A Daily Reprieve Contingent on Spiritual Maintenance — Bobby C., Philadelphia Cop, 33 Years Sober

Good evening. Can you guys hear me? Good. All right. My name is Bobby Coole. I'm an alcoholic. And through the grace of God, the 12 Steps in Sponsorship, I've been sober since June 2nd of 1988. For that, I'm grateful. I always said, so are my neighbors. They are so grateful. I was one of those crazy neighbors, unfortunately. So I thank Jerry for inviting me and actually calling me earlier this week to remind me. It's always nice to get those reminders. You say yes months ago, and then it's always nice to get those reminders. Chapter five, real clear, my directions tonight to share in a general way what my life was like as an activist. As an active alcoholic, what happened to me, and what my life is like today as an active member of Alcoholics Anonymous. And I am an active member. So I was born and raised in Philadelphia. I got seven brothers and sisters. I grew up in a very gritty ethnic neighborhood. And we had no booze in the house. My grandparents, both sets of my grandparents were immigrants. My dad's parents lived around the corner from us. And that's where I had the first drink. I was just a kid. Just a young kid and running around the basement bar polishing off the half empties or the half fulls. It all depends on your perception. And that's where all the family functions were held. The graduations, the christenings, the confirmation parties. My father, my father is one of 12 and my mother from a much smaller family. She was one of 11. So there was always a party. There was always some sort of gathering going on. And I couldn't wait. I got older so I could partake because, you know, those first 10, 15 years you're sitting at the card table, you're never at the main table. So, but I just love the music and everything going on with it. And my drinking really took off in high school. Most of the kids in my neighborhood went to the local diocese in high school. But my parents being children of immigrants knew that one of the ways to make it into this country, education was important. So they sent me to a private school, private Jesuit high school. And right away I felt kind of different because most of the kids went to the school from affluent families from the suburbs. Just made a couple of dirt balls from my neighborhood. We used to walk to this school and that was a shock to those kids because most of those kids, there was their first introduction to the inner city. And here there's a group of us ragged muffins walking to school, you know, and I had a lot of nicknames. And one of those nicknames was Crazy Coyle. And I would do things in my gut I knew was wrong by the values instilled in me, by the nonsense of kids, by my parents. I knew better, but the need for me to be accepted by you outweighed anything else. And I felt that was before I picked up the drink. So I, you know, I just engaged in crazy behaviors, you know, being the class clown and, you know, all that other stupid stuff. I only drank on the weekends. And there's a reason for that. Because I wasn't allowed. I was not allowed on school nights. And if I was allowed on school nights, I'm sure I would have drank then. I only drank on the weekends. It was tough to drink in Pennsylvania. Not that I ever let that get in the way. But the drinking age in the Commonwealth has always been 21. I lived in Philly across the river in Jersey. Back then the drinking age was 18. So on the weekends we would make our excursions over across the bridge. Where I lived, I could be, and I was, Jersey was closer to me than other sections of Philadelphia. That's how close we were to Jersey. But, you know, at Pennsylvania we had the blue laws. So there was no drinking on Sunday. That didn't really let that get in the way. Because then you go to an American Legion post or social club. But, you know, so I just want to let you know I had to work hard to get loaded. And so, but you don't let that get in the way. When it came time to graduate from the prep, I really had no desire to further my education. And I knew that. That would cause some problems at home. Because my parents didn't have much. They really sacrificed to send me to have this education. So I knew I couldn't stay home because there would be hell to catch. And I don't like to catch hell. Love to create it. Like to raise it. Don't like to catch the repercussions that come with it. So I'm 17. I know money. No skills. Like, what do I do? What options? I know. The service. I'll join the service. And not to get into politics. I just want to paint the scene. It's the 70s. Vietnam had just ended. The military wasn't popular at the time. And but that's what I thought my only option was. So I enlisted in the Air Force. After all, my I went through all this special training and then I got sent overseas. And that's where my drinking really took off. Again, like so free. I mean, I'm 17. Actually, I may have turned 18 during my training. So my drinking up to that point consisted on the weekend. But here I am. And after all my training, whenever I'm off duty, I'm getting loaded. When I'm on duty, I'm squared away. But off duty, getting loaded. And there was an incident. I was there a short period of time. And then three of my friends were killed. And there was an incident in which my friends were killed. And I happened to be detailed somewhere else that day. And I wasn't with them. And that always bothered me. But I use it as an excuse to crawl on the bottom. And that's what I would do. I would drink the numb, the pain. And I now know that there was hope extended to me. But I kept everyone at arm's length, you know, just use it as an excuse to get loaded. Now, I never mess around with other substances. I never even smoked a joint. But there were a lot of guys from my neighborhood who got drafted and went over and got whacked on certain things. So I didn't mess around with that. I was a beer drinker, you know, a little Irish whiskey every now and then. Maybe more then than now, but whatever. Beer. I was a beer drinker and Irish whiskey. And rum and coke. And 7 and 7. But I loved drinking. I loved everything that went with it. It was just, you know, I just lived for it. My enlistment, I come back home. I finish my enlistment stateside. I didn't distinguish myself in the Air Force, but I didn't do badly either. I gave the bare minimum ever required to get by. And I was okay with that. Mediocrity was my goal. I don't want any attention. Good attention. Bad attention. No attention at all. Just slide along. So I come home. I wound up taking a couple civil service examinations. And I enroll in school. I go to St. Joe's. And St. Joe's, the same thing. It was a small school back then. It's still small, but it was smaller back then. If we had 4,000 kids, top 15, 20 kids in the classroom. I'm not making the dean's list, but I'm not failing out either. Just doing the bare minimum effort required to get by. And I remember it was at the end. It was at the end of my spring semester, freshman year. And kids from the neighborhood called me up and said, Bobby, the Phillies are playing tomorrow. One of those businessman specials. You know, one of those midweek, mid-afternoon game. I said, you want to go? He said, sure. I'm not an active participant in the classroom. No one's going to miss me. So I cut class and I go to the game. Now, at this time, the Phillies have since moved. They're playing at the Vet Veterans Stadium down in South Philly. And I'm at the top of that. I'm on the level, drinking that cheap, watered-down beer. And the sun's beating down on me. It's May. It's an unusually warm day. And the sun's beating down on me. And I'm getting kind of trashed. And I told the guys I was with, I said, you know what? I said, I'm going to run down the field and meet one of the players. And they kind of shrugged me off. Because another nickname I had was Bullshit Bob. I lied about everything. I lied, you know. I started talking to you. I should have started off once upon a time. I lied when I was. I was better suited to tell the truth. I couldn't distinguish between reality and fantasy. I even lied about my ethnic heritage. Which is amazing. Because one look at me, you can tell I'm as Irish as Patty's pig. Right? No doubt about it. So, we had several ethnic clubs, after-hours clubs in my neighborhood. And that's all they were, social clubs. They were spankings. And one of them was Ukrainian American Social Club. The Yuki Club. And one day I'm in there, and I don't know, for some reason, no one carded me, no one asked me. I just felt compelled to share it with a bartender that my mother was Ukrainian. I don't know why I just said that. So, a couple of weeks later, I'm in there with my brother, my brother, Brian, and I, we go in there and the bartender says, oh, here's Bobby the Yuki. My brother's head snapped around so quickly. He said, what'd you tell this guy? I said, I don't know. I don't remember meeting him before. So, but I know he can laugh at it now, but it just wants to show you, I need to show you my lack of self was such, I just didn't think you would like me for who I was, you know, constantly reinventing myself and the insecurities that went with that, you know? So, I'm at the Phillies game. I make my way down to the picnic area. They got these right field and left field corner, picnic areas in the corners. I jump over the fence. I'm running out across the field. I'm in center field before I realized what I had done, but it's too late, right? You can't stop now. And they say Diego Padres. He's running down. And Dave Winfield was the right fielder for the Padres. And I go out and I shake his hand. I said, hey, Dave, how you doing? And he looked at me. He said, brother, what are you doing out here? And from behind him, I saw that the guards were coming. I said, Dave, I got to go now. So, I start running towards the infield. I want to slide in the second base. I don't know why. I just thought that'd be a pretty cool thing to do, right? And as I was running towards the infield, right before I slid in the second, there was more guards coming from the third base side. And I knew I didn't want to do that. I didn't want to do that. I didn't want to do that. If I slid in the base, I'd get caught. So, I make a little turn. I go towards first base where there's more guards coming. And by this time, it's like a slow trot. Like I'm going to give myself up, right? And at the last second, I deep the guards and I ran out in the outfield. Now, I'm running around like a school ball. It seems like 10 minutes, but it's closer to two or three, right? But the place is going nuts. These guards, young, short, fat guys tripping over each other. It looks like the Keystone Cops. I'm in the best shape of my life. I just came home. Just got out of the service, juking and jiving. But I got nowhere to go. The fence is 12 feet high. I'm drunk. I'm out of breath. I'm actually about to get sick. So, I just stopped running. I'm laying on center field. And the guards finally catch me. And they take me off the field. Swear to God. A standing ovation from 37,000 people. The place was going nuts. And they take me up through the right field bullpen. And Tug McGraw was in the bullpen for the Phillies. And the tugger gives me the thumbs up. I had arrived. You know? I like to think Tug was loaded because he had a reputation for not coming back. Right? Now, I knew I was going to get a beating from these guards because I made them look so stupid. But I was okay with that. I figured by the time I get out of jail, the guys in the neighborhood, hopefully they would bail me out. I could drink for free off this story for at least a week. I actually pictured myself coming in the bar, seeing the shot glasses set up in the bar. And these guys, this would be the type of story I'd make up. Right? Bullshit pop. But these guys, they would have my back. Just as I was about to get my beating, the Philadelphia Police Lieutenant showed up. He said, what's the matter with you? He said, are you drunk? Are you high? And I said, no. I'm just happy. Just happy to be here. He said, I just got discharged. I'm home. Just happy to be here. He said, well, you better get your happy ass out of the stadium. So not only did he save me from getting a beating, which I appreciated, he also saved me from getting arrested. And that would be important. Because about six, eight weeks later, one of those civil service exams. Kind of panned out. I got hired by the Philadelphia Police Department. They were hiring anybody back then, I'll tell you. So I tell that story for a couple of different reasons. One, it's the only funny story I got. I wasn't a funny guy. I wasn't an athlete. I wasn't a lover. I was a lying thief and stinking, falling down, violent drunk. And if I hung around you, you had something I wanted. I used and abused everybody I came in contact with. I was a creep. You know what I mean? Secondly, it's a true story. Those four guys, two of them now sober, now folks anonymous. And thirdly, I guess more, even more importantly, I was a blackout drinker. There's a lot of things about my drinking that I don't remember, you know. And I remember when I got sober, I spent six months in various VA hospitals. And I remember the doctor came up to me and one of them said, listen, do you ever have any blackouts? I said, nope. I must have entered too quickly. He said. Do you know what they are? I said, nope. Once he described them, I said, all the time. I thought that was normal. Like, you know, like for me, for the city, Thursday was payday. I wake up Friday. I would have like three quarters and two singles on the bar, like on my dresser, like the check's gone. Where did I park my car? Who are you? I mean, I just thought that was normal, you know. And I would remember when I would hook up with my friends later, they would tell me about the stories of the stunts that I pulled the night before. And I would retell those stories like I had memory. And I had no memory whatsoever. So I spent my first part of my career up in North Philadelphia, where I would see the ravages of alcoholism and drug addiction day in, day out. And at the end of the tour, I went with guys in the squad to drink because I saw things on the job that bothered me. Couldn't tell my coworkers that. Didn't want to be thought by Stan. So I just went along, you know. And the way I treated people, the way I spoke to people. I know it was wrong. I'd known it was wrong for a while, but not then. Maybe I did. Not maybe. I didn't know. In my gut, I knew it was wrong. But the need for me to be accepted by my coworkers outweighed anything else. And I'm compromising values and principles from the very first start. And the handwriting is on the wall. I'm at work one day, and my immediate supervisor pulled me off to the side. And he said, my immediate supervisor pulled me off to the side. He said, you know what, kid? You're smart. And you're going to go. But that booze is going to mess you up. In one ear and out the other. I met a family function one time. My uncle, who was a boss in the job, he had pulled me off to the side. He said, Bobby, I'm hearing stories about you. You're going to get yourself in the jackpot. In one ear and out the other. Several years later, on two separate occasions, I ran into my uncle and that supervisor in the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous. And I realized at that point that they were trying to 12-step me. And I remember talking to my uncle. I said, yo, Unc. How come you didn't say anything? And he just gave me the old-timer smile and said, Bobby, you weren't ready yet. Which I suppose should show you that all the drinking and all the nonsense that went with it were necessary for me to hit my bottle. You know? I was 24 years old and was involved in an incident in which a 15-year-old kid lost his life. And I would use that as an excuse to crawl in a bottle for the next three years. And that's what would happen. I got sober when I was 27. Drinking took me to a lot of my nevers. And one of those nevers was like drinking on the job. I wound up getting promoted and was doing this particular type of work. And I thought I could, you know, justify the work I was doing by drinking. And, you know, when I was in uniform, I would never do this. You know, I was squared away, leather, all shiny, you know, the jackets and the boots. But, you know, now I'm doing this work, so I'm drinking on the job, justifying it. Even though I worked with men and women who did the same job. I did it. They didn't drink. You know? And then one night at work, I was impaired by drinking to the point where I was put in a position where I thought I needed to do other substances. And that was like the red line. I would never cross that. Unfortunately, I did. And that's where my drinking took me. And, you know, my use of other substances is very short, 15, 16-month stops. And out of reach. Out of reach. Out of reach. Out of reach. Out of reach. Out of reach. Out of reach. Out of reach. Out of reach. Out of reach. Out of reach. Out of reach. Out of reach. Out of reach. Out of reach. That's all I need to talk about that stuff. So, but please feel free to use your imagination. Let it run. You know? And it was just nuts. My life, it was just, it was an ugly existence. I'm sitting home from work one day, and I'm reading the daily news. There was an article, at the end of the article, there was a series of questions. Alcohol problems, drug problems, marital problems, depression, thoughts of suicide. And I was four out of five. Because I was single. And I was single. I'm sure if I was married, I'd have been batting a thousand. And they talk about the moment of clarity. But as soon as it came, it quickly left. But something made me cut that article out. I stuck it on my wall and I continued on drinking. It was Memorial Day weekend, 1988. Me and the guys from my squad, we were out in the bar drinking. We were in trouble. We had to get our stories straight. One thing led to another. One of the guys I was with needed to go home. So I figured I'd give him a ride home. And, you know, and I'm not driving my car. I'm driving a city vehicle. So I'm going to show off my driving skills. And I'm driving out this narrow one-way street. And there was a kid riding towards me on a bicycle. And for some reason, I thought it'd be funny to see this kid jump the curb and grab the wall. I didn't know why I thought that'd be funny. I just thought it would be. And unfortunately, we're turned in the same direction. I ran that kid over. As he lied bleeding on the hood of my car, I got out of my car with my nightstick. I was going to beat this kid. Because I thought he was going to milk me or the city for an insurance claim. And the guy that I was with prevented me from doing that. But I took this kid off the hood of my car. I threw him off the side of the street like a piece of trash. I pulled this crumpled bicycle from underneath my car. I threw that off to the side of the street like a piece of trash. I drove back to the bar and made some sort of smart-alpha remark. And I continued on drinking. When I came to, the next day, I realized I was in serious trouble. But I didn't think anybody would help me. Because I was such a creep. And believe me, I'm a creep. In all areas of my life, I'm just a creep. So I didn't know what to do. So what I did do, got a bottle of liquor, Irish whiskey, a case of beer, and some other substances. And I checked into a hotel with the intent to consume all this stuff to build up the courage to end my life. Three days later, I guess that's all I had the money for to knock on the door to kick me out. I'm suspended from my job. I no longer have access to my weapon. So the booze is gone. The other stuff is gone. So I go over to the window. And I open up the window. I was on the fifth floor. And I was going to jump out the window to end my life. And I opened up the window. And I peeked out. I was scared of heights. I made 23 jumps in the service. I never overcame my fear of heights. So I then went in the bathroom. And I filled the bathtub with water. And I had a blow jar. And I was going to pull the blow jar into the tub and make it appear an accidental electrocution. Every time I pulled a blow jar into the tub, it would come unplugged. I mean, how you accidentally electrocute yourself in the tub with a blow jar. But it just shows you how nuts I am. I can't even think clearly. The only other tool I left was my car. So I took one spin through my neighborhood, the corner of how long I went to grade school. And I started up the Falls Bridge. And I come down to East River Drive, which is a winding road along the Schuylkill River. And my intent was to go to oncoming traffic to end my life. Because I handled jobs like this, head-on collision at a certain rate of speed. Especially if you're not belted in, you get ejected from the vehicle, struck by another vehicle. That would do the trick, you know. And by then, I just lost it. And I just started crying. And I'm surprised I didn't get into an accident because I had no control whatsoever. But, you know, I had... Later, I would find out this was all the hand of God, right, guiding me. So I finally, at the end of the Boathouse Row, the East River Drive, this Boathouse Row, I throw my car up on the sidewalk and I just sobbed like a baby. And I reached into my glove box because I knew I had a second gun there. And that gun wasn't there. But inside the glove box was my wallet. And inside that wallet was that article that I'd clicked out of the Daily News about six weeks before. And this is no longer there. But it's... It's one of those old, glass-enclosed phone booths outside at the last Boathouse. And I went over to the phone booth and I dialed that phone number up. And the woman who answered the phone, I spoke to this lady like I spoke to no one in my life before. I told her the truth. I was crying. I was just letting her know everything was going on. God bless her. She listened patiently. And when I got done, she said, listen, why don't you drive over to Hahnemann Hospital? Someone, they'll talk to you. And I did. It was like a five, six-minute drive. I went over and they were there. And they admitted me to the 10th Florida Psychiatric Unit. And they kept me there for about three or four days and got stabilized. And from there, I got transferred to the VA Hospital out in West Philadelphia, 38th and Woodland. And I spent about six weeks in their flight deck. And from there, I got transferred to the VA Hospital out in Coatesville, where I would spend another few weeks in their flight deck. When I pulled over that day and made that phone call, Alcoholics Anonymous was deferred this in for my mother. I thought my problem was the short use of all the substances. If I let that crap alone, I'd be okay. Maybe I got this mental illness and I heard this from my mother. Maybe I got this stress disorder they're talking about. I got this from the job. I got this from experiencing the service. Maybe it's the neighborhood I live in. Maybe it's the fact that I'm a mommer. I don't know, but it can't be alcohol because I'm a beer drinker and there's no way you could be an alcoholic drinking beer. I mean, the only time I drank hard liquor, St. Paddy's Day. New Year's Day, payday, but I'm a beer drinker and beer really doesn't count, you know, but it just shows you how nuts I was. So when I got at the VA Hospital in Coatesville, after getting in their flight deck, I got put into the Alcohol and Drug Ward. And it's the first time there were handles on both sides of the door in about eight weeks. And it's amazing how quickly the arrogance comes back to a guy like me. So I got to scout the lay of the land, check it out, right? And I wander into the day room and up on the wall. So in the day room is the large window shade to the 12 steps and the 12 traditions. And I zip through those steps. I get about half of them done. I see the men's. They're screwed. We won't be doing that. Not my neighborhood. The men's doesn't work. That's not happening. And later that night, two men came up. I would later find out that they were part of the treatment facility committee. Did not know that then. The moment that the speaker said something about his background that I couldn't identify with or just didn't. You know, relate to, I would immediately tune him out. I was too busy. Listen to the messenger, not the message. Now I'm looking around at my peers in my community. Right. And I realized the decision to do something about my drinking was premature. I mean, they were older guys. They were in their thirties and forties. Christ circuit and then someone in their fifties says, Oh my God, what am I doing here? I'm 27. There's these guys, their wives who hated them kids. They couldn't see support issues. PFA is, you know, I didn't have that probably due to the fact that I never married and didn't have children. A lot of these guys had legal problems. I didn't have any legal problems due to the fact that a gold shield on my back pocket. A lot of these guys had employment issues. I didn't have any employment issues. I've only had one job actually too. I went from high school to the United States air force, to the city of Philadelphia, where I'm still employed 44 years, you know, looking for the differences and not the similarities. What bothered me the most though, without any question. It was at the end of the meeting when everyone got in a circle and hold hands and melt that and said the Lord's prayer. I now know what the chairperson said. He said for those who care to join, but I couldn't hear that back then. And because on my misdirected resentment was so great at organized religion, I couldn't respect your right to pray. And I would kick the chair and make noise and let you know that I was uncomfortable. I was getting discharged. Uh, a couple of days after him, but the very next day, I guess the word got back to one of the nurses and she came up to me. She had to be a member of Al-Anon, but just a beautiful lady who sold through all my BS. And that's all it was again. It was just a defense mechanism to keep people back. And she came up to me. She said, the only way you're going to make it, you're going to need to go to Apple Hawks Anonymous. And I need to tell you that's the best piece of advice I would get. And that's where I will get my recovery. I got it in AA. I didn't get it. The VA, but the VA, they did great work during the oil. They tighten the bolts. They hooked me up, but I would get my recovery in AA and I go to AA every single day. Sometimes two, three times a day, depending when I'm working, I'm going to drink coffee. I've never had up to that. I've never had a cup of coffee in my life, so I don't make it type of guy that I am. I don't smoke cigarettes. I have never smoked a cigarette in my life. I don't end the ashtrays, not a big deal. Now 33 years old. That was a service. That was a position, big book meeting or step meeting strictly by accident. I would leave it to break. I had something more important to do. I'm not interested. Tradition meetings. Absolutely not rules. My line of work. We like them forced to rules. We don't like the father, the rules, the rules are for other people. Not for us. I'm not interested in that. I'm interested in more stories. And the moment that the speaker would say something about his background that I couldn't relate to, didn't identify with, or just didn't like either. Immediately. He tuned him out, too busy to listen to the messenger, not the message, but I was a medium maker and I was crazy as a bed bugger. I was, you know, and you know, just, it just got nuts, you know, in the rooms of alcoholics, anonymous, surrounded by people living in the solution. And I was, I was sick. So how sick was I? Well, my first anniversary and my own group at that time, you would tell your story. I got done speaking. It was amazing. Thunderous applause. The blind could see the lane walk. It was truly miraculous. And people came up and they patted me in the back and say, way to go, Bobby. You're doing so good. And I lied during my entire story. You know, first of all, I identified myself as an alcoholic because that was the group conscience. I didn't believe I was an alcoholic. I thought my problems was the short use of other substances. Maybe this mental illness, maybe this stress disorder. It can't be booze. I'm not an alcoholic. In fact, during the course of my story, a bottle of beer appeared in my head. But you guys didn't want to hear that. You want to hear all the quotes. And I'm sure I sounded like the second coming of Bill Wilson. And I think one of the advantages of getting sober young, I didn't fry all my cells. So I'm sure I sounded good. The problem is you're supposed to share your experience. And I didn't have nothing to share with you. I was over 23 months and I beat another man with a baseball bat. I used to flippantly say, I forget what step I was working that day. But I realized when I was making that flippant remark, it takes away the ugliness and viciousness of the attack. 23 months sober, making regular attendance at meetings and rooms with Alcoholics Anonymous, I struck a man four times with a baseball bat in his head and his shoulders. Safe to assume my life was unmanageable. My second anniversary came and went. I didn't celebrate it. I didn't celebrate it. I didn't celebrate it. I didn't celebrate it. I didn't celebrate it. I didn't celebrate it. I didn't celebrate it. A month after my second anniversary, I went to eat my gun. The same pathetic feeling I had before, 25 months before, but here I am. Stone cold sober in the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous. I went to eat my gun. My life was unmanageable. Did I say I didn't have a sponsor? I didn't have a sponsor. Come on. I wasn't doing anything. The only thing I did right, I only went to meetings. That's the only thing I did. Stone cold sober. In the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous, I was a liar, a thief, and a cheat. I was a creep with the women. I did everything wrong you could do in Alcoholics Anonymous. I just didn't pick up a drink. And I know that's not the message of Alcoholics Anonymous, but that was the message that I was carrying. I should say that was the mess I was carrying. So I'm in a meeting on a Friday night. Guy from my neighborhood. Hardcore, tough guy. In and out of jail in the 60s and 70s. I had not seen him. I thought he was either incarcerated. Or dead. Here he is in Alcoholics Anonymous. And I go up to him afterwards. And his nickname was Troubles. That's what everyone knew him by, Troubles. But I knew his first name. His legal name was Robert. He went by Bobby. So I went up to him afterwards. I said, Bobby. I said, I need some help. And he was looking at me. I said, would you be my sponsor? And he's looking me dead in the eye. He said, Bobby, I've been watching you these past couple years. And I'm sticking my chest out. I said, yeah, he kind of likes me. He says, I need to tell you. You're full of shit. That's not the response I'm looking for. He said, I'm going to be your sponsor under certain conditions. You're going to call me every single day. You're going to go to a big book meeting. You're going to go to a step meeting. You're going to get yourself a commitment. You're going to make coffee. And you're going to leave them damn women alone. And I'm talking to myself. Who's he talking to? I'm sober 25 months here. I'm selling the grapevines. I got it going on. But what I did do, I went back to his house that night. And it was amazing because in AA, I never heard him curse. And he was a tough dude. Like he had a lot of ink, but he would wear long sleeve shirts to cover it up. And he wasn't using any profanity where I would use the F word as a noun, a verb, and an adjective. So, but while we got back to his house that night, he introduced me to the big book. He must have been saving all those curse words because he used them on me that night. He told me I didn't know anything. I said, just shut the hell up and listen. And, you know, I knew he was crazy, but you know what? I knew that I was safe with him. I don't know why. I'm not a man of faith at that time, but I knew that I was safe with him. There was just something about him. He had this peace about him. Now, he's a dude that not to be tangled with, but he wasn't carrying himself. He was carrying himself truly as a gentleman. So he picks up the big book, again, using some colorful language directed towards me. He told me, I don't know anything. I just shut up and listen. And we went through the first two steps. We got on our knees and said the third step prayer. And we got off our knees. He said, the way we do a third step, we pick paper and pen up and do a fourth step. I said, whoa, whoa. Easy does it. Let's keep this simple. How about I just don't drink and go to a meeting? And I understand the purpose of the slogans, but I'm using them not to do any work, right? But I don't want to do one of these four steps. I'm going to meetings. People say, ah, doing my four steps, stirring stuff up. I don't feel like going out. I want to stick my gun in my mouth. You can't get no further out than that. So I did my four step. And if I give you an impression, I did it over a weekend. I didn't. When my back was against the wall, I was eager to write. And when things were cool, I was cool. So it took me quite some time to do my four step. And then it came time for the fifth step. So I called my sponsor up and I said, Bobby, I'm going to go on a retreat this weekend. I'm going to. I'm going to do that fifth step with a priest. He said, that's fantastic. When you get done, stop by my house so you can do it with me. And sometimes you're on your phone with your sponsor and you feel like saying, are you deaf? Did you hear what I said? But before I said anything flippantly, he said, Bobby, my job is I'm your sponsor. And the next two steps, character defects. I need to know what they are in order for me to help you with them. Even though I have a good idea. And he hung up on me. Now, let me tell you why I wanted to do the fifth step with a priest. It wasn't to be spiritually enlightened. I just hearkened back to like when I was a kid. It's kind of beat my head. Like I know, like I could tell the priest anything. It stayed between me, him and the lamppost. But there were certain things in my inventory that I was afraid to share with my sponsor. For the fear that he would ridicule me or pass judgment. Or even worse, he would betray the confidence and tell others what I was about to disclose to him. Which tells you I'm fearless. This wasn't quite done. So I never did that fifth step with a priest. I did it with my sponsor. And none of those things happened. He didn't pass judgment. He didn't ridicule me. And to the best of my knowledge, he never told anybody else. In fact, what he did was share some of his experience with me. Which took away the terminal uniqueness in which I was the only guy to have done certain things. He too had taken someone's life. And he had paid his debt to society. The prison. And, you know. And he. He told me the incident. And he said, I'm not a tough guy. He said, I did it out of fear. So. But that's not why he asked him to be my sponsor. I asked him to be my sponsor because I'm only in a meeting an hour or so a day. But I was seeing this guy in the real world. I was seeing him in the neighborhood where he's walking the walk. You know. That's why I asked him to be my sponsor. And I don't have enough time to tell you my experience on the rest of the steps. With only this to tell you. I did the rest of the steps. You know. And, you know, I got better. Things around me didn't always get better. But I got, you know, I got better. Then I learned about the traditions. And I love the traditions. Then I got involved in service. And I know we're not supposed to use profanity. But then I even learned about the concepts. And that's all I'll say about that. But I got involved in service. And, like, my life took off. I got sober young. So I was doing a lot of young people's. They keep out. The International Conference of Young People in the A.A. My first IKIPA was in Salt Lake City in 1989. And I've been the most of them ever since. And, you know, things are happening. Life gets better. You know. Then I turned 30. Then I turned 40. Then I turned 50. Oh, man. It's amazing. Time flies. And so I'm the third oldest out of eight. You know. And I turned 50. And on my 50th birthday, I have a tough time. Because I never married. No children. And I'm comparing myself to other people. And it's just nuts. And, you know, I mean, three of my siblings are grandparents. Family names being carried on. But I think it's normal on birthdays or anniversaries just to take stock. Right? To take inventory. But it's about not being morose. Right? It's about an honest inventory. So the next day I was cool. You know. September 6th was a tough day. But September 7th. I was cool. I was cool. I was cool. And I accepted the fact that I'll never marry. And I'll have children. You know the old adage. You want to find out God has a sense of humor. Tell him your plans. And tell him my plans. His plans. For me. Last week, I celebrated my 10th wedding anniversary. I got married at the age of 51. I love my wife. After getting sober, getting married was the best move I ever made. And I love my wife. And I'm glad I waited as long as I did. Because if I did it one day sooner, I would have blown it. I had a lot of issues with women. And I always hid behind the fact-consuming adults. And even though that was the case, my behavior, double-digit years of sobriety, was still creepy. And I needed to address that. You know. But I'm only here to share in a general way. But I needed some outside help in addition to the steps. And, you know. So I'm married. 10 years. And, you know. And things started happening at work. You know. I wound up getting stabbed in the line of duty. Went back to school. And, you know. The city put me in a different position. And then I got involved in union politics. You know. And that was a crazy story in itself. But six years ago, long story short, I wound up getting elected as the president of the municipal police unit for the city of Philadelphia. I never aspired to be the president. But the fact that I think I caught the previous president and treasurer robbing the union. I turned them in and they repressed it. But so I got, I became the president. And then I got reelected with like 80% of the vote. So the members love me. And, but I never would have imagined doing this, you know. But it's, you know. And last year was a very difficult year between COVID and the social unrest. And it was just. So, also, I'm a cancer survivor. We try to have children that didn't work out. And I was told that I, you know, we would never have children. And I come home from work one day and my wife tells me she's pregnant, you know. And, and things were, it was amazing. You know, God is good. And, but however, she was well in her second trimester and we lost the baby. And that was a tough thing, you know. And people asked me, they said, like, were you guys mad? We weren't. Just sad, man. Like, we were deeply sad. But I've been to thousands of meetings since I've been sober. And I've seen some men and women go through some terrible things through no fault of their own. And we get through it one day at a time. And sometimes we got to break those days down to hours, you know. But it was very tough. And obviously it was very difficult for my wife. And, you know. And I, you know, I'm just there. You show up, you know. I relied on my sponsor and the other men and women, what do I do, you know. And just to be there. So, but like last year when it getting all crazy. And, you know, especially in Philly with the riots and everything. So I turned 60. So that's the age to retire. So that's what I did. I retired at age 60. And my wife is younger than me. And. 20 years. So I was retired for about three or four days when the union offered me that position. I do like consulting with them. And that's what I've been doing now. But it's. But going back to COVID. So the city shut down right before St. Patty's Day. Last year St. Patty's was like a Tuesday. The city shut down Monday the 16th. Nothing at all right going on. So about two weeks into the pandemic, my wife comes up to me. She said, Bobby, you're going to go to one of them Zoom meetings. So at that point, I guess I'm 32 years sober. You talk about contempt prior to investigation. I scoff. That's not AA. I'm not going to do that. Right. A week later, she comes up to me. She said, Bobby, you want to do one of those Zoom meetings? And I know what she was telling me in her own loving way that I was being an idiot. And so then I started Zooming. And I was just not Zooming in Philadelphia. I was Zooming all over the world because I'm an alcoholic. I forbid we do anything in moderation. And I'm Zooming and it's just pretty cool, you know. And I have to think that Bob and Bill are looking down at us and, you know, I mean, we get through anything. You know, in the big book, it talks about the Salerno beachhead, right, where there weren't any meetings and people only had the big book. But here with this technology, I mean, I'm lucky enough where I live in the community where we had 1,600 meetings a week. And that was prior pandemic. But, I mean, you can lie. I'm not going at any time in any time zone. It's pretty cool, you know. I have a great life. Listen, I want to be real clear. I got five minutes here left. I'm not the poster boy of Alcoholics Anonymous. I invite you to come live with me for a week. See what type of guy that I am. I'm not the guy I was 33 years ago. And I like to think I'm not the guy that I was three years ago. And if I am, shame on me. I make mistakes. Making mistakes doesn't get me loaded. It's justifying those mistakes or defending those mistakes that will lead to the arrogance, that will lead to the drink. You know, I'm sober. It's right. It says I have a daily reprieve contingent on my spiritual maintenance. Just like I couldn't stay drunk on yesterday's loads, I can't stay sober on yesterday's sobriety. We do this the day, the time. So if you were new, in fact, there is. I think the guy introduced himself as passive. This is his first Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. And I'm just getting goosebumps. Pat, welcome to AA. This, I'm telling you, this could be the first day of the rest of your life. And, you know, I've had two lifetimes. I had a lifetime young, drinking, got sober at 27. I mean, I'm now 61 years old. I mean, coming up on, you know, I'll be 34 years sober. I mean, I only drank for 10 years. I'm sober three times longer than I drank. I think they get this program at any age. Blessing. But to get it at a younger age is a double blessing, you know? So I'll give you some pointers here. And I always say these controversial remarks for the end. Get yourself a home group. Get yourself a sponsor. Make sure your sponsor has done the steps. If he or she has not done the steps, he or she has no business sponsoring you. How do you find out they did the steps? I know. You ask them. And you hear two things. Yes or no. The person says yes, that's your person. Listen, I grew up in a gritty neighborhood where most people wanted to get a union book, join one of the trades. Or if you weren't arrested by a certain age, you become a sole servant like I've been. So, but let's say you want to become an iron worker, right? So you're an apprentice. You work the job four days a week. And one day a week, you go to school. And at the end of four years, you become a journeyman. Alcoholics Anonymous is the same way. We show up. We're apprentices. We get ourselves a journeyman, a sponsor. He or she takes us under their wing. We get our experience. We become a journeyman. We take an apprentice underneath our wings. It's been working that way since June 10th, 1935. Why do you need a dirtball from some of the warden to come in here and tell you to do it any differently? You know, I love Alcoholics Anonymous. It's just, you know. I heard this when I was sober and I didn't like it, but I can't tell you how true it is. Once I came to the rooms right after Memorial Day in 1988, if you would have asked me to come up with a list of things I wanted to achieve, I would have sold myself short. I have a life beyond my wildest dreams as a result of Alcoholics Anonymous. It's a program of action. It just doesn't happen. I just don't want to think bad things come with time. You know, I love when we read how it works. You know, sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly. But they will always materialize. Why sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly? Because sometimes we get involved in the program of action quickly. Sometimes we get involved in the program of action slowly. I got involved slowly. Didn't have to be. That's the route that I chose. And I was just fortunate that I didn't pick up a drink when I first came in. So that's all I got. Thank you very much. I wish you well. And Pat, get some numbers. Hang out afterwards. Get some numbers. I'll give you my number. Welcome to Alcoholics Anonymous. It's the best decision you've ever made. Thank you. Thank you. Woo!