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Source: 1960 Long Beach International Convention – 1960 Long Beach Alkathon Louis R, Bob W, Frances N, Part 1 of 2.mp3 File: 1960-long-beach-international-convention-1960-long-beach-alkathon-louis-r-bob-w-frances-n-part-1-of-2.mp3 Duration: 00:50:30
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Hi, everyone. My name is Louis R. Say it sort of loud. I'm a little nervous right now. May I have a moment of silence for the 35 years of recoverers in AA? Thank you. Will you join with me in the serenity prayer? Am I standing? God, to accept the things I cannot change, and the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. There may be some who are not familiar with our tradition of personal anonymity at the press level.
If so, we respectfully ask that no AA speaker or member be identified by full name or picture and publish the broadcast tape reports of our meetings. The assurance of anonymity is essential to our effort to help other alcoholics. And our AA tradition of anonymity reminds us that AA principles come before personalities. And the announcements. No pictures taken at meetings. Panoramic photos will be available for all purchases at the founding booth.
No tape by guests will be permitted. Orders for professional tape and cassettes of all meetings except workshops are being taken at the founding booth and convention hall. Free bus services is available to and from convention hall at major hotels. Schedules are available at the information booth. Your convention badge is your admission ticket. Tickets for our breakfasts are available at the founding booth and Eden Rock.
Please note the breakfasts will be at 8 a.m. and not 8.30 as stated on the tickets. Workshop meeting schedules for North and South card rooms will be held instead in the club giggy and champagne room respectively. A Spanish speaking meeting will be held for those interested in the founding room at midnight on Saturday. Souvenir programs and pens and two new books and best cartoons from the grapevine and favorite editorials from the Al-Anon forms are on sale at both headquarters, hotel and convention hall.
Thank you. That usually is a very nervous thing for me. I really never know just where to start. I am an alcoholic and I guess having drank for about seven years and of course I have been sober for about 19 years brought me to one of the things to me that's important. One of the things to me that's important is trying to think of something important. I have a speaker here that I just met but I've just met most of the speakers today or all of them.
And the one speaker from Indiana that I just met today, I was in Indiana a few years ago and I spoke at a convention. And after about three or four days or two or three days of listening to many speakers, one of the audience said to me as he met me in the hall, he said, you know, you have a first black speaker and you've heard many talks. I hope you say something important. See, I'm the first black delegate, well I'm a delegate of panel 17, I'm the first black delegate in the United States.
And always when you're first, you know, you get a lot of beautiful comments. And to me this is one that has been very important to me because I always want to say something important. I've thrived on that particular thing for the last three or four years.
[00:04:59]
I always think when I tell a person that I'm an alcoholic and I've been sober 19 years, I consider that important.
[00:05:06]
If I don't say anything else important, that is important. And being able to chair a meeting at this convention, looking back, say some 19 years ago, crawling out of an alley at 17th and Master Street in Philadelphia, and being able to stay sober through your help and God, one day at a time, and looking back at 19 years of what I'd like to call contented sobriety. To me that's real important. I drank alcoholically about seven years.
I like to think that I've had many more years of contented sobriety than I did actively drinking. But I think the thing that impresses me most is the program of Alcoholics Anonymous. All of my life I had certainly looked for something that I felt that I could accept or would accept me. And after drinking and dying for seven years, and completely disgusted with man, God, and myself, I came to this program, found that I had an illness that affected me mentally, physically, and spiritually.
He also gave me a program based in three phases that we call unity, recovery, unity, and service. So that gave me much about the three things that is most important in my life. When I look at the program of Alcoholics Anonymous, and look at my illness, and look at the first three steps of this program, and the first three steps of my traditions, and of course look at service, I feel that I am now doing exactly what God created me to do.
I think God created man to become basically aware of himself, and become a service to his fellow man, learn to live basically with his fellow man, and accept his fellow man, and become a service. And I'd like to think this is what AA is really saying, that in the 12 steps of this program, we learn to recover. I do not think this is a total program of Alcoholics Anonymous. I think the third legacy, the three legacies, is the program.
In the 12 traditions, we learn to live with one another. And in services, I think we learn basically to serve God. I think this is the intent of man. The three things to me sort of constitute what I believe AA is for me. So no more from me, we do have three speakers. And for my first speaker, Indiana, I give you Bob W. Thank you, Louie. Hi, gang! My name is Bob W., and I'll get a little more free about it.
My name is Bob Waltzman, and I am an alcoholic. And I come from the southern part of Indiana, down by the sorghum molasses country. A little story best exemplifies my feelings at the moment, I believe. A little boy was playing around his home, and he accidentally fell into a large barrel of that sorghum molasses. And as he was slowly sinking to the bottom, his feet finally touched when the molasses had engulfed him all the way to the top of his chin.
And his daddy ran and pulled him out, and as he did, he said, Johnny, what were you thinking about as you were slowly sinking into the molasses up to your chin? And Johnny says, The only thing I could think of, Daddy, is I hope my tongue was equal to the occasion. And that's pretty much my feeling here this morning, because I consider it a great honor and an extreme pleasure to be with you, and I only hope that my tongue is equal to the occasion.
As you know, we only have 20 minutes, so if you should yawn and I should cough during this time, we've blown the whole bit. I'm really not too worried about this time limit, because before coming on here, my wife said, Honey, you just talk as long as you want to. But I believe rather than take up your time and mine telling you of my drinking history, and I rather think it's probably similar to yours,
[00:10:07]
I think in some situations, such as as serious as alcoholism, it might be important that we find the cause and seek a remedy. And I also believe that the most contributory factor to my alcoholism is my pride. And as you will see, my dear friends, my pride, it's a terrible thing. But what is this pride that we hear about and we talk about? Briefly, it's an inordinate love of self, a love beyond all compassion and beyond all control.
And where does it come from? Well, basically, it's inherent in each of our natures and characters, because there isn't one of us here today who doesn't have the tendency to love himself. And this pride becomes a very pathetic and almost hopeless thing when we can couple it with alcoholism, the acute and chronic type of alcoholism that I too have experienced, to where it creates an invisible shield and shell around us so dense that we cannot reach the people who are nearest and dearest to us.
One of my few regrets since coming into AA is the fact that I did not get sober before my father died. The last words I spoke to my father were a lie, and I knew when I spoke to them that they were a lie. I met him early one evening as he was coming out of a club and I was going in. And he said to me, Bob, he said, why don't you go home early this evening? He said, I'm certain Dot and the boys would rather have you at home than out all night.
And naturally, the first thing I said was, sure, Dad, I'll do that. I'm just going to stop by the bar for one drink and then I'll leave. And I knew when I said that that this wasn't true. Why should this be any different than any other night? I had spent every night of my life for years closing every bar in town and looking for more to drink. And naturally it wasn't. It wasn't any different than any other night.
The next day, my father died suddenly of a heart attack. I know full well that my drinking days and all the concern that I had caused him through the years helped lead to this fatal attack. During the days of the visitation, one of the friends close to the family called me aside and said to me, Bob, your mother is worried about you. She tells me that you haven't spoken to anyone. That you haven't even cried.
And that was only the half of it. The proud Bob Walsman wasn't about to speak to anyone. He wasn't about to cry. I felt that if I showed any outward human emotions, it would only have been expressing the guilt which I knew was mine. And I wasn't about to admit to anyone that I was guilty of anything. I will always recall the following morning at Graveside, when I looked up and saw my younger brother over to the right, who happens to be a Franciscan priest.
And he looked just like the rest of the friars and priests standing at Graveside. The only difference was, as he chanted the prayers, the tears ran down his cheeks in torrents. And as I looked up and saw this, surely there was a picture painted before me that certainly should have sent me to my knees and asked for forgiveness and asked that someone take away this pride so that I could be like other people.
But not me. I was still running the whole show. Anything I did was right. And everyone else was wrong. So you can see, my friends, my pride. It's a terrible thing. We have two sons. And once in a while, not very often, I would be home around 9 o'clock in the evening when they were just about school age and they were getting ready to go to bed. And I think you all remember how little children get ready to go to bed.
In their clean pajamas, they kneel in front of their little beds and they clasp their hands firmly and nobody prays any more earnestly than a little child. And I can still see my two little boys ending their prayers with their hands clasped up to their lips. And they said, and God bless Mommy. And they said, and God bless Mommy, and God bless Daddy, and please dear God, help my Daddy that he quits drinking.
[00:15:07]
These little children who had not yet really reached the age of reason, to know not right from wrong, were asking Almighty God for help for their father, and their father was so damn proud that he couldn't accept it. My most priceless possessions, our two children, had to run and hide each night when I came home, whether I was drunk or sober. The sight of me so terrified them that they couldn't stand to look at their father.
So you see my friends, this pride, my pride's a terrible thing. I can still remember, and I hope I will never forget, the mornings after the nights before, when once again I tried to stumble through another day, trying to act and conduct myself like other people. I tell you when I got out of that bed in the morning, my body truly ached with pain. Even my hair hurt. But I couldn't stay in that bed. You see, if I would have, that would have just been another open admission on my part that alcohol had me beat.
And the proud Bob Walsman wasn't about to admit that anything had him beat. I would say to myself, so what if my head hurts, and so what if my body trembles, and so what if my hands shake? It's my head, and it's my hands, and it's my body, and I'm hurting no one but myself, so why is everybody concerned? Why is everybody always picking on me? Why don't they leave me go? It's me that I'm hurting, no one else.
But you, my friends, have taught me since coming into AA that this is not my body, and this is not my mind, and this is not my soul. These things are just free gifts that this greater power, this higher power has given me to use while I am on this earth. And one of these days, he's going to expect me to give them back. And when I do, he's going to expect them to be in good condition. Yes, you in AA have shown me that this pride of mine, it's a terrible thing.
Now this pride, what does it do? First of all, it makes us refuse to help others. And even more sadly, it makes us refuse to accept anyone else's help. It makes us believe that all that we have, and all that we are, and all that we will ever become, we can attribute directly to ourselves. It makes us feel like we can go to any extreme, regardless of the consequences, and that we are all right. Intellectually, it makes us feel that we can solve any problem, regardless how great it is, all by ourselves.
In any form of pride, we must admit the most important person of all, God himself. Now, if pride were permitted to run rampant throughout our lives, there would be no help in this world for anyone, especially the alcoholic. There is a law of physics which says for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. I don't think I have to dwell on the subject to this group by trying to prove this in textbooks and laboratory experiments.
All of us since coming into AA have once again been introduced to a higher power, one that we have probably known before and have long forgotten. And this higher power has said to us, my grace is sufficient for you. In other words, God gives us the grace and the help to overcome any temptation, regardless how great. All that we have to do is want it and ask for it. And if we cast off this pride and ask for God's help, we have a power that is not only equal and opposite to that of pride, but so much greater that pride can never again gain a foothold within us.
And this most powerful force, my friends, is the virtue of humility. Now, what is humility? Very simple. Humility is truth. It's objective reality, pure, clean, and clear, unmarred by any subjective sentiments.
[00:20:06]
No frills, no adjectives, no fancy gimmicks. Just the plain, stark naked truth. And we finally find this out when our sponsors say to us, this is an honest program. And where does this humility come from? It comes from the first and most basic of all truths. That we are created out of nothing by this higher power. And all that we have, and all that we are, and all that we become, we owe entirely to him.
And so great is our dependency upon this higher power, that if he would stop thinking about us for just one split second, we would cease to exist. This sense of dependency, dormant for years, in the drinking alcoholic once again comes forth when he says to the 12-step caller, I will follow you because I think you can help me. Yes, the entire structure of AA, from the very cornerstone and its foundation to the top brick in its impregnable firewall, is based upon this most important virtue of humility.
You know, since coming into AA, you meet so many warm people, and they're a little different. They're close, and they're friendly, and they're sincere. And you get the idea, perhaps, that Alcoholics Anonymous has this market cornered on this commodity of humility. But let's be broad-minded about it for just a moment. The great people in history were humble people. That's the very reason for their greatness.
Remember the picture of Washington at Valley Forge where he knelt in snow asking God for guidance and help. And Abraham Lincoln once said, I have often gone to my knees when I felt there was no other place to go. And going back even farther, the followers of St. Francis of Assisi once asked him, Francis, why is it that all the people want to follow you and be near you and listen to you? And you are so happy.
And even the little animals rush to be at your side. And St. Francis said, would you know why? If God had given half as much grace to the most wretched of sinners, he would be a much more holy man than I am. Yes, all these people, great people, because they are humble people. Now the years have passed, and my wife, who has endured a little more than her share, is still with me. I have you to thank for that.
I still have my mother-in-law, too. I don't know who I'm going to thank for that. But over the years, Grammy has been known to sew a button on my shirt and get me a second cup of coffee. And my wife, whose hair has now begun to turn somewhat gray, while I, through all of it, have remained my usual youthful-looking self, still puts up with my antics, and I'm very grateful to you for that. And the two little boys who once knelt by their small beds have now grown into manhood, and thank goodness they no longer have to run and hide from their father.
And once in a while they'll call from school, and they'll tell Mother, be sure to tell Dad to come early this week, because if he gets there before game time, we can come down to the field house while we suit up. And they want me to come. And they send me free tickets. They let me go out on dates with them once in a while. They take me to dinner. They let me pick up the check. And my greatest thrill, one of my greatest thrills in life, is when I get to walk across the 50-yard line on Dad's day, and the 50-yard line, the 50-yard stripe is straight, and thank goodness I can walk it straight.
I don't stagger.
[00:25:02]
But the most important thing, did you hear it? They say, tell Dad. It's so good, it's so good to be needed and wanted. I've been on the outside looking in for so long, and it's lonely out there, and it's miserable, and it's cold. And so this is one of my most treasured possessions. At long last, I again belong. And I will be forever grateful to you for giving me this priceless gift. And it's only fitting that treasures such as this should come from people like you, because only these priceless things can be gifts of great people, and that's what you are.
You are the great ones, because truly, you are the humble people. God bless you, and thank you very much. For those of you, thank you. For those of you that are standing in the rear, if you have your chairs down front, if you'd like to come down front, you're not going to pass the basket. I enjoyed the last speaker. He pointed out that there were great people other than alcoholics. He sort of reminded me of…
I didn't want to get into that, but he sort of reminded me of my religion, since I've got the good father of you, and I know… I just know most of the audience is Catholic anyway, so I don't worry about it. But being a pretty good Catholic, I do have a son that is a religious. And, of course, being the first black brother that was trained in Maryland, having the privilege of visiting with my son every so often, meeting other fathers from all over different parts of the United States.
After four or five of these visits, with the fathers at a dinner table once, I said something about my son. And one of the other fathers looked at me and said, Which one? So you can see we good Catholics do have some spiritual growth, too, and not just say, hey. I had to pass that along. Sort of the thing that I always like to be near me, I stayed near the good father because I needed his spiritual support.
I was rather nervous. Normally I'd have had the lady, because I don't fit sitting next to ladies. I don't even let ladies ride in the back of my car. I make everybody ride in the back. But ladies always ride on the front. So for our next speaker, I'd like to give you Frances N. from Texas. Thank you. I'll have to introduce myself the way we do in Texas. I am Frances Newsome, and I am an alcoholic. Hi, Frances.
Hi. And because of God's grace and because this program does work, I am sober today, and I have been since July 7th, 1962. I am a member of the 710 group in Midland, Texas, and I am 45 years old. We have two boys, 120 and 124. I've been married to Buck Newsome for 28 years, the same Buck Newsome for 28 years, for which I am very grateful. I wasn't going to tell this, but I changed my mind after sitting up here, and I believe I will.
It's a joke that I like to tell that more or less tells my story, and I was going to be a real lady like today and not tell it, but I'm going to anyway. It seems that there was a lady fixing to leave on her wedding trip, and she was searching for a gown to take with her. So she walked into this lingerie shop, and she was undecided about the color that she should get, and she asked the clerk about it, and the clerk said, well, the only thing I can tell you is that if your life has been lily white up to now, I would suggest white.
And if it has not, I might suggest yellow. And the woman thought for a few minutes, and she said, well, could I have a white one with just a touch of yellow? And I'm wearing a solid yellow dress. I'm wearing a solid yellow dress today. It's obvious the shape I was in when I got here. I was first, I do want to say I have two sponsors, and with their permission, it's Joe Clary and Bob White.
[00:30:11]
I was first introduced to AA in 1955 in Roswell, New Mexico. My husband called, and I was in the hospital at the time. I was surprised that he might think that I had a drinking problem or be alcoholic or a drunk, and of course today I'm surprised I was surprised because I was in the hospital as a result of an extended drunk. My mother had been called, as she usually was, when I was unable to function, and I was in this hospital, as I said, as a result of this extended drunk and as a result of a bottle of rubbing alcohol and as a result of a bottle of pine salt, which is a cleaning fluid and it's very deadly.
I have since come to believe that no social drinker I know of has ever drunk a bottle of pine salt and not many alcoholics, so I had to know that there was something wrong with me. But about three years ago, and I want to mention this because it has to do with forgiveness in the family as a result of this program and the Alice Dean program. About three years ago, I was upstairs in our home in Whitlam cleaning the bathroom, and I hollered down at our youngest boy, who was then 17, and said, Larry, would you please bring me a bottle of pine salt?
And there was a moment of dead silence, and all of a sudden he said, laughing, he said, I will, mother, if you promise not to drink it. And to me this was his way of showing me that I was forgiven, and I knew exactly what he meant. These were the only words that we needed to exchange for me to know that he had forgiven me for the past. After being introduced to AA and Roswell, obviously from my drive date, it didn't work too well for me, or I didn't work it too well. I went to meetings all the time, but I missed one thing. I never went sober. I was missing the hang of the whole thing.
And Bud didn't want to be married to an alcoholic, and he let it be known to me very plain that he didn't want to. I tell him today, and he says it's not true, but it is, that on a daily basis he used to say to me, and he's six, three and a quarter, he's sitting right over here, and he would stand up in his self-righteous way and look down at me and shake his head and say, my God, what have I ever done?
What have I ever done to deserve you? And I really didn't know what he had done to deserve me, but he had me. I also, after realizing what the steps were about, I had no trouble with the second step. Of course, to me the insanity of it was to continue to take that first drink and later on drugs, when I knew, I knew without a shadow of a doubt what was going to happen to me. I always ended up in another hospital. But this particular insanity that I'm fixing to tell you had to do with one day I was drunk, and I had been drunk all day, and I was mad at Bud because I was drunk, which to me made sense at the time.
He walked in from work at five o'clock, which was the first mistake. He opened the front door, and I walked up to him without a word and slapped him. And that was the biggest mistake I ever made in my life, because about ten minutes later when I picked myself up off of the floor, I realized that was not the thing to do. And believe me, I have not done it since. I later went to Timberlawn in Dallas searching for some solution to my problem, and I was sent there. I didn't go voluntarily, and I stayed there six weeks. On my return home, I remained free of alcohol for another week, and after the end of seven weeks free of alcohol, I drank again.
And this time I drank a half a pint, a half of a half a pint to be exact. And the A.A. member there in Roswell said they found me on the floor in the living room. Our boys called for help, and I was on the floor in the living room in a coma, frothing at the mouth. I remember nothing about this. They took me out to the Pecos Valley Lodge, which is New Mexico's answer to the rehabilitation for the alcoholic. And it's while I was there that I used to jokingly say, and I don't anymore because it is serious, and we know this is a serious matter, but I would say trying to laugh at myself that I was beginning to get the feeling I was about to lose my family.
[00:35:06]
And the reason that I got this feeling was that I was served with divorce papers while in the Pecos Valley Lodge, and the grounds for this divorce were habitual drunkenness. And of course, again, I was horrified that I thought that Buck would do this to me, but I realized that this was for his survival now. He felt like he had to get out. It was after this, when we moved to Fort Worth, that I knew that I could not drink, that I had lost all tolerance for alcohol, and I was frightened. I knew deep within myself that I could no longer tolerate alcohol. I also knew that if I had a repeat performance of what had happened in Roswell, that Buck would go through with the divorce. I talked my way out of this first divorce thing, and he did take me with him when he moved to Fort Worth.
So I did the only thing that I knew to do. I had had only one experience with drugs before this, and I had taken 55 Miltown, Buck tells me, all at one time, and I slept for about 36 hours, so I knew that enough of these would get me out of it. And because I couldn't drink, and because I couldn't stand myself, I could not endure sobriety, as I have heard, and I like that expression, I could not endure sobriety. I had to do something, so I resorted to drugs, and I had no problem getting them. I went about it with purpose. I knew what I was doing.
I went to the doctor, told him I was going, that it was during the holiday season, that we were having to go to many cocktail parties, I was alcoholic, could not drink, and I was bored, and I wanted something to keep me awake, and he obliged me. So I got addicted to drugs, and was addicted to drugs for five and a half years. I started going to AA in Midland, we had moved to Midland, Texas by this time, in February of 62, taking drugs. I told him I was five years sober in the program. It was obvious there was something wrong with me. My behavior was not exactly what you would call normal. I was going down to the club at three and four o'clock in the morning, gathering up towels and taking home to wash them, and they didn't understand this.
I was wanting to clean carpets at five and six o'clock in the morning, and they couldn't understand this. So it was obvious that something was wrong with me. They finally had a meeting about me at my sponsor's house. Now, I don't know if any of you have ever had a meeting conducted about you, but it's rather strange, because they never talked to, they never asked me or talked to me. They would say, what are we going to do with it, and, you know, what's our solution?
I was finally asked if I would go to the Big Springs State Hospital, and I said yes, because when you're cornered, there's not much else you can say. I changed my mind and decided not to go, and told Buck that I would not go in front of the club the next morning, and this was on a Friday. And I walked into the clubhouse, and this thing, very, very shallow and very flippant, and about that time, a policeman opened the front door, and I'll never forget this. I remember thinking to myself, I wonder if he has a problem, and he did, and it was me.
I was going to the Big Springs State Hospital, and my appointment had been for Monday, and they had it set up to this Friday, so Joe Clary took me over there. When we got to the front of the hospital, he says, do you have any drugs on you, and I knew that all was lost anyway, so I reached down in my bra, where I carried them, and he said, handed him 50 naproxal, each wrapped individually in Kleenex, and he says, my figure has never been the same since.
It's while I was in the state hospital that, by the way, Buck tells me that this was my 57th time to be in hospitals for alcoholism or drug addiction, and it's while I was there that I was given my desire for sobriety, and up to this very minute, I still have this desire. And I hope a day at a time, as the result of you people and this program, I will continue to have this desire for sobriety. On August the 10th, 1964, as a result of these steps, something happened to me that I never, ever believed would happen, because of where I had been, and no one knew better where I had been than me, and I knew.
[00:40:05]
And I never felt like that this would happen to me, but I will be eternally grateful for it, because I believe, for me, because it did happen, it was necessary. And on August the 10th, 1964, as the result of these steps and absolutely nothing else, it was the result of these steps, because Lord knows that we had tried everything else. I had had much surgery. I say I've had every ectomy known to one would kind.
I had made a decision a long time ago to turn my life and my will over to the care of doctors, as I understood them. And I really did this. So this has to be as the result of these steps, and of course as God manifests himself through them, that this thing happened to me, and it was one evening after a meeting, and it was just a regular meeting at our group. Nothing special had happened that I can remember or know of.
I went home late, and the house was dark. The family were in bed asleep. I walked upstairs. I was getting ready for bed in the dark. I was pulling my gown on over my head, and all of a sudden I said out loud, and I'm still surprised today about it. I said out loud, my God, I have been forgiven, and you know, I knew that I was. I don't know exactly what happened. I only know that it did happen, and it happened as the result of these steps, and I shall forever, ever be grateful for this.
Thank you very much. Thank you. I had to smile as she talked about the second step. I had had some experience with it. When I came to the program, I had no problem at all with it. A few months before coming to AA, one morning at 4 o'clock, I was walking in an area like 9th and Girard, and I decided to smoke a cigarette. And I reached to try to light my cigarettes, find my cigarettes and my matches, and as I continued to do this, I recognized I didn't have any clothes on.
So I spent the next six months with a psychiatrist that I had served with two and a half years in the armed services, I was in the medical corps, not because I didn't have any clothes on, because I didn't remember that I didn't have pockets. You know, it really took me about 18 months in this program to recognize, man, you didn't have no clothes on. It became important. So I had no trouble when I came to the program with the second step, being restored to sanity, because I knew I was wild, I was real weird.
Sir Collins has done a beautiful job, too, in trying to work with my life. I see so many different people here in the room, I guess I better clarify something, because I noticed the last census that came out had something very strange on it. It had, like, Negro or Black. I do see some other people here, and they're maybe not Black, they might be Negroes. When I came in, I was colored, then I was Negro, and now I'm Black.
So tell me more. So now when I'm speaking around colored people, or Negroes, or, you know, I have to be careful not to go over who you think. I had a psychiatrist that was Irish, and he said one of his problems was that his father moved from Massachusetts someplace to some of the southern states. I won't call it because the speaker was here this morning, he did say Georgia. And at that time, no Irish Catholics were supposed to live in Georgia.
So his father decided to change his name from an Irish and Catholic name to a Catholic. And this rather upset him. As he grew older, he went into psychiatry. About that time, of course, Martin Luther King was on one side of the street with a group,
[00:45:02]
Shelton was on the other side with another group, and he said, You and me, we're having trouble with the color problem. But let's face it. Remember, you will never have an Irish mother. You got to work with what you got. That would have been beautiful. When I came to AA, I was born a Methodist and raised a Baptist. And when I came to AA, after another year or so of drinking, I found that seemingly everyone I talked to was Irish.
Yeah, well, by this time, of course, I'm Irish, too. I'm a Catholic, too, now. So I drank in these first three religions. My wife was always a good Catholic, so I thought, well, I'll try this, and maybe, you know. And it didn't really work out. But I stuck around, and I came on into the program. And everybody was Irish, and it was Catholic. My whole group was. I said, well, I'm Catholic. So I stayed around. I stayed sober.
And as you know, I told you about my son that a little later on went into the Christian Brothers. After a year or so of training, he took a religious name. Well, I had been in constant contact since I had been in AA with the psychiatrist. I filled him in on AA. I recognized as I stayed with him and came into AA. He didn't know anything about alcoholism or the AA program, so I kept feeding him the material as I stayed sober day by day.
And as my son progressed, and he took his religious name. His name was Brother Timothy Ewing. And I immediately sat down and I wrote, Psychiatrist. I said, you know, I might not be able to become an Irishman, but dig my son's name. I thought I was going to have a real treat today because being around the program, most religious people that I meet in this program are normally, naturally, Irish people.
But I saw here that I had Reverend Tom O.C. from Maryland. And I thought, gee, this is a terrific break. At least I found the one Protestant in this program. And I did become a little concerned because of many things. I figured, you know, like Tom O.C. couldn't make him an Irish. You know, some Irish is going Baptist. That doesn't make sense either. But Reverend, I didn't figure to be a priest. I was rather concerned.
So as I talked with him a few minutes ago, I found out that he's for real. So I reminded him as I thought about it. I'm glad, you know, that he is really the kind of Reverend that he is with that name. If you notice, as I mentioned about people being first, we have, after 2,000 years, I always like to talk about the spiritual growth of AA. And my religion also applies, easy does it, just like AA. They apply most of the principles.
And it took them about 2,000 years to get around to electing or nominating or appointing their first black bishop. It took AA about 30 years, 33 years. So my religion does it real easy and slow. But they've done it. We both made it about the same time. Anyway, this particular bishop is from New Orleans. And when he went out and got his garments, you know, and went back home, you know, they wanted to know if he was Louis Armstrong.
Yeah, all colored people are supposed to look alike, I guess. And he went around to visit and said, no, I'm the new bishop. He said, well, come on in, bishop. And he served and, you know, he blessed the house and left. He went to the next house, the same problem. He knocked on the door and he stood back. And they opened the door and said, oh, are you Louis Armstrong? He said, no, I'm the new bishop.
There's a moral behind this story because, you see, like with all of the problems that the world is having, my religion is having the same problem, keeping it clean and in order. And about this time, when he went to the next house and knocked on the door,
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and the girl stepped back and said, and she was real nice, you know, sort of like, you know, like that. She said, are you Louis Armstrong? And he looked at her and he says, hello, darling. So I'm really glad, you know, that the reverend turned out to be a father because we don't want to lose him. We lost too many already.