HERE’S TO YOUR HEALTH
This week’s HTYH is a continuation of Bud’s story: After our first 12-step call, my sponsor showed up every Saturday and Sunday in his old Chevy. It was the regular routine; “Get in,” where we going? “It doesn’t matter!” We drove to a strange house knocked on their door, and John carried his message of hope to another terrified and trembling alcoholic. John routinely said, “Go sit in the corner and shut up!” This was the story of my early A.A. life. By this time I’m making progress on the material front and I had a four-party telephone. The first Saturday that I had that phone, John called and said, “Bud, there’s a guy in Keensburg who wants help.” I said, “Are you going?” He said, “I can’t make it this time because I have to go to New York.” Alcoholics have an index file of handy excuses for things they don’t want to do. I jumped the gun on John because I knew what he was about to say. I said, “Gee that’s too bad, but I can’t do anything about it because I don’t have a car.” John said, “I won’t be using the iron lung (rusty Chevy) this weekend, so you can use it!” Now I’m hitting the panic button, I’m scared to death and furthermore, I don’t want to do it.
I thought, “Who the hell is this clown in Keensburg, I don’t know him?” Then a small voice said, “Wait a minute, this is John asking, the man who has devoted countless hours, days and months teaching you how to stay sober. It’s about him not the guy in Keensburg.” And furthermore, this is the first time he’s asked me to do him a favor. How in good conscious, could I, refuse to do something for John? In desperation, I asked, “Do you think I can handle it?” He said, “Sure you can, take the iron lung and do it.” I drove to the house in Keensburg, knocked on the door, it opened and here’s the typical tired wife who is totally defeated, desperate and full of despair. She asked, “Are you from A.A.?” I said, “Yes,” and she said, “He’s upstairs.”
I went up the stairs, I’m really scared, but I opened the door and there he was on the bed, he reminded me of the old me. He was pale, profusely sweating and shaking like a dog passing razor blades. I asked myself, “What the hell am I going to tell this guy?” Then I remembered John telling them his story, what happened to him and how he found a simple, no-cost, solution to his problem. I decided to tell him my story, like it or lump it? And before I was halfway through the miracle began to happen, I started seeing the right responses; in the right places. The bed began to quiet down and so did he. I got a very warm feeling in my stomach and I poured it on. This guy was going to get A.A. even if it killed him!
I asked him, “Do you want to stop drinking alcohol?” He said, “Yes,” so I scheduled his first A.A. meeting, but before I could get out the door his wife cornered me and for the next hour she told me what a bum he was. She wailed, “What can we do about it?” I had an answer for her, I said, “Easy does it. I’ve made an appointment for his first A.A. meeting; to see if he’s ready.” I arrived 15 minutes early, my new pigeon was cleaned up, erect and willing, so we drove to his first meeting and crossed through that mysterious porthole to sobriety. He tried to sit in the last row, but I told him, “No-way, sit up front where you can introduce yourself.” I said, “I don’t want you to miss anything.” We sat in the first row but when the speaker started talking it seemed like he was saying everything wrong. I desperately wanted my first pigeon to get sober but all I was hearing was a travel and drunk-a-log from a clown I’d only seen once before. This was a revolting development for somebody who had never before been concerned about anybody except himself.
To be continued…
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