My name is, uh, Mac McKenney, and I'm an alcoholic. This, uh, seems to be a McKenney family reunion, but, uh, we compared spellings, and I feel like the odd man out because I'm the only one who spells my last name with an E. But, uh, I have to tell you that as I walked up to this stage, I kind of feel like a rock star or something up here. And I, I was thinking, um, as Shirley was opening the, the meeting, y– I could be a rock star. I mean, the only thing that really stands between me and a career as a rock star or, or a movie star, for that matter, is, uh, talent, you know? But for talent, I, I could be a rock star. I mean, we have a stage now, and, uh, I confided to someone, b– um, actually, it was Mark over dinner, that there's a little part of me that all my life has wanted to… I haven't asked for much out of life. I've only wanted for life to be maintenance free and, um… And I've always sort of pictured myself walking out on a balcony and just waving to cheering throngs. And, uh, uh, this is probably, uh, as close as I'll ever get. It's probably as, as close as is good for my health. Um… I said I'm an alcoholic, and that means a lot of things. One of the things it means is that it's very difficult for me to talk for more than twenty minutes without lying. And, uh- I'm gonna talk a little longer than that tonight. Not a heck of a lot longer than that, but a little longer than that. And I have no idea what lie I'm gonna tell. But, uh, um, chances are I'll take a tape of this talk home, and m-my wife Linda will hear the tape, and, and she'll remind me, uh… Um, it's a funny thing. You know, when I get out a-away from home, there's always, um, a temptation to give a really spiritual talk, and I was gonna do that tonight. But, uh, one of the calls that we got, uh, from Sandy, uh, my wife Linda answered the phone, and they talked for quite a while before I was called to the phone. So I, um, I think maybe I'll try to stick to the facts tonight, at least as best I can. Uh, um, I'd like to start… I, I think I'd be remiss if I didn't start by thanking, uh, Shirley for calling me a few weeks ago and asking me to, to come out here this weekend. Um, and it's really been, um, it's been a privilege to have the chance to get acquainted with Mark and Sandy today. Uh, I, I told Sandy in the bus on the way over here that this whole day has just kind of felt like a favorite old warm sweater or a favorite pair of shoes. It just has been a very comfortable experience, and I, I can't recall when I've ever been made to feel more at home. And, uh, I certainly have Mark and Sandy to thank for that, but I have all of you to thank for that as well. Um, I, I came here to, um, to talk tonight. I didn't come here to read. But a-as I was thinking about what I wanted to say tonight, I, I, I'm not a… I don't quote from the Big Book. I don't quote the book by page number or anything like that. But I was reminded of several paragraphs that I read in one of the stories in the Big Book that, uh, mean an awful lot to me, and I thought maybe I'd just share them with you because if, if you're new here tonight and, uh, wondering what's wrong with that guy up there in a bow tie, um, um, I remember sitting in the back of the room listening to speakers and thinking, "Geez, doesn't this guy know how much I want to drink?" Um, I do know how much you want to drink if you want to drink tonight. Um, but, uh, there's, there's a payoff for sticking around here, and it goes, um, far beyond what I was looking for when I got here, which was to, to stop, uh, just to stop hurting. And I think it's summarized very well in a story. And by the way, if, if you're new, you're very fortunate to be here, um, I think in, uh, 1993. I came to my first meeting in 1977, and they sold me a copy of this big blue book for $5. And, uh, the book was not as well written then as it is now. I, um… I took it home, and, and it, it was very difficult to get through this book. And it wasn't because it was su-such a large volume, I think, but it was so badly written that as I went through with a blue pencil and tightened up the prose, and, you know, there were a lot of male pronouns in there that didn't s– they seemed rather sexist. And, and, uh, it, it– the book needed a lot of streamlining. The steps, for instance, you didn't really need 12 of them, and I edited those down to about seven. And it took a long time to, to get through the book. And you know, when I read it these days, it, it doesn't seem to be nearly as badly written as it was then. But, uh, one story that really touched me and, uh, is called The Keys of the Kingdom. And this woman's story isn't anything like mine. That's the first thing I'll tell you about it. Um, in terms of the particulars, uh, I think we came from very different backgrounds, but we have the same kind of alcoholism and apparently have a lot in common in recovery. And she wrote toward the end of her story, "The last 15 years of my life have been rich and meaningful. I've had my share of disap– uh, problems, heartaches, and disappointments because that is life. But I also have known a great deal of joy and a peace that is the handmaiden of inner freedom. I have a wealth of friends, and with my AA friends, an unusual quality of fellowship, for to these people I am truly related, first through mutual pain and despair, and later through mutual objectives and newfound faith and hope. And as the years go by, working together, sharing our experiences with one another, and also sharing a mutual trust, understanding, and love without strings, without obligation." We acquire relationships that are unique and priceless. There is no more aloneness with that awful ache so deep in the heart of every alcoholic that nothing before could ever reach it. That ache is gone and need never return again. Now there is a sense of belonging, of being wanted and needed and loved. In return for a bottle and a hangover, we have been given the keys of the kingdom. Life didn't always look like that kind of, um, happiness and that kind of peace, and that sense of belonging would, would ever be within my grasp. Um, maybe as good a place to start as any is to tell you about an experience I had when I'd been sober about a year, and I was living on Capitol Hill in Washington, and I was asked to take a meeting to, um, a unit in one of the, um, institutes for the befuddled out on East Capitol Street. And when I got there, um, the meeting was supposed to start at eight o'clock, and, uh, one of the professionals, uh, came to the meeting where the room was supposed to take place and asked if I was there to bring the meeting, and I said that I was. And she said she was sorry that, uh, none of the drunks on the unit felt like going to a meeting that night, so there wouldn't be a meeting. And, uh, I thought– I looked at my watch, and I thought, "Well, you know, I can make an eight thirty meeting," but, uh, she said, "You know, if you don't mind, I'd like to visit for a few minutes," and I said, "That would be just fine." So we went down to her office, and she sat behind her desk, and I sat in a straight-back, uh, wooden chair. And I kind of had this familiar feeling that, that I finally recognized as reminiscent of all the times I'd sat in the principal's office, um, explaining, uh, explaining what I had done to annoy my teachers. And, and she said, "You know, I'd like to know a little bit about, um, how you got to be an alcoholic." And I thought, "Well, gee, I'd like to know that too." Um. In fact, when I got to AA, there wasn't anything I wanted to know more than, uh, how you got to be an alcoholic. Um, uh, specifically, I wanted to know, uh, how much you got to drink before you got to be an alcoholic, you know, 'cause I was pretty sure I hadn't had that much yet. But, uh- Anyway, this was something she wanted to explore with me, so she started to ask me, uh, some questions, uh, mostly about my childhood. And, uh, one of the questions she asked me was, uh, what my family's financial situation was when, when I was a kid. And I, uh, well, I ca– the first thing she asked me was w– if, if there was drinking in my family, and I said, "Yes." And, and she said, "Alcoholic drinking?" And I said, "Yes." And she said, "Your mother or your father?" And I said, "Yes." And, uh- I explained that I came from good alcoholic stock on both sides. And, uh, I know some of you were pioneers in the, in the quest for alcoholism, but I, I kind of came by it naturally. In fact, I think I was, uh, probably a freeze-dried drunk. You know, as soon as- -I had my first drink, I was, I was off and running. But, uh, then, um, she asked me about my family's, uh, financial situation, and I said, "Well, we were, uh, we were poor." And she said, "Well, what was that like?" And I said, "Well, have you ever seen a TV show called The Waltons?" And she said she hadn't. I said, "Well, it wasn't anything like that." And- She said, "What do you mean?" And I said, "Oh, you know The Waltons. They were poor but happy and poor but grateful. Uh, I-I was poor but pissed off." And, uh- I didn't care for it. I didn't like being poor. And, uh, you know, if you have any say in the matter at all, I, I don't recommend it. I've, um… And then she asked me a question about coming to terms with my, um, sexuality during adolescence, and I, I was kind of mystified by that. And we made about three runs at this question, and finally I said, "Well, how many, how many guys are there on the unit?" And she said, "Eight." And I said, "Well, what, you know, whatever the consensus was among them, I'll, I'll go along with that." And, uh- So as we talked about this back and forth, finally she said, "You know, I think I'm starting to understand how you got to be an alcoholic." And she had my attention. I'll admit she had my attention. And, and she said, "You know, you had alcoholic role fa– uh, role models. You were, uh, there was, there may be a hereditary component. There was, um, you were unsure of yourself. You felt unhappy about your family's socioeconomic position. Obviously, you have a lot of hostility about it." And I listened to her for a while, and I said, "Well, you know, ma'am, with all due respect, I believe it had something to do with my drinking." And, um, that's why I'm here tonight. It has something to do with my drinking. And, um, I can't tell you how I got to be an alcoholic, why I got to be an alcoholic, what an alcoholic is, what causes alcoholism. I can tell you that when I drank, it made me miserable. And, um, my drinking made me– As a result of my drinking, my life got so bad that I had to call AA. You know? I mean, how bad can life get? My life got so bad that I, that I had to– I– not only did I had to ask for help, but I had to come to AA for help. I mean, that's how bad it got. And, uh, the reason I'm here tonight isn't because I know anything about alcoholism. It, it's because I know how to arrest alcoholism. And because, uh, if I don't drink today, I have a pretty good shot at having a pretty good life, and I didn't stand a chance before I got here. I didn't have a chance. I grew up, uh, just outside of Cincinnati, Ohio, in a little town called Hamilton. It's an industrial town of about seventy thousand people. My dad worked in a paper mill, and, um, my mother was at home when we were young, and she eventually went to work too. The– It was difficult to provide enough income, uh, for my family to support, uh, my parents' drinking, and that was a real problem. What I know today that I didn't know then was that the problem in my family was my parents' drinking. I thought the problem in my family was me. By the time I was four or five years old, I, you know, my earliest memories of childhood are of lying awake at night and listening to my parents argue. Um, my– I guess to be more specific, listening to my, my mother argue. My dad didn't– My dad listened to my mother argue. Um. She expressed herself rather forcefully, and he listened, and that made her angrier and angrier. So I mostly remember my mother yelling at my dad, and, uh, I thought it was my fault. I thought that, um, that if it weren't for me, and then there were other children who came along eventually, if it weren't for us, that mom and dad would be happy, that there'd be enough money, that they'd get along with each other, that they wouldn't fight, that they wouldn't drink too much, that they wouldn't slap us around all the time. Um, and I don't know where I got those ideas, but, um, I think when we're very young, um, you know, I, I suspect that a natural part of being an infant, for instance, is thinking that you're the center of the universe. Um, uh, at thirty-eight, I still think I'm the center of the universe sometimes. And, uh, um, I guess maybe a lot of the, the Earth people outgrow that. Well, I didn't. And, uh, you know, when you're a child and you fuss, your parents respond. If you, uh, you know, bring your bottle, change your diaper or whatever. So you– I guess you sort of think you cause everything that happens in your world. At four or five, I thought I caused the fighting. Um, by the time I was, uh, in, in grade school, uh, my mother had a terribly violent temper. I thought that I, I was the cause of the violence, and, uh, I didn't really understand that there were other forces at work in my family, uh, besides me, that were causing, uh, the problems. And I don't mean to suggest to you that I never brought problems to the, uh, the family. I did become a teenager, after all. And, uh, and I, you know, I, I'm sure that I contributed a lot to the conflict in our family, but from the very beginning, I thought that everything that went wrong was my fault. Now, like I said, I'm here tonight not because of my parents' drinking. I'm here tonight because of my drinking. Uh, one of the reasons that I tell you this, though, is because, um, by the time I got to grade school, I was one of these guys who was walking around with a, just a, a, a terrible, uh, number of secrets. The secrets were that even though my parents worked, we didn't have enough food in the house, and sometimes we didn't have oil in the furnace. Um, uh, clothes didn't get washed when they were supposed to be. Um, and, uh, there was violence. There was a lot of anger. And what I would do is I'd go to school, and I'd sit at, at my desk and try to look for all the world like somebody whose mom and dad were Ozzie and Harriet. And there wasn't anything in the world that was more important to me than for other people not to know what was going on at home. So by the time I was eight or ten or twelve, I had a lot of funny ideas about the world. I had secrets. Um, I had secrets about my family, and the biggest secret of all was that it was my fault. So I was this very frightened, very lonely kid with a lot of secrets. Now, there are people, um, whose alcoholism is, uh, really the same as mine, who can stand at a podium and tell you that they, um, they used to go out with the guys and have a few drinks, and eventually it got out of hand, and they crossed this mysterious line and became alcoholic. And, uh, I used to sit in meetings and listen to people talk about the second step and talk about how they came to believe that a power greater than, than themselves could restore them to sanity. And I'd think, "Gee, these, these– We got a whole bunch of amateurs throwing around words like sanity, and they don't know what they're talking about." And, um, I thought, "You know, I wasn't, uh, I'm not crazy. Uh, what is all, all this talk about being restored to sanity?" Well, tonight, you know, I have to look back on, on the early part of my life and, and I have to tell you that by the time I picked up my first drink, I already wasn't wrapped that tight. And, uh, you know, today, the word in the second step that I balk at is restore. I, I'd just as soon not be restored to anything than I ever was before I, I found the fellowship of Alcoholics Anonymous. I- So by the time I was, um, a teenager, I hated myself so much, and I was so lonely, and I was so full of fear that, um, I think that drinking may have, uh, saved my life. I think it made an otherwise unbearable existence, uh, tolerable. I remember when I got to AA and people were talking about how alcohol had become the most important thing in their lives, and I, and my denial was so, um, so strong that I could, I couldn't identify with that. Um, I love– I have a buddy named Ross who showed up, uh, at another institute for the bewildered a few years ago, and, uh, um, he, his comment when they admitted him was, "I really don't think you people can help me 'cause denial's not my problem." And, uh, I think that's where, sort of where I was when I got here. But I have to tell you that as a teenager, drinking, I really thought that alcohol was sort of a s– the still point in a turning world. You know, the, the, the drinking was the one thing that w– that I could count on when nothing else was working. I'd like to tell you about my first drink, but I don't remember when I took it. Uh, picking up a drink was not an event and, you know, it wasn't anything out of the ordinary at home. But I can, uh, recall very vividly what happened when I drank when I was a teenager. Um, I was, um, I was this skinny little guy. Um, I was kind of short, and I was very thin and, uh, nervous to say the least, pretty high-strung, and, uh, had a lot of secrets and, uh, and was just pretty miserable. And you know what happened when I drank? We'd go– Uh, like at football games, somebody would bring a, a, you know, a half pint of whiskey and pass it around, and you know what happened? I became tall and handsome and charming and witty and urbane. I think it was urbane. It, it– Urbane is a reach in Hamilton, Ohio, but I- … I thought I was urbane and, um, and I could talk to girls. That was one of the most amazing things, was I could actually talk to girls. It was unbelievable. And, uh, I have to tell you that, um, if it stopped there, if I could pick up a drink tonight and be tall and handsome and charming and witty and urbane and all that stuff, I wouldn't be here tonight. I'd, you know, I'd be drinking. But it didn't work that way for very long. Um, and what I mean by that isn't that, you know, over the course of several years, um, drinking s-stopped doing that for me. What I mean by that is over the course of a single evening- … drinking stopped doing that for me. And it was invariable. It was kind of like when, uh, my wife Linda and I are driving, and one of us is at the wheel and the other's a navigator. There's a point where you're very, um, you're just remarkable when you've had a few drinks. You're just absolutely remarkable. And then you pass that point. And we do the same thing on the highway. The exit was right back there, you know, and just keep right on going. I always kept right on going and, um, without fail. So inevitably, on almost every single occasion, the same person who at six o'clock or at seven o'clock was tall and handsome and charming and witty and urbane, at nine o'clock or ten o'clock or closing time, um, was, uh, grim and morose and sitting over in a corner somewhere feeling sorry for himself and weighted down by all the problems of the world, all the terrible secrets. And it was, it was worse. It wasn't better, you know? So if the, if the baseline is before the first drink, that was bad enough. But at the end of the evening, it was almost unbearable. It w-really was. It was almost unbearable. And it happened day after day after day. I always thought I'd figure it out, though. And, um, I think that's called an obsession with alcohol. When I was about twelve or thirteen years old, we had a next-door neighbor named Mr. Robards, and he had a vegetable garden, and he grew wonderful vegetables. He grew corn and asparagus and, but he grew the biggest, most beautiful tomatoes you ever saw in your life, and I love tomatoes. And he'd just hand them to me off the vine, and there was nothing like biting into a tomato like that. And you know what happened? The acid from the tomatoes would make my mouth break out. And you know what I did? I quit. Cold turkey. I just gave it up. And I loved tomatoes, but I don't eat tomatoes. I don't eat tomatoes on New Year's Eve. I don't eat them on St. Patrick's Day. I don't have those little cherry tomatoes at wedding receptions. I just don't eat tomatoes. But see, with alcohol, because for some moment in time between eight o'clock and eight twenty, I got to be tall and handsome, ooh, to be a rock star, you know. I always thought, I'm gonna get this right. That's insanity. Insanity is believing lies. I always thought I'd get it right. Well, I finished high school- And, um, I went to sch-, uh, school at, uh, the, um, local campus of Miami University of Ohio. I don't know if anybody here went to Miami, but I was there for a couple years, uh, part-time while I worked. And, um, um, you know, when you're, um, you know, 19 or 20 years old and you're not that, uh, that bright and you don't have any money and you're not that good looking, the, the world doesn't unfold limitless opportunities for you. Um, but you can go into politics, so that's what I did. I got I got involved in politics at the local level. And, uh, a friend of mine, uh, a guy I had known first as a city councilman and then as a state legislator, ran for Congress, and he was elected in, um, in 1974. He went to Washington in January of 1975. Now, I'm not gonna tell you which party, uh, because if I do, I'll, you know, I may lose about half of you. But, um, I went to Washington with him and, um, he gave… I-it was great. He hired me as his press secretary, and I did write well. Um, and what's more, being alcoholic, I was very good at lying, which is, uh, an important skill for a press secretary to have. And, um, and I was also real resourceful at talking my way out of jams. You know, what the congressman meant to say was… And these days, with word processing, I think that's just… You can do that with a single stroke on the keyboard now. What the congressman meant to say was, it's just a single stroke. But, uh, anyway, I was, um, I wasn't half bad at it. I was 20, um, 20 or 21 when I went to Washington and, um, I was a sight when I got, uh, when I got to Washington, I have to tell you. I had, um, I think I had most of my wardrobe in one, uh, paper grocery bag, which didn't matter 'cause it was polyester. It wouldn't wrinkle anyway. And, uh, I was a chain smoker, so I was kind of a walking fire hazard with this, uh… Did not own a natural fiber, I don't believe. But, um, I gotta tell you that, uh, you know, at the age of seven, I was sitting in a, at a desk in school trying to look like mom and dad were Ozzie and Harriet. Well, at the age of 21, I was sitting at a desk in an office trying to look like a grown-up and like I knew what I was doing and like I wasn't overwhelmed by the big city and all that. And, uh, uh, it was, it was quite an experience. I, um, I got a little English basement in a row house on Capitol Hill. It was a perfect place for… Washington is a perfect pla- perfect town for a drunk. I mean, it's just like a candy store. And this was the perfect alcoholic apartment because not very much light got in and, uh, you know, light is not our friend, at least not in the morning. And, uh, in fact, there was speculation among my friends that the third and fourth generation of my offspring would be born without eyes, actually, 'cause I lived underground. I was more comfortable there. And, uh, I'd like to tell you that I just had this wonderful time, you know, crashing all these receptions and parties in Washington. And I'll tell you, it was grim, was what it was. I, I, I let the s- the truth slip out my first day in Washington. I stopped at a little store called Congressional Liquor store on the way home from, uh, work my first night in town, and I bought a, um, a half gallon of, uh… You know, I, I just spotted a lie. I think I always, when I tell this story, I say I bought a half gallon of Dewar's Scotch. I think it was Teacher's, actually. It was, um… And I, I liked scotch a lot and, uh, and I bought a… It was either a quarter or a fifth of bourbon. I didn't much care for that, but, you know, it would do i- in a pinch. And I bought a quart of gin, which I detested. And to this day, I can't tell you why I bought it. I, maybe I thought somebody who drank gin was gonna drop by. I don't know. But, uh, the clerk put all this stuff in a box for me to carry home and he said, "You must be entertaining." And I told him the truth. I said, "Not very." And, uh, and I wasn't entertaining. It was, it was, it was grim, and it was miserable. And for 15 minutes, with a drink in my system, I could talk to anybody. And then I was off in the corner feeling sorry for myself. I joined a private club and, uh, they gave me a little plastic card. And so the, uh, the way my day went was I went to work at 9:00 in the morning. Um, but you know what the mornings were like. I don't have to tell you what the, what it's like in the morning. You wake up and you… I didn't know it was called a hangover till I got here. Um, you remember that old story about the guy who went to the fortune teller and, and she looked in his, at his palm and she said, "You'll lead a miserable life for 40 years." And he was a little rattled by that, and finally he swallowed hard and screwed up all his courage, and he said, "Then what?" And she said, "Oh, you'll be used to it." And, uh, I was used to it. I called that waking up. I didn't know it was, you know, it was called a hangover. I thought if you were foolish enough to get out of bed in the morning, your head was gonna pound. You'd hear the dust settling on the furniture. Uh, you know, the sun would hurt. I could never figure out which sock to put on first or which shoe to put on first. The mornings were terrible. Then I went into, uh, work and I worked hard. I worked real hard 'cause I was guilty. I was full of secrets. Uh, the biggest secret of all, by the way, was that I was a drunk. Used to be the secret was Mom and Dad hate each other, and they fight all the time, and they hit us all the time, and we don't have any money. Well- The secrets used to be about my family. By the time I was out on my own, all the secrets were about me. The secret was that I was a drunk, and, uh, I suspected it. I didn't know it, but I suspected it. And, um, then I, um, went to work, and I worked hard. Like I said, I w– I, I, I turned out the kind of work product that only the guilty can turn out, you know? I mean, I worked hard. And, uh, then I took the bus down to GW. I went to school after work. Then I came back up to the Hill. I took the bus back to the Hill and went over to the club, and every month, the club sent me a statement. And for each, uh, workday, there was an entry, and it always said food and beverage, and there was a total. There was very little food involved on, i-in these food and beverage transactions, but it always said food and beverage. It never said scotch too much or Guinness Stout, and boy, were you polluted. It just said food and beverage. The problem for an alcoholic drinking in bars among professional colleagues is that there comes a point after you've been glib and charming and, and remarkable and a, and a rock star when, um, your words start to slur, and, uh, people can notice that. And there is an etiquette involved in these things. Of course, people pretend not to notice. Just like, you know, if somebody falls off the bar stool next to you, you never look down, um, 'cause you never know when it's gonna be your turn. You just- … you sort of wait for the head to reappear, and then you resume the conversation as though- … nothing had happened, right? And you never say, "Hey, pal, you can't talk anymore," but you know that they know, so… And you'll start a conversation where each word that is successfully articulated is a source of increasing pride, and pretty soon you have strung four, five, or six words together and- And as you really start to feel satisfied with yourself, it usually dawns on you that you have no idea what the hell it is you started to say. That happens to me at, at the podium sometimes, but alcohol is not a factor anymore. Um… So I worked this thing out with, uh, there was a woman named Gina who tended the bar there. And, uh, Gina's not, not there anymore, but, uh, sh-she hung in there as long as I needed her, thank God. But, uh, so what I'd do is I would get up and go to the men's room, and then instead of coming back to the bar, I went back to the kitchen. And Gina fixed my drinks and brought them to me back there, and I thought that was really nifty. And, um, I had been sober I think about 10 months before I realized that there was something a little foolish about joining a private club so you could drink in the kitchen. You know, at four or five bucks a pop, but… On Friday nights, I'd go to a place called Matt Kane's, and I don't know if anybody here ever drank in Washington, but if you did, you probably know Matt Kane's. Matt Kane's was the, sort of the granddaddy of the Irish pubs in Washington. And, um, Matt Kane, I think, was probably the first guy to bring Irish folk music to, to Washington. And, uh, I'd go there on Fridays and Saturdays. And Matt Kane's had a lot of things going for it. One of the things was they had Guinness Stout on tap, and I learned how to drink Guinness Stout. Th-they don't serve much Guinness Stout in Hamilton, Ohio, by the way. But, uh, they'd, they'd pour you a, a Guinness and actually you'd order two, and you'd have them both on the bar in front of you so that, a-and you always kept two glasses of Guinness on the bar so that one could come up to room temperature, so you could drink it at the proper temperature. But of course, the real reason for doing that was, you know, God forbid that you should have an empty glass on the bar. And, uh, so after drinking, uh, uh, enough Guinness Stout, I'd start thinking about how I was gonna get home, realize that I'd need to sober up a little bit before going home. Well, there's only one way to sober up in an Irish bar. It's Irish coffee. And, um, Irish coffee, a, a nutritionist once explained to me, is a, is a whole food. It, uh, it contains the four essential food groups: uh, fat, sugar, caffeine, and alcohol. And, uh, the, the great thing about Matt Kane's was that they always, um… You could get Irish coffee in a, in a milk glass mug. It was on a, on a little pedestal, and it had a heart handle and a green shamrock painted on it. And so you paid, I think maybe it was $4 or $4.50 for a, a Irish coffee, and then you got to keep the mug. And, and everybody should… You know, if you're gonna entertain, if you're at all refined, you, you want to have 300 or 400 of these mugs on hand, so. Um, I used to put them on my belt. You know, I'd run my- Which when you think about it, if you're having as much trouble walking as I did in those days, it isn't that smart, and- That was not at a time in my life when I ever gave a lot of thought to whether I wanted to have children, but, um- Uh, there was some adventure involved in my drinking. There was some risk-taking. And, uh, um, I said one night at the podium that I had a lot at risk in those days, and my wife sat in the back and nodded her head, uh… Uh, but anyway, um, Matt Kane's was where I went on, on Saturday nights. And, um, I used to go home from Matt Kane's, and, uh, I had this really terrific collection- Of Irish folk music, uh, on records. And I'd, um, and I'd go home, um, and I'd listen to my records and, uh, and I, and I didn't have a record player. I really… I had auditory hallucinations and they- … and they scared me. They really scared me. I knew I w- I knew I was losing my mind, and it was terrifying. And of course, I couldn't tell anybody. I couldn't tell a soul. Now, the other problem with Irish coffee is that, uh, I never, I never did any street drugs. I- I'm, I'm the only drunk I know who was born after 1950, who never did any of those funny little pills or, you know, smoked any of that wacky tobaccy. But, uh, I can't imagine that they're selling anything on the streets that's any more wicked than, than the experience of lying on your bed and the, and the Guinness stout and the Irish whiskey is telling you, you've got to pass out. It is time to go to sleep, and there's caffeine just coursing through your veins going- … "Good morning," you know? And, and it, it was, it was terrible. One night, um, and this is the only, only other drunk story I'm gonna tell. But, uh, um, one night I was sitting at the kitchen table. I'd closed Matt Kane's, and I had one of those moments of truth. I had, uh, one of those moments of clarity that you can only have when you've had too much to drink, and it was, uh, it was o- one of these religious experiences where the scales fell from my eyes, and I was hearing the music of the universe, the music of the cosmos, and I'd found the answer. And I thought, "You know, when I get up tomorrow, I'm not gonna be able to remember this." So I thought, "I'd better write it down," and I wrote it down. And the next morning I got up, and it was just a typical hangover. I felt terrible. It was awful. And, um, I thought, "You know, why couldn't I just have died in the night?" I used to think that when I get up in the morning. I was never courageous enough to think about suicide, but I'd always think, "Why couldn't I have died in my sleep?" And then I remembered that I'd found the answer, and I went scurrying into the kitchen and, uh, which was the next room. There were two rooms, uh . And, uh, and I found this tablet. And you'll never guess what I'd written on it. I know you'll never guess what I'd written on it. I wrote, "Considualite." Don't bother looking it up. I don't know if it's a noun or a verb. But there you have it, the answer. If you're here tonight and you're new, you've got two choices. You can stick around and get sober. Your other option is considualite. Those… Well. There came a Saturday morning in January of 1977. I'd been at Matt Kane's. I'd closed Matt Kane's the night before. The hangover was no different from any other hangover. I went down to GW to register for classes. Um, I, I could have pre-registered. That takes all the excitement out of registration. I waited till the last minute. Uh, if you're working full-time and going to school part-time, you'd think you'd want the advantage at least of having the classes open when you registered. But my life was unmanageable. It really was. I couldn't get it together to pre-register. So there I was down at the campus of GW, and I started to cross the street, and I slipped on the ice, and I fell. And I was lying on my back on the street, and a thought came to me that I can only say must have been a gift from a higher power, and the thought was, "I deserve better than this." And I had never thought that before in my life. It had never occurred to me that maybe I deserved to feel better. Maybe I deserved a better life than the life I had. Somehow it came to me that maybe alcohol was part of the problem. I didn't really think it was the problem. I thought it was part of the problem, and maybe I should get in touch with Alcoholics Anonymous. I didn't know anything about AA. I think I'd read references to AA in Dear Abby or Ann Landers or something, but I didn't really know anything about AA. And I decided that I'd stop drink– I'd quit drinking. Now, this was another one of my new beginnings. There was gonna be a new administration. It was January '77. It was a new year, a new semester. I was just gonna start life all over, and I wasn't gonna drink anymore, and on Monday, I was gonna call AA. Well, Monday rolled around. Oh, by the way, I, I quit drink– I did quit drinking till Sunday afternoon when I went to the laundromat. And, uh, you know, you can't go to the laundromat without a little reinforcement. So, uh, I did have a drink to go to the laundromat. But Monday morning rolled around, and I went to work, and I thought, "I wonder what, why I became so hysterical on Saturday. I wonder what got into me." And all day I was haunted by the idea that I had promised myself I'd call AA. I just couldn't shake the idea. And this debate raged back and forth in my mind about should I call AA? Should I not call AA? And the, the idea that I should call AA so unsettled me that I finally just threw up my hands and I said, "Okay, I'll call." I think I may have even said it out loud. Uh, the people who worked around me were used to erratic behavior. I'm sure no one- … no one noticed. But, but I, I waited till the office was empty, um, and I looked up Alcoholics Anonymous in the white pages, and I called. And a woman answered, and she said, uh, "AA, may we help you?" And I said, "I'd like to learn something about your program." And she said, "For you or for a friend?" And I said, "For me." And she said, "Well, um, uh, w- where do you live?" And I said, "On Capitol Hill." And she said, "Well, you know, um, there's an AA meeting in your neighborhood tonight." And I thought, "You know, of all the luck, uh, that the monthly meeting would fall, uh…" And so we talked about this a little bit because she and I clearly had different agendas in this conversation. I was hoping she could send me some material where I could read a little bit about alcoholism, maybe learn the, you know, the seven distant warning signs of alcoholism. And, um, she thought I should… If I, if I thought alcohol was an, an issue, then maybe I should meet some members of Alcoholics Anonymous. And, uh, we argued back and forth, and finally I said, "You know, I'd really like to go to your meeting tonight, but I have to go to school after work." And she said, "Well, what time is your class over?" And, and I said, "Seven thirty." I, I didn't know any better, so I said, "Seven thirty" and told her the truth. And, um, so she said, "Well, the meeting's not till eight thirty." And I said, "Well, you know, I'd really like to make an eight thirty meeting, but, uh, I've got another problem. Uh, uh, my car's not running." And, you know, that was almost the truth. Um, I, I grew up, uh… I had mentioned I have an obsession with alcohol. I have another obsession I'm gonna tell you about. I grew up in a family, like I said, with alcoholics. We had alcoholic cars. You know, they needed to be, they needed to be steamed and pressed every few months, and they didn't run very well. And, uh, I had bought a new Volkswagen, and I thought it was the most beautiful car in the world. The most beautiful car in the world was sitting in front of this apartment where I lived, um, with a flat tire. Uh, and the tire had been flat for several weeks and, um, I had an inflated spare in the trunk. Um, but in addition to having an obsession with alcohol, I have, um, I have an obsession with justice, and my reasoning was something like this: It was not my fault that the tire was flat, so I didn't think I should have to change it. I don't know who I thought was going to change it. Um, nobody ever knocked on the door and said, "I notice your tire's flat. Gee, I'll bet that's not your fault," you know. "Could I change that tire for you?" I had told… been telling this story probably for twen-ten or 12 years before I realized that I even… I belonged to AAA at the time. I mean, all I, all I had to do was pick up the phone and somebody would've changed my tire, and if I'd known that, I'm not sure I'd have been willing to make the call. I don't know. But anyway, the most beautiful car in the world was sitting out front with a flat tire. And she said, "Well, where do you live?" And I said, "Fifth and G." And she said, "The meeting's at Second and East Capitol, so you can walk down." And, and, uh, and I, I, I agreed to go. It was the seventeenth of January. It was a cold, nasty day in Washington. Uh, that evening, the sky was kind of sputtering and there was ice everywhere. The wind was howling. And I really think the only people out and about that night were drunks. If they weren't going to meetings, they were going to bars. I don't think anybody else got out that night. And I found this church on East Capitol Street, and there's, didn't seem to be anybody on the streets anywhere. I didn't know where w– I didn't know that we used the basement. I didn't know where to go in, and I was standing there trying to figure out how to get into this church, and this man walked up. And I said, "Is this where the meeting is?" And he said, "The AA meeting?" And I looked up and down the street, and I thought, "Yeah." I thought this was supposed to be anonymous. You know, there, there's a stigma associated with this disease, and you've obviously misplaced yours, you know. I… And he said, "Why don't you come on in with me?" So we went downstairs, and he took me into the kitchen first and introduced me to some guys. They were mostly guys, I think. And, uh, uh, we got… He, he handed me half a cup of coffee, which is, you know, the prudent thing to do when a guy's at his first meeting. And then we went into the, the, uh, fellowship hall where the meeting was, and there were these tables set up in a T formation. And at the head of the table, in a three-piece suit, uh, and a gorgeous silk tie, sat the president of Alcoholics Anonymous. And, uh… And at eight thirty, he said, "My name is Mike, and I'm an alcoholic." And I thought, "Oh, don't say that about yourself," you know? He seemed like such a nice man, and, uh, then he read something off a card, and then he said it was his first anniversary, and everybody clapped. And with God as my witness, I thought that he meant it was his first wedding anniversary. And I thought, "Well, isn't that nice?" And then he started telling his story. And in front of all these people, he was talking about drinking and doing terrible things. And, and, and then I realized he meant that he hadn't had anything to drink for a year. And, and of course, I, I wasn't totally lacking in compassion. I felt really sorry for him. And, uh, he started a topic, and it went around the table. And you can imagine my horror as I realized that these other people at the table had stopped drinking, too. And of course, I felt sorry for them. And, uh, finally, it got to me, and by the time they got to me… And, and by the way, they sat at the table. There was a row of chairs off to the side. I didn't know how long you had to belong before you got to sit at the table, so I sat off to the side. And there were people at that table who knew that I'd never been to one of these before. And, uh, the reason that I knew that they knew was here these poor guys couldn't drink anymore. You know, these barren, miserable, bone-dry lives. And for my benefit, 'cause I was new, they were kind of letting on like it wasn't that bad, you know, just for me. And, um, and I was touched by that. Um, I was flattered by that. And, um, so an hour passed, a very long hour, I might add, and, um, and people were saying really inane things like, "If you don't drink, you won't get drunk." And I was sitting there thinking, "Oh, hell, anybody can stay sober not drinking." You know, what… I mean, that didn't, that didn't impress me too much, you know. And, um, they said the Lord's Prayer and closed the meeting. And a guy who'd been sober about eight months, and, uh, I was 22, I think he was about 27 or 28. He'd been sober eight months, and he wanted somebody to sponsor real bad, and I was gonna be it, so he made a beeline for me right after the meeting. And first- First, he tried to sell me this book. And I thought, "Oh, you know, you must… I didn't just fall off a turnip truck. I know about this, uh, this book of the month stuff." You know, you buy one book, and they send them t- to you for the rest of your life and on into the third and fourth generation, you know. And he said, "Well, you don't have to buy it. Just take it home with you and bring it back next week." Well, I couldn't argue with that. And so then he said, "If you want what we have, do what we do." And I kind of looked around at what you had. There w- the coffee hadn't been that great, and, uh- … I was kind of thirsty for something a little stronger than that. And there was a cake there, but it wasn't even a bakery cake. It was from a grocery store or something. And, and, uh, then he told me to go to 90 meetings in 90 days. And I thought, "Well, you know, based on what I've heard here, uh, 90 and 90 might make sense for the slow ones," but I was a college boy. And so I, I allowed as how I'd come back the following Monday. So here was my plan: I wasn't gonna drink, but I was only gonna put in an appearance once a week and sort of audit the course for a while. So I, uh, audited the course for a while. I'd go to meetings on Monday, and along about Wednesday or Thursday, um, you know, usually on my way home from work, minding my own business, I'd get struck drunk on my way home. You know? I'd just be, I'd just be trying to go home, and I'd, next thing you knew, I'd been taken drunk. And so I'd go back on Monday and try to figure out how it happened. And, uh, you know, after I got to two or three of these meetings, I figured out that you all said the same things at all the meetings, and I thought, "Who needs this every day?" You know. Well, guess what? I was one of the slow ones. See, I, I heard everything I needed to hear to stay sober at my first meeting, and I forgot. And, uh, you know, the next Monday, I heard everything I needed to hear to stay sober, and, and I forgot. And this was a pattern that repeated itself, thank God, for only a few weeks, but I got to tell you, they were the worst weeks of my life. I have, uh, never been as miserable in my life as I was, uh, auditing the program of Alcoholics Anonymous, or drinking and going to meetings. It's terrible. You're sitting there in a chair feeling like you'd have to get better to die, and all these people sitting around you are grinning. Now, I always satisfied myself that if you knew as much about life as I did, you, you wouldn't be smiling. And I kind of figured out that you were all very shallow people. And, and- … the happiness w- really was all the evidence that I needed of that. And, uh… But, you know, over time, AA ruined my drinking. It's really what happened. I, I sat in a meeting one night, and I looked around, and I thought, "Now let me, let, let's, let's take a look at this situation rationally for a minute." Here these people don't drink, and they come to these meetings a lot, and they're happy. And they're having a good time, and they seem comfortable. And, um, and I come to meetings once a week, and I keep getting drunk, and I'm miserable. And I wonder what I should do. And, uh, I thought, "You know, I could quit drinking, and I could come to meetings every day like they suggest." And then I was paralyzed by a thought that maybe some of you have had. I remember sitting there thinking, "What if I stop drinking and I'm not alcoholic?" I mean, think that over, you know? I was 22 years old. We were looking at a pretty long sentence, you know? So what, maybe I live 60 years, and then I die, and I get up to the gates, you know, and there's a guy standing there with a clipboard. And he says, "McKenney," uh, "Mack McKenney." And I say, "Yes, sir." And he says, "You quit drinking." I say, "Yes, sir." And he said, "You weren't alcoholic." Wha- what a gyp. I mean, what a rip-off. We're talking 50 or 60 years of needless sobriety. Several years later, several years later, I had a spiritual crisis, and I'm gonna tell you about that very briefly. But, uh, I remember asking myself a similar question. To ask the question is to answer it, by the way. I don't know any Earth people who've ever said, "Well, you know, Mac, I could quit drinking, but what if I'm not alcoholic?" Earth people don't struggle with questions like that for some reason. But, um, I remember sitting there thinking one time, I was really angry at God, and I thought, what if I use these, uh, spiritual principles that have been given to us that were numbered by the original 100? Um, what if I use these principles in my life and then when I die, I'm dead, and I'm gone, and there's nothing but dust, and there isn't anybody up there with a clipboard, it's all over, that's the end of the run. And I've spent 50 or 60 years needlessly serene and happy, you know? And no prize at the end of the course, you know? And, um, anyway, I quit drinking. I had my last drink, it was February 8, 1977. Uh, nothing but great things happened to me for the first four or five years I was sober. I must have been absolutely insufferable 'cause nothing but good things happened to me, and I knew it was me. I was going to the right meetings. I was talking at meetings, you know, autographing people's big books and, um, you know. Ev- everything was breaking my way, so it must be because I'm leading a spiritual life, right? I'd been sober about four years, and I talked to a woman who'd been sober about two years into getting married. Um, uh, I don't know how long you need to be sober to get married. It, it's probably longer than four years. Um, but that was, you know, 12 years ago, and we're still married, and it may work out. Um, we're s- we're pretty happy most of the time. Uh, uh, but it– I, I can't tell you it's because we knew what we were doing. We really didn't. But, uh, we got married and, uh, and, you know, fought like cats and dogs for the first couple of years. I think that's in the contract somewhere, you know, never give an inch, uh. It's not enough to be right. You drive the point home, you know, and, So, um, I didn't come here to confess tonight either. I don't– But anyway, um, we'd been married about a year, and my, uh, I'm the oldest of five. My baby sister called, and she said that our, uh, mother had been, uh, distributing, uh, pharmaceuticals in Cincinnati. Now, my mother does not have a pharmaceutical background, uh, or license or anything like that. And could she, my sister, maybe come live with us. So I put my hand over the phone, and I said, "Honey, you've always wanted children," which wasn't necessarily true. And anyway, a couple days later, we picked my sister up at a Greyhound bus station, and, and, uh, she started going to school, and we were li- still living in Washington at the time. We live out in the suburbs now. Um, so she stayed with us through her senior year in high school. For graduation, we bought her a, a beautiful set of luggage from Lands' End. And she– We hadn't packed it, I guess. She didn't take the– She said, "You know, I think I'd really like to go to Northern Virginia Community College." I said, "Well, that's, that's just great, but you know, it is a good 12 miles from here. You may wanna…" But she stuck around for another year or so, and, uh, eventually, she, um, put herself through school on a tennis scholarship and, and, uh, works for Nike now in, in Pittsburgh, and we're really proud of her. She's a great kid. And, and after she moved out, um, we thought, well, maybe, you know, maybe the next one should be a little smaller. So we, uh, set about the business of starting a family and, uh, took one of those early home pregnancy tests or whatever you call them, and, uh, uh, got some good news, and we were real excited about that. And so then Linda went to the doctor, and they did some blood work and confirmed that she was pregnant, and everything was tooling along just fine. Um, and, and one day, we, uh, she was, we thought in about her 12th week, we went in for a routine, uh, sonogram. And, uh, the technician seemed kind of concerned. And, uh, eventually, a doctor came out and asked if, uh, if our, uh, doctor had diagnosed this as a normal, um, uh, pregnancy. And Linda said, "Yes, she thought so." And they said, "Well, we don't know whether you're pregnant any longer, and we won't know. Uh, we can only use this as a baseline. We need you to come back in about 10 days." So we went home, um, feeling a lot of terror, but also trying to feel some hope about the situation, bargaining with God a lot. You know, I'll sort the trash, uh, for recycling if things work out, that kind of thing. And, uh, we went back to the, uh, hospital, and, uh, uh, we belong to a health plan, so we got these services in a hospital. And, uh, um, anyway, um, when we went back, w- we were given the, the news that Linda was no longer pregnant. And we were also told that that was a, a medically insignificant development to have a, a miscarriage in a first pregnancy and, uh, that we should, you know, try again as soon as we felt up to it emotionally. So a few months later, um, we decided that w- we'd give, you know, try another roll of the dice. And, uh, Linda called me from the clinic one day, and she was all excited and, uh, said she was pregnant again. And we were a little anxious, but we were pretty optimistic about this thing, and, and things started to unfold the way you, you hope that they will. In time, people were admiring Linda's tummy at meetings, and I was feeling a great deal of pride of authorship, you know? And, uh, um, I think we really, uh, for the most part, really en-enjoyed, uh, anticipating the arrival of a child. One day, Linda called me from her office, and she said, um, "You better meet me at the hospital right away. I think something's wrong." So I, uh, headed down to the hospital and met her in the emergency room, and the, um, doctor, uh, examined her and explained to us that her water had broken and that, uh, the, our pregnancy was no longer viable and that, uh, she would be, uh, going into, uh, labor and delivery and that, uh, it was just too soon, uh, and that things just weren't gonna work out. So I stood in a delivery room and, uh, held Linda's hand while she delivered a little boy, and, um, we held him for a while, and we spent some time with him, and we were pretty confused about why this would happen to us 'cause, you know, here we were sponsoring people and emptying ashtrays and working the steps and all that kind of good stuff, so why would this happen to us? You know. It's the kind of thing that should happen to somebody else, I guess. But, uh, the doctor said, "You know, we really don't know why this happened, but there's really no reason for you not to try again," so we did. And, um, about a year later, um, I got another phone call at the office, and it was, um, "You'd better meet me at the hospital," and the same experience repeated itself. We lost another little boy, and, uh, that experience shattered my faith. Um, and I think it's important for me to tell you about that because for the first several years that I was sober, everything was going my way, and I had all the answers. I knew what God looked like, what His job description was. I probably could have given you a zip code, you know. I had it all figured out. And then I had my faith shattered. And, um, I'm, uh, here tonight to tell you that I'm grateful for my alcoholism because if I weren't alcoholic, I wouldn't have you, and I wouldn't have a plan. I wouldn't have a way of life. I wouldn't have friends. Everything that I– that was missing in my life when I started drinking, I have found through Alcoholics Anonymous. But I'm also here tonight to tell you that I'm grateful that my faith was shattered. I'm not grateful that the, that, that the children died. I wish they hadn't died. I wish that they'd been carried to term, and I wish that, uh, you know, they were playing Little League this spring. But I'm grateful that my faith was shattered because, uh, my faith was pretty brittle. It, it didn't work. My faith was contingent upon things working out for me. Um, what I've come to believe since then, I had to start from ground zero, and I thought, "Well, I had to start all over. What do I believe?" And I'd go to meetings, and I, I remember the first meeting that we went to after we lost this, this, uh, little boy, um, and we talked about what had happened, and a guy sitting a couple rows, uh, people down from me started talking about how God had found him a parking space before the meeting. And I thought, "Why does he get a parking space?" You know? It really ripped me apart. And, uh, so I had to start all over, and I thought, "Well, what do I believe?" And I thought, "Well, I believe that, uh, I don't have to drink anymore, and I believe if I go to meetings that, that, uh, that I, I don't have to drink over this. And, uh, I believe I'm sober today because people love me, and, uh, I believe that there is love at work in this world and that that's positive and that, and that we, um, and, and that miracles happen in these rooms." That was all the faith I had for the longest time. And one night, I was reading the Twelve and Twelve. I, I'm an alcoholic. That means I always read the last chapter, you know. I was reading the forward, the introduction to the Twelve and Twelve. There was one sentence in there that just jumped off the s– off the page at me. It said, um, "AA's 12 steps are a group of principles, spiritual in their nature, which, if practiced as a way of life, can e-expel the obsession to drink and enable the sufferer to become happily and usefully whole." And that's the promise that was made to me when I got here. It's not what I heard, but that's, that's the promise that's available to each of us. Doesn't say that if I go to meetings and I don't drink and I try to practice the steps, that, uh, only good things are gonna happen in my life. Doesn't say that God's gonna surround me in a protective bubble and manipulate everybody around me so that everything goes my way. Um, my grandfather used to say, probably yours did too, that, uh, the rain falls on the just and the unjust alike, and the things that happen to other people are gonna happen to me. And, uh, maybe God doesn't mete out justice in this world, you know. Maybe that's not His job description. Maybe God was frustrated when that little boy died in that delivery room, you know. Frankly, I have more hope in a God who was frustrated and hurt when I was crying than I do in all the explanations that people give me about why it makes sense for people to suffer. I just… I, I'm not– I don't try to make sense out of suffering anymore. Um, I do think that given that we experience suffering, if we don't take something out of it, it's, you know, then we've, then we've been hit twice. You know, if there's gonna be pain and suffering in our lives, and most of us aren't exempt, then, uh- It's not only a good idea to minimize the losses, but to try to take something positive out of it. But I have been promised that if I practice these principles that were given to us, that I don't have to drink anymore, and that I can be happily and usefully whole. I think today I think I'm here to be of service, and I think that I'm, I'm here to try to receive God's love from other people in these rooms and to give God's love to other people in my life. And, um, I, um, I used to have all the answers, and I think now I'm starting to ask the right questions, and I'm really grateful for that. You know, it says when, uh, Mark read how it works, it said that perhaps no human power could have relieved our suffering, but God could and would if he were sought. Didn't say that we had to have the answers. It just said we had to– we have to look. Um, so I'm trying, uh, to learn to live a life where I don't look for justice anymore, where I look for compassion, and where I look for God's love. I grew up in a very, um, rigid religious tradition, and as a child, I used to lie awake at night and try to discern God's will for my life. So the eleventh step was a little daunting when it talked about praying only for knowledge of his will and the power to carry that out. And I used to think, "Gee, does God want me to be in the private sector or the public sector? Am I supposed to drive a domestic car or an import? Eat– Should I have yogurt or ice cream, you know, paper or plastic?" All these choices, you know, and, and what is God's will? And tonight I believe God's will is for me to be sober and for me to be happily and usefully whole. And that's God's will in my– from– in my life today, and that means that serenity is within my grasp. And I learned to pray for an inside job, you know. About the only thing that I pray for anymore is, is, is for God to work his will in me, you know, not in other people and, and other events in my life. And you know, those prayers are always answered. They're always answered. If I pray that it doesn't rain so I can go to the ball game, I think– I'm not sure those prayers go any higher than the ceiling. But if I pray for a change in my life, in me, those prayers are answered. When I was in high school, uh, I don't want to mislead you and make you think that I'm really, uh, um, more literate than I am. But when I was in high school, we staged, uh, JB, the play by Archibald MacLeish. It was based on the Book of Job. And, uh, I pr– I actually played one of Job's comforters, which probably wasn't a bad role for a guy who used to have all the answers. And, uh, but at the end of the play where everything had been taken from Job and he was sitting in ashes, his wife turned to him and she said, "You wanted justice, didn't you? Well, there isn't any. There's only love. The candles in churches are out. The stars have gone out in the sky. Blow on the coals of the heart, and we'll understand by and by." You know, I think that's why we're sober tonight, 'cause I think that's what we do here, is I think we blow on the coals of the heart. I think we're sober tonight because we love each other, because God's love is at work in our fellowship. And it doesn't matter what you call it. Uh, when I was a kid, I think we called it making friends, actually, you know. Novel concept for a drunk. But, uh, um, I think that's why we're sober tonight, 'cause, uh, 'cause we, uh, love each other and because we blow on the coals of the heart. Um, I've talked a little longer than I intended to tonight. I, uh, I appreciate your, your, uh, giving me a chance to be here tonight. I've had a wonderful day. I, I don't know that I've ever felt more at home, uh, anywhere. Maybe too much at home. Maybe like the relative who never leaves. But I'm gonna leave now, and thank you so much for listening.
