I Must Have the IQ of a Houseplant If One Meeting a Week Could Keep Me Sober 😂 – Tom I.

Sometimes it's so good that it's absolutely unbelievable, and sometimes it just pure sucks. And if I don't have the clear notion of hanging on and getting through the tough spots, I won't get through the tough spots. And so that's kind of like, I guess that's the way, that's the text I draw from for this Sunday morning spiritual message. Hang on, don't fall on your asses. I don't know why I'm an alcoholic. I just was a guy. I'm remarkably different than when I came in. When I first came in, I was in the program for over a year before I ever heard one single speaker with whom I identified. Not one. Every one of them seemed markedly different to me, and now I identify with practically every speaker that I hear. I guess they're making a better breed of drunks or something. Now, I think the understanding... The understanding is there, and I identify with everybody. I've never heard any that didn't describe the awkward adolescence and that groping around. I guess everybody goes through that. Some of them find other solutions. I found booze. I was one of those who was just awkward and ill-equipped with life, didn't feel good with this thing called living, never really had any closeness with folk, and didn't function well socially. And then I found booze. And man, the magic that you've heard described by every speaker here this weekend is the magic that happened with me. I thought at first... I must have been born alcoholic because I got drunk the first time I ever drank, almost the last time I drank, and every time that I drank or else wanted to. Never can recall a single time in my life when I've had a sense of sufficiency. I don't remember ever having a drink and not having the immediate notion that I'd like another. I don't recall ever agreeing with anybody who told me I didn't need one. I've been so drunk I couldn't lay on the floor. And just running over. I don't mean throwing up. Just running over, coming out my nose. And somebody say, don't you think you've had enough? I'd say, yeah, just one more. One more. Well, that was me. I thought I must have been born alcoholic because that's the way I was. I got drunk with sickening regularity and had lots of trouble. I lost jobs before I was alcoholic. Went to jail before I was alcoholic. Had my nose broke. Woke up in strange places with strange people before I was alcoholic. I was just basically a young fellow. I was kind of a miserable life. And then booze came in and it just lit me up. And I loved that stuff. I loved everything about it. I loved the environment where it happened. I loved those old Rock'em Sock'em joints down south. I loved those cool jazz joints up in Detroit and Chicago and everywhere I went. Loved that smoke so thick you could cut it with a knife. Loved all that lying and shucking and jiving. And all that kind of edge of excitement. That was... Just sort of there. It was always a notion that something's getting ready to happen. If not here, certainly the next place will be where it's at. And that's what I got caught up in. I just got caught up in the bright lights, the noise, the action. I was not an alcoholic. I was a freed kid. I was like an animal getting out of a cage. And man, I just took off and loved that stuff. That would have been great had I been able to sustain that. But I just happened to be one of those who was cut out to be alcoholic. Don't know why. It doesn't matter why. What matters is that I was one of those. Now, I don't know exactly how this happened. It's like other memories. But the best I can tell somewhere along when I was about 18 years old is where I crossed the line, as we refer to it, from that kind of explosive recreational drinking, I guess you'd call it. It might have been problem ridden. I don't know. Had a lot of problems associated with it, but it was never a problem in my mind. And then something happened and I crossed that. Now, I don't fully understand everything that happened there, but I'll tell you it's very important for me to understand some of what happened. And basically what I think happened is I developed alcoholism. Now, I'm one who thinks that alcoholism is an illness, just like it's described in our book. I don't think it's a bad habit nor a moral issue or a sign of weakness or Wild West manhood or anything else. I think it's an illness that happens to some people. I was one of them. It's an illness that's characterized. Well described in our book by three distinct areas of turmoil. One, fundamental to me, is the spiritual thing, that lack of power that's so succinctly described in our book, the lack of power, that hole in the soul that was just there. And spiritually, it was a major area of illness for me. Early on in my life, it became the most severe area and not ironically, I don't suppose, the slowest area to get better. Secondly, I think it's a mental illness. Mental obsession, a mental illness characterized by obsession, well described in our book, elaborated on at great length in our book. An obsessive kind of trait in my way of thinking about alcohol. I don't have rational reactions to alcohol, probably never will. They never serve booze on airplanes that I don't watch how they do it. And I watch who drinks it and how they drink it and try to pick out folks that even rhyme with me. Don't find many. There's a lot of folk in this country don't drink. Some of them. Turn it down. Free booze. Free booze. And they say, no. And I am always, in fact, have asked sometimes, why didn't you take the booze? Don't drink. And I swear to God, I still don't understand that. I mean, it makes absolute, well, I just am that way. I'm not going to be casual. I'm not a fanatic. I just don't trust people who don't drink. Who are, they ain't right. You got it. So that's one part of it. There's a more fundamental thing about the illness characterized, the mental illness characterized by obsession that I think is vitally important in this business called recovery. It's this thing called obsession. Obsession. Obsession is something I could philosophize about and wouldn't make a bit of sense. Let me tell you that obsession, I can report to you, is a very real phenomenon. I'm sure it happens in our, active alcoholism, I just never noticed it. Yeah. It also happens in recovery, I'm here to tell you. And it can come totally out of the blue. Let me share with you an experience that I like to share because I think it makes the point about what, the difference between alcoholism and just rational or irrational even drinking. The first time I ever encountered it, I'd been sober three and a half years. Doing well. As active then as now. Had to make a plane trip, nothing really unusual, but I never flown a lot back then. Nothing unusual except it was a jet plane. I'd never been on one of those, probably a little more excited than normal. Got on the plane. I was in good shape. I had no presenting difficulties that I was aware of. Had been to a meeting the night before, planned to go to one that night. In good shape. No hassle. Got on the plane and you know how to do, man. They don't even level that sucker off and they start saying, Ellen Hooch. And those gals started pushing that thing up, that buggy up the aisle, telling what they had on it. And I heard it. I'd heard it a thousand times, but I heard it. And I listened. And all at once, without any preliminary thought whatsoever, I was overwhelmed with an absolute obsession to drink. Now I'm not talking about a desire to drink. I'm not talking about that goofy thinking, like I'm 30,000 feet in the air, who would know? Not that. I'm not even thinking that stuff, wouldn't a drink be nice? Not even into consideration. I wasn't even into that kind of delusional junk of, maybe I'm not really an alcoholic. I knew I was an alcoholic. And I knew that I was going to drink. I knew that. And I did that day almost exactly what I'm doing right now. I pulled a dollar bill. That's what it cost. Back then, Cliff. Bargain days. God, isn't that sick? Pulled a dollar bill out, stuck it in my shirt pocket, and then I proceeded just like old Victor E. in the grapevine. Absolutely sweating. I did not want to drink. God knows I did not want to drink. But I knew that I was going to drink. What do you do? Call your omnipotent sponsor? I don't care who he is. He is out of the equation at the moment. Catch a meeting? Good luck. What do you do? I tell you what you do. You are either prepared or you are dead meat. That simple. I think we lose a lot of members at the point of that dilemma who simply don't understand. What do you do? I remember some stuff people had said to me in meetings. Good places to pick up helpful ways of dealing with stuff. Remember your life. Remember your last drunk. I did. Helped a little. Then I remembered something I'd heard when you don't know what else to do and you don't know where else to turn. Pray. Pray. I prayed. The simplest but most important prayer that man has ever uttered and I had rarely uttered. I said from the bottom of my heart, God help me. And he did. Instantly. It was gone as quickly as it took. It came. It came back. Years later. Leaving an AA meeting so happy I was left-handed. And to say, it's happened before. But that's critically important. A lot of people, you know, it makes me awfully nervous when I get around meetings and I always challenge it gently if I can because I don't want to shoot down the euphoria. But people come up to me at a meeting and say, man, this thing is really working. I haven't even thought of a drink. Man, I'd be this. Absolutely. I'd be gone. I am just a free man and booze is the furthest thing from my mind. Uh-huh. The quickest way I know to get whooped is go in thinking you got it licked. And what that says to me is that it builds up the expectation that that's the way it's going to be. Maybe it will. But maybe it won't. Our book deals with it in an interesting kind of way. It almost seems like a contradiction because at one point, kind of like Dick was talking about yesterday, it talks about the obsession being removed. You know, kind of like the old-time religion that the obsession is plucked away. But you have to read the whole book because if you really read on just a bit further, you find a little bit of qualifying language that says it's removed, but what we really have is a daily reprieve. Contingent on what? Our spiritual condition. Very important for me to understand, very important for me to understand, that this is not some simplistic surgical procedure so that I have it removed and I'm just put on automatic pilot. It's removed contingent on my practice of the things that cause it to be permanently removed. Hopefully. I haven't had that for many, many years. But it would not surprise me if I had it today, nor would I be unprepared. I know how to deal with it. And I submit that it's important. Now, that's what happened in that 18th year. Yeah. I took on, might have had vestiges of that already, but then I took on that as a lifestyle. And then the thing that sealed the deal in my 18th year was when I crossed the line. And something happened to me that I don't begin to understand called the phenomenon of craziness, apparently a physiological thing, where something happened and I just sort of broke down my tolerance or something. And from that point on, although I had no earthly idea, my life was to never be the same. And in a sense that I parted company from every other drinker in the world except other alcoholics. I am not like other people, nor will I ever be. It says in there, in the book, that somehow the notion that we are like other people or present may be, interesting word, must be smashed. I have to understand that what happened to me is a permanent condition. If I take one drink, I'll drink again. Next month, it will have been 38 years since my last drink. I fully believe if I took a drink in Des Moines, Iowa today, the odds would be slim at best. If I'd make it to Dallas, North Carolina, it would be a long shot. Thank God I've never had the personal experience that I've been in since I've been in recovery. But have I ever seen it in the tragic examples of thousands and thousands of my fellows? You've seen them, Ed, Russ. You've seen the guys that, that just, we just watched a man with 42 years of continuous sobriety go back to drinking. So I don't want to get relaxed. I don't live in great fear of that, but I live in sure awareness that what we're talking about is a killer disease and not just some sort of a social nuisance. It's something that happens to alcoholics. It doesn't happen to other people. It happened to me. And I don't need to understand it. I just need to recognize it. From that point on, it was just more of the same. But I'm not going to go into a whole bunch of that. I want to talk about some other stuff, but suffice it to say, for me to understand the impact of alcoholism, all I have to do is look at the two ends of it. Look at that bright young fellow bounced out of high school, 16 years old, set out to conquer the world. Look at the fellow who eight short years later, eight years, was living on the streets of the city of Flint, Michigan, unemployed and darn near unemployable as a 24-year-old young man. And that is not what I had in mind, but that's where I wound up. I worked everywhere. They would hire me in Flint, in the surrounding area, until my reputation got in front of me. And then for the last year that I drank there, I just basically lived on the streets. I'd come up for air every once in a while and then hole up in the theater or some any warm place. But I just used to say I lived by my wits, but the fact is I lived by my lack of character. Very little that a man can do that I haven't done. And I know that blessing is not only in the spirit of the spirit, but in the spirit of the spirit. And I know that blessing is not only in the spirit of the spirit, but in the spirit of the spirit. And I know that blessing is not only in the spirit of the spirit, but in the spirit of the spirit. And I know that blessing that Jane was talking about. And I know that blessing that Jane was talking about. There's always a value to things that come. The good point of that is that so far, I've greeted hundreds of thousands of people in the Alcoholics Anonymous. I've never seen one yet that I could look down my nose at. Because I know the grim reality of this illness in my life. And I never want to forget for a second what that existence was like. Never want to forget that aimless, meaningless, meaningless, despondent, despair-ridden, hopeless, futile, fearful existence. Never want to forget the stuff that I did to survive. Not that kind of guy, but that's what I did. And needless to say, that's where it wound up. I think I would have drunk myself to death clearly if I hadn't been brought to stop. Now, I was brought to stop. Many of you are well aware that I was one of those people who just, I got stopped many times, but not quite enough, and not surely enough. And I stayed out there too long and wound up doing the kind of thing that I know that every alcoholic in the world fears doing. Thank God most don't. I know that every alcoholic I've ever worked with, and certainly in my case, I always lived with that kind of fearful awareness that I was capable of doing great harm. And I've gone through those panicky things of those blackouts waking up wondering where I am, what I've done, go look at the car to see if it's there in one piece or the blood on it or what have you, breathe a sigh of relief and go do it again. And one morning I woke up in jail in Flint. No novelty to that. God knows I've been in there innumerable times. Knew everybody worked there, most everybody locked up there, and was greeted with the fact that the night before driving somebody's car down the main street of the city, he had run over and killed two people. And my reaction, I think, was, I'm not a subhuman. I'm not an insensitive person. I just acted like it. My reaction was just to push it away and pretend it wasn't so. And then gradually accepted the truth and released, 76 days later, released on bond, away trial. Knew that I wouldn't drink. Staged over a day and a half, and then of course I drank. My God. The least likely time to stop. And then had what I hope and pray was my last drink. No, it was actually the date of my last drink. November the 19th of 56. And I finished off. A piece of a bottle of gin. And went to court. And I knew that it was a one-way trip. It was no O.J. scenario by any means. I had no defense. I couldn't even tell them what I'd done. They had to tell me what I'd done. I was obviously found guilty and sentenced to a max of 15 years in the Michigan St. Penitentiary. It was an interesting thing to me. It's funny how things that your life hinged on over the years become interesting. It was anything but interesting that day. But looking back, I'm not going to lie. My instinctive reaction was one of fear. Because even though I'd been in jail God knows how many times, I knew that Jackson Prison was not Disneyland. I knew that. And I had an instinctive reaction of fear. Anybody would that had any sense whatsoever. But almost simultaneously, the most real sense of relief I'd ever known. And I walked into that place the next day. Absolutely resigned to my fate. I never believed I would ever come out of there alive. And honest to God, didn't care. Did not care. I just wanted to be gone. Little did I know. We used to refer years ago to AA was the last stop on the bus line. The Fellowship of Last Resort. I think there's some truth to that too. A lot of truth to that. It's a strange thing. I heard a saying once that says it to me. I might have heard it in my own head. But it's what God will use, he first reduces to nothing. How true that is. I think that as little did I know that the grimace existence in my life would turn into be the place of a brand new beginning. I was referred to Alcoholics Anonymous. Some young social worker type just mentioned the program to me. Alcoholics Anonymous was not a national secret at the time. I'm sure somebody knew about it. I didn't. I'd never heard of it. I'd never even heard of anybody helping an alcoholic in my life. It was a foreign concept to me. Of course, I didn't believe I was an alcoholic either. I didn't believe I was an alcoholic either. I didn't believe I was an alcoholic either. But this guy talked with me. He did what hundreds of, not dozens of other people had done. Told me I drank a lot, ought to stop, and all that stuff. This guy said something I'd never heard him tell you. And he said the AA group was there, recommended I go. Didn't have to, but he just pointed it out. And I walked into that first meeting February 2nd of 1957. No earthly idea I was there. I'm just like you were. No earthly idea. I think the only reason I went, I didn't really believe I was an alcoholic. I just don't think I had any fight left. left. There would have been a point that you would just beat. Couldn't muster an argument. So I just wandered in and sat down at my first meeting. 300 folks at that meeting. One guy spoke to me. The officer over the door said, I have a question. He said, sit down. I sat down and listened to my first meeting. And it started. God knows if anybody had told me that day. They probably did, but it couldn't have registered. If anybody told me that that would have been the beginning of an unbelievable new way of life. There was absolutely no way that would have been. He might have been speaking in Martian if he had told me that. It was totally foreign to me. And I walked into that meeting and listened to my first AA member tell his story. Never heard anything like that. His name was Shai Walker. Great, great member of Alcox. That day I thought the guy was a little goofy. I swear I could not figure out why on earth anybody would stand up in front of 300 convicts and tell the baddest soul. I mean, he told stuff that he could still get locked up for. That man was crazy. I thought. He became my first sponsor. And I loved him dearly. But I assure you I didn't relate to him for a long, long time. He was different than me. Very, very different man. Little, short, plug-ugly guy. He'd been some of everything. The guy had been... He was an ex of everything. He'd been a professional boxer at one time. And apparently a very poor professional boxer. He was a beat up guy. But God, what a giant in this program. What a giant. Very grateful. I think the one thing that was powerful that Shai did with me that day, I couldn't have recognized it. I think it was what brought me back to the second meeting. And it was the magical enthusiasm of the guy. It wasn't a message. I didn't remotely identify with any of that. It was the magical enthusiasm. That indomitable spirit that just sort of attracts folks. I heard somebody refer to sobriety one time as being expelled to a new affection. And I really think that's what started to happen that day. I started to become expelled to a new affection. By the example of somebody who was a sure living winner in this program. That was a powerful lesson to me. And then I started the Odyssey called AA. Great, great trip. The first eight months of it, were without question the most miserable period I had ever endured in my life. I didn't particularly like alcoholics. I mean, it seemed like a nice thing. But it was about like watching a documentary on public television or something. Wonderful stuff. I'm glad the sharks are doing well. And marvelous stuff. I would sit there and I'd cry, you know, when the family would break up. And bawl when they'd come back. And listen to that stuff. You hear fascinating stuff. Fascinating stuff. And it didn't mean a thing to me. I was an intruder there. I didn't believe I was an alcoholic. I said I was because I hated to be the only one out of 300 that was under the category other, you know. I said, yeah, me too. But it didn't mean a thing. Miserable time. That same self-centered isolation that had been part and parcel of my entire life obviously didn't go away. The only thing now I'm dealing with is sober. And I'm dealing with it in proximity to folk who found a solution. And I didn't have any. I was a miserable guy. And then some things happened. And I'll just categorize it real quick. I think there were several things that happened that I'm deeply grateful for. The recovery group in Jackson Prison was an excellent group of alcoholics and alcoholics. It was an excellent group. As good as any I go to in this country today. Better than most, frankly. It was a well-structured, well-organized group that knew how to go about their lives. It knew how to go about the business of helping new folk get involved in the program. I just did a session on Tradition 9 about AA as such ought never be organized, but we may create. Sometimes we get caught up in that AA ought never be organized is that we ought not do anything. That we ought not to figure out how to make our groups effective and how to make our media effective and how to get calls answered. There's a real distinction between AA as such. The essential 12th step work. And what we do is a fellowship. So I'm very, very grateful that I went into a well-ordered group that went about the business of introducing people in a no-nonsense kind of way to what the fundamental process of recovery is about. I'll always be grateful for that. Guys shared their experience. There were guys just like me. There were guys in the joint who'd just gone in front of me a bit. And then the real turning thing for me is that the real heart of alcoholics. And I was really had to do with those folks who walk into that institution just like shy and dozens and dozens of other guys who walked in there and gave what they had. And nobody needed to interpret that for me because it's a feeling. It's a spiritual process. It's not about the clean informing the unclean or the wise teaching the unlearned. It's about fellow travelers sharing the journey. And it's about it's a spiritual process. Nobody needs to explain. Nobody needed to take it. Nobody needed to tell me where I was nor where they were. But what was hard for me to believe was that these were people who cared enough to share. And that was the thing that was literally a lifeline to me to take back some sense of hope. Maybe not take back to have some sense of hope and a will to try. Very, very important stuff. And I tell you the thing that turned a point, turned a corner with me. Because it's not, AA is not a warm bath nor a close order drill conducted by older members. It's a, there's more to it than that. And I tell you the thing that turned a corner with me. I'm not one who likes to aggrandize one part of the program because it's a total package. But the thing that turned a corner was fourth step. I've always been an avid reader. I've always read everything I get my hands on. And there was no exception there. I read the book and the material and all that stuff. And I knew the words. A guy came one day and he shared about nothing but the fourth step. That's all he talked about. For once on it I was critically important to write and I went back to myself and said, Okay, I will do that. I didn't mean to write a fourth step. What I meant to do was to write a little story about life and its cruelties with a lot of pathos and meaning. And that's what I really meant to do. Founders were wise when they said to write it. Alcoholics' minds are strange places. They really do. I'd never thought of anything I did and instantly have a response to it, a rationalization for it. And I sat down to write and wrote about two lines of what I had in mind and then without any intent whatsoever started to write about me. And three full legal pad pages later I stopped. Crude fourth step by any measure. Not fit for publication but not intended for publication. I'll tell you what it represented was the finest day's work. The finest day's work this fellow has ever done in his entire life. The finest. Because that day I became a very real solid member of Alcoholics Anonymous. All the illusion and delusion was gone and I looked at the truth about me. That I was alcoholic and I was a whole bunch of other stuff. And very important that I wanted to do something about it. It's a strange thing about the sense of belonging. The sense of belonging. I guarantee you somebody sitting in here this morning it feels like they're in a totally different orbit. An AA meeting could be the loneliest place in the world if you aren't with it. It's a strange thing what it takes to be part. It's not attending meetings. You know that I was attending meetings just as regularly before something happened to me to make me feel belonging than I was after. Couldn't have gone anymore and went to all I had. Third tradition is an interesting thing. The only requirement of membership is a sense of belonging. The only requirement of membership is a desire to stop drinking. That almost sounds like there's going to be a secret screening committee somewhere. That somebody's really watching to see if you're really an alcoholic. And they're going to come to you one day and say, I don't believe you really shape up. You ought to go get out and go join NA or something. Interesting thing that there are. I'm a member when I say I am. I needn't discuss it with anybody else in the world. That's my decision. And I'm a member as long as I say I am. Nobody can debate that. It's also the easiest program in the world to resign from. All I have to do is take a drink. Or just quit. That's all there is to it. No formality whatsoever. Strange thing happens with that desire to stop drinking. It's not a requirement to attend meetings. But I fully believe it's a requirement for me to be a member of Alcoholics Anonymous. If I don't have that desire, why bother? And that's what I was lacking. And then when that happened, I started to feel that sense of belonging. And the adventure started. I became fantastically active in the program. And the magic of action is, action did its work. And I experienced that happiness, joy, and freedom when I had none. None. Locked up behind a wall like a gorilla in a zoo. Forty-foot wall. See daylight a few hours a day. Nothing that most folks consider important to a sense of well-being. Nothing. And I experienced the happiness, the joy, and the freedom that this program holds out to you if I but do the things that bring it about. And it happened there. Thank God it did. And great experiences. Tremendous experiences. I wish I could regale you with them for the next six hours. But I'll just keep them to myself and move on with what happens. After three and a half years, they amazed me. They told me I could go out if I would agree to go to North Carolina. They didn't want me in Michigan. But if I'd go to North Carolina, I'd say, geez, that's a tough price. Let me think about it. And that's taken me at least an eighth of a second to say, where's the bus? And I walked out. And the first night home, I walked into the meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous with total strangers, I thought. Amazing program. Those are red-letter days. And that meeting will always live in my memory. And it's been replicated thousands of times since. That all-important acceptance, not just passive acceptance, but active acceptance, that happens everywhere I go. I hope it happens everywhere you go. If it doesn't happen to me, I'll make it happen. I'm going to make folks accept me whether they like it or not. They got a hand. They're going to get shook. I'll tell you a quick story about that. And I got a whole bunch more sermon material here. It's set on the program at 12 o'clock. Now, that's the committee's business. My duty to fill it. No, we'll quit. But I'll have to go at it real hard. I'll just tell you this real quick story because it is. A lot of people get their feelings hurt when they go around AA because we're not as intimate a family as we used to be. And you get a lot. A lot of huge meetings where I swear to God, there's some meetings that I've been to that I believe you could attend for five years and never meet anybody. I mean, they're just big old mobs of folk that gather. And I was up in a city up near on the eastern seaboard a while back and had some time. I was on a business trip. Had some time and I dropped down by the club. And I was kind of deliberate in this. I walked in and I was just kind of doing a little social survey, I guess. I walked in. And it was a typical mid-afternoon crowd. Guys sitting around playing cards and dominoes and fat-mouthing and all that. And I made it a point to deliberately brush against every person in the club. Every person. Not one soul spoke. Not one soul. Went over to the coffee bar and a guy was talking to another guy. And he finally looked up and acknowledged I was there. Did you want something? I said, yeah, coffee. Grabbed a coffee. Walked out. Now, I know that lots of people do that and that's the end of it. And they walk away with a cold feeling about where they just went. And say, geez, it ain't like it used to be. I went over to the hotel and goofed off a little while. Then I went back and I was in character when I went back. Same crowd doing the same stuff. Again, I walked by every person in there and interrupted whatever they were doing. I didn't care what they were doing. I'd take a fifth step. I'm going to stay. Wait a minute. Let me tell you. They probably didn't care if I was Tom Ivers from North Carolina. But by God, I did. And so I made it a point to reach out. And what a different clubhouse. What a different clubhouse. That was no longer a cold, hostile, distant group. They had a brand new guy there. They wanted somebody to take them to a meeting. Who do you reckon they asked? Somebody had to drag brain dead out of the Pinocchio card game. Who would you ask to carry the guy to a meeting? I wound up taking a new guy to a meeting I'd never been and had a marvelous time. You see, that to me is an awfully important thing about jumping in and finding this sense of belonging, this sense of really being in the right place. I don't put up with bad meetings. I go to some groups that are absolutely committed to having a bad meeting. And I let them go on if they want to. But I guarantee I won't help them a lick. Not a lick. Somebody's talking about all their weird egocentricities that have nothing to do with the solution. When it gets to me, I'm sure that everybody I do this with thinks that I must be some kind of a real space cadet. Because I invariably ignore the topic and share about the solution. And proceed to have good meetings. But anyway, I just sort of hit the ground running and got off to a super... Super start. And to say that I was active would be the understatement of the century and have been ever since, really. And this thing happened. The miracle happened of rebirth and restoration and all this kind of stuff. I'd gotten turned on to living while I was in Jackson and finished two years of college at Michigan State University in my spare time. And really got enthused with the business of living again. Got some aspiration and hope. But when I got out of the... The prison, it was good that I had a good foundation in reality, too. Because the only job I could get was sweeping the floor in a cotton mill. Ten at night till six in the morning. Grungiest job. I hadn't had many jobs that bad drunk. And it was bad. And I was the most grateful floor sweeper ever in the history of the known world. And I loved... I didn't love the job, but I loved that sense of solidity and security and decency. And when I earned that check, it wasn't much. But it was mine. And it came the right way. Very important thing. And I had some marvelous stuff happen. I'll just tell you this in a hurry. And then wrap up on a couple things I want to talk about. Some people chew me out if I don't tell them about things that happened. They're really not core recovery things. They're very important things to me. But in a way, they sort of shore up the hope department. Because I know a lot of people, when they think about the future, they just see that big blank space out there and say, geez, there's nothing there for somebody like me. But I'm here to tell you that there is hope. When I walked out of prison, I'm exactly who I described to you. That's exactly who I am. A fellow characterized by a total lack of success in his entire life. And went in there sweeping the floor in that mill. And all I wanted to do was just to be a decent citizen and get along. And didn't ask for anything. But it's amazing what happens when you don't ask. It's amazing. It's amazing. It's amazing. It's amazing. It's amazing. It's amazing. It's amazing. It's amazing. It's amazing. It's amazing. It's amazing. It's amazing. It's amazing. and loved it dearly. About the same time, my parole supervisor came to me one day and said, Tom, you're real active in this AA thing, aren't you? And I said, yeah. And I really thought he was going to tell me to slow down, and I knew that I wouldn't. And it worried me, and he said, wouldn't it help you if you could drive? And I said, yes, sir, but I can't, like he didn't know. And when I'd been released from Michigan, they'd put, I was just looking at them the other day for some reason, and they put letters that big. This man's never operated a motor vehicle. This man never drank alcoholic beverages. And I accepted that as a matter of fact. That was just the way it was, and could fully understand. So I told him that, and he said, I understand, but let me check a little bit. A little while later, I got a phone call, and he said, meet him up at the Sears store. In the town I was living in. And that just happened to be where the license agency was for the vehicle, a driver's license. And this story's true in every detail. I walked up to the front of that store, and I could see all the way to the back where the license counter was, and there was my guy standing back there with the fellow I didn't know. Walked in, they handed me a driver's license. They didn't ask me if I could drive. It didn't add nothing. I didn't take a ticket. I didn't test. I didn't even pay for the sucker. It must have been bootleg or something. No, I don't think so. It just dumbfounds me to this day. I mean, I see guys knocking their brains out trying to get their license back, and I wouldn't even try it. And they just get it. The real message for that to me is that when God's got work for me to do, and I am spiritually prepared to do it, the walls come down. I don't care what they are. And I know that not just on my own example, but by literally hundreds and hundreds of cases far more unbelievable than mine. So I just continue going wide open, man. My record in alcoholics and novices is a lot like my drinking pattern. I really think that's kind of an important matchup because I've never been the kind of complacent, wallflower, sit-in-the-corner type of guy. Now, I've always been a kind of an action fellow. If I were you, I'd be a good guy. I'd be a good guy. I'd be a good guy. I'd be a good guy. I'd be a good guy. I'd be a good guy. I'd be a good guy. I'd be a good guy. I'd be a good guy. I'd be a good guy. If I only went to some place and there wasn't nothing happening, I want to make something happen. I'm just geared that way. If there wasn't no action going on, I'm going to start a mess somewhere just to get it going. And it's very important for me to have a well-balanced recovery that matches up with that because I'm still that kind of guy. The closest I could get to brain-dead existence would be to go to one meeting once a week. There are people in my home group that do that. And I marvel at them. They must have the IQ. They must have the houseplant. I swear to God, I don't understand how that would work. But anyway, there are folks that do it. More power to them if they can handle it. Not me. I've got to have some action. And to me, that's where the real fun of this thing comes. I've been in service all of my life, and I don't mean just working with drugs. I'm a great believer in the organized service structure of alcoholics and alcoholics. When we let that weaken, what happens is that our skeleton is gone. We wind up a flame. We're a flabby mass. So I'm a great believer in the service structure. And I don't only believe in it. I participate in it. I am actively involved in service and plan to keep on being because that's a part of my responsibility. So I believe in that. And I believe in it because of the great joy that it gives in my life. A couple years after I was out, I was sitting in my house one day, minding my own business, and got a phone call from the state capitol. And for a guy with my history, that's always bad news. You never want to take that call. And I got on the phone. The guy asked for Mr. Ivester. I said, yes, sir. And this is he. And the fellow introduced himself. I'd met him one time. He came to a prison I was sponsoring, that AA group. And I'd met him one time and never saw him again. He said, Mr. Ivester, we're thinking of expanding the rehabilitation program in our prison system, and we were wondering if you might consider accepting a position. I'd never been offered a job in my life. Unless some drunk didn't have one himself. Here's a guy talking about a responsible position. Never been an ex-con in history hired anything like that in my state, anywhere else that I know of. And here, I didn't think they were going to start with me, but here they are. And they did. And I started to work with the Department of Corrections in North Carolina in 1961. That started a marvelous career. And I'm not going into that because that's obviously a very personally important thing to me. But it's a good thing. But it's a good thing. But it's a good thing. But it's a good thing. But it's a good thing. But it's a great career. And I'm extremely gratified at being able to serve somewhere that my work might have some purpose and some meaning. I worked in rehab for eight or nine, I can't remember what it was, eight or nine years. And then I got kind of shocked one day. The head of the system called me in and said, Tom, I'd like for you to take an assignment. And I said, yes, sir, of what? I don't know, we'd go speak to a Kiwanis club or something. And he said, I would like for you to take over an institution. An institution as warden. And I swear, even though I was in it, I mean, that's shocking. Of all the things you dream about, sitting in a maximum custody penitentiary. That never makes sense. You don't say, one day I'm going to run this sucker. And I tell you, it was shocking. And I said, can I think about it? And he said, I'll give you five minutes. That was all. I ran to the bathroom. and prayed like a dog and paced around and finally went in and said, I'll do it. And that started about a 20-year career of running institutions. And it's a marvelous experience. Some of it I would not care to repeat. I mean, it's not all fun and games. It's a professional discipline. I mean, I didn't just fall out of a maximum custody cell into the warden's chair. You know that. I did bother to finish my training in correctional administration and become prepared to do the job. And some people ask me if my history is an asset in that kind of work. Sometimes it is. And sometimes it's a terrible anchor, too. So it's a mixed bag, and there's a delicate balance that's involved in being successful in that. But it's been a tremendously gratifying career and still going on. I've been eligible for retirement for five years, and I wouldn't begin to quit. Man, I'm just getting ready to do some stuff. Somebody asked me what's the best year of sobriety. So far, I think it's the 36th. 37th year, that's the very best. I can't wait for 38. That's going to be something. So that's what I'm doing, and it's been a dream come true. But that's not the real thing. What really matters, you know, when you think about what this whole business of recovery is about, it's strange how you have to get a handle on it. I was reading a profound title you referred to, Cliff, that first things first. I was reading a thing that struck me as a management by principle book, which seemed like a contradiction in terms anyway. But it was a management by principle. And namely, it was first things first. And I said, well, I think I'm going to grab that and see what home group this guy belongs to. Because it just seemed like it had to be programmed. I started to read a good book. And one of the things in there that struck me really came home about how our program unfolds. You know, what is it? What is it that this thing's about? And when you think about recovery and what it all means, how does it come about? What is it that produces the happiness and the joy and the freedom? I kind of like to think about what this guy laid out in our terms. He was talking about fulfillment. And I'll guarantee you there's not one person in this room this morning that would be satisfied with a recovery, that was characterized by nothing but a daily struggle against a drink. Not one. Even if it's successful, nobody here would be satisfied with that. Everybody has a thirst for more. Everybody wants a sense of the worthwhile purpose that we talk about in the program. Nobody would be satisfied with just that baseline existence. And what this guy laid out, there's nothing new about it, nothing radical about it. It's kind of like old Maslow stuff. He said there. There are four important areas of life that are very important in terms of a sense of fulfillment. One of them was to live. And that's a fairly obvious thing. To live with a fulfillment simply means having my needs taken care of so that I'm okay. That I've got what I need to finish out this thing. That my family's taken care of, my medical program. Poor Dick, I'm an un-American voter, but we'll get it one day. Anyway, it's to have the needs met so that basically that's okay. And think about how our program works in that regard. Most of us, most of us are not folk that you have to say giddy up to. And the real problem with most alcoholics who get sober is the overdoer thing. You know, I want to get three jobs and pay for everything the first six months. Now, there are remarkable exceptions to that, I'll assure you. I've got to, well, anyway. I could tell you about some guys that are truly contradictions of that. But most drunks really get it going and they get okay. And they wind up being excellent employees in what they do. And to live just having those things met. The second thing he talked about was to love, to love. You know, to have a sense of community, a sense of union, a sense of joining with other people. And think about who we are. You know, here we are, a bunch of alcoholics and Al-Anons and friends. Sitting at something called the Raccoon River Roundup. And we come here from all kinds of places. I bet there's even a corn farmer in here somewhere. Some Republicans in here too. I know that. But we come from all kinds of places. Some of us are rich. Some of us are poor as a bull. Some of us are highly trained. Some of us have trouble writing. We're just a mixed bag. And we come together here and ever since Friday we've been just kind of loving one another. Every once in a while one of us gets up here and tells a story just like a Xerox copy. We all look just alike. And everybody cheers and hoots just like it was the Sermon on the Mount. And we just kind of love one another. We run around introducing ourselves. Three seconds later don't remember the name. But it's a warm and wonderful way to live. It's a wonderful feeling. It kind of charges the batteries when we get out of here and go out and fight that sucker one more time. Great thing. And the beauty of it is that it's replicated thousands and thousands of times this very morning in every corner of this world. And the beauty of it is that the only barrier to the full bountiful reward of belonging is in me. It's in me. All I have to do is walk in and let it happen. God how fortunate we are. I remember that fellow 37 years ago who lived in utter isolation. Not one soul on this earth that I could genuinely describe as having a meaningful friendship relationship with me. None. Today I'll assure you it's a great source of joy and fulfillment to me that I can come to Des Moines, Iowa and see a bunch of old buddies, brand new friends, and anywhere on the North American continent, the story would be the same. Boy, oh boy. When it comes to love, there ain't no place quite like this. And we got it. We don't have to do a thing. Just show up and let it happen. The third thing he talked about was to learn. And, Jesus, we know about that. We share with each other. We probably listen to more talks than any other group of humans on the planet. Nobody listens as much as us. And we act like we're listening, James. We act like we're listening. Sometimes we really are. And we share with each other and pick up great wisdom from each other. And then our material. I've been studying the big book for 37 years and I've never plumbed its depth because it's not about the language of the book. It's about the life. It's about the life. . . . And so to learn, the toughest work I've ever done in my entire life are the 12 steps of alcoholics and CVS. Toughest work I've ever done. But all it gave me was a completely restructured way to live. That's all it gave me. Couldn't be a SNAP, should it? Just ready made. I have to walk in, pick up the tools and have at it. And national 있으 Partner GhedderurMAN key conference with Dr. Godda Fos And then the last thing that he talked about was to leave a life for this class to get any sort of fizzy, moral, or ignorant relationship in these fast learning moments. Isn't it so anyway? I don't want to imagine those answers. I don't want to just get distracted by people then do good deeds or bad deeds. That's because that's what I'm all about. I don't want to be Josун to leave a legacy, to leave a legacy. And, you know, when you think about a legacy, it's kind of like we were talking about the White House. You know, the White House is an institution in this town. And what a legacy there is associated with that is just one example. And where you see the story of our colleagues in the audience, you can imagine the human impact that's been associated with the lives that have been absolutely put together in that simple environment. The thing at the International that's always a moving thing to me, every year, the first one I went to was in 65, and we did a little thing called the Parade of Nations, they called it. And what happened was a recovered alcoholic from every nation represented at that conference carried the flag of his country and took his place on the stage. Interesting thing to watch. When they introduced Ireland, it absolutely called it the birthplace of the disease. Of course, we all just absolutely had a hoot with that. And then I remember the first time that we introduced a nation from behind the Iron Curtain, we introduced Russia. And what were still very brittle relationships didn't make a bit of difference. I think whether we understood anything about international relations or not, we didn't. We didn't. We didn't. We didn't. We didn't. We didn't. We didn't. We instinctively knew that there was some magnificent power that carried this program into an environment where it's not supposed to survive. And every heart in there ran over. In Seattle last year, God, I don't even know. I don't think there was a single country in the Iron Curtain block that was not represented. And the spirit of joy, and fulfillment was as great as it was 30 years ago at the first one I attended. See, that's the legacy of Alcoholics Anonymous. That's when you look at the legacy of our fellowship and you see that marvelous history that's unfolded. You can see what it means. And I would submit to you that for us as individuals, if we're going to really know happiness and joy and freedom, a sense of legacy has to be important to us. Every one of us, if we're going to have the joy and the fruits that this program has to offer, has to learn something about the peculiar nature of selfishness. That it becomes one that's expressed by giving and not getting. Sense of legacy. Where does it come from? I'll guarantee you this, if I can just be bold enough to do it, and I will. I'll guarantee you, I'll guarantee you this, that when the time comes, and I've looked at it a couple times and thought it might be there, and it's interesting what you think about. Folks say your life goes before your eyes when you think you're done with it. Russ knows about it. What is it that you think about? And when you start thinking about the things that really mean something in your life, I'll absolutely guarantee you that it has absolutely nothing to do with achievement, nor attainment, or success. It has to do with those times when I've had a warm and purposeful kind of meaning in somebody else's life or theirs and mine. That's what fulfillment's about. Our book says that our purpose here is not to fix ourselves, it's to be of maximum service to God and those about us. Let me give you a couple examples. That is, you know, when I was in prison, I had lots of notions about dreams that were important. None of them were about being a warden or rich or famous or things. I had simple dreams. I wanted to be able to make a decent living. I can do that now. I make more money than, I make just about as much as my wife can spend. And that ain't a bad deal. That's all right. She's happy and it's all right with me. And I dreamed about having a family. Never thought I would, but we've got a couple of little youngsters now that are not youngsters anymore. I've been active ever since my wife has known me and ever since my children have been born. I've been an active member of Alcoholics Anonymous. I haven't had any bad seasons. It's been continuous. And sometimes when you're as active as those of us who go around and do this kind of stuff and are active in other ways, sometimes, you wonder what the price is. I haven't been to home on Mother's Day for 20 years. I know that my wife understands, but isn't there a limit somewhere? Isn't there a limit? Every weekend, just about in my life, I'm away. Sometimes the stuff in our house that breaks don't know that I'm away. And sometimes the crisis of the kids happen. And you can talk all you want to about quality time, but time's important. So many times I've wondered if I were doing what I was doing as God's will or selfish pursuit or was inordinately taxing my family. And you wonder about the impact of that. Because a fellow drunk on recovery can be as injurious to his family as somebody drunk on booze. And I worry about it. I always had the question. My son applied to go to medical school. And he made it. He's a third year medical student now. And I'm very proud of that young fellow. My daughter finished up in psych and she found out how totally useless that was. So now she's back in getting something in medical as well. And I guess you grow up with sick ones, you get a legacy of, of treating the sick or something. I don't know. I was reading something one day that my son wrote that I never knew he was writing. And when you apply, they ask you why you want to go to medical school other than Mercedes or something. And he wrote in that thing, you had to write what influenced you. What is it that made you want to be a healer or a physician? And what that rascal wrote about was the legacy. And he wrote that he had the legacy in our home. Not only the one he'd observed with me, but the one that he had participated in. When you worry about it as much as me, you can see why it was so meaningful to me when he's talked about the great joy of having people from every station of life in our home, in every state of repair. And how richly it had influenced him. To make a difference. So those kinds of things, when you get it, the sense of fulfillment is great, isn't it? When you see some affirmation in that kind of thing. And to be of use, I'll close with just two examples of what I'm talking about. How much has wound up with other people. I've been out of prison for a while and I was probably 28 years old, single. I got a letter one day from the women's prison in our state capitol and they told me a young lady was getting out of there, 26 years old, finished her sentence and it was for hooking. And I thought, my God, why me? Why are you going to write to me about it? It looked like a landmine to step on. And it so happened that back then, you guys remember some of those days, there weren't any women. I was the only guy single and the only one crazy enough to work with drunk women. And I said, all right, I'll do it. And the day she came home, I went down and what I really meant to do was give her a little patented can talk about where the meetings were and give her some pamphlets and leave because I knew she wouldn't make it anyway. And I walked in and I swear to God, I saw the most spiritually hungry person. I don't think I've ever seen anybody who's ever been so happy. I guess you could say that yearned more for something decent. Well, needless to say, my kid's speech went out the window and I started working with her. Now, she was not a handsome dude, I'll tell you that. Now, this is not, we didn't marry or anything like that. It was, thank God, we didn't. She was not a handsome beast. It's a good thing hookers work at night, I think, because she would have, she would not have made it as a day job. She had a, she was a nice gal, but she had a corral cockeyed, I call it. I don't know, a Freudian way of putting it, I guess, but it's, just was kind of this figure, you know, and she simply couldn't face people. She couldn't look at people just because of her appearance and first time she ever spoke to Amy and I had to go in early and unscrew the lights at the front of the hall because, well, somebody, I didn't know much, but somebody told me about a thing called vocational rehabilitation. Didn't even know what it was. Told me that they worked with people like that that were handicapped vocationally and she sure was. She couldn't take a job at anything except hooking. And so I called them up, got that set up. She went down there. They arranged for surgery, got her 17 psychiatric visits to deal with adjustment. Girl's eyes straight as mine. Talk about coming out of prison. Man, that jail she was in wasn't nothing. The freedom to participate in life. She died with 26 years of continuous sobriety a while back. So when I think about the legacy, those are things that made your impact in life. It produced the sense of when you think about the times when you've been so doggone proud to be a member of Alcoholics Anonymous that you just wanted to shout it. That's what it's linked to. And the last one, you had a speaker here last year that's a fellow I sponsored that's a very fine old man named Wallace. I'll tell you a little story about Wallace and I'll close on this one because it's kind of close to me. It has to do with fulfillment. I was working years ago in the, doing a lot of work with guys in the central prison in our state, the Max Joint. And Wallace came in there and he started working and he got very active in the group and really had a genuine recovery that has lasted to this day. And I had a feeling about the guy. He just seemed right. And somewhere in 65, I was getting ready to go to Toronto and I was excited about going to international and he and I were sitting one day in a room and he was sketching a picture of what his mind told him Toronto would look like with the international convention. And we were doing that and we were having a good time and he's sitting there with life and 40 years and he's never supposed to see daylight the longest day he lives. And we were sitting there going through that thing and I looked at him a minute and I said, let me tell you something, old boy, that probably won't make much sense to you. He said, what's that, chief? He always called me chief. He said, I said, one of these days, if you keep doing this thing like you're doing this thing, you and I just might go to one of these things together. Now you can imagine how far-fetched that sounded to a guy with life and 40. I believed it. I believed it. I know he didn't. In 1985, I already had my plane tickets to go to Montreal for the biggest day meeting that Alcoholics Anonymous had ever had. I got a call from Wallace and he said, hey chief, good news. I said, what's that? He said, my parole officer told me he was out of prison. My parole officer told me that if I went with you, I could go to that thing in Montreal. I said, oh. He was afraid to ride an airplane. I already had my ticket. I said, well, let's see what we can do. Cancel that sucker. We loaded up and walked into Montreal. If you don't think the vision means something, if you don't think fulfillment really happens, imagine that. That was the happiest fellow in Montreal, Quebec. Except one. And that's what this is about. That's what this is about. If you're not having the level of joy, absolute happiness and freedom, for God's sakes, get it, guys. Get it. You only go around one time in this thing called life. Get you a chunk of it. Thanks a million. Thank you.