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Source: Aline M. and Dick P – Orange County Convention Session – Date Unknown.mp3 File: aline-m-and-dick-p-orange-county-convention-session-date-unknown.mp3 Duration: 01:29:31
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Ain't this something? 8.30, Saturday morning, nobody's throwing up. Yet. Yet. Welcome to the wake-up meeting of the second annual Orange County Convention of Alcoholics Anonymous. My name is Chuck H. and I am an alcoholic. What's next? Oh, yeah. For those of you who are aware of the magnitude of my character defects, I would like you to meet my spiritual late leader from Palm Springs, our first 30-minute speaker, Aline.
Good morning. My name is Aline M. and I am an alcoholic. I'm grateful to God and Alcoholics Anonymous for my life and my sobriety today. Before I get going, I'd like to thank the committee, not him, for asking me to come down here this morning and share with you. And also to thank you for that beautiful basket of fruit that was in our room when we got here. I got to tell you that if it were chocolates, it would be gone by now.
But as it was fruit being good for you, he eats it and I sit there and watch him, you know. I suppose I ought to thank Chuck because he taught me another lesson in pride and ego. He called me a couple of months ago and asked me if I'd like to share at this convention. I thought, man, that's cool. They're finally recognizing talent. And I thought this is going to be absolutely fantastic. I know last year you had a capacity crowd here, some 3,600 or so.
And I thought, yeah, that'll be real cool, real cool. But that pride and that ego wouldn't allow me to ask him, like, which meeting is it that you want me to talk? And so I just went ahead pretending that it was going to be Friday night, Saturday night, you know, Sunday morning. I mean, you know how it goes, right? Well, about a month ago, I had the opportunity to share in Costa Mesa. And he and his absolutely adorable wife and Stan and his precious little mate met us for dinner.
And at that time, Chuck says, you'll be getting a letter. And he says, I forgot to tell you, you're going to share the podium. I thought, well, now that's not quite school, but that's all right. You know, I'll accept that. And he says, you'll be getting a letter before long confirming the fact that we've asked you down there. And I thought, that's real nice, real nice, you know, real nice. Well, about a week later, I got the letter.
And it thanked me for agreeing to the commitment of coming here and speaking. And it says the meeting that you will be speaking at is the Wake Up Fellowship meeting at 830 on Saturday morning. I thought, oh, my God, you know. My father, I don't know about yours, but my father has a sense of humor that is absolutely delicious. Because he knew what would happen to you if I were forced on you on Friday night or Saturday night.
So he gave me a half an hour when we're all half asleep to be able to share. Thank you, idiot child. Then I should tell you that in August we have a convention in the desert. It's called Mad Dog Days. And you have to be a mad dog in order to come to the desert in the first weekend in August. However, we have asked Chuck and Venus and their granddaughter to share in our family meeting. So for payback time, the granddaughter will speak first.
Venus will speak second. And hopefully there will just be time for Chuck to get up and say, my name is Chuck H. and I'm an alcoholic. I love the theme of your convention. The fun has just begun. Because, you know, when I first walked through the doors of Alcoholics Anonymous, I thought the fun was all over. There'd be no more fun. I'd live the life of a square from this point on. I could not imagine a life that didn't involve alcohol in one form or another.
I didn't have a problem with alcohol when I first came to you. I know today and most everything that I tell you is going to be in retrospect. So I don't want to have to keep saying this is in retrospect, this is in retrospect, the whole damn thing is in retrospect. I'm a periodic alcoholic. And I don't know whether there are any other periodics in this room today, but that's probably the most baffling part of this illness that I found.
Because, you see, I was married to a man who was a daily drinker. And I had no problems admitting to the fact that he had a problem with alcohol.
[00:05:04]
But I could not see that within myself. Just couldn't see it. A few months before I came to my first meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous, a couple moved in next door to us. We lived in a beautiful area in the San Fernando Valley called Pacoima. His drinking had gotten to the point where we had sunk that low. We were paying $17.50 a month rent for a four-bedroom apartment and were being evicted for being three months in arrears.
He had gone to Alcoholics Anonymous meetings before. And when he did, he always came home drunk. One thing's going to have to go, this cold or cigarettes. And I refused to give up the cigarettes. So, you see, I knew what Alcoholics Anonymous was all about way back in 1946. Because I knew that that was the place you drunks got together and got drunk anonymously and took care of one another. But this couple moved in next door to us, and they were a funny pair if you ever wanted to see them.
She had a constant smile plastered on her face, and he was the ugliest human being I have ever laid eyes on in my life, including him. They did real weird things. They went out most every night. They'd leave the house between 7 and 7.30, and they wouldn't get home until 10 or 10.30, and they always had people that they brought home with them. Sometimes they were very well-groomed people, and other times they were obvious bums.
I had gone over to see her the day after she moved in and asked her if she'd like to come over and have a drink with me to celebrate moving into this area. And she kind of plastered that smile on her face, and she says, No, thank you, honey, I don't drink. And I thought, Oh, my God, what's this neighborhood coming to? I'd never lived in an area where people didn't drink. That was what the women did during the course of the day.
So I waited a couple of days and went back, and I asked her why she didn't drink. A normal drinker does not go next door to a woman that has said she doesn't drink and ask her why she didn't drink. I didn't know it at the time. And she put that smile on her face, and she says, Honey, I'm an alcoholic, and I'm a member of Alcoholics Anonymous. And I thought, Oh, shit. Because I knew the drunks were going to be over there en masse.
En masse. But it was real funny what happened with my drinking as a result of knowing that this lady was a member of Alcoholics Anonymous. I started taking my wine bottles and my beer cans and waiting until the dead of night, putting them in a brown paper sack and going about three or four blocks down the street and putting them in somebody else's trash can. When she would knock on my door, I would make sure there wasn't a glass or a can or a bottle of anything in sight.
I didn't know that was part of the disease of alcoholism. Being a periodic, I knew there was something different about my drinking than that of other women. But I never once dreamed that it was alcohol or alcoholism. And I tried many things that I know other women have tried in that I would become obsessed with cleaning my house. And I would clean to the point where my family would all say, for God's sake, stop.
Because they couldn't even sit on a chair. Thank you. That I wasn't yacking at them about. I just cleaned that chair. I'd get Q-tips and toothpicks. My daughter, not too long ago, was cleaning the oven in my house with a toothpick. And you think that didn't take me back a few years, you know? She is a sober member of Alcoholics Anonymous today. Doing that sober, I'm thinking, oh, my God, kid, what have you got to learn?
I would try and replace this obsession with alcohol with being a brownie leader or a Cub Scout leader.
[00:10:04]
And, my God, I was even a PTA president. I couldn't have a problem with alcohol. In those periods when I was not drinking, trying to do something, trying to replace, not knowing that there is nothing to replace the alcohol except a program called Alcoholics Anonymous. On the Fourth of July weekend in 1958, a friend came up from San Diego. And my husband had been coming to Alcoholics Anonymous meetings for two months at that time.
Because, you see, I'd gone to one of these big PTA president's conventions up in San Francisco and got good and drunk and got kicked out of the top of the bar, I mean the top of the mark, for dancing on the bar and all of those things that some alcoholic women find themselves doing, you know. And when I came home, it was to find that Mr. Ugly had taken my husband and he was going to go to his first meeting in Alcoholics Anonymous in the Valley.
And that was when my drinking really progressed, really progressed. Because I got so angry, so angry. You see, they had a different brand of Alcoholics Anonymous in the San Fernando Valley than they had any other place we'd ever lived. Because he was coming home and he was coming home sober and he wasn't doing much talking and he wasn't joining me and I couldn't blame him anymore for the amount that I drank or how I drank or when I drank or why I drank.
I had to take the full responsibility on myself, you know. And I didn't like that. Didn't like that at all. Anyway, he had been sober for that two-month period and Tommy came down and he walked in the house and he had all kinds of booze on him. And he looked at Bob and he says, Oh, buddy, I've come down here to get drunk with you. In sanctimonious, Sam sat back in his chair and he folded his arms and he says, I can't get drunk with you, Tommy. I've joined AA.
So Tommy and I sang a couple of choruses of Onward Christian Soldiers and he and I got drunk. I mean, you know, what the hell. And it was after that that I thought, Maybe if I go to Alcoholics Anonymous with him, obviously he's controlling his drinking now. Maybe I can learn how to control and enjoy my drinking and drink like a lady. So I went next door to this lady and told her I had a cousin who had a problem with alcohol and what could I do to help him?
Well, you know, that part was true. I did have a cousin who was an alcoholic. He died of the disease of alcoholism. He died of a burst liver in Las Vegas about 15 years ago. His mother had also died of the disease of alcoholism. She committed suicide. So I've seen that side of the disease. She suggested to me rather crudely, I thought, that maybe if I'd go to a few meetings and learn what I could do about my own drinking, that maybe I could help him.
And I thought, well, what do you know? What do you know? But I graciously said I'd go with her. And that was on a Tuesday, and it seemed like a real good idea then. But Wednesday, the day we were to go to this meeting, because they didn't have meetings every night at that time, not in the area I lived in anyway, it didn't sound like such a good idea when I woke up on Wednesday morning. In fact, it sounded like kind of a ridiculous idea.
And so I called her. Now, you've got to realize that her back door was no farther from mine than Stan is. But I picked up my telephone, and I called her, and I told her I didn't think I could go to that meeting that night because I didn't have anyone to watch the children. Now, I had five kids, and up to that point I hadn't cared whether there was anybody there to watch them or not, because when I had to drink, I had to drink, whether they had a babysitter or not.
I'm not standing up here proudly saying that, but that's the truth. She said, Don't worry about it. I'll send my daughter over. I said, Thank you very much, and hung up. Waited a couple of hours, called her back and said, I don't think I can go to that meeting tonight, Diane. I don't have anything to wear. She said, Don't worry about it, Alene. Some will be there in shorts. Some will be there in slacks.
Some will be there in dresses. Some will look at you anyway. I thought, Ha! What does she know? Hung up, waited a couple of hours, called her back and said, Diane, I can't go to that meeting with you tonight. Can't do anything with my hair. Can't do anything with my hair. She said, put a bandana on, you're going.
[00:15:02]
You know. And so we went. And in the car on the way to that meeting that night, she told me a little bit of what I could expect. She said, now they're going to ask for the hands of new people in their first three meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous. But she said, you don't have to raise your hand if you don't want to. I thought, I ain't going to, baby. I just ain't going to. And she told me that there would be quite a few people there, but she was sure I would enjoy myself. And we pulled up in front of this little old shacky place in the city of San Fernando. And parked in front of it were some nice new cars. And people were getting out of those cars with smiles on their faces.
Because, you see, they knew what I didn't know. The fun had just begun. And we walked in that little room, and around the walls were the Twelve Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous. And on the front of the podium was the Serenity Prayer. And I thought, she has tricked me. She's taken me to a church. And God knows I had tried enough of that. In my obsession to get away from alcohol, I had tried almost every church known to mankind. And it hadn't worked.
And I knew this wasn't going to work either. She said about introducing me to every broad that was in that meeting that night. She didn't realize that I didn't want to know any of those women. I didn't want to know any of them. You know, I'm here as an observer, and an observer only. Just leave me alone, put me in a corner, and let me sit there and smile the way you do. Just leave me alone, put me in a corner, and let me sit there and smile the way you do.
You… the way you do. See? I can do it. Very good. But she insisted that I meet all of these people. And one of those ladies had the audacity to say to me, I hope you remember all of our names, because we're going to give you a test later on. Yeah? I didn't speak to her for another six months after I got sober. Then pretty soon, everybody kind of sat down. It was one of those meetings that I guess is typical of Alcoholics Anonymous, where everybody's talking and nobody's listening. And they all sat down, and this big bruiser got behind a podium very much like this one. And he… he made the biggest faux pas I'd ever heard up to that point. Because he says, hi, my name is so-and-so, and I'm an alcoholic. And I thought, my God, you don't say that in public!
You know? Yeah, I was embarrassed for him. I really was, you know? And he went on, and he read a few things that really didn't make any sense at all. And I sat there, because I was a very intelligent human being, and I sat there like everybody else was going like this, you know? And so I ended up going like this, too. I almost had to have my neck worked on a dozen times in that first year, because I got going like this so much.
Then he says, we're going to have old so-and-so read such and such. And so this… everybody clapped, and this guy got up, and he read something that didn't make much sense either, and got through, and he smiled, and everybody clapped, and he sat back down. Then that first day, he got back up again, and he says, now we're going to have so-and-so read something else. And so everybody clapped, and the lady got up, and she finished, and she smiled, and everybody clapped, and she sat back down. And my thought was, my God, don't let me have to go to the bathroom. They'll clap, you know? I was just sure the minute you got up from your seat, everybody was going to clap. It was kind of ridiculous. And then he said those things that Diana told me he was going to say. He said, do we have any new people with us for their first three meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous? And I wasn't going to raise my hand, but this smiling lady was sitting beside me, and her hand went under my elbow, and my arm went up. She says, tell them your name. And I wanted to say Beatrice or Gertrude or anything, but I said, my name is Aline. And she said, state your disease. Now, I knew exactly what she was talking about. I had heard three people say my name is something, and I'm an alcoholic. And I'm standing up in front of a room of people that I don't know, and I really don't care about. And the belligerency of the denial of my disease caused me to say, bullshit. And I sat down, and I figured they'll leave me alone now. But they didn't do what I wanted them to do. They didn't say, you will kindly remove yourself from the premise. I had had people do that to me before from behavior very much like
[00:20:00]
that. Maybe a little worse, but what the hell. Instead, that man looked right straight at me, and he says, newcomer. And it was the only thing he said all night I heard that made sense. Because he said, newcomer, you're the most important person in this room. And I thought, how did he know? I had to look real close, because I thought maybe he was a member of my PTA group. And I didn't want to embarrass everybody over at that school by letting them know I was associating with a bunch of drunks.
And then he said two words, or several words, I should say, that he has lived to regret. Because he said, keep coming back. We need you. Keep coming back. We need you. And the fun had begun. I didn't recognize it as fun at the time. And a lot of times through this period of sobriety, things have happened that I didn't recognize as fun. But the God of my understanding that I got from people like you in rooms like this has given me the ability that I believe every alcoholic has to be able to laugh.
You know, our book says we're not a glum lot. I have gone to some meetings that I would like to read that to them. You walk in those damn meetings, and you would swear that we are afflicted with something horrible. You'd think we had leprosy, for Christ's sake. I don't know about you, but I have a disease, and it's called alcoholism. And all I have to do to arrest this disease is 12 simple steps. Come to believe in a power greater than myself. Share with people I don't want to share with. Get up all times of the day or the night. Do things I don't want to do. And I don't have to drink anymore. You know, it becomes very, very simple.
Go to a bunch of meetings and meet people that you never would have associated with while you were out there drinking. My God, I go to a meeting where an ex-First Lady of the United States of America sits right by me. Now, I wouldn't have associated with her when I was drinking. I was at a meeting one night when a gal had spent time in the women's prison in Arizona, and she called me sponsor, and I thought, I wouldn't have had anything to do with her when I was drinking. But, you know, I love that lady today. I love all of those ladies today.
Matter of fact, I think I got more problems than I admit to, because I just love about everybody today. Don't like some of them. Okay. When he moves his hand, I'm afraid. And if I get over on this side, this one's always doing it to me. I don't know. The big book talks about we enjoy life, and then it goes on to say we insist on it. And I think how true that is. But do you know that for each day of pain, if you want to call it that, for each day of sorrow that I have had since I've been a member of Alcoholics Anonymous, they are so far surpassed by days of joy. And in those days when I'm in pain, which means I'm in myself, and someone else calls, and they're willing to share their lives with me, that makes it all worthwhile. So many things have happened to me in sobriety, that I don't have the time to tell you about today, you know. Good, indifferent, because nothing bad has happened to me since I've been sober. Not a thing.
The God of my understanding is absolutely precious to me. He's a constant companion, and one I will not apologize for. I call him Father. And in the morning on my way to work, I usually get up and say, okay, Father, I'm reporting for duty. Help me with my attitude,
[00:25:02]
because believe me, that's where I have problems. Show me what you want me to do, and I'll try my best to do it. And that's about it. A very simple relationship of a child to a Father. And I've gone many places as a result of that relationship, child to a Father. I learned that the hard way, because you see, I used to pray for specific things. I had gone through a period of sobriety when I was not doing the 12 suggested steps that were set down in front of me, and I wasn't picking up that simple kit of tools that you had laid at my feet. And I was just kind of trudging along, doing those things that Aline wanted to do, and the self-denial set back up again, and all of those defects that I have asked to be removed of, but they keep coming back occasionally to haunt. And I was feeling empty, and I did not feel good. And I happened to pick up the big book, and I was reading in the big book, and it says, when all else fails, work with another alcoholic. Well, I really had not done when all else fails, but I thought, maybe that's what I need, to work with another alcoholic. And so I prayed to this God of my understanding, and I asked Him to send me a baby. And nine months later, I had my sixth child.
And so it's through experiences like that, that you learn to be very careful what you pray for, because you're going to get it, you know. Now, He knew exactly what I was talking about. Now, He knew exactly what I was talking about. He knew that. That child is 19 years old today, and a member of Alcoholics Anonymous. He has a sister who is also a member of Alcoholics Anonymous. I believe the disease to be hereditary. I don't know about you, but that's my belief, and I have a right to my opinion. I ought to say right here and now, too, as most of you know anyway. I ain't no authority on this program of Alcoholics Anonymous.
The only authority is the big book, which I see we do not have up here. Jim said he was afraid somebody might steal it. The one thing that I believe has helped me throughout the years more than anything else, and today I've been sober 10,108 days, and for me that is an absolute and utter miracle, you know. And that's only through you people. Thank you. And I didn't do a thing for it. You know, not a thing. The only thing that I did was learn kind of one day at a time that it's the power within that works.
But you people have been there for me. When my first husband died, within minutes it seemed like. They say a grapevine got out, and I had calls, and I had people over at my home before I could even get from the restaurants that we had in West Los Angeles back to my home in the San Fernando Valley. You were there. And you were there to tell me, don't walk alone, Ellen. You don't have to walk alone. You don't have to walk anything alone ever. And you know, I think if none of us ever carry a message at all except that, that we do not have to walk alone again ever. I always thought that was me and my God, and that's true also. But you know, when I allow you to share my pain, when I allow you to share in my joy, that's God working also. I would never have called you on that morning because I would not want to have imposed on you to share with me. By the same token, ego would not have allowed me not to call you if the same thing had happened to you.
I would have had to be there to help you. But you see, with me it's a different proposition. But you knew that, and you were there. And you showed me by your actions that you meant what you said with your words. And you stayed with me all during that traumatic time because you see, I'd been married for 30 years and didn't know anything else. You told me that after the funeral I was… You told me that after the funeral I was to get my ass to an AA meeting and I was to stay in there
[00:30:00]
and you didn't care whether I cried, you didn't care whether I laughed, you didn't care whether I talked or whether I didn't, that you strongly suggested that I be in an AA meeting. And so I did. And there would be nights when I would be so tired that I couldn't drag myself out to another AA meeting. But I'd sit in that chair and those walls would start coming in and the self-pity would start coming over in waves and I didn't know that it was grief.
But I'd grab my trolley and we'd go off to a meeting. That poor kid was indoctrinated in Alcoholics Anonymous long before alcohol became a problem with him, I'll tell you. And it was at one of those meetings that I went to because I couldn't stand being at home that the little guy that's here with me today was there. Now I had seen him when he came into the program of Alcoholics Anonymous and had anybody told me that I'd be married to him one day, I would have laughed him off the mat. He was obnoxious. He came to meetings drunk. He was loud. He was married to the sweetest little thing you ever wanted to see in your life.
He didn't know how to treat her. He was just rotten. That's all. And he kept coming around to these meetings drunk and obnoxious and loud and all that nonsense for about 10 months. And then he got sober. Something happened and he got sober and he changed. Something happened and he got sober and he changed. And I had worked on a board of directors for a men's recovery home in the San Fernando Valley that he and Gene were on and I'd gotten to know him over the years and then Gene passed away.
She had been gone for about two years, I guess, at that meeting that I went to and he was there. And there was going to be a birthday party that night for a little gal that was taking a year cake, you know. Speaking of a year cake, we have a fellow here tonight, Ken, that was a year old last Thursday. And we didn't get a chance to get to La Habra to see him take his cake last night. But I'll tell you, sweetheart, I wish you all the joy in the world on your path of destiny. And I am so delighted that we're able to share it. We play golf. I have to tell him those things, you know. He lets me cheat. The rest of them won't.
Anyway, we went to this party and I didn't quite know how to act because I had been married for years and years and years, it seemed like. And we didn't have a very intelligent conversation you would think that we would have because we had known each other for nine years up to that point. And the truth of the matter was I was scared to death of him and horny at the same time. So we talked about the moon and we talked about the other people in AA and have you been to this meeting lately and have you been to that meeting lately. And we kind of skirted the issues and went to the party and everybody was there and everybody was having fun and we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. And when he dropped me off at my car back at Cabrito Foundation, he says, I'll call you sometime, Eileen, and we'll go to coffee or we'll go to dinner or we'll go to a movie. We'll do anything you'd like to do. And I thought that sounded like a real good idea.
Well, that was on a Sunday night and I waited Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday and he didn't call, so I called him on Thursday. He was a clean old man. What the hell? And I asked him if he'd like to go down to Newport with me to pick up some books at a restaurant. And he said he'd be delighted. So we started off on the freeway in my car. And I thought we better get something straight from the very beginning. And so I looked him right straight in the eye while I'm driving. And I said, I don't ever want to get married again.
And he looked at me as if to say, well, who the hell asked you? And he told me he didn't want to get married again, either, that he'd already raised one family and he didn't want to raise another one. And he knew that I had Charlie at home. And that lasted for maybe 10 days. And we set a date. And when we were married on October the 28th of 1978, people like you from rooms like this were there to share our joy because you see, you shared with us when I lost Bob and when he lost Jeannie.
And you were there to help us start a new life, one with the other, because you know, and we all know that life is for the living. We have all been gone. I was dead to all intents and purposes before I ever hit the doors of Alcoholics Anonymous, because my life started here,
[00:35:07]
started here. And the road that Wes and I have traversed in this seven and a half years has been absolutely fantastic, because you see, we both love Alcoholics Anonymous and we both love the members of Alcoholics Anonymous. And we enjoy doing things together. And it's absolutely beautiful. I thank God the fun has just begun, because I look forward to it with enthusiasm on a day-to-day basis today. Thank you.
You know, there is a definite pecking order in Alcoholics Anonymous. There are those who try to deny it. You'll hear people say, it's not the quantity of sobriety, it's the quality. My sponsor points out to me that people that say that usually have seven months. But I enjoyed last summer at the old timers meeting at this Mad Dog Days. I was talking about Eileen with her 27 years, got to lead the old timers meeting. And the first lady that spoke had 35 years. And she says, isn't it a shame they got to have a newcomer lead the meeting.
But speaking of pecking order, our next speaker with 45 years of experience, our next speaker with 45 years of sobriety from Laguna Beach, Mr. Dick Pea. Thank you, Chuck. I'd like to take this opportunity to thank every one of you for being here, and especially those who are members of Alcoholics Anonymous. Who are members of Alcoholics Anonymous. The way I talk is because I was not born in Ireland.
My wife has tried on many times to try different makeups, different brands. But regardless of what brands she puts on me, I remain more or less the same. Except that today I can stand up straight in spite of my age. And I don't need to have anything to hang on or be pushed away from the bar. I have told you already that I was born in the mountains of Mexico. It was not even a little town. Many people made their living out of the wilderness, many people made their living out of the wilderness in that country.
Some make charcoal out of the oak. That's what we used to make. And when we were out chopping trees, digging pits to burn the oaks, to turn them into coal, my mother and sisters were in the hut making bags out of a sisal. So whenever the coal was done, we put it in these bags and carried it to the camp. To the outskirts of Mexico City. At that time that's about all there was to cook with. Oil was not known. Very few people burned wood. Those stoves cost more money.
And that's how we made our living. But it was almost a weekly ritual for us on Sunday to walk down to the nearest river,
[00:40:02]
take our baths, wash our clothes, and then after that, walk for about three and a half hours walk for about three and a half hours to the little town of Tecalita. The purpose of getting there was the principle to attend the church of our faith. And that was the main purpose for going to the town. But while we were there, we had a chance to meet some of the neighbors that live around there, exchange impressions, and then go to church.
We made our, that's how we made our living until the revolution came to Mexico. My father was skilled. He was at one time by the rebels that he knew where there was corn and nearby for their horses, that the horses were dying from hunger. They needed corn. And my father, and my father, we never had enough but for a week. And he really did know. Because of that, he was skilled. And later on, my oldest brother, he joined another banner in revolt at that time. And he was also killed during a battle.
One day, my mother got us all together. She said that a neighbor had received a letter who had migrated to the United States. And the neighbor claimed that here in the States, the work was abundant. Was abundant. The wages were higher. And there was plenty of food, all the food that the people wanted to eat, as long as they had the money to pay for. But above all, what they seemed to be enjoying was the tranquility that the country offers.
She convinces us we didn't want to come. We didn't know anything about it. We knew there was the language that we had to learn. My father never went to school. Neither did my mother. Neither one of us, we never went to school. We were too far away from the school. And at that time, we were all needed to work, to make our living. But we agreed. We agreed. And after a long, long journey, we left the jungle. We came to Mexico City.
And from there, little by little, we got to Laredo, Mexico. It was customary at that time to, for families to gather in the center of the plaza. And American farmers would come every now and then, and test the muscles of the men, and the height, and if they look healthy. And those were the requisites to meet, to meet the standards required. To meet the standards required to work in the farms. As far as the legal papers are concerned, something so much we hear about today.
[00:45:08]
At that time, the U.S. charged nine dollars per head. Any Mexican that wanted to come into this country, all he had to do is have his head shaved, if it was louse, and pay ten dollars, and the man was free to go here, any place. But in our case, we didn't have nine dollars. In fact, by that time, we didn't have nine pesos to eat with. But the man hired us, he looked at us, we seemed to meet the standards required, and he brought us across, and now we were in the U.S.
But in regards to alcohol, every time we had gone to the town to take, to go to Mass, other members from the neighborhood were there, and many of these men drank what later on I knew it was called alcohol. During the week, these men were highly respected. They were poor as they were. Any time they wanted to borrow tools, any time they wanted to borrow money, if we had it, it was offered to them. But now on a Sunday morning, they were entirely different men, entirely different men, and we wondered, how in the world can this happen when they have just left the church?
That was a mystery to us. But the consequences were very much the same like the consequences are at any place, at any corner of the world, where a man drinks in excess. No matter how polite, how cold, how much spoon in the man's head, if he keeps it up, if he keeps on drinking, the time will come that he forgets his manners, he forgets the way he began to talk to his wife when he first made love to her, he forgets how to treat the children, he thinks he's treating dogs or cats.
There is a radical change and a very ugly one. I was seven years old when I witnessed that. It impressed me very, very much. A lot of people laughed at the actions of this man, but I never, never saw anything funny, anything comical to really laugh about. How can a man find funny when he slaps his wife in public in the town? If the kids start to cry and crawl onto the mother's skirts to defend them, they also got beat up by this man.
And finally, the soldiers were called and they were dragged like dead bulls to the army camp. There were no police, just soldiers. So that scene impressed me very, very much. And as time went by, at the ranch in Texas where we worked,
[00:50:03]
sometimes alcohol was passed around during the course of a party or of a gathering, and I never took one. I never said why. In fact, I have forgotten now, but this time, why? I just had made up my mind. I wasn't interested. I never really remembered that I had to exercise any kind of controls to leave it alone. Everybody drank, but my brother and I didn't. And we saw now, here in the States, at the farms, exactly the same consequences that we saw in Mexico.
The only difference, the men were bigger, the men were taller, they seemed to be all handsome. The women were also very beautiful women, some of them, tall. The children were like any other children, except they were blondes. And there they were dark, mostly dark, but the feelings were the same. And as time went on, we left the ranch after we worked for almost two years. We paid our taxes. We paid what we owed the man for all the expenses that he had in bringing us across.
He would pay $9 a piece, and every week he would deduct something to pay for our food, for our clothing that we got from the store with our breast checks that were given to us. And after two years, we were free to go any place we wanted to. We had heard that the railroads paid more money than agriculture, and we went to San Antonio, Texas, the first big city that we had seen here in the States, and there we were hired by different contractors, by different railroads, until we finally, one day, we got to Youngstown, Ohio.
During all of this time, we saw the use of alcohol very much the same like in the other places. I'm talking about the people that drank in excess, and most of the people around us, that's what they did. They drank in excess. The consequences were very much the same, no difference, except that there seemed to be more police here to watch, and there was more respect to the police, but the abuse of the women were very much the same, in spite of the fact that some of the women were so big and tall, even bigger than the men.
As time went on, we wound up in Cleveland, Ohio. There the camp was disbanded. No more railroad work. We were all told to go and rent homes for ourselves, and at that time, there was a colony. There were no slums. It was a very, very poor neighborhood, but that's where some of the Jews, some of the foreign people that came from Europe had gathered in this neighborhood, and now some of the Mexicans, a few Mexicans that were there were also living in the neighborhood.
[00:55:02]
In the neighborhood, near the neighborhood was a place called the Hiram House. It was a place equipped with personnel to help all the foreign people that lived in the neighborhood, but that couldn't speak English or didn't have any money to buy what they thought they needed, and that's where my brother and I, we went. The idea was to go there to learn English because we were working now in restaurants, washing dishes, very good restaurants, some even hotels that we worked.
And there was a girl there that could speak several languages, but as far as her whole education was no more than high school. She had had two years of Latin, she said, two years of French, two years of Spanish, and she began to practice her Spanish with me, and since I could speak a word of English, I found this acquaintance very helpful, very practical, very needed. The day came that we became very friendly, at least she said so, and we went to her house to tell her father and mother about our intentions, and her father was born in Hungary, the mother was born in Hungary, but they had met here in the States and they got married, and now the man was working in a big steel mill.
And when I got there to the house, they never asked me to sit down, there was nothing wrong with my rear end, they just let me stand up straight, and the father asked her how much money was I making. At that time I was making $17.50 a week, and she knew, she knew that. And on hearing how much I made, she said a bad word, meaning some kind of a manure. And he told her to tell me that sometimes he made that much in one afternoon, sitting on the hind of his fence.
She told me that, what he said. I told her to tell him that at times I even get two uniforms a week, clean uniforms, and I also get two meals a day besides my wages. And she told him that, and he said the same way he said before, only louder. From the actions of this man, I didn't think he was in favor of helping us with the project. So I walked out, and I did make a mistake, I never said goodbye, I just took my cap and walked out.
And who was later to become my wife? Later to become my wife, she followed me, and she told me, I cannot understand why they are so religious, they go to church every week, and yet I can't see why your color, your race, the fact that you're a Mexican, has to do with that.
[01:00:14]
What has that got to do with our lives? You're going to help me, and I'm going to help you, and that's the way it's going to be. So, the man told her, if he insisted, if she insisted on marrying me, by the way he told her, that when they were living in Pennsylvania, and working in the same steel mills, during the war, Mexico had loaned thousands of workers to come and help with the war effort, and he said, as far as I'm concerned, those Mexicans were no different than niggers.
But at any rate, if you want to marry this guy, go ahead, but never try, never try to come back to this house, because the doors will always be closed for you. I walked out of the place, and she followed me and told me, we were going to get married, we were going to get married, God was our witness, and we were going to see somebody to marry us, and that's the way her father was, she wasn't going to try to change him at that age.
They don't mean to be cruel, she told me, they just want the best for me, I'm the only daughter, they like me very much, and that's all they want, they want me to find somebody with a lot of money, at least more money than what you have, and that's all. So that's how we got together. Up to this time, I had been in a lot of places where liquor was served, and any time that it was offered to me, I just merely said no, I don't care for any.
At times, I had to say that I was sick, because it was insisted upon that I drink, and after I said I was sick, that I couldn't touch it, I was left alone, nobody, nobody insisted that I drink. I was working at the restaurant, washing dishes at the Stockler Hotel, if anybody knows Cleveland, and the chef liked me very much, he had promised me that he was going to make a cook out of me, but one day my wife met a girl that had graduated from my school with her, and the girl told her that her husband was a foreman in a garage, and if she wanted to, maybe she could talk to her husband about me, because there was no future in a restaurant washing dishes.
So my wife told me to do that. She said, you are going to learn a trade now, they're going to teach you how to grease cars, and all makes of cars, and you're going to have a trade, and as long as you work in a restaurant, you might as well work someplace else where you can make more money. So I was told where to go, what time to start, and that's what happened. At this place, five black men live in the same neighborhood where I lived, and they told me that they would pick me up every morning, and take me to work, and bring me home from work, and on payday, I would chip in for the gas.
[01:05:01]
So I accepted, but on the way home, they would stop in a place that they called at that time a bootlegging joint, and they would go in, and always come out right away, right away, and go home. Never stay, always come out right away, and go home, and I waited outside. But one day, one day, I went in out of curiosity to see what it was like, what they did, how they did it. I went in, and what I saw was a very clean Italian home, a wonderful Italian family, but the man made whiskey in the basement, and he would bring it up in pitchers, and serve three shots in one little cream pitcher, and if a man paid a quarter for it, he could have one pitcher of that liquid, and I don't know, to this day, I don't know why I did that.
I paid, I paid my quarter, I put it in my mouth, and I never, never dreamt that I was going to be the beginning of my doom. Because from then on, almost immediately, my mother said, there's something wrong with the work where you are, you are not the same, you're coming late, we have to wait for you. And if we wait for you, you get angry, and you yell at the top of your voice to your wife. In Mexico, you would have never, never found in the class of people that we come from, a wife with all of that education.
Because to my mother, she was an encyclopedia, my wife. She could type, she could talk Hungarian, she could talk Spanish, she could talk English and Latin, and she says, never, never in Mexico, you would have been able to get near a woman like that. And look what you are doing to her. That lecture hurt me, but not enough, not enough, because every time the man got off to go into that place, I tried, I tried to exercise my willpower and not to go and to wait outside, as I had always done.
But the craving for alcohol was very important to me. It had done something to me I had never felt before, and I would go in. And in no time, the men were leaving me behind. They wouldn't wait. They wouldn't wait for me, and they would say, if you want to stay here, stay all night, for all we care. We're going home. And they never had but one, but not I. As time went on, things got worse. In no time, the minute the gracha told his wife, his wife had graduated from high school with my wife, to tell her, so as not to hurt her feelings, that there was no more work.
That they had too many men. They were going to lay me off for a few weeks and maybe call me back, but I shouldn't report for work anymore on a Monday. I went back to the hotel, and the chef told me, I told you that work was too damn dirty for you. I told you you wouldn't like it. And now somebody, I got somebody in the washing machine, but I'm going to give you a job that is even better.
[01:10:01]
I'm going to have you as an assistant to the chefs. You are going to be a helper to five chefs. So you are going to learn a damn good trade. You'll never be sorry. So that's all right. But within a week's time, he called me to the office and said, Ricardo, you are not the same man that were here before. You are not the same. There's three times in one week you have been late. And one day the watchman saw you coming in with a bottle of wine. You put it in your locker, and when the watchman went to take it out, it was empty. We cannot have anybody like that here.
I'm going to give you another chance. Two more weeks. We're going to try again. I like you very much. You were very punctual. You never laid off. Every time we had a wedding or a party, you were always willing to work overtime. You were very dependable. So I'm going to give you two more weeks. The man couldn't wait two weeks. After a week, I was fired again. I was fired. I kept on doing the same. Well, to make this story short, one day the wife had already kicked me out. I was out of the house for a year. And this time, when I went with the $7 for the support of the kid, the wife handed me a piece of paper.
And she said, here, if you want to do something about your drinking, here's what's going to help you. It says, she told me in Spanish, that Rowling H., a famous pitcher for the Indians, became a drunkard, just like you. However, after he was out of the game for a while, something called AA picked him up, and now he doesn't drink anymore, and he's playing. He's playing ball again. And here it says that anybody with the same problem can be helped as long as they ask for.
I said to her, you know yourself that I never want to become what I did. Call him up. Find out how much it costs and how it's done. She says, you call this yourself. As far as I'm concerned, whether you quit or not, you and I, we are through. We are through. Understand that. We are through. From the time we went to court, we were through. She wouldn't even shake hands, not even in court, when I said, well, okay, we don't have to be enemies and kill each other one of these days.
She said, no, thank you. I don't want to, I can't be that sociable with you. You are given a yard, an inch, and you take a yard. You are given a yard, and you take a mile. No thanks. We're through. I went to the flophouse, and I told the man at the flophouse to free that and to call. and to call. I think you've heard a man here by the name Clarence S.. He's dead, and that's why I mentioned his full name. He's dead. His name appeared, his name appeared at the bottom of the article, and his telephone at home. There was no office, there was no office. So I told the man at the flophouse to please call,
[01:15:16]
and he called. He called, and two days later, two great big Irishmen came, and I thought for sure they were going to try to force me to stop by beating the hell out of me. And I looked. I had no knife. I had no gun. I didn't even have a brick, because I knew that that's what they were going to do. But instead, they said to me, Do you think you can do three things? And I said, What? He said, Stop drinking for a week. Don't even smell it. Don't even smell it. And then, disassociate with all of your friends that you hang around with. Don't snob them.
You're no better than they are, but don't associate with them anymore. In other words, don't drink with them anymore, because you are not going to drink anymore for a week. And don't lie. And don't lie. I haven't opened my mouth yet. And don't lie. And another thing. Don't mooch. I said, The man here at the flophouse has my extra pair of pants and my extra pair of shoes, and he won't give them to me until I pay for two nights that I owe for the bunk, 70 cents.
They were charging 35 cents for the use of the bunk a night. And the man, I thought he was going to hit me, because he said, You promised already not to mooch for a week. Well, I said, I didn't know it was going to start right away. He says, Okay, here is the address of the place where you are going if you do what I told you to do after a week. Thank God the day came, and I hadn't touched it. But I did plan. I was eager. I was just dying for a drink. I was dying for that day not to go to the damn meeting, but to just make myself presentable there as I had been told.
And then get hold of a bottle, because I was dying. I was dying for a drink. So when I got there, there were two groups in Cleveland, one on the east side of Cleveland and one on the west side. And the one on the west side, that's where I went. They were meeting at the Junior Chamber of Commerce in a neighborhood called Lakewood, a very, very fine neighborhood, very clean, very nice. And when I got there, there was a man at the door selling tickets. I thought they were for sale. And I said, I ain't got no money. He says, No, no, you take. One is free, and you pay for three.
You pay for three, and you get one free. He says, Well, I don't have any money for the three. He says, Okay, okay, take it, take it. Take one, then. Take one. And I put it in my pocket for a price. Later on, they had a raffle. Before the man left, he told me, Don't go. Don't go. I'm going to take you home. I'm going to drive you home. I said, I live way out downtown by the Central Market. He says, Never mind. I'm going to drive you home.
But first, he took me to the coffee table, and he filled up a brown paper bag with donuts and gave them to me. And he took me all the way from that suburb to downtown Central Market, a very bad neighborhood, and he dropped me there.
[01:20:20]
And he said, If you show up at the meeting the next time, I'll bring you home. I won't pick you up. You get there yourself, but I promise you that if you are there, I'll pick you up. That was the beginning of my entry into AA. That was April of 1940. In 1963, on December of 1963, I was called to what they call an operating committee. And the operating committee is a group of men that represents all of AA as a whole.
They are authorized by their groups to vote whatever way they want to on any meetings that they go to. So on this day, December 22, 1963, they called me and they told me, Max, we have been watching you, and you have been picking up a lot of black folks. But if you get this job that we're going to give you, you are going to pick up just as many black as white, because some of us white fellows are also sick, you know.
Well, the reason I was picking up black fellows was because Sister Ignatia called them my cousins, my cousins. And she would send somebody to my house to tell me that this sister had a cousin of mine waiting for help to go. So that's the reason why I was packing AA with black fellows myself. But at any rate, I told them the truth. I never went to school. I never went to school in Mexico. I never went to school here.
Whatever I know I have picked up from my wife and books that she has bought me. I don't believe I can do it. They said, we don't want a bookkeeper. We don't want an accountant. We don't want a man that can write and read and write poems. What we want, Max, is a guy that as soon as he calls for help, to answer that call for help with the help of other men and women as soon as possible. Because nothing, nothing is as important here in AA than to answer the call for help.
And you have a fairly good record. We trust you. I talked to my wife about it. She agreed. And I stayed on that job with the help of God Almighty, my wife. And a lot of other people until 1982. Around 46, no 43, my wife said, there are quite a few Mexicans that cannot read English. They cannot talk English. So let's start writing paragraphs, exciting ones, positive ones, compelling ones, and hand it to them who are asking for help.
She got tired of too many leaflets on the typewriter every week. So she said one day to me in 1940, why can't we start the translation of the big book to Spanish?
[01:25:08]
Look how many there are right here with the worst jobs there are in the slums. Wonderful men because I know them, I know their wives. But they are, they are living like parasites just because of their drinking. So why not start the big book? I'll help you. Well, she bought an encyclopedia, she bought an old secondhand typewriter that I still have it as a souvenir here at home. And we began. In 46, we finished it.
In 46, we both went to New York. It was our first vacation. And we handed over to Bill W.. And Bill W., after he looked at it and he heard the reason for that, he picked up the personal book that he used on his desk for reference. And he wrote an autograph for me. What that book was going to mean to thousands and thousands of Spanish speaking people that were without the AA help. And he thanked me.
The wife and I, towards the end of that same year, we went to Mexico. And I didn't have the manuscript or a copy. In fact, I didn't want it. I left that already to Bill W.. And we went to Mexico. And with the help of some newspapers, a meeting was called with a lot of publicity. But there were no more than eight people at the meeting. And no matter what I said, no one seemed to be very interested.
Nobody said that they were alcoholics. I asked and I told them, I am an alcoholic. Are there any alcoholics here that I can talk with? Nobody. Nobody raised their hand. So all that worked for nothing. For nothing. I felt bad about it. I felt down. When I came back to Cleveland, I called up Bill W.. And I told him what had happened. And he says, how long you say you spent on the project? I says, about a week.
I'm counting the traveling time. He says, Dick, I have spent 20 years trying to start AA. I have spent 20 years trying to sober up a man here. And I talked the language. I went to Yale. Say, you wanted to go there and tell them you're an alcoholic. And because of that, they got to be alcoholics then. Especially Latin people, I know. They're too damn proud. They're too proud. Not any man doesn't want to raise his hand in public and say, I am a bastard.
I am an alcoholic. So don't worry, Dick. Don't worry. It'll come. It'll come. I don't know what else I have to say, except that from the bottom of my heart, I thank you and Brian for inviting me here. And your convention has been much better than the ones I attended. Conventions get better because the men at the top, they work very hard in organizing this little gathering that looks more like a family gathering than strangers.
Thank you.