bottle back, and climbed into bed.
Through the following weeks, her need for these closet binges came over her more often. In time, it was every night. Some mornings, she vowed she would stop, but by night never could.
In some part of her mind, she sensed where she was headed. But that made her only more desperate during her high-pressured daytime hours. She took on ever more responsibilities and tasks to prove there was nothing wrong.
Elaine felt especially torn to be working with clients who were struggling as hard as they could not to take any alcohol or drugs at all. But she tried to brush that aside by telling herself they were much worse than she was—that she really didn’t have a problem because she knew so much, and she worked so hard and so well.
Then, one horrifying night, the closet door opened and there stood George. Elaine never asked how he happened to be there. She had burst into tears and sobbed that she needed help.
She would be eternally grateful that George understood, she says. Right away, she went off to a four-week inpatient rehabilitation program that started with several days’ detox. Elaine had felt utterly crushed on arriving, utterly beaten and hopeless. She couldn’t choke back her tears in the middle of the admittingoffice questions. But then the older staff member who was asking the questions had gotten up, come over, and given Elaine a hug.
Elaine will never forget how the woman had told her, “It’s over, dear. It’s really over.”
Elaine had been so deeply shaken by her bottom that she started going to AA meetings every night as soon as she left the rehab. Today, Elaine says, her life is outwardly much the same as before—her home life with George and the children, her work, their friends and social life. Inwardly, though, it all seems completely different. An old, nagging, deep-seated inadequacy is gone. Her compulsion to drink was lifted early, while still in rehab. Brief thoughts of drinking are rare. She ends them right away by phoning or seeing her AA sponsor or another AA friend.
Elaine now has, she says, “an abiding peace of mind” that has transformed everything in her life. “But, most important,” she says, “if you’re like I was when I started, you have no hope at all that anything can help. For me, I knew so much about this disease that I was certain nothing could save me. Nothing. I was terrified. Totally without hope. If you’re like that right now, take heart. This program really did work for me. And it really can work for you, too.”