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Source: DICOBE-00444 – Eddie R – GOPHER STATE RNDP VI – 1979-06-15.mp3 File: dicobe-00444-eddie-r-gopher-state-rndp-vi-1979-06-15.mp3 Duration: 01:30:36
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Seriously now, our speaker is a long-time member of Alcoholics Anonymous, and is truly a dedicated man. He's active in the fellowship of AA on the West Coast at all times. He travels over the country speaking. He's a former boardable man. He was in the movie industry for a long time. He's a fine gentleman, and most of all, he's a dedicated member of Alcoholics Anonymous. He'll go to any length to help a drunk, and that's about the best thing I can say about any person. He'll go to any length to help a drunk, and besides that, he has a real message.
He has the ability to deliver it, and it's with a great deal of pleasure that I introduce to you my friend, Eddie Reagan, from California. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I always wear a tie and coat to show you that I got one, because when I came, it wasn't always that way, but I like to take it off. I feel better. It's a part of my freedom in Alcoholics Anonymous that I'm able to stand up here in front of you feeling more comfortable rather than looking a little better.
So thank you for allowing me to take my coat and hat and whatever tie it was off. Now, I'd like to thank the committee and all of the people who had anything to do with inviting me here. I'd like to thank everybody at the Radisson Hotel for the wonderful way they've handled this thing. I just think that everything that's been done here this weekend is beyond anything that I have ever seen, and I have been involved in many of these things.
It is truly wonderful, and it is truly a tribute to everyone who had anything to do with it. And please, as the man said, these things do not happen accidentally. They happen because people get about doing them. And I want you to, each of you personally, to thank all of the people who had anything to do with this set up here this weekend. Now, my name is Ed Regan, and I'm an alcoholic, and I was born sober.
I always like to get that in quick, I was born sober, because when I first came to Alcoholics Anonymous, I would hear these stories of drunks that went on so long that I suspected that some of them were pre-Naples. I was born in an Irish Catholic family, and I was taught drinking and guilt at the same time. You know, I'll never forget it. I'm not, you know, criticizing anyone. This is the way I learned it, you know.
I was a little, and incidentally, drinking. I started to drink at, what, an early age. I was about six years old, and I had a cold. And my father, in those days, they gave, I don't know, I think they do it in Canada and up here, too. They gave me some rock and rye, a few tablespoons full. And I felt good, and I was afraid of my father. He was a big, austere, black Irishman. I was really afraid of him, but I had two tablespoons full of that rock and rye, and I reached over and I threw my arms around his neck and I kissed him.
You know, that stuff was magic, and I remember when he put me to sleep that night, and I thought, if I ever get a cold again, I'm going to tell him right away. I have, to this day, never forgotten that wonderful feeling, and it was truly a wonderful feeling. Now, I didn't start to, you know, and from there I went downhill. You know, when you're six years old and that big, you ain't got too far of a hill to go down.
[00:05:00]
The truth of the matter is, liquor was tied up with everything we did in our family. I somehow heard as a child, you have to learn to drink like a man. And so liquor was tied up with manhood, and we were told that over and over again. And, you know, every young boy wants to grow up and be a man, and so that impressed us. Then we had two sets of uncles in our family. Now, this may remind you of your family.
There are a lot of families like this. We had one set of uncles that, let us say, they were lined up down that wall, and they were the good, good folks. They were always pointed out to us children as paragons of virtue, this is the way you should grow up to be like Uncle Tom and Uncle John and Uncle Willie. And over on the other side of the room, literally hanging on hooks, they had the alcoholics.
And we were never supposed to talk about them. And no one mentioned them. And my problem as a little kid was I liked the fellas over there. Because I found out that if you went over to some of these good folks and you asked them for 15 cents to go to the movies, now you know how old I am, you could go to the movies for 15 cents, and they didn't have any guilt. So they'd just say no. Now you go over to an alcoholic and you name off all the good ones who just turned you down, and you say, I need 15 cents.
And the guilt starts to work, they say, here it is, kid, they'll give you the last quarter. So I saw a lot of movies as a result of guilt. And I liked the idea, and I liked those men. I still am worried about perfection. I'm still worried about those people who get too good, ever. God bless rotten thoughts. I was going to deliver a spiritual message here tonight until the girl from Duluth got up and picked that chance.
God bless Duluth. Anyhow, I didn't start to drink for a while, but I went to work on the 22nd of August, 1927. I was only a kid, so you can't work in New York State. So I was making candy in a basement, and I went to work at 8 o'clock at night, and I worked until 5 o'clock in the morning. And the first night I was working, these fellows said to me, say, when we finish work, we go to that speakeasy on the docks, and we have some whiskey.
Would you like to go with us? And I said, certainly would. And so 5 o'clock came, and we left, and 5 minutes after 5, we're in the speakeasy. Now, I've got to explain this speakeasy to you. It had red brick on the floor, which they used to mop with stale beer, so that the beer would sink in the brick, and you could get the proper aroma to the place. And it had gold-colored mirrors on the back part.
It made you look like you had a suntan. And I pictured myself as an outdoor man, you know. And I walked in here, and I ordered a beer in a bank, as they do in New York. That's rotgut with a whiskey, with a beer chaser. And they put it in front of me, and I was determined that I would behave myself and let these men be proud of me. And I drank very carefully, had a drink or two, and I went home and went to bed.
And when I went back to work that night, I was anxious to find out how they felt my deportment was. And evidently they liked it, because they invited me back the following morning to the saloon. And so that started a regular thing. I worked there for 18 months in this candy factory in the basement. And every morning, at 5 o'clock, we went to this saloon and had booze. And I tell you something, I wasn't yet 14 years of age, and I was less than 15 when I quit.
And I really and truly felt sorry, very sorry, for all of the people who were not drinking. I felt that they were missing everything in life that was valuable. And I felt that they wouldn't understand if I told them that, so I kept it quiet.
[00:10:02]
But I really felt that I had arrived. I was a big man. And I was enjoying it, and it was wonderful. Now, you know, drinking at 13 is not unusual. But I like to tell that story, because many years later, when I arrived in Alcoholics Anonymous, I was the youngest member of Alcoholics Anonymous in all of the Western United States. And in those days, a guy would stand up at a podium, and he had a nose that was over here, and he had eyebrows that had been stitched up, and a lot of scar tissue around, and a couple cauliflower ears, two to a customer, and chin like this, you know.
And he'd get up there, and obviously you could see all the marks of his life on him, but he didn't believe that you could see them. So he'd say, and I think I have to qualify. And then this guy would take you through about 45 minutes of a litany of terror that I have seldom heard the likes of. This guy would take you through 16 states that wanted him, 8 states that didn't, 4 families that he was looking for, and 3 that were looking for him, 35 jails, 11 insane asylums, 23 straitjackets, burn down the house by setting the mattress on fire 11 times, and on and on and on and on and on.
This litany would go until I would be saying, oh my God, for goodness, and just about that time that you'd be ready to fall asleep, the guy would very austerely draw himself up, and he'd say, and then I started to drink in the morning. I used to think, mother of God, what was he waiting for? But just like you, I laughed, I thought it was a rallying cry for AA, like fight on for Notre Dame or something.
I was going to go along with it. So I started to drink early. Incidentally, there was another bad thing about my drinking. It was good to me for many years. I was a nervous, guilty kid. And I mean, some of these older fellas up here, not as old as me, but they've mentioned that sex and booze sometimes go together. I'll never forget, I was about 16, 17 years old. I was working for a vaudeville producer named Mike Todd.
We were building little vaudeville units in Chicago, and I was out on one of these shows, and there were 24 young girls on his show, and I was the only young guy. And I guess I was of an alcoholic nature even then, because I was interested in the entire 24 girls. Half measures availed us nothing. But I was so guilty and so tied up, and I wanted so badly, and I couldn't. If a girl would say hello to me, I'd freeze to the woodwork.
I wanted to be suave, like William Powell. Some of you older guys remember William Powell, where he'd proposition them between puffs on a Murex. That's the guy I wanted to be. He'd proposition a girl to blow the match out. And I wanted to be like him with that stay-at-home look, and I just couldn't. Girls, maybe that's all you heard from the guy, but it was a proposition. It was just the best he could do.
Anyhow, I found out that if I drank enough of whiskey, that I could say the things that I wanted to say, and do the things that I wanted to do, that led to the place that I wanted to get, which we then called First Base. I don't know how baseball ever got in the thing, but that's what we said. We were always trying to get to First Base. So I will tell you this, that for a long time, whiskey was, for me, a great aid to what we were then calling romance.
To what we were then calling romance.
[00:15:00]
Uh, I tell that because I'm a lot older now, and there's a lot of you here who are my age, and it wasn't but about 15 years later, then it ruined everything. God, it just, uh, you know, I, I, you know, a guy full of rotten ideas and no ability. Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh. By the time I'd get ready, it was the Ice Age. Heh, heh, heh, heh. You know, in those broads and those bars, they, you know, you better get him early, Mort. He's not for after 8 o'clock.
Oh, boy. That'll really make you suffer, you know. OK, hit another nail in, honey, got me, you know. But I had a lot of fun. I finally, I was, I was about 25, 24 years old. I came to work for Universal Studios out in San Fernando Valley. And it was a wonderful place in the valley in those days because there was only two policemen in the entire valley after 6 o'clock at night. And it was about 600 square miles.
And the two policemen were drunks. So nothing could happen to you. A lot happened to them, but nothing could happen to you, you know. So, anyhow, I, uh, uh, went to work at this studio determined to turn over a new leaf. And I was there for a while working very, very hard. But as around 26, I think, things started to happen. Now, as I tell you about alcoholism, and I am an authority about alcoholism and alcohol's impact on me, and I am an authority of the impact of the AA program on me.
So I'm talking about me because that's what I know about the most. Uh, I, uh, I was drinking and, uh, you know, the first thing happened to me, I'm driving home one night and I hit a walnut tree. Now, Christ, there was 50,000 walnut trees in the valley, so that was no feat. And my friend said, what were you doing drinking? And I said, oh, no, I'm working long hours. And, you know, I fell asleep and everything was okay.
They accepted it. About a week or two later, I hit an apricot tree. And there were a lot of those. And they said, you know, you sure you weren't drinking another car, you know? No, everything was all right. I'm working long hours. Well, about a month later, after the heat cooled down, I hit an avocado tree. And there are very few of those in the valley. So each one of these things took a little more explaining than the last one.
And they accepted it, and I thought nothing of it. And that's the problem of alcoholism. As I tell this story, remember that the problem of alcoholism is that you can't see the whole picture until after you have recovered from it. Alcoholism is like a mosaic on that wall. When you're in it, you can see little brush strokes, but they don't represent a picture. You cannot connect them. Each incident seems isolated and alone.
You cannot see the total mural that's on the wall. If you could, you might be able to stop in time. But I didn't see the apricot tree and the walnut tree and the avocado tree. I didn't think they had any connection. And a little while later, I'm driving my car. Oh, I had a lot of fun in my cars. I hit a telephone pole. Now, that's not unusual, a lot of telephone poles. But there was something alcoholic in it, because at that time, they had three-price telephone poles in San Fernando Valley.
And I was broke, and I hit the most expensive one. And $75 that pole cost. And I was explaining that away to some of my studio worker friends. And one guy came along, and there's one of them in every crowd. I hope you never meet one. The guy said, wait a minute. That goddamn pole was 15 yards out in a plowed field. Oh, how you could hate a fellow like that. Fatsy gives me, you know. I ducked that bum, you know.
And I never talked to him again. And to make a long story short, I totaled 13 automobiles in one month less than three years. I went to the farmer's insurance company after a while, and I wanted to get some new insurance. And hey, they're terrible. They keep records. And a guy went, and he got a polder out. It was about that thick. And he went through it, and he went through it, and he went through it.
And here's what he said to me. And I like this language, and I must never forget it. He said, Mr. R.
[00:20:00]
the farmer's insurance company only handles preferred risks. I see by your record that you do not fall into that category. He said, so I would sincerely recommend a competitor. He gave me the card of an insurance company they were trying to bankrupt. And I thought, jeez, is that rotten. You know, that's terrible. Here was the bookies wouldn't take your action anymore. You know, I won too much. Anyhow, I had a lot of things.
You know, one night I was going home in my car, and I hit seven parked cars. Now you try that sometime. If you get the first one solid, you'll miss the next six. You've got to make a close billiard. There's no way. Now, those things happen. But I had a couple other things that really started people talking. They had two big facilities. They had two big Pacific Electric streetcars that came from Los Angeles.
And they went out to Van Nuys. And they passed Universal Studios. And they hooked both of them up together. And I don't know if you ever saw those streetcars. They were about 70 feet long each. Two of them hooked up together were 140 feet. They're painted red. There was lights all over them. As the motor man approached the Universal crossing, he was blowing his whistle. Beep, beep. Woke up the chickens.
There was wigwags going. Bing, bing, bing, bing, clink, clink. Out, you know, they had the lights and everything. Look out for the crossing. Look out for the cars. And you know, whatever it says. And all kinds of things were happening. And I hit those streetcars broadside twice. And I never saw the damn things. And this same dummy, you know, they all, you're just one in every crowd. How the hell could you do that?
The goddamn things are a block wide. Tell me how you could do that. You know how they are. Oh, Jesus, they want facts. How could you do that? And I finally couldn't get rid of the bum. And I said, Smith, I'll tell you what happened. I had my overcoat over the windshield. I was driving by instruments. You know, it's about 30 some odd years ago. You know, they still call that fella mumbles. He ain't right yet.
But I didn't think that this was abnormal. Another little incident. Just to give you one more to convince you that I led a quiet life. They had a tunnel. They built a tunnel. The traffic started to build up there. And where the freeway is now, that goes, takes you to Hollywood. They built a tunnel underneath Highland Avenue to take Cahuenga Boulevard under Highland Avenue and bring you to Hollywood.
It was a two lane tunnel. And I had a date with a policewoman. I'll never forget that. Sexy lockup. And anyhow, I was, I had a lot of drinks I had a lot of drinks and I'm driving my very best, careful, you know. Doing the best I could. I was driving right through this tunnel. Two lanes going into Hollywood and I hit the wall on the right, head on. I know you're all sober, you know. The only possible way you can do this is to try to make a U-turn in the tunnel.
And I want to tell you something. There is nothing that will stop talk like this. How did you do it? How did you do it? How did you do it? You know, well, the other thing was I always thought that if you were an alcoholic or drunk we called them drunks I hadn't heard the word alcoholic yet. You had a 502. Now I never had a 502. That's DWI, you call it up here. You're drunk, involved in, you know, an auto.
Drunk driving. I never had one of those. Because any time I heard a noise I got out and I ran like a son of a bitch. They had a hill by Universal that was virtually a mountain. And it went up like this. And I would get out of that car and claw my way up through those dirty bushes and puke and, you know, and run. And you gotta puke on the beat or you'll get it in your cuffs.
[00:25:01]
And all the way up, you know three quarters of a mile up to the top to Woodrow Wilson Drive. And then I'd slink around the bushes there and then I'd run seven and a half miles down Nichols Canyon Road to Hollywood. And each time I'd see the lights of an approaching car coming around the bend I'd dive in the bushes because I knew they were cruising to try to pick me up. Well, when you'd come out in Hollywood I was sober.
Jesus, I haven't been that sober yet, you know. So I never had a 502 and I didn't think I had a problem. And yet these things were happening to me. Now, along with these things there was other terrible things that were happening to me. One was I was earning more money every year than I had earned the year before. Now this leads an alcoholic to believe that he is successful and therefore has no problem.
My picture of an alcoholic was a fellow laying in a doorway on Main Street and I'd never even seen Main Street. I was an executive at a studio earning lots of money and drinking fine things and a young fellow and I couldn't see myself in that category but it was already closing in on me and I didn't know it. The thing had advanced much further than I had thought. I'll give you another instance. I was on the lot one time and I started to turn blue and they rushed me over to the hospital.
They put the oxygen on me and I woke up in a room in the Cedars Eleven Hospital in Hollywood and there were four people in the room. Three men and a woman. They were all for picture industry. The woman was a well-known actress and she was a very good friend of mine. When it was obvious that I was breathing and awake and everything they all said good see and things like that and she came over to the bed and she said, Ed darling, she said, you stopped breathing and you turned blue and they put an inhalator on you and they got you here at the hospital and you were marked no respiration on arrival and this doctor in the emergency used a fibrillator and he brought you around and you started to breathe again and I wouldn't do what you were doing anymore.
And I thought at the time as she's telling me that I'm shaking my head oh of course darling when you're strapped to the bed you always shake your head I believe everything. I thought, you know, it's not true. I thought these fellas are my friends and she's a great actress and she'd won an Academy Award I think a couple years before for Stella Dallas. And I figured, you know what they told her? Look honey, he just passed out but lay a story on him.
You know, maybe we'll scare him and he'll stop drinking. And I, scare an alcoholic. You know, that's crazy. And so all the while I shook my head yes and what I was wondering was I wonder whether my clothes are in that closet over there. And that night after everybody left they had me in several restraints. One on each ankle, two straps around the bed and one on my wrist and I had the sides of the bed up and all these restraints I've had a lot of experience with them and it took me about 20 minutes to get loose from them.
And I tiptoed over to the closet and my clothes were hanging in the closet and I knew they didn't know anything about drunks right then and there, you know. And I put my clothes on peeked out the door there was nobody there and I walked down the hall went down the fire escape and went to a bar on Fountain in Vermont to get my strength back. No respiration on arrival did not affect me. And I went on and on and on and on.
Now, my friends would tell me Ed, drinking is killing you so you got to stop. I had a million incidents happen I could tell you about them we could be here all night. But I think I've established the fact that I was in trouble with my drinking. So I did what every red blooded drunk does I knew how to get sober long before I ever heard of Alcoholics Anonymous. If you drink whiskey the way I drank whiskey you get to the point where all you have to do is smell it and your throat will start to close.
You can't get water down and then the first thing I would do when I couldn't get anything down even water I read in a book that the best thing cure for that was gin and buttermilk. And I thought Jesus, that guy really knows what he's talking about I know his reputation it was Frank Case Tales of a Wayward Inn and he said you take four ounces of buttermilk and you put it in the first glass and you take two ounces You take 2 ounces of buttermilk and you put it in the first glass, and you take 2 ounces of gin, and you put it in the second glass, and take 4 ounces of buttermilk and you put it in the third glass.
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And you take a deep breath, and this has almost got to be on the beat, you drink the first glass of buttermilk, and it goes down and sort of makes a floor. And you bounce the gin on top of it, and then you bounce the other buttermilk on top of it, it sort of makes a sandwich as it goes down, you know? Well, God damn, there's a wonderful thing about this. This gin and buttermilk will go down when nothing else will.
Incidentally, when it comes up, it comes up cottage cheese. You know, you're looking at the inventor of gin-flavored cottage cheese. You know, no royalties. But I drank that. But you know, you'll be alcoholic. Now, listen to the progression of this. You'll be alcoholic and this thing will work. And you'll say, you know something, that's good. But I think I could improve the recipe. They got it a little wrong. I got to the point where I could drink a fifth of gin with four sips of buttermilk.
And, you know, I'm bad. Well, I get bad enough, and I have to sober up. And I know how to sober up. I can tell you how to sober up. I can tell you how to sober up the best way. That's stop drinking. And I lived in a little broom closet apartment in Hollywood. And I'd crawl around that place for about seven or eight days, watching the light fixtures because I thought there were animals attached to them.
And seeing shadows on the walls that I thought were alligators. And itching. Oh, mostly I had the itches. I always thought there were bedbugs in the place. And I wasn't even on the bed. And you do that for six or seven days. And maybe on a seventh day, sometimes I'd walk around the block late at night, very slowly, trying to breathe. And fresh air, you know. And, you know, after about six, maybe seven days, I think maybe I'll chance a shower.
I don't think the water would bruise me now. You know, so you get a half a shower. And, God, you're feeling a little better, but you're, oh, God. And then you try on the eighth day, always the same. I don't care where you go in the United States or Canada, same thing. On the eighth day, you heat up lukewarm a can of Campbell's chicken noodle soup. I don't know why the hell it's always chicken noodle soup, you know.
And then you sip a few little sips, and you say, stay down. You know, do a little bit, stay down. And when, you know, about three tablespoons full of that stuff stay down, you try your big deal for the day. You try a noodle. I always figured solid food. You know, I figured if I get that down, just four more days, I'll be up to poached eggs. So I'd get it down, and now I'd start getting better. And here's the sequence that would happen. I'll tell it to you as quick as I can.
I'd work my way up to poached eggs. And then I'd start taking sunbaths on the roof. And I'd start taking vitamin pills. And I'd start reading inspirational books on the lives of the saints. Because I thought sobriety and sainthood had to be the same thing. Because I thought sobriety and sainthood had to be tied up some way. And I would not think about girls. Or anything like that. I would not use any profanity.
I would pray a lot. And I, after a few days, I'd start to get a suntan. And I'd start doing my exercises. And I'd get back to work, and my friends would look at me, and they'd say, Ed, you never looked that good in your whole life. You look wonderful. This not drinking is really good for you. God, it's very becoming. Not drinking is really good for you. And what I couldn't explain to those people in an hour and a half, I can explain to all of you people here in just a few sentences.
While I was looking better on the outside, in my stomach, left over from the last drunk, was a little lead ball. And it was painful. And with each day of this glorious suntan, vitamin-filled sobriety, that goddamn ball was hurting worse and worse and worse and worse.
[00:35:04]
And my smile became more labored and pasted on. And I, things were not funny, but I tried to grit my teeth. And I'd go on like that maybe for eight or nine more days. And I'd go on that way until I knew that if I went on another few minutes, that I would go mad and be carried away to a hospital and never get out again. And at that moment, and not one second before, I would saunder into the Coach and Horses bar.
Now, you notice the word saunder. Anybody else would walk in and say, for God's sake, I'm dying, pour me a drink. Not an alcoholic. I'd quietly saunder in and, you know, the bartender always had his back to me because he was counting the money out of the change bag, putting it in the register. It was five minutes to six in the morning. They open at six down there. And after a while, you know, we do our saundering early.
After a while, the guy would feel the electricity of a live one. And he'd turn around and he'd say, oh, hi, Ed. And I'd say, hello, Joe. How about the ball game? Now, I didn't know what the hell season it was by then. But there's some kind of a ball game all the time. Football, basketball, baseball. He'd talk about whatever ball was hot at that time, you know. And we'd talk and I'd say, how about the wife and kids?
And, you know, sometimes he wasn't even married. But in my condition, you've got to make allowances. And finally, I'd sit there and look up at the mirror and he'd say to me, care for a drink, Ed? And I'd say, oh, I don't know. And he, being a bartender, would. And he'd go down to the well. And as he'd go to the well, you'd say, four ounces, Joe, no ice. You know, to a bartender, you have just told him the whole story.
Four ounces, no ice means you've got to put it in an old-fashioned glass. I'm afraid I'll swallow one of those little ones. Four ounces, no ice means if you put ice in it, the ice will hit my nose and spoil my rhythm and I'll puke it up all over your mirror. Four ounces, no ice means two ounces won't hit bottom. I need four ounces. It's the drunk's drink at five minutes to six in the morning. But a bartender, when he got money on the bar, he says, yes, sir.
He pours the four ounces and I used to sit there and let it sit a minute or eight or nine seconds. On the show, I had a lot of control, you know. I can take it or leave it alone. Well, here's to you, Joe. It's one motion. Either you make it or you don't. If you miss it, you better throw it over your shoulder and say, another one, Joe. It's a metronome-like thing. It's dum-dum, and then I used to pray.
Atheist, Catholic, pray. Oh, God, make it work. Maybe this time it ain't going to work. Please, God, make it work. Don't say it's not going to work this time, God. But God, make it work. And, you know, I don't believe, I really don't believe, as we joke here, that there is any more terrible feeling, any feeling more fraught with terror than when the drunk who is strung out to that extent puts that first drink down and for three or four seconds he wonders whether it's going to work.
I think that's the loneliest, most terrifying feeling in the whole world. And it seems to last for an hour. Maybe it's only three or four seconds. And then it starts to hit. And I sit there and kind of loosen up and start breathing again without counting. And I'd sit there a little while longer and he'd say, care for another one, Ed? And I'd say, I don't know. And he has already poured it, you know.
And you sit there. Oh, God, it's starting to work. And you drink the second one. And God damn, when that second one goes down and hits the bottom, I used to become a citizen again. I decide to join the PTA. Next election, I'll vote. And I'm going to be good to my neighbors, too. All sorts of resolutions. And all of the resolutions would end with and start and have the middle with the first few lines
[00:40:04]
of chapter three in the book Alcoholics Anonymous. But this time, it is going to be different. And that's the way it would start off. Now, if you're drunk, it's five minutes after six by now. You put two away. You call for your check and you front tip the bartender. Because it's four dollars. You say, here's six, Joe. Now, the reason you front tip a bartender is then he has to say, have one on me. Don't back tip him.
Jesus, you may miss that double. And so you get the third one. And I'd walk out of the Coaching Horses ten minutes after six in the morning. And I was a citizen. I was feeling like a man again. I was going to go to work at Universal and give them a good day's work. I'd made a thousand resolutions which I fervently intended to keep. This time, it is going to be different. And I would really go to work and give them one hell of a day's work.
I don't know about you folks. I was not able to taper off. I had to quit. But I was the best there was at tapering on. It took me sometimes three weeks before gangrene would set in. And then I would go through the process again. Now, this had been going on for years. And I couldn't do anything better. And I tried everything else. And toward the end, I'll tell you, it started to get terrible. I started to go to a drunk tank in Los Angeles.
Now, they threw me in this drunk tank. And it was a little room, about 14 by 14. There's 200 guys in it. They're all sleeping in their clothes. The dirtiest looking bunch of people I've ever seen. They got ten day growth of beard. Puking all over each other. I said to the guy, you got me in the wrong place. I'm a whiskey drinker. And I knew they were wine. And the funny thing about a jailer, anyway, he says, oh, yes, sir.
But they push you in. And I looked around. I said, I'm not even going to drink the water here. And I'm dying. And I never saw such a crummy bunch of people in my whole life. Bums, lowlifes, obviously never held a job or washed or anything like that. And they're throwing up. And if you don't watch out, you'll slip in it. And the food they eat is even funny when it comes up, you know. And I, boy, that dog food looks funny, you know.
And I finally would get a trustee and get a telephone call through to this girlfriend I had who loved to suffer. And, oh, she would have made a great al-anon. This girl. She'd come down, I remember many times, 3.30 in the morning, $21 bail and a pint of I.W. Hopper in her handbag. And she'd get me out. And I'd run across the street behind that empty building and drink half of the I.W. Hopper. And I told her, I said, darling, I'll never come back to this place again the longest day I live.
This is terrible. I'm going to write the governor and the mayor and the city council and the board of supervisors and my assemblymen. This should be investigated. This is inhumane. And I resolved that I would never be back. Two weeks later, I'm down here again. Another week, I'm down here again. Two weeks later, I'm down here again. Always for the same thing, sleeping on a lawn. I just was tired. I think it's a quiet street.
I'll lay down on this quiet lawn. I'll get a little rest. I'll get my strength back. Nobody will know. I'll get up and go home. A cop wakes me up one morning. He said, the woman in the house called up and said there was a dead body on the lawn. I don't know what the hell he wanted me to do for him. Off I go. But you know the strangest thing about Lincoln Heights? It tells the whole story of alcoholism so quickly.
Lincoln Heights, that drunk tank, each time I went down there, 8, 10, 12, 14, 16, 18, 20 times, they went down there 30 times. I don't know. Each time I went down there, it seemed to me that the clientele was improving. They were nicer looking. They were getting a better class. There's no question about that. After a while, you get to know the fellas. Friendly, you know. And they throw you in there quarter to six some morning and a guy who isn't puking back in the corner hollers, hiya, Ed.
Oh, Jesus. You got friends in the place, you know. I used to reach over and say, hello, Joe. Any mail? That's a remark. That's not mine. They make it down there all the time. You know, get you right here, you know. And the thing is that the Lincoln Heights, which had once been such an appalling experience to me, didn't bother me at all.
[00:45:04]
I was content there. I had come to accept it and to know it and to feel comfortable in a part of it. And so that same thing had happened in every other area of my life. The thing that was once repulsive to me had become acceptable. A thing that was just barely acceptable had become commonplace. A thing that had become commonplace was habitual, and after it was habitual, it was all just a blur and easy.
A thing that was once repulsive to me had become acceptable. A thing that was just barely acceptable had become commonplace. A thing that had become commonplace was habitual, and after it was habitual, it was all just a blur and easy. You know, the first time I had to lie to conceal my drinking, it was difficult for me to lie because I was brought up to tell the truth. And it was a hell of a thing to lie, but I lied so much to conceal my drinking that lying became more natural to me than the truth.
And each time I had to lie and cheat and steal and con my boss or some corporation or some bank or somebody to conceal my drinking, it became more of a natural thing for me to do. To conceal the real me from the world, it was necessary for me to lie and cheat and steal and con. And the terrible trouble with that is the trouble of alcoholism. The trouble of alcoholism is it is a disease of such gradualness.
Good God, the alcoholic doesn't give himself away in one wallop. Oh, God, that would be easy. He gives a little pinch away here and a little pinch away there, and an ounce of his integrity and a half ounce of his decency and a little grain of his manhood and a piece of all that separates the man from the animal. Piece by piece and drunk by drunk and drink by drink and lie by lie and theft by theft, Ed Regan, alcoholic, gave away all that was decent and honest and manly and upstanding and all of his character.
I gave away all those things piece by piece and hardly noticed it because it was so gradual. And toward the end, you know, I was vaguely aware that terrible things were upon me, but I couldn't do anything about them. I was trying my level best to straighten up and be a man and fly right and do all those things, but I couldn't do it. And all I was reduced to was a few days of painful drunkenness and then a few more days of painful sobriety.
That terrible rollercoaster that I don't know which end is worse. I guess the sober end is worse. I remember many times when I'd be sober ten days and my friends would say, if you start drinking, you're going to be in trouble. No, they were going to be in trouble if I started drinking. I was going to be out of trouble. God damn it, I'd been laying awake nights counting my breath, afraid that if I missed the count, I'd forget to breathe and die.
I've been walking 20 miles a night trying to get tired enough to sleep and I couldn't. And they're going to tell me that if I start drinking, I'm going to be in trouble. Hey, baby, cold and sober without any wounds at all. I am in trouble. There isn't any trouble greater. And so I knew that what they were saying was not so. But I didn't know what to do about it. And luckily for me, into this terrible dilemma came a friend of mine, and I must describe this man.
He was the worst drunk that I have ever known. He was a man who had earned a quarter of a million dollars a year and was reduced to begging nickels for wine on Hollywood Boulevard. And here's the way I heard the story, the way it came to me piece by piece in my befuddled mind. I heard that he had joined a religious cult and they didn't drink. And I said, oh, that guy needs it. And I figured they had tambourines.
And I heard that if you attended their seances and listened to the sermon, they gave you jelly donuts. And I thought sawdust on the floor and tambourines, I'm sure.
[00:50:01]
And I thought it's good for him, he needs it. And I heard other terrible things. I heard that these people made public confessions. And I was, that turned me off. But the worst thing of all that I heard was that these people, by some thing that I didn't understand, got some type of points for bringing in new prospects. And I thought like a flash, that dumb son of a bitch is going to think I'm a prospect.
And so I was looking out for him three weeks before he was looking for me. And I used to think about that man in the middle of a drunk and be cold sober, just like that. Shot a pint of whiskey, boink. And anyhow, one night I was walking down Hollywood Boulevard and I'm feeling no pain. And I see this man coming toward me. And I got cold sober in one second. And I tried to give him the hi-ya baby, you know, keep walking.
And he grabbed me by my sponsor, I don't know what the hell they got nowadays, these kind sponsors. My sponsor grabbed me by the coat, he pushed me up against the wall, he says, I come to bring you a message. And he keeps poking you in the chest. I said, I don't want… I said, I don't want the goddamn message. And he kept poking me in the chest, I said, you're going to give me cancer. Son of a bitch didn't laugh, boy.
And I'm telling you, I wish I, you know, tried to protect myself like a young girl. And every time he'd tell me a part of this message, he'd take a piece of literature and he'd say, this will explain that, and he'd push it in my pocket. Christ, I got literature hanging out of every pocket explaining everything. And in those days, AA did not have very much literature. I had it all. Finally, I guess he got tired.
I got away from him. I run over to a thrifty drugstore and I bought a pint of old armpit. That's the whiskey in those cheap drugstores that's nearest to the door. And I run around the back of the store and I kept drinking that whiskey for about three quarters of the pint before I could get up enough strength to get off that step and walk home, which was 150 yards away down Hudson Avenue. This guy had shook me.
And when I got home, I run out to the incinerator and I took all this subversive literature and I burned it. And I thought, God damn, sons of bitches, they're probably communists too, you know. And I went on a wagon to throw them off the trail. I'll get rid of them bloodhounds. I'll walk through water, you know. But a couple of days later, I thought, a healthy fellow at once got some soda. What could it do?
You know, I got home a week later. And at this particular drunk, I was so weak, I had to have this cab driver help me down the hall. I was not staggering, but I was just weak. And I'm in this little post-pocket apartment. I'm there eight seconds. I know who it is. I go over to the door and in he walks. Well, well, well, what do we got here? He's got the A.A. book and in those days, I don't know some of you new people, it's lucky you haven't seen it.
The old A.A. book was red buckrim, twice the size it is now, same number of words, less in fact. They wanted to make you think you got more for your money, so they printed it on thicker paper. And it had a dust jacket, yellow, listen to this carefully, yellow and red and black and white. Looked like the menu from a Mexican restaurant. This guy's coming over to my bed of pain saying, well, well, well, what have we got here?
And he sits down, I thought, the son of a bitch. Love your sponsor, I hope he drops dead. And he opened the book, I don't need a book.
[00:55:00]
It says Alcoholics Anonymous, the story of how many thousands of men and women have recovered from alcoholism. Down at the bottom of the page, Works Publishing Company, Post Office, Box 459, Grand Central, Annex, New York, New York. Pay attention, you son of a bitch, I'm going to ask questions. It had seven printings at that time, and he read me the date of each one. Then he read me the forward. Then he read me the table of contents.
Then he read me the doctor's opinion. Then he read me Bill's story. Then he read me more about alcohol. Then he read me chapter two. Oh, Jesus, everybody forgets chapter two. Chapter two is the chapter in the book, and I don't know why everybody skips that chapter. Chapter two is the greatest chapter in the book. It says there is a solution. He read me that, cover to cover. Then he read me Bill's story, Bob's story, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five, all the personal stories.
He read me everything in the book, including that portion which follows the asterisks, which explains spiritual awakening. After about three and a half hours, he closed the book, and I said, oh, Jesus, I hope this son of a bitch dies. You know, it's painful to breathe. He closes the book. He said, now I'll give you my interpretation. Ten and a half hours later, this son of a bitch hadn't stopped for breath yet.
He looks at his watch, and he says, Bob, what do you know about that? He says, it's 15 minutes after three, and all the bars and liquor stores are closed. You ain't got any booze in the house, have you, you son of a bitch? I said, no, I ain't got any. He searched the place five times. He said, well, you've just had your first, he said, by the time the bar's open, you will have had your first 24 hours of glorious sobriety.
Ain't that wonderful? They all laugh that you're dying in those days. I said, oh, yeah, Larry, that's good. He said, well, look, now it's Thursday morning, and I want you to go there with me Sunday night. I said, Larry, I'll go. I'm anxious to go. You know that. I was anxious to say something that would get him out the door. And he said, okay. He said, now, don't drink. I said, no, no, I wouldn't think of it.
He said, don't drink until then, because I want you to understand what's happening Sunday night. I said, oh, of course, Larry. He said, okay, don't drink. You promise? I said, no, I promise not to drink. He said, okay, I got people watching you, and if you drink, they got instructions to kill you. Didn't. I knew that was a lot of hooey, you know. Big deal. In my condition, kill me, go ahead, you know.
Why didn't you do it 12 hours ago? But I didn't drink because I was too sick. Sunday afternoon at 3 o'clock, the meeting was 8.30. It was four blocks from my home. At about 4.30, I started to get ready to leave. I wanted to get out before they got there. I was getting nervous. And about 5 o'clock, I was ready to leave the house, and… I go to the door. I know who it is. And four of them. Four! They said, just got here a little early.
Wanted to be sure we didn't miss you. Five more minutes, they would have, you know. Well, I thought, Jesus Christ. They talked to me. They instructed me. They started, you know, they're all hitting me at once. Now, finally, at about 7.30, one guy grabs the left arm, one guy grabs the right arm, one guy leads, and one guy draws up the back. Like the prisoner song, you know. Oh, we're walking up Hudson, a couple blocks across Hollywood Boulevard, and I'm hoping to get hit with a cab as we cross the boulevard.
I don't want to go. And I thought, if I break a leg, they'll have to take it down and set it, and that'll be nice. And no cab hit me. And I prayed for an earthquake, and there wasn't any earthquake. And by the time we got up Sycamore Avenue, my nervousness was so great that I was unable to walk the last hundred steps. And so they practically had to help me because my nervousness had made my legs so they wouldn't function.
And there was about six stone steps to Damascus Club in Hollywood, and as I stepped up those stone steps, To Damascus Club in Hollywood, and as I stepped up those stone steps, I truly felt like a condemned man. I didn't want to be there, and I was sure I would never be back. Now, I don't know how the miracle of Alcoholics Anonymous is going to hit you,
[01:00:02]
but it hit me so quickly and so profoundly, and so heavily, that it… I remember it today, like it was a day ago. Standing in the doorway, there was an elderly man and woman, and they were greeting the people as they come in. Now, these people, he had a nose like W.C. Fields. He had lumps and bumps, and he looked like he drank a hundred years, and he had broken veins in all of his face, and he was a rum pot look, you know, he had.
Standing next to him is a woman, and she's got bags that go down underneath her chin, and they're wet, and they look like, to me, Santa Fe all the way, you know. Muscatel at least, you know, and they're greeting people. And this man evidently saw my terror, and he grabbed my hand, and he said, I'm Charlie Morrison, an alcoholic. I said, good. And he put his arm around my shoulder, and got right up close to me, and he pulled me away from the doorway to get me out of the way of the incoming people.
He says, you're nervous. I said, oh yeah, I am. He said, don't worry. It's going to be all right. I know how you feel. I know how you feel. It's going to be all right. I'm an alcoholic. And as he held me, the first thing I noticed was, in holding my hand with his arm around my shoulder, he was getting his face up close enough to me so that he was allowing me to smell him. And he didn't smell like he looked. He smelled like he wasn't drinking.
And that helped me a little bit. And he says, it's going to be all right. It's going to be all right. It's going to be all right. Just calm down. Don't worry. It's going to be all right. And then he said to me, he said, you see that woman standing in the door? That's my wife. Now, I didn't think he would claim that broad. I really didn't. I'll tell you the truth. I had no sense of humor. I was full of fear.
But if I was thinking at that time, I would have said, mister, I think your sign fell down. Because she looked like it, you know. But everything was deathly serious. And then he said to me the words that have more meaning for me than any words that I have ever heard spoken by a human being on the face of this earth. The words he said to me impressed me and changed my life immediately. And I was conscious of them. He said, I'm an alcoholic and my wife is an alcoholic.
I drank for 45 years and she drank for 43 years. And we couldn't stop drinking. We had tried everything and we were dying. And we came to this group 19 months ago. And neither my wife nor I have had a drink since. If you hear that said by a drunk who has every mark on his face that alcohol can put on a human face, and he tells you that lovingly, and you believe it's true, you have started to become a member of Alcoholics Anonymous, there is no power on earth that can keep you out of here anymore.
Because you are in the presence of the miracle. It's holding your hand and you can't pull away. I noticed a feeling that came over me. I guess the first vestiges of it was I calmed down. And I was able to sit down and listen to my first AA meeting. And it was a wonderful, wonderful, wonderful meeting. A guy stood up and he told some of the funniest stories that I have ever heard in all my life. And we all laughed and laughed and laughed.
And I thought, God damn, that's a real guy, you know. And I was just eating it up, you know. This other guy stood up and he was funnier than the first guy. And he told some stories that were absolutely hilarious, and I was right with him. God, I was laughing and just feeling with him, and you could see it on my face. And then he started to tell a story. He says, once I used to go with a girl who lived in a 12-story apartment house in Hollywood that had a slow elevator, and I used to drink beer.
And I thought, oh Jesus, I hope he don't tell a story about that. And he says, standing outside of the elevator, there was a live potted palm in a stone pot. And he said, late at night, I would get there full of beer, going to see my girlfriend, and I thought, Jesus, don't tell him that, for God's sakes.
[01:05:01]
And he said, I'd punch that thing for that elevator and that damn thing would never show up. And he said, there was no one in the lobby, so I thought, oh my God. So I'd zonk a little bit in the potted palm. He said, I'd pee in the potted palm. And I thought, oh, mother of God. You know something, the reason that I was so upset was, anyhow, as he kept doing this, week in and week out, this goddamn potted palm, each week it was over a little further.
It had a death scene like Sarah Bernhardt. It lasted for months. And Jesus, the thing that had me, I was, first thing you know, I'm laughing and crying. Now the thing that had tied me up in the beginning was, Jesus, I didn't want him to tell that story because I had killed one of those palms, too. And I tell you, at that time, I would have pled guilty to murder, but I wasn't going to tell anybody that I went around peeing on potted palms and killing them.
Anyhow, anyhow, Jesus, we've got 4,835 people registered here at 9 o'clock. Anyhow, anyhow, you know, when this guy had finished this story, you could look on my face and tell that I identified with this man. And I never heard a phrase that fully described my feeling until many, many years later, and I heard it in Alcoholics Anonymous from these tremendous young people that come in here and teach us so much.
The kids say it's so beautiful. I couldn't even find the words to describe it. They say, let it all hang out. God, I was letting it all hang out, and I couldn't explain it, but I knew that if you looked at my face, that you could tell that the experiences that that man was relating were a part of my life, and I didn't have to recompose my face to hide it. For the first time in my life, I was in the midst of 200 members of Alcoholics Anonymous, and we were telling about ourselves.
And I could be myself, and I could let them see who I was and let them see that I understood and become a part of and be unafraid of what I was. The feeling was so great that it is with me to this day. When the meeting was over, my sponsor introduced me to everybody in the hall. As an alcoholic, I was sober for a year before I heard some crazy woman out in Beverly Hills. She said, you know, we don't tell anybody they're an alcoholic here.
You have to make up your mind for yourself. If my sponsor is handling your case, he will take care of all those petty details. You know what my sponsor says? He says, you never ask an insane man to make up his mind. He says, because he'll do an insane thing. He says, what you're going to do is get that son of a bitch sane and sober, and then let him make a decision. And it's true. And my sponsor never let me make any decision.
He says, listen, you son of a bitch. He always called me by my first name. He said, if you're worried about crossing the street, call me. I'll tell you whether you should. He said, if I catch you thinking, I'm going to kill you. He said, do you know that if this thing was made of granite, you could think it into talcum powder. He said more rotten things than any man I've ever heard. He just says, you just do what you're told.
Now I'm going to tell you how sick I was. I thought I was well. I was holding a big job. I had money. I'm going to tell you how sick I was. About the third meeting, I came to Louis Alberni, who was running the Motion Picture Sunday Night group.
[01:10:01]
He said, the man who makes the coffee didn't show up. You've got to help us and make the coffee. Nobody knows how to make it. He spoke with a Spanish accent like that. And I said, OK. I wanted to be a hero, and so I made the coffee. The next week, I came. He said, the people who fold up the chairs don't show. You've got to fold up all the chairs. I didn't know that you didn't have to have a license to fold up the chairs.
Every week, Louis would invent the crisis, because he knew I was too sick for anything but a crisis. He got me participating. One day, I walked in. He says, you're reading the steps. They didn't even have a podium. I said, I can't. I can't hold the book. I'm too nervous. He says, you hold it like this up against you. I said, I'm too nervous. I'll faint in the middle of it. He says, you faint. We'll fan you.
You'll come to. We'll throw some water on you. You get up. You're finished. Oh, they were full of sympathy. This was a very wonderful man who played a great part in my life. I'll tell you how sick I was. I was sober about five months, and I was at the 6300 Club, and they sent me out on a 12-step call to an empty lot. And I'm on my way out to 3425 South Van Ness Avenue. I'll never forget it. And when I come back, I said, you dumb bastards, you must have brain damage.
You can't even get the messages right, the old-timers, you know. You send me out on a 12-step call, you ain't even got the address. And you know something? Those old-timers were all smiling, because they knew something then that I didn't know. They sent me out on a 12-step call to an empty lot deliberately. They knew what they were doing. They were smiling because they knew the fact that I went. It would help me.
Isn't that strange? Isn't that strange? You go out to make a 12-step call, and it's an empty lot. And if you went just because you were willing to go, it will contribute to your sobriety. And they knew it. You see, they had to think for me. I couldn't think for myself. I'll tell you one more story. I guess we're getting late. But several months passed. They took me around by the hand. I was the youngest member of Alcoholics Anonymous in all Southern California, and I was the curiosity.
And see how young we're getting them now? And it's a good thing you didn't have to suffer like me. Oh, I heard a lot of that. At the time I came in here, I had 1,100 stitches in me, and they were telling me about suffering. And I heard, oh, it's a good thing you didn't have to go to the end of the line. I wondered where the hell that was. We're out. Anyhow, they put up with me, so I put up with them.
But after about five months, I was sober. The phone rang at my office. It was 3 o'clock in the afternoon. It was my sponsor. He said, drop what you're doing. Go to 550 North Rossmore Avenue, apartment 310, and give a drunk the message. I said, Jesus, Larry, I'm not ready. I had a feeling it was for real, you know. I said, I don't think I know what the… He said, I didn't ask you for philosophy. Go!
And he hung up. And I thought, oh, Jesus Christ. So I went. And, well, I'll tell you something. I was outside of that door on the third floor at 550 North Rossmore Avenue in Hollywood. And I knew that there was a real live drunk in that door. And I was absolutely and completely panic-stricken. I was afraid because I knew that something I might say or do would have something to do with whether that man might live or die.
And it was a tremendous responsibility. I leaned against the wall. And I don't know the prayer I said. I'm sure it was the shortest I've ever said. It was, oh, my, please, God, help me. That's probably all it was. But it was fervent. And when you're scared, you charge. And I hammered on the door. A weak voice inside said, come in. A weak voice inside, I said, come in, and I walked in, there's a guy holding on the bed so he won't bounce off, and I said, are you an alcoholic, and he's off the bed, I said, do you want to quit drinking on an all-time basis, I said, are you willing to go to any length to get it, and I was out of gas,
[01:15:15]
I could have stood some fight, but God damn it, agreement, I wasn't ready for, you know, I said, is there a telephone here, he said, yeah, I called up the 6300 Club, I said, this is Ed Regan, I said, I'm at 550 North Rosemary Avenue, apartment 310, I'm calling on the drum, and I said, I'm afraid somebody's going to jump out the window, and they said, oh Ed, for Christ's sake, they all say that, I said, I'm afraid it's going to be me, they said, we'll get a guy right over, a guy comes over, and he's been sober now a year and a half, big Irishman, Mike Laughlin, I'll never forget him, he walks in, whispers to me, talks to the drum, a couple of minutes later he comes back, he says, I think we've got a winner, Jesus, this guy looked about a half a breath away from death, he was purple, he thinks he's a winner, well, we got a crew together, and we sat with that guy for three days and three nights, and we finally got him well enough to take him to the meeting at the 6300 Club, and at the end of the meeting, he said, I want to thank you fellas for all you've done for me, and he said, here's my card, he was a lawyer, and I thought, oh, and he said, my wife is here, she's going to take me back, I live in Pasadena, and strike two, and he said, I want to thank you for what you've done, and I'll never forget you the longest day I live, and so on and so forth, he said, what can I call you at home, and he said, no, just call me at the office, and I thought, oh, well, doesn't sound so good, so he went off with his wife, but I called him at the office every day for 10 months, and he was always sober, and I thought, some bitch may be drinking weekends, you know, he's a kind of a periodic, you never can tell, but I called him, and called him, and called him, and called him, and after about 10 months, I called him a little less, because I felt, well, I hope he's sober, but I didn't have the faith that I have today, I really didn't fully believe that he was sober, even when he told me he was, but I did what I knew that I should do.
Now, I started to work in AA, and they found me a lot of jobs, and a year and a half passed, and I was asked to speak out at the Women's Club of South Pasadena, and it's a scary place, it's cold, and they're all rich, and they don't laugh at nothing. They ain't got what I want, really, and I was scared going out there, and I got there early, and it had a cold battleship linoleum entrance hall, and as I got in this entrance hall, it was, gave you the willies, and coming toward me from the back of the hall is this drunk that was laying on the bed, and he's now got 40 pounds more on him, and he's smiling from ear to ear, and he comes rushing up, and he throws his arms around me, and he said, God damn it, sponsor, I'm glad you're here, and he said, I'm the secretary of this group, oh, ye of little faith, I'm the secretary of this group, and we stood there in the middle of this big hall and cried like babies, and I cried all through that meeting, and I talked, and I cried, and I talked, and I cried, and I was so happy, the Irish cry when they're happy, and it was a wonderful meeting, and I, it was a tremendous experience.
You know, if you don't, if you didn't bring faith to this program, if you don't believe that what's happening here is a miracle, that's okay, that's the way we all came here, that's the way we all came, none of us expected it to work, we hoped it would, some of us, but some of us were even afraid of that, but I came here against my will, sure it wouldn't work, and sure I wouldn't be back, and that was in the first Sunday in January in 1948, and I'm still here, and a few months ago, a few, no credit to me, all credit to you,
[01:20:14]
a few months ago I was called to go out to Pasadena to give this man his birthday cake for 29 years of sobriety, and he stood up in front of his group, and he said, my sponsor did this for me, and my sponsor did that for me, and my sponsor did this for me, and my sponsor did that for me, and I love my sponsor and so much of what I have, my sponsor helped to give me, and I don't remember any of the things that he said. I couldn't say whether I did those things or I didn't.
He said I did a lot for him, and I didn't get to say anything there that night, but I am here now, talking to you, and I want to tell you, all of you here, from me and from the bottom of my heart, that everything I have, everything I hope to have, everything I hope to be, everything that separates me from an animal, everything that gives me decency and dignity, everything that gives me a feeling with my fellow human being, everything that I hold near and dear to my life, was given to me as a free gift when I made a call on that drunk, when I went out of my way to give the little I had to him who still suffered, I got more than I ever had before or ever dreamed of having. All I have, all I ever hope to have, I owe to the members of Alcoholics Anonymous, I owe to the book Alcoholics Anonymous, I owe to the traditions of Alcoholics Anonymous. I don't believe that you can separate them from the steps. You know, when I came here, I heard, and I've heard a thousand times since, the twelve steps of Alcoholics Anonymous. You've all heard them.
Here are the steps we took, which is suggested as a program of recovery. And we know those steps very well, but implicit in those steps and in that book, there are twelve, strange as it seems, somebody counted them, twelve promises. And the early members of Alcoholics Anonymous said to me, and to you, that if you work these steps to the very best of your ability, one day at a time, miracles will happen to you.
They said, we promise you that if you do these things to the very best of your ability, one day at a time, you will regain your self-respect. I never thought I could find it again. They said, you will gain the respect of your family and your friends and your business associates. They promised me that. They said, you will mean something to your community. You will be a contributor to the world. You will be of value. You will be all these things we promise you.
If you do these things one day at a time, one day at a time, to the very best of your ability, one day, one day you will find a God of your very own, and you shall never be alone again. It may not be the God of your father's or the God of formal religion. It makes no difference. It may be, too. But you will find a God of your very own, and you will be conscious that each moment of your life, your hand is in His.
And you'll go to sleep at night without fear. You'll go around the world without fear. You'll live as a child of God, a God of your very own. And I was sober for a long, long time when one night I came home. I had been to the morgue and the burn ward at the general hospital, and it was a terrible place, and it brought me to the point where I had to be thankful for what I had. And I felt on my skin a God of my very own. I can't explain that God to you, and maybe I can't explain that God to me. It's enough that I feel His presence.
This is a program of feeling, not a program of intellect. Something can be the most valuable thing in my life. If I can't explain it, it doesn't make it less. I have a God of my very own, and whether I can explain that God or not, if I feel that God, that God contributes to my life.
[01:25:15]
They promised me that, these drunks, and they brought it about. But you know, they held for last that most extravagant promise that I have ever heard made in thirty centuries. They said, if you do all these things, you'll regain your self-respect, the respect of your family and your friends and your business associates. You'll mean something to your community. You'll find a God of your very own. You'll find peace within. All of these things.
But they took and held the best to last. They said, one day, you will come to know and feel and be a part of heaven on earth. I thought, boy, they're drunks and they got to be gilded in the lily. They said, it will come about in a peculiar way. Someday, and these are their words, not mine, as a result of your unique experience, as a result, if you will, of your blessed degradation, you will be called to the bed of a sick and dying alcoholic.
And as you look at him in that purple, grey, blue skin that precedes death, if there's any look in his eyes at all, that look will say, oh my God, not another preacher. Oh my God, not another doctor, lawyer, not another superior being. Please God, not another lecturer. Let me die in peace. And instead of telling that dying drunk what he should do, you will tell him what you have done. You will reach down into your guts, into your soul, and you will pray out every rotten thing that you ever thought or did. You will withhold nothing, because that drunk's life may depend on it.
That drunk's life may depend upon his ability to associate he and you. So you cannot be a superior being. You've got to get down there with him. You'll withhold nothing. You'll tell him things that you thought you would carry to your grave. And after a while, you may feel or see a faint flicker, and you'll leave some literature, and he's a very sick girl. You'll have to come back to that hospital or sanitarium many times. And each time you'll come back, you'll maybe leave a piece of literature or say a few words.
And one day, maybe a week or two later, that drunk will be a little better, and he'll say, in timid words, would you, would you, would you consider being my sponsor? And you know, you'll have all you can do not to cry. You'll say, oh yeah, I'd love to be your sponsor. And so each day, you'll come and see him. And each day, he'll say, I was looking forward to your coming. And you'll read pieces from the book and discuss your life, and he'll tell you about him, and you'll tell him about you. And each day, he'll get better.
And one day, that glorious day will come when you'll go and get his clothes and go to that hospital and get him to sit on the side of the bed and help him put on his shorts and his socks and his shoes and his pants and get him standing up as best he can and put on his shirt and his tie and his coat. You and that drunk. And when you get all that done and pick up his little bag that he brought there, and arm in arm, you and this hopeless, helpless drunk will walk out of this place of death, this land of darkness, into the sunshine of day.
Darkness, Into the Sunshine of the Living, In God's World, and at that moment, at that moment, you will know what they mean, when they say in the book Alcoholics Anonymous, you will come to know and feel and be a part of heaven on earth, if all of these things
[01:30:05]
have not happened to you, please, oh God, I beg of you, go out and find the drunk who is dying and give him a piece of yourself, and God will give you all that he has given me. Thank you very much.