1935 was the year the U.S. Public Health Service Hospital in Lexington opened, the same year AA began. For Jim M., this was no coincidence; it was a Higher Power preparing a place for him. Jim spent decades as a "silver-tongued drunk," moving from the moonshine-peddling habits of his grandmother in the Tennessee mountains to the cockpit of a Greyhound Scenic Cruiser. He lived in a blur of rubbed alcohol, Virginia Dare, and "shots in the bucket," driving buses while balancing on the edge of a blackout.
The wreckage was concrete: a throw rug with a permanent split from a drunken rage, and a wife who once tried to clobber him with a stewpan of spaghetti. After years of being a "joker" who drove off with fuel hoses still attached to the bus, Jim hit the wall. He describes the grit of the morning drink—using a stewpan in the bathroom to keep the liquor down—until his family finally walked away. He found a light in the dark room of Lexington and the guidance of a Higher Power.
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