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Source: DICOBE-00510 – John V – 46TH BLACKSTONE VIRGINIA AA RTRT – 1980-10-04.mp3 File: dicobe-00510-john-v-46th-blackstone-virginia-aa-rtrt-1980-10-04.mp3 Duration: 01:16:16
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And I'm not going into any lengthy details trying to introduce this man. A lot of you know him, a lot of you have heard him already, and I've had the privilege of hearing John several times. But something came from this podium many years ago from a great guy named Dutch Whitley. And I have never forgotten what Dutch said. And many of my friends in the Tidewater area have heard me tell this so many times.
They said, Good Lord, George, you did not that again. But for those who have not heard it, I want to share it with you. Dutch said that on one occasion there was a Methodist minister who had been assigned to a new pastorate out in the country. And shortly after he had been assigned to this particular pastorate, he was invited to a neighboring church to make a speech on a Sunday afternoon, a talk as such, maybe not a sermon but a talk.
And he worked hard on his talk during the week, and on the appointed time on Sunday he went to this particular church, and when he arrived there, there was only one old farmer. And he had on his overalls and his chewed tobacco in his mouth like I use, and they chatted for a few minutes, and much to his dismay, no one showed up. And finally the time came for the service to begin, and still no one had showed.
And the preacher says to the old farmer, Well, what do you think, brother, should we try to have a service? And he said, Well, I tell you, Reverend, I'm just an old farmer and I don't know much about religion, but you do whatever you feel best. And so of course he didn't want to be disappointed after he had worked so hard on his talk, and he got up and he started to talk, and he preached, and he talked, and a half an hour went by, and 45 minutes went by, and an hour went by, and finally he stopped.
And he said to the old farmer, Well, brother, what do you think? He said, I told you, Reverend, in the beginning I was just an old farmer and I don't know much about religion, but I can tell you one thing. If I went down any field with a load of hay to feed my cattle and only one old cow showed up, I damn sure wouldn't dump the whole load. You know, from my observation, we've got a whole lot of cattle here tonight, and I think John has really got a load to dump.
I think you're going to feel like I feel, that you've been enriched by this man being with us. And now I want you to help me welcome the Yankee Indian from Berlin, Mass., John. Thank you very much. I am very happy to be here. I have been reminded this weekend that I have been in this state about six years, six times in the past few years, and each time I travel in this part of the country, somebody would ask me if I have been to Blackstone.
And when Dave called me a few months ago and asked me to come here, I felt very honored. I've heard so much about it. But of course, you have to experience anything to know what it is all about. I like to join other speakers by saying that this is indeed a beautiful weekend. I like the lady this morning. I feel somewhat special that I have been asked to be here. I was listening to our speaker last night when he talks about grace, and it is one among many rewarding experiences in my life, to be able to understand and to be able to see myself in other people.
The fact that we are all from different walks of life doesn't seem to change that we are one people. I could understand when he said that grace is the unmerited gift, because I have been taught to believe that my sobriety is a gift. I also know that my greatest freedom tonight comes from my own powerlessness. I am not the type of person who could come here and stand up in front of so many people, because I am intelligent enough to know who you are.
There are probably some doctors here.
[00:05:00]
I listened to a very smart fellow last night. It's amazing he got sober. I suppose there are some lawyers here. I do know that you have an undertaker, because I've met him and he looked me over and he's very sincere about this job, and I felt very insecure and walked away from it. I suppose what I'm simply trying to say is that I never went to school, and for years after I was in the program, I wouldn't speak, because I felt I had a very unhealthy attitude about someone who didn't have an education.
I also was extremely sensitive that I had never talked with English. In my early days of sobriety, I belonged to the central group in Syracuse, New York, and it's a group like this where you have judges and lawyers and businessmen. So they use a lot of big words, and I used to try to memorize them, because I felt that one day when I get up and speak, I didn't know what in hell they meant, but I knew a lot of big words.
So I went through a period, and I went through that because I never could accept myself. I've never considered that I had anything to offer, and to believe that it's not the lack of perfection that has ever robbed anyone from the spirit of giving, but it has always been the lack of acceptance. I think to be able to stand up and to be free, knowing you are listening, and knowing that I don't talk with English, knowing that I don't have an education, and not having any fear at all, it is perhaps one among many wonderful gifts that I have the privilege to be a part of this weekend.
I was brought up in a little reservation in Quebec, the province of Quebec in Canada. My father liked to drink, and when he died, he had to have a gallon of jug under his bed. I left home when I was fourteen years old. After my father died, we lost eight members in our family, they all died with TB. When I was thirteen, my mother was dying. But my people used to talk about lumber camps in Maine. After my mother died, I had a feeling that I would leave home, because I couldn't find a home.
In my recovery, I have learned that at one time people were afraid of one who had TB, and my people felt I also had TB. So I lived in an old, empty house for about a year, and I shared my mattress with a dock. The old house had no lights and had no heat. So I stayed there for a year, and I suppose I was listening to a lady today who talked about fantasy, and she said that there is nothing wrong to fantasize.
And I believe it. I have never once considered that I wish to commit suicide. I don't identify with that, to some speakers, because I have always wanted to live. I remember sleeping between two mattresses, and I used to think that one day I would leave home, and I would find me a nice home, and I would have a nice job, I would have nice clothes and a new car and a nice girl, because I felt if you have these things, you'll never feel the way I do, and people would look up to you.
In some way, it was a very mixed-up idea of wanting to be somebody in life. But it helped me to go to bed, and as the years went by, I improved my dreams.
[00:10:02]
Television came along, and I would see something on television, and I just improved my dreams. Then I met John Wayne. I loved John Wayne. I would stay all day watching his movies. I never liked the way he killed Indians. I just liked him, and it was years in my recovery before a thought came to my mind. And it's funny how I thought about it. I was in a discussion meeting one night, and they were talking about the second step, and someone said that faith is the spirit of independence.
And I guess I've always admired any man who lived on what he believed in. There was something special because he never acted because he wanted to, but he always did something because he believed in something. And I think that part of my sickness was, for better than thirty years, I have never once considered that those qualities could be reserved even to a person like me. I don't know why, but I think I believe that for some unknown reason I am a type of a person.
By myself, I would have never been able to see or to accept the truth about who I am in life. I needed a type of a program that AA has to offer, but I needed more than that. I needed the type of moral support that you experience here this weekend. I think we are so comfortable because none of us have to prove anything. And when you are comfortable with the type of sickness that you and I have, you must realize that in this room there is a great spirit who moves.
Bill Wilson said that he will express himself through the true conscience. Many things I have been taught about my life that I have learned to understand and to appreciate here. But I left home when I was fourteen. I left home simply because I wasn't wanted. I went to Patton, Maine, like the Indians talked about. When I arrived there, I asked the guy in the office if I could get a job in a lumber camp, and he said that I was too young.
But he also said that there was a CC camp, which is the lumber camp, twenty-six miles, and they needed a dishwasher because the Army has taken all the younger people. He said to me, if I want to walk there, it was up to me, and I did. I met a fellow by the name of Bill Langster, who was in charge, and he told me I could stay. I stayed with him for four years, washing dishes. There were many times he brought me to his home, enough times, so I got acquainted with his family.
He had three daughters, and they were beautiful people, and I felt very comfortable there. And four years later, his family felt that because I had been in the lumber camp for so long, they thought it was unwise and unhealthy, that I should stay there that long, I should join the younger people. That's what Bill Langster said to me one morning, Why don't you join the Army, he said, and join the younger people?
I felt it was wise, and I went to Quebec City. I would have joined the American Army, but I was told that if I should get a pass, I would be so far away that I would not be able to go home. I joined the Army not because I'm a patriotic person, I mixed up as I was then, I knew that this country was ours before it was yours, and I wasn't going to risk my life for it, I figured it was your problem. But I believe like any soldier, I went in the Army with the idea that I maybe can win the medal or two without getting hurt too much, because among other things, I have learned about myself that I'm an extremely sensitive person, and I get hurt easily and I don't suffer well, and I don't like to get hurt.
What I didn't know, again, I keep saying things like the Again, I keep saying things like the lady said, because so much of my story I understand
[00:15:05]
today because of the type of an education that I have received here. I have, you might say, a new vision. And when I look back in my own life, I can see many things that I have passed by. And when I look back, like when I went into service, you know, it's funny, it never bothered me washing dishes in a lumber camp, as a matter of fact, I liked it. But when the Canadian Army told me that I couldn't go on training because I had no education, it was the first time that I felt uncomfortable about myself.
And when they told me that I had to wash dishes, I certainly didn't welcome it because my attitude washing dishes in the Canadian Army was altogether different than one that I had in the lumber camp. I felt that anyone who washed dishes in the Canadian Army is not as good as the next person. What I didn't know, I can't live with anything like that, you know, I cannot accept anything like that, I cannot accept the truth, I cannot accept that I'm washing dishes.
And I didn't go home, and I had plans of going home to show my people that I have grown. And about a year later, I felt that I couldn't understand why I felt that I was any different than other kids. I didn't think they were any smarter than I was. And I asked the Canadian Army a year later to give me another test, and they gave me a test and they marked me M4, which meant that I wasn't qualified to be trained.
And again, to show you a type of a sickness I have suffered from, I have never questioned it, and it's a terrible thing to accept at the age of 19. It took years of AA and a type of luck that we experienced here this weekend for me to open my mind once again and to consider. And I am the last person in the next 30 years of my life who would have ever even considered that one day I would receive the call from Dave and I would be standing up here and you would be sitting there.
And if you think that ego trip, it is. I'm not all that spiritual. But I was young, and I liked to join the young people. I would like to go out with a girl, because, you see, I was sick, not stupid. But it's the sickness that deprives you and denies you, and that's what it did. I suppose I was afraid maybe that they'd find out I was washing dishes. I really don't know. But I never drank because my father drank, and I didn't want to be like my father.
And I got my discharge when I was 21 years old, and I was with a friend. He says to me, what do you say, you and I, we go out and buy suits, get dressed up, then we'll go to a nightclub. I know the place. We'll have a few drinks and we'll meet some girls. I was 21 years old, and I thought it was a good idea. So we got dressed up, and we went to the brewery cafe in Montreal on the third floor. They had an orchestra playing, and I walked in there and I took my first drink, and I heard it so many times in AA.
I felt belong. I joined the younger people, and the first night I took a drink. And the thing about drinking for me was, I liked it because I can talk to anybody after a few drinks, and I lost this feeling that I've walked with for 21 years, that I don't make sense or that I don't talk good English. And I have this very warm feeling that I belong. And in the early days, that's the feeling I get from drinking.
I went out with a girl the first night I got drunk, and you couldn't tell me it was bad.
[00:20:03]
When I drank, I know how John Wayne felt. I really did. If you didn't like me when I drank, you had problems. And I liked it. I really liked it. And you know, I would go around and ask you if you didn't like me. I had this feeling, and you know, it's not a sick feeling. It's not a sick feeling to be able for me to sit down to a doctor and to feel free talking to him. There is something wrong with me when I think that I'm not good enough to talk to him.
I mean, I could in no way intelligently recognize that there is anything wrong in my drinking. The miracle or the insight that it is, it brings the vision that I don't believe you could find anywhere else, that now that I'm 23 years sober in the program, with the type of education that you can find here, I look back and I tell you, do you know that I was an alcoholic the night I took my first drink, when I could sit down and talk to somebody with this freedom?
Now I can see that while in one hand that booze gave me a freedom that I have always wanted, on the other hand it started to rob me right away, because I have never been a social drinker. Again, the speaker mentioned today about being powerless. We have in our area at noontime, we go to meetings, and we have, I'm sure, people like you. Bill is a very successful real estate man, Terry is a priest who has a lot of trouble getting sober, and Jerry is a newspaper man, and we've got a guy by the name of Dick.
Dick is a very big-shot lawyer, a brilliant mind. And when they talk, they all talk about these things, and they all talk about AA, and they all make sense. Now, Dick was talking the other day, and he was talking about being powerless, he's a lawyer. And he was telling new people, what it means is that in AA you will hear that someone gets drunk because someone dies, someone gets drunk because someone is born, then someone gets drunk because he gets married, then he gets drunk because he gets divorced, then he gets drunk because he gets promotion, then he gets drunk because he lost his job.
He gets drunk because he has no reason to get drunk when you are powerless. It has nothing to do with reason. It doesn't matter what kind of a brain you have. Too often, that could be your worst enemy. It has been proven more than once, especially those who are educated beyond their intelligence. You can't even help them. I get my country back little by little. I went back drinking simply because I think when the people choose words like it's cunning, baffling, and it's powerful, they know what they're talking about.
I went back drinking because Bruce gave me what I've always wanted in life. But I am a type of person who should never drink, because being an alcoholic, alcoholism is a sickness and is a question of progression. Nobody has to tell you what that means. It's powerful enough for you to surrender those things that you have been taught by your own mother. Surrender to alcohol that you would never surrender to anything else.
And I am an alcoholic, and if someone told me that night, John, you will live in a skid row, you will be dirty, people will step over you, you will be abused. I am not the type of person who would take abuse. But I lived in a skid row for seven years, and in those years there were many times I
[00:25:05]
wanted to stop drinking because I have never forgotten what I dreamed about in between two mattresses in reservation. For some unknown reason I have always felt that if I should go and see Major Harvey in Salvation Army, get sober, get me a job, find me a nice girl, get me a second old car, get some nice clothes, then I will lose this feeling, I will be like other people. But you know what, I didn't know that I couldn't stop drinking, and in the early days it makes sense because Major Harvey would bring me to his office and would talk to me, but at the end he wouldn't even talk to me anymore.
Because you know, he would say, John, did you see how you look six weeks ago? And you know, I am the type of person who drinks until I can't drink anymore, and I have trouble with wine sores, and I get dirty, and I don't eat, and I get sick, and I don't look good. And Major Harvey sees that. But six weeks later I'm wearing some, someone perhaps died in cirrhosis of liver, I'm wearing a suit, I'm twenty years old, I'm healthy, I'm strong, my face cleared up, and Major Harvey couldn't understand why I should go back to drinking.
And of course I thought there was something wrong with him. And one of the most amazing things I've learned in the program is that people in AA wanted to teach me to think like Major Harvey, because Major Harvey bases judgment on reason, or AA talks about being restored to the soundness of mind. I didn't even know anything about it, and I tried. There were other times in a mission, Tom, in a rescue mission, Tom liked to help people, that was his job.
And if you go to his services, he'll give you a bed, no matter how many times you've been there. And I knew that. And I went to one of his services one night because I wanted a bed. And while I was sitting there, a fellow got up, and he said that for many years he was a bum just like us. Very spiritual fellow. He said until one night he accepted Christ as his personal Savior, and since then his entire life has changed.
He got married, bought a home, he has a new station wagon, he has a job, and of course it touched me because I felt if you can have these things, you're all right. And then he says, any of you bums can do the same thing? Nice fellow. All you have to do, he said, is move forward and kneel down. So I thought about it, and I said to myself, that don't seem to be too difficult to do. So I moved forward, and I knew nothing about Christ.
The four years that I spent in lumber camp, I used to listen to lumberjacks talking about him, and by the time they finished with him, you wouldn't believe me either. So I kneeled down, and this guy put his arms around me, and he said, Son, you're saved. You should see me the next morning, I'm facing a judge. And I had this feeling in my stomach that I wasn't saved. He calls me John, I thought it was very touching.
John, he said, do you know how many times you've been up here? When you travel the way I do, you don't keep track of everything. And he says to me, you've been up here 43 times. And I said, no wonder he looked familiar. Then he says to me that the park is for the decent people, not for people like me. And you know, 20-some years ago, that's the way it was, if you were an alcoholic. And you were treated, and you accepted it, and you believed it.
Then he says, you know, you're Indians. He said, that's all you do. You come to this city, you work for one week, you get paid, you get drunk, and you always get into a fight. That's all you want to do, you people, is drink and a fight. Then he took his glasses off, and he gave me six months in Jimmigan. And I said to myself, that guy, you don't like Indians anyway.
[00:30:14]
was in a mission one night. I was sober, I was dirty, and I had long hair and I had wine sores, and an Indian fellow came to see me that once I have met in Tupper Lake, New York. He brought me to his home that night and I met his wife, she was a nurse. But Ike lost everything and he wound up in Salvation Army. He got sober and went to AA meetings and someone told him that there was another Indian in the mission and he looks terrible and that was me. Ike walked in one night and he says to me, John, I am a member of Alcoholics Anonymous. I said, good for you, because I didn't know what it was. I've heard of it, but I didn't know what it was. And then he says, would you like to go to a meeting? And I said, no, because I'm the type of person that if I'm not dressed, I've always felt very sensitive. Especially when I have wine sores and long hair, I've always felt that people were looking at me. And sometimes they did. Usually I don't like to go anywhere when I felt that way. But Ike said, they have coffee and donuts and they're free. So I said, we'll And it's strange when you look back how we come here. I walked into the Central Group in Syracuse, New York, and I met my first AA member who was a lawyer, been sober for thirteen years, and I find out much later in my sobriety that every Friday night he stood at the door like that one you have there, two doors open, and he shook hands to everyone who walked in there, and that's all he ever did. And when he saw me, of course, with my long hair and wine sores, he rushed over and he grabbed my hand with his two hands and he says to me, am I so glad to see you. And I don't know whether I was glad to see him.
I sat down and, believe it or not, my first speaker in AA was a lady judge. She said, if you are new, please try to identify. Here I am, I'm in my twenties. I have been away from my reservation since at the age of fourteen. I spent four years in lumber camp washing dishes, three years and a half in Canadian Army washing more damn dishes. I take a drink when I was twenty-one and I lived in a skid row for seven years. I have never been married, never had a driving license, never owned a car. I couldn't read and write. I'm sitting there with long hair, wine sores, dirty, and I'm in a mission supposed to pay thirty-five cents a night and I'm behind nine three weeks rent. I have financial problems. Listening to lady judge telling me, please try to identify. Can you imagine me sitting there saying to myself, you know, I'm just like her. Of course, the first feeling in AA for me was the same thing I brought there, feeling different. I didn't understand. For two years I listened to this lady, I memorized her story and I still didn't know what in hell she was talking about.
She used big words. She used to get up and she used to say that it's a mental obsession that precedes the first drink and once you take a drink, now it's coupled with a physical compulsion.
[00:35:00]
And I say, oh, God. Time came in my life, I thought I wish if I had her disease. But you know, the idea of being one people is not imaginary and it's something that you learn to see. And it's amazing, I like to share this with you, that two years later, and that's all it took, and when you consider that for so many years I felt this way, you have to consider that there is something special about AA. Two years later, I was sitting there one night when she got up, and she told the same story she always does. She always told the same story. And she always talked about her father, who was a judge. Her husband is a doctor and he's a director in a general hospital. And she talked about the big house in the hill that she lives in. But then she talked about waking up in wall-to-wall carpet and not remembering how she got there. And a thought came to my mind, I woke up in sidewalk for years and I never remember how I got there. Then she would say that sometimes she would be so sick that she couldn't walk. Then she would crawl to a john.
And when she arrived there, she never used a john the way it was designed. She said, I would stick my head in there like if I was looking for serial numbers. I can identify with that. She said, after I finished puking, I would say to myself, I have to get me a drink. And what I'm saying that, you know, how you see yourself. You know, I can see two people, one a lady judge and one an Indian. Judge lives in a nice home, big job, people look up to her. Father is an important person. Her husband is an important person. But I see an Indian who has no education, fine sores, long hair, lives in a sidewalk, bums, nickels and dimes. But one morning these two people wake up and neither one of them remember how they arrived. Judge crawls to a john and an Indian crawls to the 30-year-old building in the back. A thought came to my mind. You know, crawling is crawling. What in the hell is the difference whether you crawl to a hundred thousand dollar home or crawl in the sidewalk? You don't need too much brains to crawl.
She said, when I arrived there, I puked my guts out. I did too. And because I did, I'm here to tell you there is nothing high class about puking. I mean, puking is puking. And then she said, right after I finished puking, I said to myself, I have to have a drink. And then she said, I've been doing this for 16 years. And you know what I said? Christ, she's sicker than I am. And it is, like I said, two years. It is amazing when you sit there and what's happening, simply because there is some magic of when people get up. To express people from all walks of life, to express their own feelings, to share their own experiences, to express their own hope. And what he's doing really is to help you to identify the truth about yourself. It is a God's way of becoming a person who walks with a spirit of independence. An identity that it is the law of God that he makes no two people alike. But I think like what Kennedy once said, that God's will in this world of ours, it's truly the work of our own. And AA has that language, he has that spirit, he has whatever it takes for a bum like me who sits there, and starts seeing things that makes me feel not alone, that I am a part. And it was, in my own judgment,
[00:40:05]
was the first step, but it was a big one for me in AA. And then, of course, I met my sponsor. My sponsor is a man that I never liked. He was a bum just like me. The only difference was he had a degree. And when we wound up in Salvation Army, Major Harvey would give me a job working in the office, and he would give me a job working on a truck for a dollar a week. And Pat would all get dressed up because he knew the clothes. And I come home, that day's work, my job was to pick up those refrigerators that you leave in third floor. And Pat would have an office and he was always looking down on me. And I didn't know anything about that until my recovery, that I can't stand people who look down on me. I get imagining things, like wanting to kill. And I used to say to myself, next time you get drunk, I'm going to kill him. And Pat never knew, he used to tell bums, never drink with that Indian, he hits you for nothing. But Pat didn't know that when I'm sober, I store things. And when I get drunk, I take them out one after one. So I haven't seen Pat, someone said he joined something, and us bums were always joining something. One day we were born Christians, the next day we were in jail. I mean, we were all mixed up. But one night Pat walked in, and he was all dressed up like he always was when he was sober, and he had a girlfriend. He comes to me and he said, John, I'm your sponsor. And I said, here we go again. And he says to me, I have a new car outside. And it was a blessing because, you know, I was in a mission, and I'm the type of person who would not accept a ride, because I knew, even in AA. And I don't know how much it has changed, not too much. People don't like anyone who lives in a mission. That's the human thing. Bums live in a mission. And I knew that, and I didn't want people to know that, because I liked AA, and I like to say this, that in 23 years that I have been in a fellowship, I've missed very few meetings. I can count them in my two hands. I've always came back, and someone asked me one night what I thought helped me the most. And when I think about it, I came back. And I met Pat, and he says, John, I have a new car. I'll drive you home. And I never questioned it, because I didn't have to prove anything to Pat. And he would pick me up.
And you know, he used to bring me half a sandwich, and he used to say that he can only eat half of it. And years later, I have learned that Pat never eats sandwiches. And I used to think, can you imagine, I used to think, Pat, when years later I would be in a discussion meeting on 11th Step, and they would read the 11th Step, and they would chose St. Francis as an example. And St. Francis would say, Lord, I pray that I may understand rather than to be understood.
I used to think, can you imagine a bum like him? He has found the quality, he has found this thing that identifies as unselfishness, to consider another person who has absolutely nothing to offer. That's a real magic, and I suppose I am not the type of person who can walk with something like that, but I am the type of person that when my mind is right, I can do the same thing that Pat did. And you know, the next night he would bring me the other half. And I used to have resentments when I found out that he would bring me another half. But you know, he stopped the car one night, and he said, John, I know you love A.A., but you can live in the mission and stay sober, and that I should leave. But I had feelings that if I should stay in the mission, I could stay sober. But I think God must have been on his side because the mission burned down one night.
And three o'clock in the morning I went to see Pat, and I said to him, Mission, Three o'clock in the morning I went to see Pat, and I said to him, Mission burned down, and he said, That's the grace of God. And he brought me to the Twelve Steps house, and they gave me a job.
[00:45:01]
They paid me $70 and a half a week, and a free lodging. And I worked there for one year, and I get thrown out of there. Because, again, I look back. I like what Father Martin says, that man is a rational man, and you need to function with intellect. And, you know, it is amazing that most of my life I acted the way I felt. If you hurt me real bad, I acted accordingly. I have never believed anything greater than my feelings.
I have never had discipline because there was nothing greater than how I felt. And I have always blamed you for me feeling bad, because you always hurt me. And, you know, in this place they gave me a job washing floors and waxing them, making coffee, answering the telephone, and washing dishes. And one of my French benefits today, not only that I have been able to live like a white man, dollar down and dollar a week, but I bought me a dishwasher.
But someone called one night. Her name was Anne, and she wanted help, and these people play cards all night. And I told them that there was someone who needed help. And they told me that she's been around for years, and that's all she does is use people in AA. And, of course, I knew it was wrong. But my problem at that time, how do I act when I'm right? How do you act when you act on your feelings?
So I acted the way I always did. I upset the table. I punched the first one right in his mouth. And I knocked him down right on his ass. And that was my first 12-step cough. And they throw me out. They throw me out. It's interesting, you know, you could never convince me that night that the reason I get thrown out is because of my own attitude. It's because my life is unmanageable. How could you see yourself, your life is unmanageable when you're right?
The second step says that the key that opens the door to a program of recovery it is willingness to believe, and to believe one must become teachable. There is a better way to live than I do. But you see, I didn't know that. I didn't know that a man can walk on what he believes in. Saint Francis said that he wanted to be an instrument. For where there is doubt, he will bring faith. Where there is sadness, he will bring joy.
Where there is darkness, he will bring light. Where there is doubt, he will bring faith. Then he says, Lord, I pray that I may understand rather than to be understood. I pray that I may love rather than to seek love. Now, I understand that today. And I know what he's trying to tell me. But you see, I didn't even know that in those days. And they were good enough to call my sponsor, and three o'clock in the morning he picks me up and he brought me to his home, and the next day he brought me back to Major Harvey.
I'm back again working on a truck for a dollar a week for a year and a half. And in my 50-year sobriety, I was still living in Skid Row. I was 30-some years old. I had no job. I was sleeping in empty cars. And I had a lot of trouble in my first five years, because even people in AA, you know, after a while you listen to someone get up and he talks about being sober for two years. He got promotion, he bought a new car, he got his license back in a big bed.
I said, goody, goody for you. I'm sleeping in an empty car with a white cat that nobody wanted. And he's talking about being back in a big bed. And I felt that maybe I am different. Maybe because I don't have an education. Maybe because I'm an Indian. Maybe because of this. And you know, it's a terrible feeling when you can't share your loneliness, because you think that people don't understand.
[00:50:02]
And there is nothing happiness about sleeping in an empty car, waiting for a white cat that nobody wants. That type of living, it's painful. And the only thing that I had going for me, that there was another meeting tomorrow night. And in this meeting, for some unknown reason, I have always felt different. I have always felt that I belong here. And I was doing things I wasn't proud of, like stealing your doughnuts.
You know, every six months they elect a new coffee maker and I wouldn't give them the keys. Because I had these doughnuts after the meeting. A person has to survive. And I would say that if I was to live my life over again, I would have to go through everything I have gone through in order to be here tonight. And where I am tonight, you know, there is some ego trip goes with it. But there is an awful lot of gratitude that goes with it, because as I stand here, I own the 14-room house.
I have wife, I have six kids, and I own two new cars. But above and beyond that, I feel free. So what I have, it doesn't take too much grains for me to kneel down when I go to bed, and thank God, tonight. But you see, it wasn't like that. There is, for some unknown reason, the growing, some mystery goes with it, and none of us willing to face it, because there is a great deal of pain. And to be disarmed, to be disarmed from all the essential ingredients that nourish us to human hunger, and to lay there, trying to live on a dream.
Not only because you want to feel important, but you like to have a nice girl. And dream has never been a substitute for those things that they are real. But I think a lot of alcoholics dream because it's a loneliness, it's emptiness, not being accepted, not being wanted. And you know, I went through that, and I look back and I say, why? Because I needed time. I needed time. I needed to come back. I needed the type of an education that AA has to offer, and you know, if there is anything I'm grateful for, I came back.
And I start traveling. I was 34 years old, at one o'clock in the morning, sober five years, when I arrived in Marlboro, Mass., and I didn't have a dime. I look at the sign, it says Marlboro, Mass., 34 years old. I went to the hotel in town, and I slept in a men's room. Marlboro has been a turning point in my life. I went to a meeting that night, and I met Paul. Paul is something like my sponsor was.
He would try to save everybody, and he owned a restaurant. And he would pick me up and bring me to meetings, and I would go to his restaurant. And while I was there one day, Rita, who was the waitress, she asked me if I could paint her house, give her an estimate. And so I went over there, and I gave her an estimate for $300, and I get the job right away, because other contractors wanted $1,300 to $1,400.
And I said to Paul, I got a job, but I don't have any money. I didn't even have a room. He said, Why don't you go back and ask Rita to give you some money? And she gave me $100. And I went to the store, and the first thing I bought was white coveralls. I felt that if you are going to be a president in your own company, you should buy white coveralls. And I bought some paint and a scraper, and I bought everything and I carried it.
And that night I met a guy who worked in a telephone company, and he even delivered it, although it was against the rules. And you know, thank God about Paul, I think I owed $65 meals when I finished the job. And I met a plumber in AA.
[00:55:02]
He said, John, I have a ranch house about seven miles from here, and all you need is a ten-foot stepladder. So I bought a ten-foot stepladder, and I got all my drop cloths together and my white coveralls and my paint, and I stood in the corner and I stopped the bus. And this fellow stopped and he looks at my ladder. And he looks at me. And he said, You're not serious. And I said, I am self-employed, and I have no other means of getting to work.
Now, this guy must have been an outlier. He looks at me and he says, If I give you a ride, would you promise you'll never do it again? My next house was a schoolteacher. She taught school 40 years and retired. She was telling me that. Meanwhile, I asked her one day if she could teach me how to read and write. She said, I taught thousands of people how to read and write. And she helped me. About three months later, she helped me to memorize the 69 questions.
I took the test and I passed, and I got my driving license. And I went back and I thanked her, and she says to me, John, would you consider continuing on your education? And I said, no. And then she said, John, do you believe that you have an excellent mind? Imagine. But what do you tell a person who has already surrendered, what Canadian Army says? How do you open a closed mind? You know, the book says, One must reach across from the hand that strikes, for there lies the power that will awaken the spirit.
On the second step would say, Come to believe. It will restore you. But you know what I said to myself? I know she likes me. And she feels sorry for me. And she's trying to be nice to me by telling me that I have an excellent mind. And of course, now I look back and I say that anyone who taught school for 40 years knows a good mind when he sees one. And I say that with all the humility you can have in making that type of statement.
I like to close, because Dave told me you only have an hour. You know, so many things come to your mind. It comes to your mind because of an education. I remember that I was so proud I had a driving license, 34 years old. People like Paul came to see me. He said, John, this is an 11-passenger car. You can buy it for $700. I said, Paul, I don't have $700. Why don't you go upstairs and ask the lady? She said, maybe she'll give you enough money for the down payment.
And you know, I went. She gave me enough money for the down payment. And here I was, in my 50 years of sobriety, president in my own company. I have a driving license, an 11-passenger station wagon. And I said to myself, maybe I should find me a girlfriend. But you know, the only thing I've lost in drinking is four teeth in front. And I felt that you couldn't find a decent girl with four teeth missing.
You know, in Syracuse, New York, there is a bar room they call Smitty's. Smitty's is where all the New York Indians drink. I don't drink in Smitty's because I am a Mi'kmaq Indian. And Mi'kmaq Indians and New York Indians don't communicate too well. And every once in a while, 20 of us Mi'kmaqs would get drunk and we'd go to Smitty's. And we would communicate. But I was drunk one day. I was drinking one day, and I had long leather gloves.
I had just unloaded a boxcar. I have just unloaded a boxcar and got a job from a slave market where you get paid the same day. I was drinking and I was walking by Smitty's and I had no intention of going in there because I wasn't that drunk. Somebody opened the door and throwed his guy out and
[01:00:04]
that's where I met Smiley. Smiley is a little bit Irishman weighing about 90 pounds with a degree. I have always had trouble with people with degrees. So I pick him up and I said to Smiley, What in the hell is wrong with you? He said, It's those Indians inside. I said, They can't do that to you. He said, No, they can't. I said to him, What do you say you and I go in there and clean them up? He says, It's a good idea. By Jesus, it wasn't a good idea. I woke up in a general hospital, I lost four teeth and Smiley sat in there without a scratch. I should have got rid of him then. But the years went by and I wake up in jail and Smiley sat in there without a scratch. I said to him one day, I'll come and I can get so messed up that you never had a scratch. He has the most sincere look in the world, that's why he's such a good man. Johnny said, Don't you know I'm a college man? I have these four teeth missing and like I said, I'm a very sensitive person. If I'm going to find a girl, I want everything right. But I'm also a very sensitive person. I don't like dentists because they represent pain. So I have to decide whether I want a girl bad enough. Anyway, I met a dentist in an A.A. meeting one night, and I examined him for three weeks. He had a very gentle smile, white hair, very tall, well-dressed. I said to him, You don't look like you would hurt anybody. I finally called him one night and I said, I have a little problem and I'm wondering if you could help me. He said, Well, what's the problem? I said, I'm looking for a girlfriend, and I have these four teeth missing, and I'm wondering if you could put them back. So he gave me his card and he said, Call my secretary, and I did, and I went to see him. He counted fourteen teeth that he wanted to pull. I said, I know I shouldn't have come here, because I didn't think it was a bargain at all. I said to him, How long are you going to take before I get my false teeth? He said, You keep all your appointments three months. That's where I learned that in A.A. you get what you need and not what you want. A lot of things we do, I don't like twice a week to see a dentist. I was so miserable in those three months, I never liked to look forward to a dentist. I don't mind today, because I don't have teeth. I never forgot that the day I went, I got my teeth. I was so happy. You know what they did? They put them in and put them in. The thing is, I was there for hours. I finally got out of there and I rushed home. I went upstairs and I looked in the mirror and I laughed for two hours. I met Mary in an A.A. meeting and she said, John, I'm told that you have a new car. I said, I have seven passengers. She said, I run the halfway house for an alcoholic woman. I have nine girls and I'm looking for someone to bring these girls to a meeting. Would you be interested? I said, I would. That's where I met Kathy. At night I bring these girls to a meeting and on our way back I said to her, Would you like to go out on a date? She said, No. And that's another thing that I don't handle too well at all. I can't handle rejection at all. But by this time I was in the program long enough, so A.A. is teaching me something, because on my way home I said to myself, Who in the hell does she think
[01:05:00]
she is? Here she is living with nine women and she's got nothing. And here I am, a President in my own company, and I own my own car, a new set of teeth. Who the hell wants her anyway? So next Thursday night I came along and I picked the girls up again, and on our way back from the meeting I said to her, I'll go to a show in Boston Sunday. She said, Okay. So we went to a show in Boston. On our way back I asked her to marry me. She said, But I don't know you. And I said, It's all right, we still have five miles to go, we've got acquainted. So we got married. Kathy and I got married and we stopped the car. We had eighty-five dollars, and there were two people trying to figure out where to go. We went back home and I got cut this short. I would like to say that, thank God for AA, because I was not ready to face my past. I like what AA says, that all alcoholics need spiritual support to face the truth about their lives. And in my reservation after my father died, my mother used to write notes to an Indian agent, because my family was hungry, they used to cry all night. And my mother used to say, That's all right, we'll send John to an agent tomorrow, we'll get food. And in those five years, I made many trips and I've lost twin boys, twin brothers in the same year. And I knew there was no food. When I was thirteen, my mother was dying, she had been in bed for a long time, she couldn't get up, and she wanted a jar of Vaseline. So I walked fourteen miles once again, carrying the note in the middle of the winter, with my hands wrapped up in that dirty old green sweater that I had never forgotten. And I arrived there and I gave a note to an Indian agent, he read it and he threw it on the snow and shut the door in my face. And kids make fun of me. And I was thirteen and I knew what hate was. I was thirty-five years old when I came back home, and I felt. I learned in AA, I learned about a prayer of St. Francis, I learned about praying to understand or praying to love, but I felt that it was unreasonable, I felt it wasn't fair. I felt that no man should treat a person like me when I'm not capable of taking care of myself and getting away with it. I felt that the laws are wrong, that any man who has been treated the way I was and in my family don't deserve the understanding nor that he deserves love. I felt that what he deserved was the same treatment that he gave me, and let the lesson become a lesson to him. You see, I was not ready. I needed to come back, because the first thing I did not understand about St. Francis, he said he wanted to be an instrument. And God said, there is my way and there is your way. You cannot have both, regardless what kind of excuse that you might have to hate. For hate, for all human beings, is a tool of self-destruction. One who hates, it's dead inside. And I hated, and I drive a car like a maniac, going too fast. My wife doesn't know what's happening, and I look back and I say that I was crazy. I was crazy. And thank God, we got home. We had thirty-five hours left. And Kathy and I, we moved into a three-room apartment, and the only thing that we had was a coffee table that was given to us from a paid house. And even newlyweds cannot sleep in coffee tables. So we slept on the floor. But you can have
[01:10:00]
a lot of fun on the floor, too. I don't know whether that's spiritual or not, but it's real. I said to Kathy, if you give me a boy, I'll buy you a diamond. Now, can you imagine, you cannot afford a bed, but you're promising a diamond. But the beautiful thing about Kathy and I, she was sick enough so she believed me. And that Christmas she was in a hospital and walked into a bank, first time in my life, wanting $200, and you know what they told me? I needed collateral. And I never heard that in AA. I didn't know what in the hell it was. I went to three banks and they said, You need collateral. And I went back to see Paul. I said to him, You know, they wouldn't let me have any money. He said, John, what you want to do is pray. I said, Paul, they don't need God, they need collateral. That I was very sure. I went to Hudson and I got the money. I bought a diamond and gave it to my wife. My wife called me up and said, Honey, it's a girl. I was disappointed because I had already bought fetters for a boy. Next Christmas came along and my wife was in there again and she called me up and said, Honey, it's a girl. I said to her, Don't worry about it, just have an open mind and we'll try again. I learned that in the program. So next Christmas came along and my wife was in there again and she called me and she's still crying.
This time it's twin boys. Then I got scared. I rushed over and I said to her, Why don't you say that next Christmas we hang our stockings and wait for Santa Claus? And we did well for a couple of years. The girl came along and a couple of years later the boy came along and that's my story. I have six kids. I was hired once by the government. I became a director for three reservations in the state of Maine. I had a nine-year contract. By this time I had two new cars, six kids and a fourteen-room house. They came with a truck and they moved me to Calais, Maine. I threw my coveralls away and bought a suit. I shined my shoes with a tie. They even asked me to choose the color that I needed, the wall-to-wall color in my office. I walked into my office. I met my secretary, built like a brick house.
When the phone rings, all the buttons lit up. The next office was to Mr. Collins, who was a psychiatrist. The next office was psychologist. Upstairs was an Indian education and here I was. What would you say if you saw me walking in one night? Long hair, dirty, whine-sores, cannot read and write. Can you imagine if you came to me and said, John, you stick with us and one day, my God, you'll even have a right to revenge to an Indian agent, if you want to. I suppose, on the other hand, if you see me laying in the sidewalk with long hair and whine-sores, dirty, you would never stop and say, now there lies a perfectionist.
I mean, you're not that smart. While I was over there, I received a call from the University of Maine. They wanted an Indian speaker in the adult education program. They paid forty dollars an hour. Would I be interested? I said I wouldn't. I went over there and I spoke for one hour, and I was so impressed with what I said, I gave them half an hour free. I'd like to close by just repeating the words the speaker said last night about the grace.
Someone out there cares. Those of us who understand about our powerlessness, we cannot help but to be grateful the fact that we are free comes from a gift. One of the greatest gifts that a man can give comes from his own powerlessness. To travel this far, to share with you the life that for better than thirty years I have told lies about, ashamed of, and I don't know what happened except to tell you I came back.
[01:15:03]
And you know, it is a great thing to be able to be here and to be free. It's great. I don't have to tell you that. It's great to be asked by Dave to travel this far on a jet, mind you, to talk about a man that people call John the Indian. Talk about him with new insight, new education, and a conviction that I am sober with gift that I have been given from the God of my understanding, but I am free simply because you care.
Thank you very much. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.