Forgiveness as the Spiritual Surrender the Alcoholic Ego Cannot Manufacture Alone – Mary S.

Now for our first speaker. You've got a speaker strip.
Yes, sir. Wait, let me get this over here.
This is Mary S. from Charlotte, North Carolina. I know you're going to love her. Give her a hand.
You cotton-picking drunks aren't fooling me. You're the characters that don't have any place to sleep.
I'm checked in single, and as many as can get in the room, come on, laughter, this is over.
I'm about as confused as the old drunk walking down the street one day, and he had him a big old sign made.
And on this sign, he had the letters B-A-I-K.
And another old drunk walked up to him and said, hey, bud, what's with the sign?
He says, oh, that means, boy, am I confused.
He said, well, my God, don't you know you don't spell confused with a K?
He said, yeah, I know, but that just shows you how confused I am.
Oh, I'm not well.
I was in AA last year, and I picked up an eight-year chip.
And I went down to the club room, and I was real happy and joyful.
You know, in my kind of slow sort of way.
And this character looked at me and says, what the hell are you so happy about today?
I said, well, I just picked up an eight-year chip, and I'm just so happy.
He said, Mary Sutton, there's one thing I want you to tell me.
How in the hell could any girl with as many defects of character as you have stay sober for eight years?
Laughter.
Well, you know, AA has taught me a few things.
AA has taught me to bless them and not bless them out.
Laughter.
But as I looked at that character and was about to tell him where he could go in about three words,
I thought, you know, that boy's right.
It's only through the grace of God and Alcoholics Anonymous that I'm here tonight.
My name is Mary Sutton, and I'm an alcoholic.
Laughter.
And I am from that cotton-picking state of Charlotte, North Carolina.
I wish I could stand here tonight and tell you people that I was one of these southern belles
that wore big picture hats and long flowing robes, you know,
and sat under a magnolia tree and sipped on mint juleps.
Laughter.
I didn't know there was such a damn thing until I started to move in pictures.
Laughter.
I wish I could stand here tonight and tell you people that I came from a family that was well fixed.
We were. We weren't one hell of a fix.
Laughter.
There were five alcoholic brothers.
Laughter.
I was the baby and the only girl, and I came along and made a perfect score.
Laughter.
I detested alcohol.
There was never enough money.
There wasn't extreme poverty, but there wasn't plenty either, you know, because I wanted...
By the way, I was a shady Irishman, too.
Laughter.
I do make it nice, you know.
And all these shady Irish brothers of mine stayed drunk constantly.
Laughter.
And my poor father, he never seemed to have enough money to buy me the little nice things that a little girl wants.
Because every weekend, one of these cotton-picking brothers would be in jail,
and my dad would have to take the money and go bail him out.
Laughter.
Well, I don't know whether you all ever had this experience.
My mother used to buy flour in these great big old flour sacks, these cotton flour sacks.
And when she got through with them, well, then she would take them and make me little unmentionables out of them.
Laughter.
Well, I had to be damn careful how I walked and not snuck my toe.
Because had I done that...
Right across my little, whatchamacallit, like a big neon sign, there it was.
Pillsbury's Beds.
Laughter.
And you know, I resented that.
Laughter.
I grew up in a complete state of confusion.
Laughter.
I detested my brothers.
And because my mother never had much time for me,
you can imagine trying to sober up five boys.
Laughter.
I didn't like her very much.
And she plain didn't like me.
She didn't understand me and I didn't understand her.
So very early in life, my father became my God.
And as I said, I detested alcohol.
I knew what alcohol could do.
And my father gave me training as a dancer.
As means of escape in later years.
The day I was 18 years old, he took me down to the station and he put me on the train.
And he said, sweetie, it's time to go.
And I looked at my father and I said, baby, I'll never come back to this cot-sticking outfit.
If they ever bring me back, they'll bring me back on a stretcher.
And boys and girls, little did I know,
that in a few years, that's exactly what would happen to me.
Laughter.
I went to New York and I became a dancer.
Oh, that is an alcoholic female's paradise.
Laughter.
We have an old saying in show business that the show must go on.
Why the hell they say it, I don't know.
But no matter how your heart aches or your feet hurt,
or what have you, you got to put on a smile and go, man.
Well, I became very ill and they called in a doctor.
And this doctor says, well, I can't give this girl any sedatives.
Because if I do, she won't make the show.
I suggest you give her a drink of whiskey.
Now fasten your seat belts.
They go out and they get a bottle.
And they give me my first drink of whiskey.
And as I began to get that beautiful warm glow
and everything looked so gorgeous out,
I thought to myself, well, hell, no one of my brothers drank this stuff.
This is wonderful.
Laughter.
I had a ball with booze for quite a few years.
I really enjoyed it.
In fact, I damn near enjoyed myself to death.
Laughter.
I ended up about 10 or 12 years later
in John Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore, Maryland
with alcoholic convulsions, DTs, and bronchial pneumonia.
I don't know how that pneumonia got in on the act.
Laughter.
But I had to go home.
The doctors informed me that never again would I be able to dance.
Well, I thought my life was over.
And the worst thing about it was I had to go home to Mama.
Because by this time, my mother and I had a very strained relationship.
Laughter.
I went home.
As the train pulled into the station that day,
my dad was standing there.
And he looked down at me and he says,
well, kid, I see you made it.
Stretcher and all.
Laughter.
I walked into my house and there stood my five beautiful drunken brothers.
And I said, boys, well, here I am.
Now let's get started.
Laughter.
My drinking steadily got worse.
Laughter.
I am married to a man by the name of Pappy Sutton.
That's what I call him.
He was a boy that I'd been going with since the tender age of eight years old.
He was a prisoner of war for three years.
And when he came home from Germany,
we renewed our relationship and he asked me to marry him.
And he loves to tell this story.
He said he was a prisoner of war for three years and he knew what hell was.
But he said he prayed and he asked God to bring him home safely.
And God saw fit to do so.
And when he got home,
he had all that back pay coming to him.
He still had his car with plenty of gas, ration coupons and tires and everything.
He really had this thing made.
He said then he married an alcoholic and started the third world war.
Laughter.
We moved to Dayton, Ohio because he was still in the army.
And it was there that I found out that I was going to be a mother.
Well, you know, only these kind of things can happen.
My husband's never had a drink in his life.
But for some reason they made him custodian of all the booze on the air base.
And boys and girls, many, many times I have seen booze.
10, 15 and 20 cases of good booze stacked up in my closet.
And there I was, sick, pregnant and bad-footed and I couldn't drink.
Laughter.
Now that's an alcoholic's life.
Oh, hell.
My first baby was born and we came back to Charlotte.
My husband was released from the Air Corps.
We hadn't been home very long until I found out I was going to have enough baby.
When I was eight months pregnant with this baby,
they rushed me to the hospital in alcoholic convulsions and DTs again.
And I like to think of this little boy as my bonus gift from God.
I wish you could see that little boy today.
The doctors had told me that that little boy wouldn't live.
But God saw fit to spare him.
All this time, my father was still my God.
You see, my mother had tried to jam this religion down my throat.
And she was always telling me how God was going to punish me.
And as a result, I thought that God was just some old ethereal grouse that sat up there on his throne.
And all he had to do was punish me.
My father had been very ill for approximately ten years.
But on the advice of the doctors, I let him take a little job during the summer as a night watchman.
My father worked one week and two days.
And this criminally insane man went into the place where he was working, apparently to rob it.
And beat my daddy to death.
And then he shot him right in the face.
Well, needless to say, I went into shock.
You see, boys and girls, my God was gone.
And I had nothing to hold on to.
My father was the only person in the world that loved me in spite of myself.
I ended up in the hospital.
And when I came to about 5 o'clock in the morning, I was in the hospital.
And when I came to about 5 o'clock in the morning, I was in the hospital.
And about 5 or 6 days later, my pastor was on his knees by my bed, praying for me.
And about 5 or 6 days later, my pastor was on his knees by my bed, praying for me.
My pastor is the bishop that started Alcoholics Anonymous in Charlotte, North Carolina.
My pastor is the bishop that started Alcoholics Anonymous in Charlotte, North Carolina.
He said he had so many cotton-picking drunks in his church, he had to do something.
And I was the worst of the lot.
And I must tell you this, I was making a talk one night and he was there.
And I was making a talk one night and he was there.
And I told the people that,
told the people that AA had given me my new birth. You know, this new birth, this rebirth
that it talks about in the Bible. I said, AA was responsible for my new birth. My bishop
got up behind me and he says, well, I'll tell you one thing. You people may be responsible
for her new birth, but I'm the character that had the labor pains. I went home from
the hospital and I immediately crawled into the Bible. And boys and girls, I stayed drunk
24 hours a day for five solid months. But during this period, one day my husband said
to me, honey, uh,
Apparently someone had recommended to him to get me to go downtown and buy a hat. That
hats do something for women. I was shut up in the house and I wouldn't come out. And
he said, honey, why don't you get dressed and go downtown and buy you a hat? Well, he
had been so patient with me. I thought, well, I'll try it. But you know, I couldn't face
that, those earth people out there, you know. So I had to get me a little something to fortify
myself.
So I go to the liquor store and I get me a pint. And I get downtown and I'm in one fine
shape. And it suddenly dawned on me, oh, hell, I don't like hats. I like shoes. So I staggered
into a liquor, into a shoe store with all that, with all the dignity that goes with
being drunk. And I bought 38 pairs of shoes.
And then I had the nerve to call him and ask him to bring a truck to take me home, because
you see, I had to have all the boxes, too.
He came and got me and took me home. But I'll guarantee you, to this day, he has never recommended
that I go buy another hat.
I continued to stay drunk and then one night I decided, oh, well, my family just doesn't
deserve me. Now I've just got to do something about it.
got to do something about this. I'll just get on out of this world. So I go in the bathroom
and I picked up his razor and I slit both my wrists. And as I looked down and saw all
this blood oozing out, I thought, oh, golly, I better go tell Papi I can bleed to death.
There came the morning of December the 27th, 1951. And you know, boys and girls, I always
made the remark, well, if this booze ever gets me now, I'm going to do something about
it. Now, I can take this stuff. I'll leave it alone, you know. But on the morning of
December the 27th, 1951, there on the floor of the bathroom, I saw Papi. And I said,
on the floor of her bedroom lay the girl that could take it or leave it alone. I was
in DTs and convulsions. The night before that, though, I must tell you this. I decided to
take a trip. I decided that I wasn't going to put up with this cotton-peekin' husband
any longer. But in the meantime, you see, I had a fight with him and my shoe heel connected
with his head and the blood was pouring.
And he's a big guy. He's about 6'2", and he weighs about 210. And I thought, well,
it's time for me to go.
So I packed all these suitcases and I got in a taxi. And away I went. Well, of course,
I didn't get very far. The taxi driver brought me back home and I went to bed. About three
weeks after I came into AA, I decided I better unpack these suitcases. And y'all know what,
I had no suitcases.
Now, all these suitcases, all I had in there was three pairs of drawers and my furs.
This morning when I came to, I was in my home alone. My husband had taken the children and
left me. And about that time, my telephone rang and it was a friend of mine. And he said
to me,
Mary Sutton,
I want you to get this picture quick. You've lost all your friends. We don't know what
else to do for you. And there's just one thing I have to say to you. I think it's about time
you called AA.
I said, all right, I will. I picked up the phone and I dialed AA. And it wasn't about
10 minutes till my home was full of the loveliest people. And I might tell you all that I was
real pretty.
I weighed about 89 pounds. You know, and all alcoholic women have dirty feet.
My feet were dirty. I smell like the bottom of a birdcage.
But these people came to me and they told me that they loved me and that I was a sick
person.
My husband loves to tell this too. He said,
Mary Sutton,
I want you to get this picture quick. You've lost all your friends. You've lost all your
friends. You've lost all your friends. You've lost all your friends. You've lost all your friends.
You've lost all your friends. You've lost all your friends. You've lost all your friends.
And it doesn't make any sense.
And he had to come back home a few days later to pick up some clothes for the children.
And he said that he knew definitely that I was going to drink myself to death. So he
decided he'd take out this huge insurance policy on me so that he could collect my insurance
and find him a decent gal and marry her and raise his children and be, you know, live
happy every after.
And he made sure he paid all those premiums on my insurance.
Mary Sutton.
insurance. And he thought the end was pretty close, you know. He said when he drove up
in front of my house that day and he saw all these cars lined up there, he said, praise
God, she's dead. He walked in the house and there I was, lying up in my sack with all
these wonderful, clean people. And they took him over in the corner and they tried to carry
him this message. And they asked him if he would come in and talk to me. He came in and
sat by my bed and he said, well, Mom, if you'll just listen to what these people say, we'll
try it again. But he says the dirtiest trick I ever pulled on him in my life, he says,
there I was just getting ready to collect all this insurance. I go in that bedroom expecting
her to be dead and she's lying up in the bed with all these people.
And I see people ministering to her and loving her and she looks up at me and says, Pappy,
I quit. Well, not a dirty trick to prey on somebody. I was too sick to walk to my first
aid meeting. I was carried. But when I was carried through that door the first time,
I found the kind of people that I had been looking for all my life.
And I had ceased to believe that they existed. In fact, the first person that greeted me
and informed me that he had had a seat warmed up for me for quite a few years was my Sunday
school teacher. Now, that shook me. I came into AA and, oh, now you talk about the pink
cloud rider. I was it. I stayed on my pink cloud with two of my friends. I was in the
pink cloud. I had just all of this love pouring into me. And I was sobering up the world.
I wasn't getting a damn soul sober. But, boy, I was staying sober and I was happy. I was
down in the club room. I want to tell you this before I forget it. I'm not well. I was
down in the club room a few weeks ago and, you know, these AA gals don't really mean
to be tatty, but sometimes it just comes out. And I was unusually happy that day about something.
And this one gal looked at me and says, Mary Sutton, anybody that says they're happy all
the time is just a damn moron. I said, that's me, honey. That's me. I just tell you, I'd
rather be a happy moron any day than a damn drunk genius.
For those of you who don't know me, you'll never believe this. I stayed in AA for three
years. I stayed in AA for three years. I stayed in AA for three years. I stayed in
AA for three years and I didn't open my cotton-pigging mouth. And then one day it opened and it hasn't
shut up since. But after about three years, you see, I wouldn't accept any of this God
stuff. But no one could mention that to me. I wouldn't have any of it. But then something
happened to me. I began to get restless. I had a terrific craving, a desire within
my heart for something.
And I was about to get drunk. But I had been to enough AA meetings to know that before you
take the first drink to call another AA member. So I called this Sunday school teacher friend
of mine. His name is Roland Jones and he's not scared of his anonymity. And by the way,
he was one of the original members of the Oxford group. And he too is a bonus gift from
God to me. He came out that day and he said over about
42 cups of coffee. And he listened to all this stuff that was coming out of me. And
he said to me, Mary, I have a friend I want you to meet. I believe he can help you. I
said, well, go in there and call him up and tell him to come on out here. He said, well,
just a minute. I want to tell you something about this friend of mine. He said, he's the
best friend I've ever had in my life. And anytime I've ever called him, he's always
there. I said, well, shut your cotton-pigging mouth and go in there and tell him to take
a taxi. Tell him to come on.
And never shall I forget, he looked at me and he says, Mary, my friend's name is Jesus.
Boys and girls, the good book says there is no more powerful name than the name of Jesus.
And I believe it. Something happened to me. And then he told me, he says, Mary, you must
take the 11th step, which is sought through prayer and meditation.
I said, well, I'm going to take the 11th step. And he said, well, I'm going to take
the 11th step. And I believe he said, well, I'm going to take the 11th step. And he said,
he says, well, honey, you've got two little boys in there. And I know they, I see them
in Sunday school. And I know they know how to pray. You see, he was a very wise AA. And
he knew what it was going to take to humble me. He says, I suggest you get your children
to teach you how to pray.
That night when my two little tykes were in there saying their prayers,
I walked in and I said,
Little boys, would you please teach your mommy how to pray?
And this little precious one of mine looked at me and said,
Oh, sure, mommy. All you do is talk to him.
And then he said something.
He looked up with the face of an angel, as only a little child can,
and he says, God, I want you to meet my mommy.
You know, they tell us about this spiritual experience.
I had a spiritual experience that night.
But I wouldn't go back to church.
I had found something beautiful, but I told my bishop,
I said, I am not going back over to that church with that cotton-picking bunch of hypocrites.
He said, Yes, dear, I know.
I know all about it.
I know all about it.
But why don't you come on and join us anyway?
We always have room for one more.
And again, the man was right.
So I started back to church,
and then a few of these cotton-picking alcoholics decided,
while I was kind of lit up on this thing,
they better really give me a good dose.
So they took me to an AA retreat.
And there I met the most saintly man I think I've ever met.
I've never met in my life, Dr. Glenn Clark.
And I had read all of his books on forgiveness.
And I met this Methodist minister there,
and he said to me,
Mary Sutton, the trouble with you is that all the hatred and the bitterness
and the resentment that you have in your heart towards the man that murdered your father
is literally destroying you.
He says, Now, while you're here,
we're going to be praying
that God will forgive you.
That God will flood your heart with His love.
And that you will forgive the man that murdered your father.
Needless to say, boys and girls,
that's exactly what happened.
And you see, I can take no credit for that.
Somebody loved me, and somebody prayed.
I came home from that mountaintop.
Oh, I was on cloud 42.
I had forgiven that man that murdered my father.
I went to another retreat shortly after that,
and I said,
I talked to this Dr. Glenn Clark and told him all about myself.
See, I've been pretty good about myself.
And he's a very wise man, too.
And he looked at me, and he says,
My dear, that's wonderful.
But now you know what you have to do.
And I said, Why?
He says, You have to learn to love him.
I said, Well, now, how damn sickly can this religion get?
And I screamed at that saintly man,
and I ran around the side of the inn and ran right in.
And he took me in the arms of one of my good alcoholics.
He said, Come with me, Susie.
He takes me down to this little lane where there's three little bridges over a little brook.
He says, Mary, we call these little bridges Faith, Hope, and Love.
And up from those bridges was an altar.
He says, I'm going to take you up this love bridge at the foot of that altar,
and I'm going to pray that God fill you with his love for that man,
where?
you all know what happened.
They said, You are not alone.
You are not alone.
You are free. You are the one who has the power to lift you up.
When I left that retreat, I could have eaten that man with a spoon.
I was so full of love for him.
Then God put it on my heart to see this man and to tell him that I had forgiven him.
And so I prayed about it.
I went to the prison.
I called every official, and all the doors were slammed in my face.
No one could see him except those that fed him.
So I just turned it over to God.
I said, all right, God, it's in your hands.
If you want me to see him, you can do something about it.
Boys and girls, in three days' time, in the 6 o'clock news at night on television,
this man's name that killed my father's name is Earl.
His picture came up on television, and it said,
Criminally insane man escapes from penitentiary.
I threw up my hands, and I said, well, praise the Lord, God.
I don't have to go anywhere.
You can send him to me.
That night, two detectives came to my home to guard us.
One detective came inside, and one sat outside.
And I said to this detective, are you going to spend the night?
He said, yes, ma'am.
I said, oh, well, I better make some coffee.
He said, Miss Sutton, this is a criminally insane man, and we have orders to shoot him on sight.
I sat there all night long and poured my heart out to this detective,
and I told him.
I told him that God was sending this man to me.
That detective called me the next morning around 3 o'clock, and he said,
Mrs. Sutton, I just wanted you to know I just got your man, and I could not shoot him.
He told me later that he never went to the bus station,
but that particular night he decided to go there and have a sandwich.
And as he was sitting there, the bus driver came up and said,
the man you're looking for just came in on my bus.
Well, he radioed in for more help, and they had Earl blocked in a four-block area there
with Tommy guns, shotguns, every available policeman to kill him on sight.
And Earl walked right into the arms of the man who had been sitting in my living room the night before.
Boys and girls, there you have the wonder of God.
The next morning, I went down to the police station,
and they took me up in the elevator upstairs, and they had him in a cage,
and they let me see him.
And when we walked up, this old hardball detective said,
Earl, this is the daughter of the man you murdered.
And boys and girls, that man looked at me like a wild animal.
And I looked up at him, and I said,
Earl, I just want you to know that God has forgiven you,
and I have forgiven you.
And God loves you, and I love you.
I wish every one of you could have been there to see that sight.
His face became soft, his eyes became misty.
He looked at me, and he said, thank you, lady.
And there stood this old hardball detective with tears streaming down his face,
and he said, Mrs. Sutton,
that is probably the first time in his life anyone has ever told him that they loved him.
When I came out of that jail that day,
boys and girls, for the first time in my life,
I knew what it was to be a child of God.
I have many, many problems in AA and in my personal life,
but I'll tell you one thing.
Every time I think about my problems, they get too big for me.
I think about the poor old undertaker, who has to look sad at a $10,000 funeral.
And then my problems don't seem too bad.
That man had a problem.
I'm sort of like the old colored woman that took her little brood and went to the,
went to church one Sunday morning.
They had a new pastor there.
And after the service was over, the pastor says,
Liza, who's the father of this little child right here?
And she says, well, pastor, his father was the pastor before you.
He shrugged and he says, well, who's the father of this little boy over here?
And she says, well, his father was the pastor before the pastor before you.
The guy swallowed a bit and he says, well, all right, now,
who's the father of this big boy over here?
He says, she says, well, pastor, I don't write.
No, he came along before I was a Christian.
There was plenty of things that happened to me before I came to AA.
Some of it I'll tell you about and some I'll never tell you about.
If any of you are the parents of little boys,
you know I really have a problem.
This little one of mine is quite a rascal.
And the other day, he has been very naughty.
And I called him in and I said, now, Billy, I just started preaching.
And I was preaching the gospel to him.
And I said, Billy, that's nothing in the world but the old devil
knocking at the door of your heart trying to make you be naughty.
And you do not have to give in to the devil.
And he said, well, I don't have to give in to the devil.
And he stood there very patiently and smiled and looked at me, you know,
and I thought, well, he ain't getting the message, but I'm going to preach it now.
And finally, he looks up at me and he says,
Mommy, I'll tell you what I'm going to do.
From now on, when that old devil starts knocking at the door of my heart,
I'm just going to send Jesus to the door.
And boys and girls, I felt a fresh touch from God.
When I started to leave Charlotte the other day to come to California,
my little boy said to me, Mommy, you going to carry the message?
I said, well, honey, I'm going to be taught pride.
And my oldest little boy threw up his hands and he says, well, praise the Lord, Ben.
Chip off the old clock.
He said, Mommy, I'll tell you what you do.
You go carry the message and we'll stay home and do the praying.
And boys and girls, I felt a fresh touch from God.
As I look out here tonight, I know you cotton-picking people.
Half of you have heard me a hundred times.
All this North Carolina crowd, they hear me every day in the week.
But I know you didn't come to hear a message from me.
I'm conceited enough to think you came because you loved me.
And because of that love,
you make me feel a fresh touch from God.
Some of you heard Father George today talking about his good shepherd.
I, too, have a good shepherd.
And I just want to read to you what my good shepherd has done for me.
By the way, my optometrist told me the other day that I didn't need glasses.
I needed to see in our dog.
So, the poor little black sheep.
Done strayed away.
Done lost in the wind and the rain.
And the shepherd, he say,
Oh, Highland, go find my sheep again.
And the Highland say,
Oh, shepherd, that sheep been bragging bad.
But the shepherd, he smiled like that little black sheep was the only lamb he had.
And the shepherd go out in the darkness.
Where the night was cold.
And the sheep was bleak.
And that little black sheep, he find it.
And lay it against his cheek.
And the Highland crowd.
Oh, shepherd, don't bring that sheep to me.
But the shepherd, he smiled.
And he hold it close.
And that little black sheep was me.
I hope I haven't given you people the impression that I'm one of these holier-than-thous because I'm not.
I'm not.
I'm not.
I'm not what I want to be, I'm not what I hope to be, but I thank God I'm not what I used to be.
When that twilight time comes for me, and I walk down that long corridor,
and at the end of that corridor stands my Lord, I think He will say something like this,
Jesus, welcome home Mary Sutton, you are no longer an alcoholic.
And that will be because of the grace of God and Alcoholics Anonymous,
and because of you and you and you, that I have finally made it.
God bless you, I love you so good. Good night.
Good night.