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Source: DICOBE-00262 – Rip C – 37TH INTERGROUP – 1980-05-23.mp3 File: dicobe-00262-rip-c-37th-intergroup-1980-05-23.mp3 Duration: 00:49:00
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I was having breakfast with him, and Rip related to me of his friendship with one of the great horse trainers, the trainer of Affirmed. And the conversation went on about horse racing, and Rip was very high on this trainer as a personal friend of his. And he said, now I can't really recommend that you bet any money on horse races, but if you've got a couple bucks laying around, you might want to place it on Affirmed, because I'm assured that he's going to win the Triple Crown.
Well, I had to give up the horse races back when I was drinking because it was costing too much money and interfering with my drinking. So, Kentucky Derby time came around and I didn't place a wager on Affirmed. That's probably the first time in my life I had any direct information about the horse races from a higher power. And for some reason or other, I didn't follow that advice, and I don't know where this really all means except possibly the fact that when you don't do what the higher power tells you, it usually costs you.
Rip's become a very good friend of mine and I'm very pleased to present to you tonight, Father Rip C.. Thank you, Bob. I guess I didn't listen to my higher power either, because honestly, I didn't bet a $2 bill on Affirmed. And I did have some good information that time. I met Laz Barrera, who trained Affirmed in Puerto Rico a few years ago. And shortly before the Kentucky Derby, he told me that this was the best piece of horse flesh he ever touched.
And he said, Padre, bet on it. I forget the time when Affirmed ran in his first of the Triple Crown, and I never did get a chance to bet on him. He paid a fairly good price that time, and then on it was always $2.20, $2.40, so it really wasn't worth betting on. I couldn't help but think tonight as you were raffling off some of these door prizes here. Some years ago, prior to my finding this beautiful program, I went to a meeting with another priest friend of mine, Father Leo O'Neill.
And both of us were going to the meeting, not so much for our own need, but as the interested clergymen. To learn enough to be able to help other people. And they had the custom, this was a small little group in Boston, and they had the custom of having a raffle at the end of the meeting. And that night, they raffled off the big book. Father Leo O'Neill was the winner. Now I don't know if that was fixed or not.
They talk about fixing races back in New York, but alcoholics wouldn't do things like that. But I think there was a little manipulation, a little conniving there. Leo now is a very active, wonderful priest working in the program. A priest I drank with in Puerto Rico. A priest with whom I came into the program more or less around the same time. And a priest with whom I lived for three years in New York.
God works in strange ways. And I know he has worked in strange ways in my life. My name is Rip C., and I am an alcoholic. Wow! This could only happen to a group of people like you, who know and love this program. Bob was telling me that when he organized this annual dinner, he had forgotten it was Memorial Day weekend. And I'm sure that all of us can remember other holiday weekends when we were planning something else.
I know how I looked forward to these long weekends. Hardly for getting together with people in the program, but for other activities.
[00:05:07]
I am a redemptorist missionary. I come from Boston, as you may tell from that terrible accent, which I try to hide. But I am now stationed in Brooklyn, New York. We got someone from Brooklyn here. New York is that great place where the Irish on St. Patrick's Day march very proudly up Fifth Avenue and stagger down Sixth Avenue. I can say those things because I'm Irish. And you know, you don't have to be Irish and Catholic to be a member of this program, but it does help.
I would like to just qualify for a few moments with you. I don't go into a long drunk-a-long in my qualification because our stories aren't that different. But I would like to tell you that come next month, I will have ten years of sobriety. That may not impress some of you old-timers, but believe me, it impresses the heck out of me. If you knew my history, you'd be impressed too. Because I resisted this program.
I fought against it. I would have joined any organization, you name it, except join this program. But God works in strange ways, and I am convinced, as I stand before you this evening, it was a special grace of God that brought me to this program and changed around my whole life. I had my first exposure to alcohol as a young priest leaving Brooklyn. It's amazing how much of my life revolves around Brooklyn.
By the way, I've passed by the house where Bill prepared our program, where he went through some of his terrible moments in downtown Brooklyn. I had my first drink in Brooklyn. I came into the program in Brooklyn. I now live in Brooklyn, and God willing, I'll stay there for a while because there's some wonderful, beautiful people like you in our area. But I was leaving for Puerto Rico as a young priest, as a missionary, going off to work in the islands.
Of course, I was feeling depressed, a little sad, leaving my family behind. I thought, well, I'll never see my poor old mother again. She's still alive after all these years. And as we were leaving Brooklyn, a priest introduced me to a man on the ship. And he said, Rip, this guy will take care of you on your way to the islands. I didn't know what he meant. But we were soon pulled away from the dock when there was a knock on my door.
And this man was there. He said, fellas, the bar is opened. All the drinks are on the house for the next four days. Well, I was a very young, innocent priest in those days. I had beer, I'm sure, before time, but I never had any hard liquor. And I went to the bar that night. There were five other priests with us. And I saw what someone else ordered, and I ordered the same thing. And for four days, we opened and closed that bar until we hit Puerto Rico.
That was my first exposure to alcohol. And believe me, from the very beginning, I liked it. I liked what it did for me. When I arrived at the islands, I found it was the custom there among the priests to have a little refreshment before lunch. In the evening before dinner, another little touch of rum. I wanted to make sure I was one of the boys. I wanted to join and be accepted, approved. And right from the very beginning, I joined in that habit, and I liked it too.
There seemed to be an attitude among some of our missionary priests there that, Father so-and-so, he's a great man, but, you know, he doesn't drink. This priest, he does great work, but he doesn't drink. As if it was a social disease or something wrong. But I wanted to make sure that I was not going to be considered in that fashion, so I joined right in. And for the next ten years in Puerto Rico, five in the Dominican Republic, that was my habit of drinking daily.
In my immaturity, I took a great sense of pride in being able to hold alcohol.
[00:10:07]
I sort of looked down my nose at those who could not hold it. Only afterwards, when I found the program, did I realize that high tolerance was a sign of alcoholism. I had good signs right from the beginning. I was the one that gave the keys to drive everybody else home. The Latin concept of the macho was something that I lived up to, and I took a sense of pride in that. After a few years there, they were looking for some priests to work in New York City who spoke Spanish, and in spite of this Boston Irish accent, I can speak Spanish, and I was moved from Puerto Rico to East Harlem, New York.
I worked there for seven years conducting Spanish retreats, Spanish missions around the different communities of the area. And as you know, missionaries have a rather flexible schedule. We used to work in the morning with the school children, maybe in the evening with the adults, but in between there was a lot of free time there. I had a lot of friends, a lot of relatives around New York, and I got into the habit of having these long lunches.
I knew all the good restaurants in New York, the best watering holes where they served the biggest drinks, and of course, in New York with a Roman collar, believe me, you can get all the free drinks you want. Anyway, at this time I began to get into serious difficulty. My superior at the time was a good friend of mine with whom I worked in the Dominican Republic, and he used to say to me, Rip, why don't you measure your drinks?
Well, what alcoholic ever measures drinks? He'd say, why don't you take just two drinks? Which one of us ever took two drinks? I didn't know why, but anyway, he tried to help me, and I was deaf to any kind of help. At this time I was transferred from New York to Philadelphia. What does W.C. Fields say about Philadelphia? Something rather derogatory I don't like to mention because Philadelphians don't take this lightly.
I think he had it written on his tombstone, better here than Philadelphia. Anyway, I was very resentful of being transferred out of the big city, and I drank more. At this time, I really feel that God began to play a part in my life. For the first time in our province, we were allowed to elect our own provincial superior. At this time, a man whom some of you may know, Fr. Joe Kerins, was elected our first provincial of the Redemptorist Province.
I didn't know at the time that Fr. Joe had been in the program over ten years. I think from the very beginning, he was determined to do something about those who had a problem with alcohol. I think I was one of his first pigeons. At this time, he was looking for some older men to go back to the islands who spoke Spanish. I thought, here's my chance to get the geographical change. I went to him and said, Joe, I'll be glad to go, let me know when.
He said, good Rip, I'll put your name on the list. About a month later, he called me and said, are you still interested in Puerto Rico? I said, yes, I'll be glad to go. When do I leave? He said, well, if you'll do me a favor, you can go to Puerto Rico again. I said, by all means, what did you have in mind? He said, how about going away for a while and taking a course in alcohol studies? Well, I didn't know why he was asking me to do this, but I felt rather proud that he was going to send me to Harvard or Harvard to the Yale School of Alcohol Studies or some of those Ivy League colleges.
I said, what did you have in mind? He said, how about going away to St. Joseph's Guest House in Sterling, New Jersey for a few months? I said, no way, Joe, I was there once for an hour and swore I'd never go back, not even to visit the place. Anyway, about a month later, we had a special seminar on alcoholism to which I received a very special invitation. And that night, we had all the professionals there.
And that night we had all the professionals there, we had the psychiatrists, the psychologists,
[00:15:03]
the people from AA, all the people who knew something about alcohol and alcoholism, and I turned them all off. But the last speaker that night was a man whom many of you know, was Father Fred Lawrence. And that night as he spoke, I could identify with some of the things he was saying. And when he finished his talk, I walked up to him and I said, Father Fred, my name is Rip C., and I think I'll be up to your place soon. He was the director of St. Joseph's Guesthouse. He said, Good, Rip, we've been waiting for you.
And I went there and spent three months never intending to stop drinking, convinced that there must be a way of drinking. I liked it so much, I enjoyed it for many years. I thought there must be a way I can go back to social drinking. As you can imagine, that's not what I heard. There we were saturated with meetings, counseling, and sometime during that time, I guess I did surrender, accepted the fact that I was alcoholic. And for me, the only way to maintain any sobriety was through total abstinence. I left that place ten years ago in September of next year, it'll be ten years. And since that time, thank God, I've been able to maintain sobriety. But when I left there, I went to my provincial superior and he said, Rip, when do you want to leave for Puerto Rico? I said, Joe, let's be honest, that's where I did my real drinking and I'm afraid to go back. He said, I was hoping you would say that. I wish, he said, that you'd get involved now with the people in the program. He said, you're going to meet the most wonderful people in your life.
There's a whole new apostolate out there, people who are trying to do something with their lives, people who have suffered, people who have hurt, people who have cried. Believe me, it'll be the most rewarding experience of your life. I didn't believe him at the time, but after ten years, my dear friends, I can honestly tell you, the most wonderful, most beautiful people I've met in my whole priesthood, that is thirty years, are the ones I've met in the last ten. People like you, people of AA, Al-Anon, Al-Ateen, people who have done something with their lives, people who have grown and matured, become the beautiful people that God wants them to be. And my life has come about full cycle.
When I started in my apostolate, giving retreats, speaking at meetings, counseling alcoholics, as you know, in Brooklyn, we have so many problems, almost every other home has a problem with alcohol. And a few years ago, we were able to begin what we call the Matt Talbot Residence. Four of us who drank together, four of us who found the program pretty much around the same time, were assigned to live in the same house. It is perhaps the only community in the country, maybe the only community in the world, that is totally staffed and run by alcoholic priests. When we were drinking, they wouldn't allow us to cross the street. All of us were suspects. All of us were irresponsible. And all of a sudden, we were given our own residence, given money to run the place, given permission to travel wherever we will. This had to be God working in our lives.
Two years ago, by another grace I think from Almighty God, we had elections again. Father Joe Karens had completed nine years as provincial. A new provincial was elected and I was elected to be his assistant. I am now living in the provincial residence in Brooklyn and I am
[00:20:04]
the assistant to the provincial of the largest province of the Redemptor's Fathers. Believe me, it's a real ego trip to be elected by a province of 800 men to a position like this. I felt happy, a sense of pride filled my soul for about one week. Then I began to realize what I got myself into. I completed two years of this term. I have one more to go. Then I think I'm going to go back to Matt Talbot and go back with my alcoholic priests. It's so much easier living with priests and people who understand our illness. But I do feel that God has worked in my life and I feel that so many beautiful things have happened to me just because of this wonderful program. On the way out here today, I left Brooklyn this morning at 10 o'clock. On the way out, I couldn't help but think of an incident that took place here in Omaha three years ago, I think it was, during the Serenity Conference.
I don't think the gentleman is here this evening, but there was a man visiting here with whom I had breakfast one morning. I think he comes from Michigan. And he was telling me how it's very difficult for him to be unhappy as long as he is grateful. The story he told me was rather interesting. This man had gone all the way down to the Bowery. He lived in the Bowery in Los Angeles. He left his family, lost his home, his business, everything he loved. He had really gone to the bottom. And one day in Los Angeles, he stopped into one of the flop houses to get a bed for the night. During the night, someone had stolen his shoes. The next morning when he awoke, his shoes were gone. He didn't know what to do. He asked someone if he could get a pair of shoes. They said, well, if you go down to the Mission a few blocks away, the brother there might give you a pair. He walked through the streets of Los Angeles barefooted, embarrassed, discouraged, depressed. He went there and the brother told him to look among the shoes they had and if he could find a pair that fitted him, to take them. He said he finally was able to squeeze his feet into a pair of shoes that were about this long and about that wide, but he said he was determined to put them on and to head for home. He headed back to Michigan, made his friendship with the family, joined the program. He now has 15 years of sobriety. He's come back a long way. Financially, he owns a business and now he told me he has a pair of shoes for every occasion. Red ones, purple ones, blue ones, you name it. He has a pair for every occasion. He said all he has to do is put on a pair of shoes in the morning and he remembers the past and he's grateful. And this man told me that he can never be unhappy if he remembers to be grateful. There's a lot of gratitude in this room this evening. There's a lot of real, sincere, loving gratitude to Almighty God and to the program and to other people.
I couldn't help but think when Bob was enumerating all the names of people who were influential in founding our program, people in the past to whom we have a great debt of gratitude, how many more each one of us knows individually. Someone who reached out to us when we were hurting. Someone who was an instrument that God sent into our lives. I'm sure this evening as you celebrate this 37th anniversary, there's a lot of gratitude in the hearts of each one of you. I know for me, gratitude is something uppermost in my daily living. As you were
[00:25:08]
going around the room enumerating how many years of sobriety, I thought to myself, every one of us can stand up and cheer because we have at least one day of sobriety. And we know that's all we have, these 24 hours. And for that, we must be grateful to God, grateful to the program. I recall one of our great AA people back in New York, Brother Francis Crotty, telling us in a meeting one time when I first came into the program, something that impressed me deeply, something I remember to this day and I think of it frequently.
He said that one goes back to drinking for one of three reasons. Either he stops going to meetings, he becomes complacent, or he stops being grateful. I think each one of us, if we are honest with ourselves and if, God forbid, we've had the misfortune of a slip or a planned drunk, we too can categorize ourselves in one of those three areas. We cannot stop going to meetings. This is the therapy we need. We go to meetings to find out what happens to those people who don't go to meetings. We need this therapy. We need it regularly. We need it frequently. We cannot become complacent. Complacency is one of our greatest dangers. The day we think we've got everything under control is the day we're beginning to slip in our thinking. The day we think we're almost perfect, we need not grow anymore. We need not eradicate some of our character defects. The day we think that we're just perfect is the day that our thinking is really sick. But I really feel that if we are grateful for the great gift that is ours, then we will continue to share in meetings. We will share the gift that's been given to us. We'll reach out and help other people. We'll become active in our group. We won't just become passive members, but always ready and willing to help.
I feel if we are grateful for the gift that is ours, we never will become complacent, knowing that it is a gift, and realize that we could lose it very easily. Gratitude, my good women, men and women, is something that should be uppermost in our minds, because each one of us is a miracle of God. Each one of us is a miracle of recovery. Maybe you are not, but believe me, I am. I am constantly reminded of how different my life is now to what it was in the days gone by. I'm able to enjoy so many good things now that I never even recognized when I was drinking.
I still go to Puerto Rico. I was down there last week for a chapter meeting, and I see things I never even saw during my time on the islands. I get up early in the morning. I go out and I walk the beach. I enjoy a sunrise or a sunset, things that were completely forgotten during my drinking days. I'm free to travel now. When I was drinking, my superiors wouldn't send me out on a weekend assignment for fear I wouldn't get there or for fear I wouldn't get home.
Off the fear I wouldn't get home. Now I need only tell my superior where I'm going. Just last night I was talking to my
[00:30:03]
provincial. He says, where are you going this week? I said, I'm going to Omaha. Well, a few years ago he would have said, no you're not, you're staying home. I did travel too when I was drinking, insanely, in blackouts. I remember one time I was invited to see a football game in Jet Stadium in New York. The Miami Dolphins were playing the New York Jets. Some friends of mine were coming up from Miami. Both of them, these women, worked for the airlines. They came with their husbands. They came carrying two shopping bags full of nips. Well, I remember the first half of the game because we were putting this rum, scotch, rye, everything into hot chocolate, into coffee. It was a cold November day. The second half of the game, I don't remember. But they tell me after the game I insisted upon driving them to Kennedy Airport.
When I got there, they said, Rip, don't you have a few days off now? I said, yes, I do. They said, how about coming to Miami with us? I said, good idea. They bought me a ticket. I got on that plane. Believe me, I don't remember leaving the football stadium. I don't remember leaving Kennedy Airport. But I came out of a blackout, I know, a short while out of Miami and I was sitting there with a drink in my hand. I looked across the aisle to this friend of mine, Tom Mullen, who's a police captain in Miami. I said, Tom, where are we going? He looked at me in that stupid look and he said, we'll be in Miami in 15 minutes. I said, oh my God. At that time of the year, Kennedy Airport closes in very fast.
I couldn't get back to New York because the airport was closed. It was the most miserable time I ever had in Miami. Yes, I traveled when I was drinking, but I don't remember half of it. I was in Brazil a couple of years ago with our provincial superior and down in Brazil, they start pushing the cart with all the liquors on it at eight o'clock in the morning down the aisle and all the drinks are free. I remember sitting there one morning as we were flying to San Paolo and I said to myself, where were these people when I needed them?
In the islands, of course, I can remember my first week there. The priest took me down to meet a doctor and the doctor, if he was not an alcoholic, I'm sure he must have had some problems with the sauce because he said, welcome to the islands, father. You're here in Puerto Rico now. Be careful of the water. Stick to the good rum. Here I was getting doctor's approval for my drinking and believe me, I did. It reminded me of the man who came back from the islands and his friend said to him, gee, how did you survive down there drinking the water?
Aren't those islands full of all kinds of diseases? He said, well, to protect ourselves, first of all, we boil the water, then we filtered it, then we boiled it again and then we drank beer. That was part of my time down there too. My gratitude makes me realize how different my life is now. Now I'm free. I'm free to do the things I want to do. I'm free to do the things I should do. Addicted, I was a slave. I had to drink. I had no choice. Now I'm free to become a better person and I really feel that I am a better person because of my contact with people like you.
You've taught me to be a more sensitive person. You've taught me to be more empathetic, to be more tolerant, more forgiving, more loving. All the qualities that a good priest should have are things I've learned from you and from this wonderful program. This is the way God wants us to be. He wants us free. He does not want us oppressed, people,
[00:35:07]
addicted, slaves. God created us free and he wants us to be this way. That's why I'm convinced more and more, you've heard it said and we've all said it, that this is a God-given program. You've heard it said and we've all said it, that this is a God-given program. I really believe that God did touch our founders. He inspired them to put together this program that has given freedom to so many people.
God is a God of freedom. He wants his people free. Not to be oppressed in any way. An addiction is oppression. I really feel that God has used me in different ways. When I was the superior of Matt Talbott the superior of Matt Talbott residence, I could talk to some of our priests, some of the people who came in there for counsel, try to convince them to do something about their drinking, but I really had no authority. In the last two years, because of the position I now occupy, I feel that God is using me in a different way.
Now I can use pressure. Now I can use clout to pressure people into doing something about their alcoholism as I was pressured. This past week, I sent one priest off to Guest House in Detroit. I sent another priest off to St. Michael's Institute in St. Louis, another one off to South Down in Canada. I really feel that God is using me in a different way. And all of us are instruments of Almighty God.
We've heard the expression that nothing happens just by chance. I am convinced more and more that God does have a plan for each one of us. That in some wonderful, mysterious way, God comes into our lives through other people, through the program, and he works a miracle of recovery. Just think of your thinking right now, how different it is from the days gone by. From the days gone by. Think of your emotional detachment from someone who is actively drinking.
Think of how your thinking has changed because of this fellowship. I look back over my life of 30 years and I think of all the people I've met in my lifetime in the Dominican Republic when I worked there. In one year, another priest and myself baptized over 5,000 people in one year. I couldn't tell you the number of marriages I performed, the number of sacraments I administered. I don't know any of those people. I don't remember any of them.
Yet, I can walk into a room like this and see people I haven't seen in two or three years and recognize someone like Clare. I could come into the airport today and see Bob and recognize him. Why? Because now I'm dealing with people. Now I'm not dealing with statistics, with numbers. You are real, live, living people. Important people. Important to me. Important to God. Important to this program. God, important to this program.
My whole thinking has changed. My behavior has changed. My attitude about what is important in life has changed only because of this beautiful program. That's why I try to keep my gratitude uppermost in my mind. I know that the day I forget to be grateful is a wasted day.
[00:40:06]
The day I stop realizing the gifts that have been given to me, I'm thinking in a dangerous fashion. In a dangerous fashion. Most of us at times live a comparative life. We always see someone much better off than us. We think how fortunate some individuals are. We see someone find the program when someone we love is still destroying himself or herself. And naturally, we do live a comparative life. But if we do compare too much too often, we're going to lose the sense of gratitude for what we really have. If we count our blessings every day, then we will be happy people.
Why the Lord touched me, why he brought me to this program, I don't know. But I am grateful for this sign of his love. So many of the people I've met in my life are dead. Some wonderful people have died beautiful deaths. Some others have died tragically. Last year, one of my dearest friends with whom I drank in Puerto Rico, Father Joe Riley, one who joined the fellowship around the same time I did, went on to Almighty God.
His death was the most inspiring I've ever seen. People said to me afterwards, Rip, if AA did nothing else, what it did for Joe Riley makes it all worthwhile. He was perfectly resigned to dying. He prepared his own funeral. When the time came, he was happy and ready to go to God. Just one week afterwards, I was called by the Chancellor of the Diocese of Bridgeport, Connecticut, and asked if I had a priest in the community by the name of Father Jim.
I said yes. He said he was just found dead in an apartment in Bridgeport. I had to go and identify the body. Believe me, my dear friends, it was one of the most revolting moments of my life. Here was a priest who had been to the best places in the country, a priest on whom we spent great amounts of money. He was given every opportunity to change his thinking, to find sobriety, yet he died all alone in a little apartment. He drank himself to death.
In moments like this, I think our only consoling thought is what Father Joe Martin says in one of his movies, that no one dies in vain. Maybe Father Jim had to die that someone else might live. Had to die that someone else might live. Maybe someone close to us died that each one of us might live. Only the good Lord knows. But if we are grateful for the gift that is ours, then we'll cherish it, we'll protect it, we'll do everything to show God how grateful we are.
How do we manifest our gratitude? We show it by our dedication to God, to the program, to our fellow man. You did not find this program just by chance. You did not get this gift just by accident. It is part of God's plan for you. And any gift that's given to us is not given to us just for us alone. It's given to be used, to be shared with someone else. This is what our prayer is. This is what our program teaches us. This is the way we must live, if we want to be sober, peaceful, happy people.
[00:45:05]
I would like to share with you this evening a quote from a letter of Bill. This letter was written after Bill had been sober for some time. The chief purpose of AA is sobriety. We all realize that without sobriety we have nothing. However, it is possible to expend this simple aim into a great deal of nonsense. So far as the individual member is concerned, sometimes I hear myself say, in effect, sobriety is my sole responsibility. After all, I'm a pretty fine chap, except for my drinking. Give me sobriety and I have got it made.
As long as I cling to this comfortable alibi, I shall make so little progress that my real life problems and responsibilities that I stand in a fair way to get drunk again. This is why AA's Twelve Step urges that I practice these principles in all my affairs. I am not living just to be sober. I am living to learn, to serve, and to love. Our founders realized the importance of spiritual growth. We must not become complacent. We must not stand still. Each one of us must grow and become a better person every day of our lives.
This is the spiritual side of the program. We cannot mark time. We cannot think we've got it all under control. We cannot think now there is nothing else to do. Each one of us has to work every day of our lives to become the person that God wants us to be, the person we're capable of becoming. And with God's help, with the wonderful program we know, with the inspiration of the beautiful people that surround us, each one of us can become each day a little more like the God of our understanding.
We will have problems, we'll have difficulties to face, heartaches that may come into our lives, but this is part of living. Serenity that we're all searching for is not freedom from the storms, but peace amid the storms. May God bless you all. I thank you for listening. It's been a joy being with you. I hope we'll continue to share the rest of this evening. Thank you very much.