Virginia, 1930s. A father found dead under a bridge with packages of canned heat; the official cause of death listed simply as "bad hooch." Jack B. grew up in the wreckage of this alcoholic environment, describing a childhood of absolute destitution—not just a lack of green stuff in the pocket, but a total scarcity of security. He spent years as a "beautiful liar," hitchhiking toward New Orleans in a desperate, failing attempt at living.
For Jack, sobriety didn't immediately end the "24-hour state of hell." He describes the agony of being dry but still terrified to cross the street or order a Coke at a soda fountain. The turning point came in a parked car in August, born of a poverty of spirit that left him no other choice but to pray. He surrendered to a Higher Power not out of faith, but out of total inadequacy. Now, he finds ecstasy in the small things: the beauty of a bug in his hand or the pride in his son's eyes.
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