First, a quick note: I will be out doing evaluations with my son today, so I will not be able to respond to comments. But I will be back on-line on Monday, and will respond to every comment directed to me at that time.
I have read hundreds of books in my lifetime. More than a few have altered my path, sometime minutely, other times dramatically. It is fair to say that the book Alcoholics Anonymous (often referred to as the Big Book) falls into the latter category.
Follow me below the fold as I describe my journey to the point that reading this book became necessary for me, and what happened as a result.
When I was a child, alcohol was a social lubricant in our household. Sausalito was, at that time, a vital rollicking community caught up in the arts. And my parents were hosts for some of the better parties, cocktail parties inevitably. Among others, writers like Evan Connell, editors like Bill Ryan, artists like Varda, Walt Kuhlman, and Enid Foster were regular guests. We children would peer around the corner into the living room space, dodging the apertif trays, and being patted on the head like mascots by those on the way to the bathroom.
When I was six, my father was nearly killed by a drunken driver. He was stopped at a light in San Francisco, when this car came flying down the hill, and crashed into him so hard that his car was driven through the side of a building. This was the first time we had a television, as my mother rented one for the time that he was laid up in traction at home. I remember watching the 1964 Republican Convention, which was at the Cow Palace in SF that year.
As time went along, alcohol became less of a lubricant and more of an acid with my parents. The parties became smaller and the arguements louder. By the time I got to 8th grade, my parents were passing out upstairs by nine o'clock. My freshman year in high school, my brother was in Germany on a student exchange program, and my sister was off to college. It was the first time I had been alone with my parents, and it was not easy. I was used to being ignored as the youngest; their attention, often drunken, was unwanted.
And as with many kids my age, my head was swirling with a mixture of puberty and frustration. I was having trouble going to sleep, so would sit downstairs listening to music long after my parents had succumbed to their alcoholic torpor. One day, I said to myself that there must be something to this booze business. So, I opened up my parents elegant mahogany liquor cabinet, and poured myself a shot of..something.
That first drink was a revelation to me. I liked the smell of the booze, I liked the slight sting as I touched my lips to the glass, the tingle in my mouth, the warmth as it slid down my throat...And how it made me feel; oh, how it made me feel. It was love at first sip.
I had a regular routine: Wait for the 'rents to crash; pour myself a glass; drink the glass; wash the glass; go to sleep. Well, it was a bit more elaborate than that. I would take out a tall blue mint julep glass, and add a little ice. I would then fill a silver jigger with some liquor and pour it in the glass. I would then fill the silver jibber with some other liquor and pour it in the glass. Repeat until glass full. So the glass might have gin, whiskey, rum, whatever. I called that drink a "soberkiller".
A few months after I started drinking, my best friend had a birthday party. His mom was kind enough to buy us all a half keg (those were more forgiving times). I got drunk, mostly naked in the sauna with a pretty girl, showered and coffeed after my attempt to tell my mom I was spending the night at Peter's fell through, and loudly demanded to be taken to the A&W drive-in. Or so I was told.
That blackout left me determined to control my drinking environment. From that point on, the party was at my place. Others had embarassing stories to tell; I just went upstairs to bed.
Through all of this, doubtless supported by my voracious appetite for books, I skated through high school. College was a different story. My drinking (and other activities) did not slow down. But I was now in an Ivy League school, and my act wasn't playing well. Suffice it to say that it took me seven years to get my degree, and that the low-paying job I got after college had nothing to do with my field of training.
Let's just skip past the years where I tried to control my drinking for love, and to drudge away at a job I hated, but that they paid me more each year to do. The day came when the (then) love of my life walked out. My first thought was "Thank God she's gone; I can drink like I want to again." And I did.
I won't bore you with the details of the next several years. Somehow, I managed to keep my job. Most moments at work were spent yearning to leave, and most moments at home were spent drinking. Generally, I would get up at some point during the night, go into the bathroom, push fingers down my throat, and throw up so I could drink more. I would look in the mirror as I was cleaning up, and wonder who the animal was staring back at me. I slept, when I could, with a kitchen knife under my pillow, just in case someone tried to sneak into my apartment to kill me.
One day, the drinking caught up to me at work, and they threatened to fire me. I ended up in rehab instead. And it was there I first encountered the book Alcoholics Anonymous.
When I got to rehab, I thought that I was there to learn how to control my drinking. The first homework assignment from my counselor disabused me of that delusion. I was directed to read the following paragraph and to circle everything that applied to me:
Here are some of the methods we have tried: Drinking beer only, limiting the number of drinks, never drinking alone, never drinking in the morning, drinking only at home, never having it in the house, never drinking during business hours, drinking only at parties, switching from scotch to brandy, drinking only natural wines, agreeing to resign if ever drunk on the job, taking a trip, not taking a trip, swearing off forever (with and without a solemn oath), taking more physical exercise, reading inspirational books, going to health farms and sanitariums, accepting voluntary commitment to asylums we could increase the list infinitum.
I circled nearly every method. It was at that point that I realized that I was an alcoholic. The rehab I went to was centered around the AA 12-Step program, for which I am now grateful. By the time I was ready to leave rehab, I knew that alcohol was something I could not lick on my own. It was Thanksgiving Day when I left rehab. I got a ride to the bus station in Reading, picked up a cab in Philadephia, and walked into an AA meeting with my suitcase. After the meeting, I got some Thanksgiving dinner there and tried to get phone numbers.
Thus began my journey in AA and through the "Big Book". I found a home group, which read the Big Book every Wednesday night and worked through the 12 Steps with the help of a sponsor and my AA friends. I was no longer alone, and have not been since.
There are so many lines, paragraphs and stories from the Big Book which inform my life today. It has been over 23 years since my last drink, and countless years since I even considered taking a drink. My home group now also reads the Big Book. I am no more important than I was then, but I go to meetings so those who are new can see that life can be lived through all its travails without taking a drink.
Incidentally, everyone else in my family is now sober in AA. Among the five of use, we have 110 years of continuous sobriety. The book Alcoholics Anonymous did not just change my life, it changed my family's life, for the better.
Now, I'm no AA evangelist. I know what helped me, but don't presume that answer is for everyone. But if you want help to stop drinking, and you ask me for it, we're going to read the book Alcoholics Anonymous, and I am going to ask you to follow its suggestions. Who knows; maybe it will change your life, too.