A Painter, a Barber, and a Carpenter Walked Into the Bar — That Was All Higher Power Needed – Bill W.

Thank you so much. Can you hear me back there? I was advised that my voice might not carry. And I don't want you to miss a word of this, because this is, you know, you've had five good talks and that makes bingo. And this might not be quite so good. But egotistically, I say that I'll do the very best I can. And may I thank you, Mr. Chairman, and all of you ladies and gentlemen up here, but mostly you folks out there. You know, there's only three kinds of alcoholics. The handsome, the intelligent, and us. That's the main three. My name is Bill W., Bill White. And I'm from the 24-hour... 24-hour group in Dublin, Georgia. Macon is one of the subdivisions of our fair city, and Atlanta is one of the suburbs. But we have a wonderful city over there. Before I go too far here, I'd like to bring my... You know, Father Joe last night brought in something about the preacher that was here. We have a wonderful Methodist preacher here tonight. And I wonder if he was reading and carrying along with our recent conference in Atlanta when one of our young preachers was sent up into the North Georgia hills to begin his pastoral. And the bishop told him, you only have 35 members in this church. It's up to you to double that membership in 12 months. I'll be there. I'll be there 12 months from today. And I want you to have that membership doubled. Well, the young fellow worked hard. And he doubled the membership. But on the night before the conference day when the bishop was coming, they had a terrible blizzard. The rain, the storm, the snow came, and only four new members showed up on Sunday morning. Well, the bishop would accept no excuses. And he got up and preached the sermon that morning and castigated and low-rated this young fellow at something terrible. Finally, after this great, excruciating sermon was over, the young fellow got up to close the service. And he said, I want all of you to understand one thing here today. That you're joining this church. You're becoming members of this congregation. Without further to do, we'll not keep you from going to hell. He says, the fact that I am a minister of the gospel is found in the truth, is found in the good book, will not keep me from going to hell. And as far as a bishop is concerned, he can go to hell, too. No. He's a good man. He's a good man. He's a good man. Well, that's all for today. Thank you. Thank you. And have a wonderful day. Good morning, everybody. Good morning. Good morning. You know, about three Sundays ago, I had a radio program on Sunday morning, a Thunder Tool lesson. I was downtown getting the shoeshine. And I realized that my time for going on the air was imminent. I had to go. I realized I didn't have time to get on the air. But I had to go. to walk back around to the church and I run out and call the cab there that was parked and called him. I said, how about running around the church? He said, I'm sorry, I'm not taking any fares right now. He said, I'm going to listen to the judge on the radio in my cab. And I said, well I got to get there. And I pulled out my billfold and placed the $5 bill and I said, I gotta go. He looked up and he saw that $5 dollar and he said, the hell with the judge, where do you want to go? So it worked sometimes. But I am an alcoholic from over in middle Georgia. I'm right proud that I'm from over there tonight because I've enjoyed the wonderful meal, enjoyed the fellowship and hospitality of the Mississippi delegation, and it's been really a wonderful pleasure and privilege for my wife and I to be here. And I'm going to have a good time. Thank you. To know it's really remarkable, I heard a couple sitting out in the lobby yesterday afternoon. The little girl came up to her mother and she says, mother, it's all over. And she says, honey, what do you mean it's all over? She says, John and I have broken our engagement. And she says, well, honey, what's the matter? I thought you were there madly in love with John. She says, well, Mother, I was, but it's all off now. She says, what in the world is wrong? She says, Mother, John is an atheist. He don't believe there's a hell. And her mother looked over there and said, that's all right, sugar. You marry him and we'll show him. We'll show him. You know, it's kind of like the girl that came in the office the other day and I granted her a divorce. And she'd been there before. I asked her, I said, well, now you've got your divorce, how does it make you feel? She said, like a new man. You know, that's all right. That's really going to it. You know, right after I'd been elected judge for about a year, I'd had quite a few little cases appealed up to the state Supreme Court, and they'd all been affirmed, if you know what I mean. They found out that the old boy was right for a change. And all of a sudden it dawned on me what the truth of the matter was. I wasn't that smart. But I turned around and I ordered a beautiful black silk robe. Like the judges wear. And I ordered it with a full flowing sleeve length, you know, and all the way down to the floor in a beautiful and made it in a female's modus. And the boys asked her, what in the world are you going to do with that, Judge? I said, I'm going to give it to my wife. She has reversed more decisions of mine than any other damn court in the United States. Like she has. I know. I had a young fellow up in the court. Let me give you a little of this story here. I was raised over in Middle Georgia, a son of a Methodist steward, the old Methodist church. We used to call them stewards. I never did get to be chairman of the Board of Stewards. I made the chairmanship with the Board of Ministries, brother, but I couldn't make the Board of Stewards. I'm glad they changed the name. I don't think I ever would have. I'm glad they changed the name. I don't think I ever would have. I'm glad they changed the name. I don't think I ever would have. But my father was chairman of the Board of Stewards in my first recollection of the church. My mother was a Sunday school teacher and I was an ardent member of the church. At 16 I started teaching kids in Sunday school. I like the old man and the young man in business together who were getting ready to hire a beautiful young secretary. And she came in for consultation. And the older member of the firm looked at the young fellow and he said, Listen, now you know it's time now for us to show her what's right and what's wrong. The young fellow said, Okay, boss, you show her what's wrong and I'll show her what's right. We'll get this thing right. So I taught those kids, I thought, along a wonderful line. Time passed, I married one of my mother's students in Sunday school. I passed the bar examination and started working in the law practice in 1930. And that's 42 years ago. I look every inch of that age and I feel it too. But we had a wonderful life. I met and married this beautiful young lady. And we had a fine life. And I'm glad I'm here. I've lived a life of quite a few years. I was in the district attorney's office after my second year in the law practice. I was assistant prosecuting attorney. Yes, I sent men to the electric chair. I prosecuted men for violations of law. I did the job that I was supposed to do. And I did it with rigor and enthusiasm. And that's the way I had to get up in the world for so many cases. I tried hard. There were no rules to go by other than the rule of knock down and drag out. And we practiced these rules in all our affairs as we tried to practice the principles of the law in all our affairs. I drank a lot of liquor. The meaner I got in the courtroom, the more liquor it took at night to put me to sleep. Noやって. No alcohol. No eating. No drinking. And I think that a lot of them ought to get drunk every night today, a lot of these so-called prosecuting attorneys, because their conscience ought to hurt. They ought to gouge pretty heavy on their conscience. But I came along and we had a wonderful relationship as far as the bar was concerned. We became a little bit estranged toward one another. My wife began to see a little difference from what I did. I began to drink too much. I drank too often, too much, and I became an alcoholic. I possibly was an alcoholic on my first drink. I have no idea. I know very little about the ideology of alcoholism. All I know is if you drink enough of it long enough, it'll evaporate. I'm not sure if you can see the difference. But I did drink enough. I drank enough of it. I knew that it affected me. I knew it affected my social life, my personal life, my moral life, my mental life. It affected me in every way. I went down, up pretty fast, then I started down. My wife objected to—she had to go to work. She objected to make a living and me drinking up what little I made. She didn't like to see me drinking too much. She didn't like it. She didn't like me going to hell in a bucket, so to speak. She cautioned me about it. I thought she was sending these preachers to me and the good men in the Church and the good men in the profession that I was in. They all said, ''Dear, you're drinking too much, Lester.'' I said, ''No, I'm not drinking.'' When I get to drinking too much, I'll stop. They said, ''Well, please, put the brakes on a little bit.'' I said, ''No, I'm not drinking.'' They said, ''Well, you're drinking too much. You're showing it.'' I said, ''Well, you're showing it.'' People began to go around the street to hire a lawyer, down the hall or up the steps, somewhere except my office. People would ask me, ''Dear, you used to represent old John over there, and now he's getting kind of so-and-so to represent him.'' I said, ''Yeah, the damn Rascal Ozen. He won't pay me.'' That was as big a lie as he could have told, because he had probably paid me. He was a good man. He was a good man. He was a good man. He was a good man. He was a good man. He was a good man. He was a good man. He was a good man. He had probably paid me, and I didn't appear to represent him. I began to do those things. I began to be afraid. I began to run. I was a yeller. I couldn't take it unless I could see through that bottle. Everything in life became a necessity for alcohol. I'd take in a dollar, it meant a dollar's worth of booze. I'd think of it as nice as I could get. I would have a drink. They didn't mean a loaf of bread or a piece of meat or a glass of milk or a house rent, light bills or anything of this type. It was solid, booze itself or nothing else. Well, this lasted quite a while. We lived together nine and a half years. Finally, she and I had a little party there one afternoon. I was pretty angry. She told me she'd had some faces drawn up and wanted me to sign them. I said, no, hell not me. No. I said, honey, don't make this mistake. You will never get a good fellow like me again. I really thought that she wouldn't. She didn't. She got a nice guy to sign. But she and I couldn't see it. And finally, I said, well, now we own a little house here. We've got a good-sized mortgage on a little bitty house. Well, we've got furniture and stuff. And what are we going to do with it? She said, Bill, I'm going to treat you right. We're going to devise the house. I said, well, that's wonderful, children. She said, well, I tell you what. I'm going to give you half of it. I said, well, that's fine. Which half? And I could see myself getting a little back room, you know, and then staying sober for a few weeks and waking my way up back to the master room, you know. And the next thing you know, she says, I'm going to take the inside and you the outside. And that's the way it works. Now, I've gone rather hurriedly over the first few years of my alcoholism. I don't want to go into a blow description of this thing. I was down in Bradenton. My brother was the mayor down there. And I gave the keys to the city, to Miss America. And then promptly tripped over the train of address, fell out on the floor, and they throwed me over the banisters of the old pagoda out there. And that was embarrassing to my brother, at least. But I did make a beautiful presentation speech of the keys to the city. I was over in Orlando. And my brother was out of town. You see, the yellow part comes in again. I waited until brother left town, and I picked the stem winder. I had a boy named Albert, a bright boy named Albert, working with me. Albert was a wonderful boy. He'd pick over 100 boxes of oranges every day. And I'd give him, he'd have $25 a ton, and he'd only draw five. And I kept wondering why he only drew five, and then he got all his money on Saturday. Well, I found out one Saturday, because my brother was out of town. And I said, Albert, would you like to have a drink? He said, yes, sir. He said, there's four roses right across the street. Get us a pint. Well, he bought the fourth pint, and we were still sitting there drinking when the telephone rang, and my sister-in-law called me to come to the house. I went home, and I was pretty well loaded. She said, we have company tonight, and you have to serve as a master. And I said, well, I'll be right there. She said, how? I said, all right, sugar, I'll do it. But I'm drunk, and I don't think I ought to do it. She says, you'll have to. I went in, and the maid tonight didn't disturb my tranquility. But this maid on this evening, I'm left-handed, and I drink coffee left-handed. Now, I eat with my right hand, but I drink coffee with this hand. And I want you to remember this part. I pour the coffee across, and I sip on it. And after a while, that juice and biscuit, I hadn't had a drink in quite a while, gives me a tremendous appetite. And I got more juice and biscuit in my mouth than I could swallow easily. I said, well, my coffee is cool now, and I'll watch it now. I reached over, and the cup wasn't there. It had been moved and filled up. I snatched it back across in a heat of anger, and I grabbed the cup. And thinking it was still cool, I got a big slug of hot coffee. It was so hot, I couldn't drink it. And I got strangled. And then I sneezed. I can see the lady at the far end of the table, and I can see her. And I saw her into the table, take her glasses off, and get the biscuit. And I said, y'all excuse me. And you know, not the first one of Jackie. But then I learned a very good lesson, and I want all of you that don't already know it to profit by my experience then. I went into my bedroom. And knowing that something was going to happen, not knowing what, I had put a fist under my wonder in the struggle. None of you ever did that, I'm sure. But I reached, and I couldn't find it. Finally, I hooked my big treat in the wonder seal and let myself down. I broke the seal along the tip, turned it up, and got a big mouthful of liquor. And do you know, you can't drink liquor upside down? You can't do it. I wasted two mouthfuls of the finest liquor you ever saw. Finally, I got a good slug, filled my mouth, poured back in, and then swallowed it. But it was a wonderful experience. About one o'clock in the morning. It was two somewhere along in there. I heard a ruckus in the back of the house. And I knew my brother had come home. And I heard a high-pitched, shrill voice, female voice say, Either he goes or I go. And I knew then no bill was going home. I left Orlando. I thought so. I got a deal in Jacksonville. I got a deal in Waco. And I got a deal in Lyons, Georgia, forty miles beyond my hometown. Now, brother, I was going. I don't know how I got there. But, you know, it's a wonderful thing how travel will broaden somebody. I learned a lot about these things. I remember something happened over in Alabama. That's one of our neighboring states, the Georgia and the Mississippi. When the Catholic priest was going through and his car broke down and he was pretty hot. And he stopped at this old Alabama farmer's house. And he says, Pardon me, friend, but can I have a cool drink of water? The old farmer looked at him. He had on his clerical collar and coat. The old man looked at him and said, I don't think so. He turned around and walked off. Well, the priest looked at him and he looked inside the door and he saw a picture of the post framed, hanging in the hall of this old Alabama farmhouse. He said, Friend, why do you refuse me a cool drink of water on a hot summer day? And you have the picture of the post, the head of my church, framed on your wall inside your hall there. He said, Is that who that is? He said, Yes. Why? He said, Well, that damn salesman told me that it was a picture of Harry Pullman in his Masonic robe. And you know? I felt that way. I really did. When I got home, I was in a terrible condition. Now, catch this. I'm going to be very brief about my alcoholism. I got off of the bus. The bus driver had to get me out of jail and lie and bring me home. I was without a dime. And what few clothes my brother had given me, I didn't have. I lost them. I lost them. The bus somewhere. I walked to the courthouse where my brother's attorneys were, and I tried to borrow the price of a drink. And I saw that it wasn't worth it. I tried to borrow the price of a breakfast. And I made up my mind to buy a breakfast, a food with it. I couldn't get it. You see, I had put the bite on these sellers too many times. I had been in the city jail of my hometown 130 times for a drunkenness. I hadn't slept in a bed except the ones I stole from the hotel. You know, that's the injury to get a bed in a hotel. I doubt if you could do it here, but the old-fashioned hotels we had at home had to clamp them. You know the old-fashioned clamps them over the door? If you go up and knock at the door and nobody answers, you pull up, and if there's no sign of habitation in there, you push the clamps on them, and they always open with no pressure. You climb over and you go to bed. If they catch you, you've got a bed at the city hall. If they don't catch you, you've got a fine bed in the hotel. And it worked. It'll work. You'll get a bed, I guarantee you. You'll get a bed. You'll get a bed. But I walked all over my town. I went to the big men in my church, and I asked them to loan me the price of breakfast. A meal, six cents. No. I said, fellas, really now, I'm serious. I'd like to do something about it. For God's sake, help me. I'm on the downgrade now. I need help. I had never had that approach before. I said, no, Bill, you've gone too far. We can't help you. I walked down this street and the girls that were in school with me were grown men, and they had children, and they'd take the kids and pull them up close to them and walk around to see if they were getting too close to them. You see, I was getting a bath at the flowing well between town and the river. I was stealing soap out of the filling station toilet and washing my clothes and myself with this soap. Yes, I was the same man that strutted up and down in front of the jury and begged the jurors for a man's life because of his past misconduct and for something that he did. Yes, I was the same self-petitioned young man that condemned others for doing wrong and drank liquor to celebrate a victory at night. Confirmed some of your suspicions possibly about my possession. But I walked that town over. I went to the big man in my shirt. I had long since quit the church. I was drunk one day. Fell flat on my face on the sidewalk while I was still teaching Sunday school. Two kids carried me home. The next morning I went down to teach. And there were those two kids. You know what happened? I resigned. Told them I had to quit. And they said, Mr. Bill, we love you. Don't quit. Stay with us. I said, no, you don't understand. But they did understand that I chose Alcahal in preference to them. And it hurt. It hurt those kids. I didn't know how dead. I walked around and I couldn't get a meal this day. Finally, about four o'clock in the afternoon, I walked into the ballroom. As I opened the door, there's old Bill. Come on in here, boy, and have a drink with us. I said, fellas, maybe I better not. I think this thing's gone far enough. Maybe I better not take a drink. And they insisted. And I said, well, one more drink. So I took one. I took two. Three. And they said, Bill, have you had supper? I said, no, I haven't. They said, where are you going to eat? I said, I don't know. I ain't had breakfast yet. And they said, well, come on over there. And they carried me across the street to a little cafe, and we had supper. And they said, where are you staying? I said, I haven't made any arrangements yet. I haven't got any money. They said, here, here's five bucks. You can get a meal. I said, well, I'll take it. I said, no, I haven't got any money. They said, well, I haven't got any money. I said, well, I haven't got any money. I said, no, I haven't got any money. They said, here, here's five bucks. You can get a bed. I said, well, I can't go down there and register. They won't let me in the hotel. You see, they didn't understand the finesse that you have to have to get in a hotel. You've got to have a reputation for paying your bills and for being clean, sitting a gang of drunks in your room, and you've got to have a reputation for being clean. So they took me to the hotel. And they said, Bill, have you had supper? I said, no, I haven't had breakfast yet. They said, no, I haven't got any money. I said, no, I haven't got any money. They said, no, I haven't got any money. They said, no, I haven't got any money. You've got to have a reputation for paying your bills and for being clean, sitting a gang of drunks in your room, and singing Sweet Adeline at 4 o'clock in the morning. It just, it just don't work, you know. And they didn't understand why I couldn't get a bed. So they went around and registered in their name. Came back and gave me the key. Said, we'll meet you at the hotel. I said, Bill, I haven't got a home. They said, Bill, I haven't got a house. I said, Bill, I haven't got a house. They said, Bill, I haven't got a house. I said, Bill, I haven't got a house. They said, Bill, I haven't got a home. I said, Bill, I haven't got a house. You don't have a house. room singing Sweet Adeline at four o'clock in the morning. It just don't work, you know. And they didn't understand why I couldn't get a bed. So they went around and registered in their name, came back and gave me the key. Said, we'll meet you in the morning, we'll get you a job, and we'll let you have it. Thank you. I sold the room. I kept the five bucks and I bought some wine. I did drink a little of the great stuff. You know, our Italian Swiss colony cherry wine was a wonderful nexus. But I bought a little wine and I slept under the railroad trestle that night. And it was a wonderful experience because we had a flint come in that night, the river. You know, we were just below Lake Sinclair and it had a big rain and they left the water off at the dam up there and the river rolled. And just below the trestle where I slept was the sewer where it entered into the river. And during the night, I must have been riding one of those wonderful nightmares, I fell off of the trestle basement, or base rather, and I grabbed my liquor bottle with one hand and a rock with the other. And I realized, and the water was up along here, and I realized that I had to let go of one of those things. And I got up and I said, I'm going to go to the next one. And I said, I'm going to go to the next one. And he said, I'm going to go to the next one. And I said, I'm going to go to the next one. And he said, I'm going to go to the next one. And he said, I'm going to go and on the tenho sympathai. So the Rock had to go. And as I floated by the sewer, I pulled the oaw comb cobb out of the bottle, the cobb back in, put it in my shirt, and then begin to think about getting out. And I felt until I hit the willow limb. And I pulled up onto the back and I crawled in, went to sleep. It quit raining during the night and the sign would ring showing people meditation, not just children. And all the little girls and boys that made the magic Malaysians there, they arm Greg and they all had lovely women in older ladies. They were and I kicked over. Kind of crushed it over, you know. And the next morning I walked down to the beautiful 20th century room. You know, that's the one where they had these blue tinted mirrors in. And the boys looked at me and talked me this way and led me through and turned the water hose on me in the backyard. You know, that was a terrible experience. Then I had to lay out there in the sun and dry before I could come in. The next night I had nowhere to sleep. So I go up, you know, we have a sanctum sanctorum of the holy of the holies. All of us have one somewhere. But mine was the courtroom. And I went up and I went to bed. I took all the cushions out of the jury box and laid them on the long table in front of the judges' stand. Had these old long-bladed lazy fans that turned, you know, blow the flies off. And if you don't think you need a fan to blow flies off, try going without a bath for about 30 days and wallowing in the willow. And the second night I used this sumptuous place. They didn't like it and they locked the door to the courtroom door. I'm very indignant. There I was in the attorney at law. An officer of that court. A member of the local bar, the bar association for the circuit. A taxpayer. A citizen of that community locked out of my courtroom. So I went up to the balcony and walked down to the middle of it. I dropped over into the courtroom and somehow I spread all that fan blade. Well, it broke. And I felt a little twang with it involving me. I go back into the jury room then and I turn on the gas, take a drink, a little space heater, and then I begin to look for a match. That's while I found one. And I squirted down in front of the heater and I struck that match. That could be the reason I don't have any hair. I went through a table and I saw a little piece of paper up against the wall on the other side of the room. But you know that that's sobed me up just a little bit. I decided that maybe I'd better cut the gas off. So I turned the gas off and then in the preponderance of precaution I turned to open the window. And that was the most useless gesture I ever made. There was no framing left in the window sill. I was just sitting there. I was just sitting there. It was all gone. But I struck the match and then I turned the gas back on. And I curled up and went to sleep. The next morning the janitor woke me up and said, you'd better get the hell out of here before the sheriff comes. I got up and I walked through two blocks of my hometown. And believe it or not, not a human being said a word. I walked in. I walked into the ballroom. And everybody started laughing. I said, what in the hell are you laughing at? They said, come in. And they said, stand up on your feet. You know, I had an office in the ballroom. It was the last booth. And I got in this little office and I stood up on the seat and they turned me around back to the mirror. And they said, look. And I looked back there. And they want nothing but me. And I said, what in the hell are you laughing at? And they said, well, I'm not laughing at you. I'm laughing at you. Now, I had heard the expression about showing you can. But brother, I did it. And it really embarrassed me until I could get in the alley and find a little rusty single nail. And I hooked it up back on the belt. And a couple drinks later, I felt no pain. I felt no pain anymore. That's a funny thing. But these things, I tell you, and they are true. They happened to me. I went to the church. And with apologies to my dead pastor friend. I was carried there. A man brought me a shoe and a hair cut. And I don't know whether to accuse him of it or not, but he allowed him the job too. He bought me a pair of khaki pants and a khaki shirt and a suit of underwear and a pair of socks. And I used the Atlanta Constitution for a few folds. I still think it's a good one. And I entered the church. And there, believe it or not, I met the first man who knew what was wrong with dear wife. Bishop Arthur Moore. A bishop in the Georgia Conference. He's retired now, but still living. My pastor at that time was a very close friend, later. They turned me down to the altar of that church and we all knelt. There was no service going on. Just my friend, the preachers, the bishops, and I. And they pulled for me each one of them. And then it got awful quiet. And I was just like this. I'd been drunk nine and a half years. Five of it without a job. Bumming and doing the other things necessary to get liquor. And you know what that is. And it got awful quiet. And I looked up to see what was going on. You know, you're suspicious. And the bishop looked at me and he says, It's your time to pray, Bill. I bowed my head and I lifted my voice. And I didn't mean it to be blasphemy or sacrilege. I said, God help me to get out of this place. And I started for the door. The preacher grabbed me. No, you can't go. You've got to promise me you'll attend church service tonight. I said, man, what you talking about? Let me go. And he said, no, I want you to promise me you'll attend church service tonight. He just put his arm around me and he said, No, I don't want him here tonight. I looked at him and I thought he might be crazy. But he wasn't making good sense right then. The preacher asked him why. He said, two good reasons. One is that in his condition he wouldn't hear or understand anything I had to say. See, that made sense. The second one is he'd have a running and biking pit right in the middle of my house. He'd sit right in the middle of my sermon and stare the congregation half to death. And he was right again. And I'd go out of there and I'd run all the way back to the bar room. And I had fifty cents and cash left. I laid it on the slab. I said, a fifty-cent shot of cherry, please. Quick. And the man saw the nervous condition I was in and he filled a teaglass full or a beer glass full and gave it to me. And I downed it. And just as I set the glass down, my friend who had been my benefactor had bought me the cleanup job and the clothes, walked in the door and he said, no, you're not drinking again after what I've done for you this morning? Yes, I'm drinking. I had to have it. Now, if you don't understand, he says, the hell I don't. You're not worth a damn. I've done all I could for you and I've done all this and you don't appreciate it. You're a damned inbreed. And he said, well, I'm not worth a damn. And he said, don't ever ask me for another chance. And then I looked at him and I said, I forgot I didn't ask you this. And then I was going to say more, but I stopped. He walked out. It broke my heart. Tears came in my eyes and I bummed another drink to salve my conscience a little bit. You see, I couldn't do anything without alcohol. I couldn't even cry or push a fight without a drink. I couldn't pray without a drink. Alcohol had become the center core of my life. For the next ten days, that was April the 1st, 1949, for the next ten days, I drank. I drank to rot out and to push back into oblivion all traits of humanity. All traits of life itself. And I couldn't do it. One afternoon, the night of April 10, 1949, I weighed a great big fat 111 pounds, 6 foot 2 inches tall. And that's only 80 pounds less than I weighed now. And you could have, and I would have blown away with the wind. A man came in and said, Bill, you need a drink. I said, brother, no truer words have ever been spoken. He says, you need food. I said, that's food too. But after the drink. He says, you need medication. I said, right, but after the drink. And he says, you need a place to stay and clothes to wear and something to do. Somebody to look after you. I said, that's right, but let's cut out the conversation and start the drinking. And he said, well, I will. And he had to go. And he walked the block and come back. You see, we had a dry county. You couldn't buy liquor within less than a block of where you were. And it didn't matter where you were. I used to prosecute those fellows, you see. The bootleggers back in those days, back in the heyday. When I was really growing, all I had to do was let them know the liquor. And then I had to leave the office and go to the back of the building and come back. And there'd be a thief sitting in the office, in the District Attorney's Office. There wasn't any trouble to get liquor. And you can see how easy it could be for a man to drift into alcoholism. But now, the man brought me the pint and he poured half of it into a glass. Now, during these trips to the city hall, I've got the scars on both wrists and both ankles. And I hope I'll always see them. And I'm not going to tell you how to use them. But I'll tell you how to use them. Now, I'm going to tell you how to use them. I'm going to tell you how to use them. I'm going to tell you how to use them. Now, during these trips to the City Hall, I've got the scars on both wrists and both ankles, and I hope I'll always feel them just a little bit every now and then. You know, they didn't have the niceties of hospitalization treatment in the City Hall. They'd tie one foot at this end of the bed, one foot over here, one hand here and one there, and then let you act like a dog needed warning, laying on the bed and contort and scream and holler when the boys got after you. And they didn't pay any attention. One of my friends came through there one evening, saw the condition I was in, I was tired. The blood was running from both wrists and both ankles. And he walks up to the hall and he says, he says, Officer, how about letting my buddy out of the hospital? I said, I'll carry him to the hospital. He says, let the drunk son of a bitch die. That's another story. I got him later. I got him. But these things began to happen to me. That little was sitting on that table in that little booth, and I went back to wash my face and hands, and I couldn't see. After my daughter had gone blind. And there was a pool room between the bathroom and the main part of the beer parlor. And I heard pool balls clicking. And I opened the door and I couldn't see. And I said, I am blind. I know you can't see pool in the dark. And I reached back and I felt, and there was an old broken mirror there. And I reached up and I felt the light bulb and it was hot. And I knew it was burning. And I gouged my eyes. I said, I'm going to die. And I pulled and pulled until I got them open. And they were swollen shut. And I could see. And the man I saw in that little dim lit toilet in that broken mirror was a horrible thing. And I cursed him. And I cursed that God didn't put him there. And I claimed that God put me there. I cursed God for doing those things. But thank God that I recognized their walk of life. Although I cursed him. I was conscious of the fact that there was a God. I walked out of that bar in the beer parlor, toilet, and I walked up to the front. And I pushed the glass back. I said, big boy, you are not going in my stomach tonight. And the liquor looked at me and he said, oh yeah. I looked around and that liquor was helping. Now I had walls talked. I had long conversations with people. Long conversations with snakes and lizards. But I had never had a conversation with a glass of liquor before. And that liquor said, look at your hand. Oh, it will put a rust in on you. And I tried to hold him up close and then made my whole body jerk. And it says, you drink me. And when this night is over, if you die during the night, you'll be comfortable. And you'll be happy and contented. You won't know anything about it. But if you don't drink me and you go out of this bar room, you don't have anywhere to go. You'll have to sleep in the bushes somewhere under our warehouse with the warp rats. Or you'll have to go somewhere. And when you lay down and the monkeys come and the snakes crawl and the ants and the spiders and the lizards crawl in your nose. Your mouth, your eyes and your ears. And you start to scream. And you're going to wish to hell you would have drank me. You remember there's just one little drink. And I begin to rationalize and say, my God. That may happen again. And I look down and I saw the stars on those wrists. And I felt the necessity for someone to be close at a time like this. I said, one day, to me, I'll be happy. And I knew that. I thought, I'll be happy. But the next day I was in my room, a little over two weeks later. And I went to my room. And I thought, I'll be happy. But I thought, I'll be happy. But the next day I was in my room, I was in my room. And I thought, I'll be happy. and I saw the stars on those wrists. And I felt the necessity for someone to be close at a time like this. I said, one thing. And I started to that bar, to that little bar. And three men walked in the front door of that bar room. Call it God. Call it what you please. To me, the God that I understand sat those three men. In that door. One was a painter. And God bless him. One was a barber. And one was a carpenter. And God bless all of them. But that painter, I love him. Those three men asked me if I didn't want to do something about my liquor drinking. And about my life. And I said, fellas, I'd love to. But it's too late. I'm gone. I'm over the hill. I'm on the way out. I'm out now. Take your effort. Your time. And put it somewhere else. Where it will be appreciated and where you can do some good. They said, you let us be the judge of that. And they came and I went. Went down to a little building. Went upstairs into a little dimly lit room and they had a sign on the door. A 24 hour club. And I went up there and they caught me up in a chair beside the wall. It was about 10 or 12. I had gotten them out of jail. Or they had gotten me out. And they were each one clean. And each one had a job. Each one had his family back. Each one was a working, functioning member of the community in which we lived. And I said, my God, I'd love to have what you boys got. And they said, Bill, all you have is a job. And I said, Bill, all you have is a job. And they said, Bill, all you have is a job. And I said, Bill, all you have is a job. All you've got to do is stay with us. I said, I'll tell you what I'll do. And I didn't know I said this for 15 years. Now that I said it. I said, if you boys will stay with me, I'll stay with you. Thank God. April the 10th, 1949. I hoped that somebody got some benefit I hoped that somebody got some benefit from that glass of liquor sitting on the table and sitting on that glass of liquor and sitting on that glass of liquor in the 20th century room on Madison Street in Dublin, Georgia. Because that's my last drink, and I didn't take it. He said, life has not been a better room since this time. I've had a nice time. You know, my friends told me, they said, Bill, you used to play baseball, basketball, tennis, track. I said, yes. But pretty fair, country boy and all of them. Said, you know, in your baseball days, when you were a rookie in the Florida State League, I said, yeah, I remember that, and you get two strikes on you, and the best pitcher in the league was in there, and you didn't have much chance. You were a poor hitter to start with. And you looked around, and you wished somebody would take your last strike. But today, you can't make it in this town. You are washed up. The people have no respect and no love and consideration for you at all. You've got to move from Dublin to some other town. And an old drunk sitting there said, no, no. He said, if you lost a $20 bill in Dublin, would you go to Nathan to look for it? And you know, thought it made sense. I dug in. They gave me a job with the city. I'll never forget the little quick face the first payday when I went around to draw my paycheck. I said, how about decorating the heart with silver? She said she thought she recognized my voice. She looked down under that little arm grating up there, you know, and my God, it is him. And she showed out a little pay envelope and she gave it to me, and I felt mighty good about it. I had made an honest dollar. She said, well, if I got out of work for that paycheck, I'll really put out for it. Time passed and progressed as it will. About two years later, this little job was in very dogging in the tax business. I got into the tax field along with my little law practice. I was able to hold up a little bail with the bureau and the attorney. You know, they were worried I wasn't sure I was going to get the job. 18 While years later, I started uncomfortable because of all theس ways they would teach me. So that kept me from getting married. And that would not only certain other ways. Simplified legacy. Two years later, a parent Hoe as strong as they could get, perhaps more than sprung up into my hope in time. I got myself married. I paid you. Two years later, I paid the//business card, actually didn't pay you. Dartelmeillard's Moon's house. So after the sale given to him, Sir Walter, said I wasidade and the way I wanted. It put the money overseas.點P Profess Purchase Thomas F�� thin . Informs. mittlerweile the last clock Sprinkle to the law practice. And one day a very, very beautiful and lovely lady came in. Well, after a little consultation, and she came back, and I met her three lovely children, two boys and a girl. And she came back into the office, and about 4.30, I asked her what time her bus ran. She said 5 o'clock. She lived about 12 miles south of town. I said, all right, so about five minutes to five, I tore up everything I had done, so I'd have to start over again, because she was pretty. And a little after five, after the bus had run, I said, my goodness, I made you miss your bus. Can I carry you home? She said, I wasn't sure. I got to get there somehow. So I borrowed a car. You know, I didn't have much to ride in by this time. I carried this lovely lady home, and on the way home, I said, children, are you resting? And she said, no, kid, I'm not. I said, well, I'm going to go to the trouble estate next time, but this lady'surrency said that I ought to get into the home at around 7. She said, well, exactly. I said, we're going home now. And she got to school at the last minute. She said, do you remember why I went to school? Because I herebyこちら saying this was the time all sorry. Right. And my married partner, our fatal dividend for all these or �多 man's yourself? She said, no. And I said, well, I got too now here. Of course, I missed you. Did you miss this of all the bad things in town? Then I asked her to marry me. She said, Why don't you propose to the ones you've been coating? We called the kids in. It was about ten o'clock at night, and they'd come in sleepy-eyed, you know, tired, and go out in the afternoon to play. And I said, Kids, how would you all like to have me for Daddy from now on? Yes. Well, you just, you know, a trouble no picture, so, you know. And they found out. But she asked, Yes. We said, Absolutely. So she's right. It's aковup. Therefore, that is the motto. αποvar. Okay? Well, it was not easy to address him. In 1956, a wonderful boy came along. Now, to think that from 1956 until now he could grow a heap bigger than his daddy is kind of hard to do. That boy was a little over 6'2", 185 pounds, and nearly each of them a man. Two years later, another boy came along. He was about 5'11", spring bean, weighed about 120 or 130 pounds. He was like his daddy. He was going to long live in the Senate. But they are the byproducts. You know, I heard a man in AA say not long ago, if I could just find happiness in AA. And he was sitting on his chin, criticizing what the boys who were wrestling in AA were doing. I said, friend, and here's this person to reference, I said, happiness is not a station that you arrive at. Happiness is a method of travel. It's a business. It's a life product of good living and of hard work. And that insulted him when I said something about hard work. And he quit AA for a while and fixed his job, and now he's back and he can put a good grace in his mouth. But we've had a wonderful life. My people and my community accept it. The old drunk boss. I asked them to give me a job as prosecuting attorney. In the little city court. It was called the Sevilla State Court. They've changed the name of it now. And I had to fight the establishment. But I pitched in, and they gave it to me. Now, Bill White didn't get elected. Don't get me wrong. Sobriety got elected. Decency and morality. So people gave me that job. And some of the very first men I had to prosecute was that barber and that damn carpenter. They got me out of the bar room. And that painter stayed in my hair for 18 years. Look. But he'd been sober for five. It took me 18 years to get my sponsor sober. But I got him for five years. I buried the carpenter. And I buried the barber. And they died. An alcoholic and belted. We tried. We worked for a result. We don't always get them. But we never stopped working. To keep trying. Later, my people gave me back the same little job. Without opposition. That was wonderful. Sobriety done it. Then I didn't like the judge. They thought he was too hard on drugs. And I ran against him. And the folks gave Sobriety another job. And then I began to find what it meant to judge a drug. It's a job. It's hard. It's heartbreaking. But I never sent one to the public work camp yet. And God be in my head. I don't want this. I won't say that I won't. And then four years ago, I decided that my kids desired a better break in life. And I knew they were getting older and soon it would be time to go to college. And I decided maybe that the folks could put up with me in a little bit better job. And I couldn't make up my mind what to do until one day a drunk came in the court. And I said, my God, Jim. I'm going to be a drug dealer. I'm going to be a drug dealer. I'm going to be a drug dealer. I'm going to be a drug dealer. I'm going to be a drug dealer. And I said, my God, Jim, you've been here now for eight years I've been prosecuting, four years I've been judge, and you're right back here again. What in the world am I going to do about it? What can I do? He said, well, Judge, it ain't my fault you ain't been promoted. So I tried promotion to the little circuit court and the folks gave it to me. And I said, well, Jim, you're going to be a drug dealer. But you just didn't listen to the guys. And I said, Jim, what can I do now? And they told me that I'd been務olded three times a year I got fired. I said, well, my God, Jimmy, you're gonna try successful sacrificially up. But I said, Jim, why? And I said, yes, I won't have to call them now and tell them I can't come. I'll fulfill my obligation to Alcoholics Anonymous. So I went through my life and my entire family, my future. I called my boys, one of them alcoholics and the other one anonymous. And I tell you this, they are really there. One's a little Bill and one's a little Ed. And they are wonderful boys. And they are products of Alcoholics Anonymous. They are products of sobriety. They are a source of pride where once before there was no pride. They are a source of joy where before it was only hearty and sorrow. They are a source of ambition where before I had no desire for anything except the bottom of the lesson. These things are the byproducts. Of Alcoholics Anonymous. They are the proof of the pudding of AA. I have no nothing what else, whatever else to lay claim to credit for except accepting Alcoholics Anonymous as a way of life. And I'm glad that I was here last night when Father Joe went over the 12 steps. Because I knew I wouldn't have to do it tonight. Because that is my life. To the best of my ability. I have no panacea, no formula for you to go by. Except get in there and kick. Go see if you're drunk. They'll wake you up all night. All hours of the night. And they'll call you and they'll get sick. And the other thing you left. And you got on your best clothes. And they'll raffle with you. And he'll hurt you. They don't mean to. Just be a little careful. And finally when you climb that circular stairs. And you knock at the door. And nobody answers. Keep knocking. Knock some more. And finally you'll hear a noise. And a speaking noise as you open that door. And the blurry eyes. And the tear-stained cheeks. And the trembling voice, he comes out and says, Oh, what is it, Bill? And you know you're dealing with a man, a human being, and not an animal. And you put your arm around him and say, Come, boy, walk with me. As others made me walk with him. And as you see him get sober, all he'll slip and he'll flop sometimes. But the eventual goal is sobriety. Slip, yes, but they're not necessary. I've been one of the most fortunate people in the world. I didn't have a slip. They called me to come back and to teach Sunday school again. Yes, they did, too, that old drunk bump. And you know the reason they did? If you don't have character enough, you're not going to be able to do it. You're not going to be able to do it. For your conscience to bother you, you'd never become an alcoholic. Did you hear that? If you don't have character enough for your conscience to bother you, you'd never become an alcoholic. You'd just be a common drunk. It's that character, that strain of character in your blood and in your body that makes you realize that you are doing wrong. That you are hurting when you ought not to be hurting. That makes you wish to God that you hadn't done it. And makes you wish you could face your life, the public, your friends, without a drink. But you can't do it. When you wake up in the morning and you hear the great squeal in the yard and you jump and you tell your wife, I'm not home. And you reach down by the bed and take a drink. And then in a few minutes, when that liquor takes effect, you can walk out and see if it's a cherry for who it is. It don't make any difference if you can talk to them. But you can't do it without that drink. Because you've got character enough for your conscience to bother you. If you don't give a damn, you can walk right on out of there and never be ashamed or afraid. He called me back to see Sunday school. And what happened? The first Sunday I walked in that Sunday school room, I looked and there sat the son and the daughter of those two boys. The boys had carried me home that night. Yes, that's how long it's been since I went back to church. I couldn't say a word. So the kid said, Mr. Dale, we understand. Our daddy said you were the finest man to be able to talk in our Sunday school. And we want to, and we love you, to teach us. And I feel like, well, God, at that age, I don't have any longer, but I have love. It's a wonderful life. Yes, the same preacher. You know, in my church, it circulates. They keep the preachers moving. First thing you know, the preacher that was there the day, I wish I wasn't, came back to my hometown. And he came up and he said, Dale, I want you on the board of students. I said, I can't do it. I'm not one of them. He said, I think you are, and you are now on it. As an honorary member, I head you, you're appointed as chairman of the Board of Social Concerns. And brother, he ought not to have done it because I got a bunch of messages around here stirred up by liquor drinking. I began to talk and tell them about it. I went from church to church all over my country. And I didn't tell anybody to quit drinking liquor because it was good for them. I went and I told them they ought to quit drinking liquor because if they didn't, they was going to look like me. And you know, a lot of them quit drinking liquor. They couldn't stand that pressure. I was kind of like the little fella that went into his mama's room one night and asked for a drink of water. She got up and got him a drink of water at one o'clock. She said, Mama, tell me a bedtime story. She looked at the clock. She said, what time is it, son? She said, it's one o'clock. She said, wait just a few minutes and Daddy will be home and tell us both one. You know, I was more or less in that position. But these things happened to you. I later became, and I say this in all humility, because Bill White didn't do any of it. So variety accomplished what little I had. Yes, I became chairman of that board of ministry. And I was awfully proud of that thing. I'm a lay speaker for myself. I love my work. I love my God. The God that I curse, I praise. The God that I blamed, I turn in humble adoration to and praise and thank you for being the one responsible for my conduct today. What little there is in this world for us to gain, it has to come through the power greater than we are. I don't say these things to you telling you they are most NAA. I say to you they are most for Bill White. I find it necessary to thank my living God every morning for allowing me the privilege of waking up. And I earnestly ask that he give me the privilege of remaining sober this day and to do his will. And I never forget to thank him when I go to bed at night for the wonderful blessings of each day. I learned this in Alcoholics Anonymous. I learned this as a way of life as a miracle. And when they gave me my first blue tip, I kept my first place white and red tip. I still have those three tips. They are prized possessions of mine that I love and I still cherish for the balance of my life. Kind of like the boy that went to the doctor. I wanted to tell this on Carl Hester, but Carl, I don't think Carl's here tonight. He might have come in. Good boy, Carl. Said that he went to Carl and Carl examined him and he says, you need an operation. Have you ever been operated on before? He said, yes, sir. He said, what for? He said, $300. He says, no, no, what did you have? He said, $250. You all know I don't mean it. He said, well, the bill was too damn high. I kind of see things. I don't know. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do. You know, one day in court up there, we had a man come in, one of these slippery, smart-aleck type fellas, and he came in and the district attorney brought him up before the court. And the court asked him, do you ever work? He said, oh, yes, sir, Judge, I work. He said, well, where do you work? He said, well, when you work and you work here and there, what do you do? He said, oh, this and that. He said, well, I have a job. I have a job. I have a job. I have a job. I have a job. He said, oh, this and that. He said, wait a minute now. When you work this and that, when you do this and that, when do you work? Nine. Judge, tear him to jail. Tear him to jail. And as they started out of the courtroom, they started looking out and said, Judge, when do I get out? Alcoholics Anonymous Crossroads is a crossroad out by the house of the Friday Me. How and how do we do something happen? Plenty what we do is to make a difference in the world. But what we do is to make a difference in the world. And that's what we do. But what we do is to make a difference in the world. And that's what we do. And that's what we do. And we do that in our lives. And that's what we do. And that's what we do. And that's what we do in our lives. So when you come and think about some other other number that can make a difference and you do is just to do case science can affect us. Life was a holiday for people who couldn't think before there was insanity. One day we lived in a world of despair, and we live in a world of beauty and of care, care for one another. In finger of a finger of thorn, and tongue of a thick butter, it's a during beauty or a land in our. To extend the hand of friendship and fellowship and say, Come, walk with me. As a member of my profession, I can only talk. That's all I've got. All I've got is alcohol. I should make a comment on how sick an alcoholic is. An alcoholic is. He is. He is. He is. He is. He is. He is. He is. He is. He is. He is. He is. He is. He is. He is. He is. He is. To some people, AA is an argument. Yes, you hear. I've heard it here today. Some people agree. To some people, AA is a wonderful experience. Life through brotherhood and tolerance. We're trying to. Some realize ideas, others by heart, passion, and tears. The first measure under the sun for others to be the standard, the standard of all of us. The measure of all eyes is by that standard. What in our lives we've done? Trying to find out the truth for ourselves and getting fired. Remember the day I came home, facing off the winds. I went to my church, I went to everybody I knew, and I couldn't get the price of a breakfast or a meal at any time. Because I went out looking for a friend. But when I went out to be a friend, I found friends everywhere. I found those wonderful things. And wouldn't it be wonderful, and wouldn't Mississippi be a much more wonderful place to be a friend of God? Wouldn't it be a much more wonderful state to live in if each one of us were the more wonderful person to live beside? It's a challenge to us. And the AA way of life. You know, I heard a lawyer in an argument one day, and I shouldn't quote my brothers too often, but this was so beautiful. That the principles of AA are as broad as the universe. As high as the heavens. As deep as eternity. And as well settled as the salvation of Almighty God. And that is AA. Let me read you, in closing, a very short little poem. That I think symbolizes old Bill's life. There's no skill in easy sailing. When the skies are clear and blue. There's no joy in merely doing things which anyone can do. But there is some satisfaction that's mighty sweet to taste. When you reach a destination that they said you'd never make. Isn't it wonderful that so bright can accomplish that? Can accomplish so much with so little. The white wolf. An old drunk. An accomplished liar. Or see, a man who had no respect for himself or his family or his profession. And can take him from the bottomless pit of despair and drunkenness. And bring him back to normality. And lose the stage of it. And to decency. And to respect for himself. And his fellow man. Now you heard read when we first started tonight. A portion of chapter five. Called How It Works. Let me read you my personal version of How It Works. I read this to Leo Wakeman Solemn. The Atlanta Constitution. About 22 years ago. I made a copy of it. In each of you I see a friend. One whose friendship knows no end. And so just for today. I try to do to others what you are to me. You stopped and turned. And took me by the hand. And steadied me till I could stand. And then until I walked alone. Let go my fingers. One by one. You did not say to me do this or do thus. You said quite simply. Walk with us. I tried. And when I lifted up my eyes could see the same day. That made you free. And we walk together now. A present man. Who can wait for me if I should feel my hand. With the trembling fingers of one. Whose spirit must also break the bend. And teach him softly what it means to have. And to be a friend. And so just for today. I will let others see. What each of you has meant for me. Thank you so much. And God bless you.