Lying on the Floor Saying Higher Power I Can’t Do This Anymore — the Step 2 Moment Where I Finally Meant It – Lyle P.

Good evening. My name is Lyle. I am an alcoholic. I'm not quite sure exactly where I am or what I'm doing right now. We've really been on the go today. I appreciate you having me here today. I did just come from the funeral of my sponsor, who was there the first day I got here to AA. And so my time at the podium tonight is dedicated to Charlie Shipp. He's a wonderful man, a great example of this program, and I would have been lost without him. I already have a new sponsor. Not as a gesture of disrespect for Charlie, but because I don't want to lose him. I don't want to be disconnected in this fellowship and this program. And so last night I called a very dear friend of mine, a Dakota, Sioux Indian guy that I know. He's very powerful spiritually, 35 years sober. And I asked if he would sponsor me. He said, oh, I don't know. The Sioux and the Comanches don't ever get along real well. But we do in this program. And so I stand here tonight with a sponsor. My sobriety date is March the 7th of 1990. My home group is the McDonough Group in Georgia, McDonough, Georgia. And I do have a sponsor. I also have a timer up here with me for your benefit and for the tapers. I used to spend a lot of time glancing at my watch. But then I couldn't see it after a while. And I never remembered when I started anyway. So I will attempt to be appropriate on the time. I'll issue some disclaimers at the outset and tell you that 70% or more of the story is not going to be told here tonight, no matter how fast I go or how quickly I try to get through this. Because there was too much that happened. Many of the miracles. I will not. Have an opportunity to share with you, at least not in any depth. And I regret that because they're all significant. Significant. I also won't do a big long drunk a log because I don't have time. My drinking, as I have learned over the years, is pretty much like everybody else's. I drank too long, too much, too often and had a lot of bad things happen. Had the blackouts. I lost cars. I got in fights. I didn't remember where I was. Had two DUIs. And then decided that maybe I should up the ante and go for an FUI, which, contrary to what some of you may be thinking, is flying under the influence. I never like to leave that hanging. Well, even though I bloody hated that telling the truth. Yes, I do. There are some others where you're gonna have to look, you know, theости anprochen and I leave with this story. But on a guten train and a lewd pills because I know it's fundamentally Willy Drogo. Ste Dyche Yeah, but everybody was at that point, Doctor is at her Aj від it is not leaving while on how to defend the loves a strongful thanks go a couple percent for her word that just gets her visa, some verygener el fiat for her go to aengage awayh ranas are in her productivity phase that may well diseaseом When I talk about being an airline pilot, it's in that context and that context only. I'm not an airline pilot who is a drunk. I'm a drunk first, and I was fortunate enough to be able to fly some airplanes and have a great living doing that. I don't believe that we have celebrity status in this fellowship, that the best we can do here is get sober, and that's plenty good enough for me. So I don't care if somebody is a doctor, lawyer, homeless, lives in the bridge, works the factory. If we get sober, I think that's our common denominator, and that's all I'm after. But if I hadn't been an airline pilot at this particular time when I was drinking, things would have gone along pretty swimmingly, and I would not have been in the trouble that I found myself in. I usually mix the order of the story up a little bit. Instead of talking about what it was like, what happened, and what it's like today, I start with what happened. And I feel that's kind of a little bit of an attention getter. But I have three days every year that are very intense days for me. They're like three days of the Kennedy assassination, March 7th, 8th, and 9th. And even at this point in time, a few years after the fact, I still have no trouble looking at my watch and knowing exactly what was taking place on that particular day at that particular moment. I know very clearly what was going on. On March 7th, I had my last. I had a series of drinks. I didn't know that at the time. In a place called the Speakeasy Bar in Fargo, North Dakota. Now, I have a spotty blackout of that place, but I got to go back there several years ago. And it was kind of a spiritual experience to go in there and see where my last series of drinks took place. And I had a phone call from a guy who said, my name is David so and so, I'm an attorney here in Fargo. And I said, well, I'm going to go to the bar. And my first thought was, my God, I thought statute of limitations must have run by now. And I thought I was home free. And he said, well, I'm a friend of Bill's. I just want, you know, will you come back up here and visit and speak? And I said, sure. I asked him if the speakeasy was still there. He said, oh, yeah. He said, if you want to, we can go there and have lunch. And I didn't even know they serve food. So we did that. It's strange, though. I was in the bar. I was in the bar. Well, you know, within two blocks of that place, I started getting really nervous. I don't know what that was about. Very, very nervous, apprehensive. But I walked in there and looked around and it was a lot smaller than what I remembered. I thought, I don't know how many people get to go back halfway across the country and see the place of their last crime. And it was literally that. At any rate, March the 8th, I had a lot of drinks that night. I didn't intend to. I didn't intend to. I intended to do what I normally did. And that was just go have a few drinks, get some dinner, maybe get some rest, plenty of rest before the early morning flight the next morning. Sometimes I kept to that plan. Other times I didn't. Towards the end, I usually didn't. My intention was to go have a few drinks, but it never worked out that way. Early the next morning, March the 8th of 1990, I took off from Fargo, North Dakota with two other pilots who had been with me the afternoon. At least by far, and all night. So I was on the plane and I was like, man, I can hardly remember what happened. I don't know how many of you had gone through that and were like, who attending? Who changed? This is what's happening. No one." Well, the<|hy|> first time we went to see Isoublas , there was a GLS extensive in the United States forgetting that. That's the second of the five united nations to bring you the Vuitton Airways program. This was a heated discussion. I was assured we would probably end up doing in the country, but I never went. There were parties. So teams were in the heaven of the hill in Spring, numbing and gathering time for a well-deserved good around New York. It was all at a time of our collaboration with Baltimore United States. Frightening to hear this. anonymous, and I hope by the time I'm through with this story, you'll understand why. But at the time I walked off and I saw those people, the instant thought was, my life is over. Northwest Airlines, at that point in time, was the only major carrier that did not have a program for alcoholic pilots, and they had steadfastly refused. And about every five, six, seven years, a pilot would get in trouble with alcohol and be fired. And I had seen that over the course of my not quite 22 years there. I'd seen a number of those incidents. And so we would all scurry around and be real careful for about six months. And the other thing that happened was those names were always etched on a kind of a hall of shame, that when somebody talked about the Roy Swold incident, I knew what took place there. Larry. Larry Morrison. So I knew about those things, and very quickly in the course of all of this whirlpool of stuff that was cascading down at that time, I knew that my name was going to go on that wall as well. And I had a great deal of difficulty with that because I had not lived my life overall in such a way to see that occur. You know, I hear these stories across the country, and there's a wide range of people who have had a chance at life because of this disease. Other people who were fortunate to aspire and achieve and then watch it all go away. And I've wondered sometimes, who's the more fortunate? And I think that people like me probably are the more fortunate. Because it took a long time for my alcoholism to really fully progress. I'm not one of those guys who's going to die. As he says, from the moment I took my first drink, I knew I was an alcoholic. I did not. I came out of an alcoholic family. I'll talk about that in a little bit. But I never thought I was going to be an alcoholic. As a matter of fact, I worked real, real, real, real hard not to be. And then, of course, after I get here and I look back and I think about all of this, I think anybody that worked that hard not to be an alcoholic was obviously not a normal drinker. But I didn't know that at the time. And throughout the course of most of my journey, I had done well. And the thing that I recall more than anything over the course of the 12 hours that we were detained that day is shame. Shame and disgrace. And it was really beyond description. And yet the big book says it very shortly and succinctly. Pitiful, incomprehensible demoralization. And once I saw that again and I thought, that's so short and so brief, but it so captures what I was experiencing because it was incomprehensible. The thing that made it even more so for me, I think, was that I had been the standard bearer in my family for things like duty, honor, country, character, honesty, integrity. Do the right thing. And now, suddenly. I'm in a situation here in which I've destroyed all of that. And everything that I held dear, treasured or cherished, I have just disgraced. And I had a hard time reconciling it. A very difficult time. Most of that day was a blur. I don't really remember a lot of what took place. I do and I don't. I remember. Times during that day where I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience. Where the shock and the trauma was so great that I felt at times that I was suspended watching this happen to someone else. And then I would cycle back and I would be looking around at the other two guys around the room, the people in it, and I would be thinking, oh God. I'm going to be in a situation like that. I'm going to be in a situation like that. I'm going to be in a situation like that. This is happening to me. It's real. It is real and it's happening to me right now. And at the end of the day, we had given blood twice at two different facilities. And at one of them, a reporter saw three airline pilots in uniform escorted by a sheriff's deputy. And that's how they picked up on the story in the media. Of course, I had no idea. It was about to become what it became. And finally, I was taken in and deposed by a company attorney. And I don't remember much of what he asked me. Strangely, I remember one question. He asked me, he said, Captain Prowse, he said, do you think you abuse alcohol? And I was sitting there with my head down because of the shame. I couldn't look at him, wouldn't look at him. And I raised my head. And I thought and I said, I don't know. I don't know. You know, in the aftermath, how could I not know? But in that moment, I didn't know. And that was a truthful answer. We were taken back by an assistant chief pilot. It was dark again. And I clearly, it was quiet in the car. No one spoke. And I remember looking outside. At the night. And I was thinking, this is so representative of the rest of my life. That all the light has been extinguished and will never again be there. And this is what the rest of it is going to be like. And they took us back to the airport. I took a cab to a commuter apartment I had. And I went in there. And suddenly I remembered I was supposed to be home that night. And Barbara was supposed to be at the airport picking me up. And I called home. And she spent four hours sitting out there waiting on me that evening. And had not yet made it home. And when the answering machine picked up and I heard my voice, I didn't know what to say. Excuse me. I just didn't know how to get this out. And all I could do was murmur something to the effect that there's been a disaster. And I think I've lost my job. And I'll be home on the first flight in the morning. And I thought afterwards, I thought, thank God she didn't call me back. Thank God she just took the call and left it. The next morning, I made my way through the Minneapolis airport in uniform. Knowing that it was going to be the last time I would ever again wear that. And it was not uncommon for people, kids, adults, somebody to look at pilots walking through the terminal. I can tell you that every time somebody glanced my way that morning, I flinched. I felt like I was taking a blow. Because every time they did, I thought, if they don't know what I have done, they shortly will. And I got on the airplane and I got home. And I quickly exited the northwest area. I didn't want anybody. They didn't see me or stop me or speak to me. I knew everybody out there. I knew the mechanics, the baggage handlers, the groomers, the ticket agents. I knew everybody. And I didn't want anybody to stop me or even speak to me. And I quickly got out there. And I've never told the story, but what I didn't talk and say that I got to the terminal and saw Barbara parked over by the curb. And I had to climb over the curb to get in the car with her. And she and I had been married a long while. And I couldn't look at her. And she pulled away from the curb. And all I could say was, Honey, I'm so sorry. And she has a soft south Texas voice. And she said, Who better than I could possibly understand how you feel right now? We drove home in silence. I didn't want to talk. Later, I thought any wife would have said, What did you do? What the hell happened? What? You did what? And she never said a word to me. Thank God. She never said a word. We got home. I walked in the house. And she went to work. The house was deathly quiet. And I couldn't stay still. I felt like every nerve in my body was shorting out. And being in my skin was the last place I wanted to be. And I walked to the phone. And I called a doctor who was the only doctor I knew of. At that time. And I said, There's been an emergency. And I must come in and see you. And he said, Come right in. And I did. And, you know, as I tell the story, I'm in the middle of the video. Because I see it all. I can see the office. I can see him. I see the desk and the tables and stuff. And I went in and I just told him what had happened. And I remember him shaking his head and walking around the desk. He said, God, Lyle. He said, I'm sorry. He said, This is horrible. He said, This is just horrible. And he paused for a moment. And then he looked at me. And he made a statement that I could not fathom, understand. I couldn't even remotely get it. And he said, But maybe this is what had to happen. And I couldn't understand that. And he left. And he came back a few minutes later. And he said, This is now March the 9th. It's a Friday. He said, And I've got an appointment made for you to go see a doctor tonight on the other side of Atlanta. He's a specialist. He said he's a very prominent doctor. And he is a recovering alcoholic and cocaine addict. He's a psychiatrist. And you're to see him at 6 o'clock tonight. Now, that registered, I thought, Friday night. And they've got me set up to see a doctor at 6 o'clock. So somebody obviously thinks this is urgent. Later, they told me. That they were afraid that I was a real strong potential suicide based on my appearance. And they probably weren't far off. I have no recollection of meeting with that doctor. Except it was a long drive to the other side of Atlanta. And I followed him in. And he turned lights on. And Barbara went out to the waiting room and stopped. And I don't know what he said to me. And I don't know if I was in there. Five minutes or an hour. I have no recollection of that. But I do remember this. That the jig was up for me. And I was done. So whatever it was he asked me, I answered as best I could. And I remember, the thing I do remember, is he looked at me at one point. And he said, Lyle, you're an alcoholic. And you need to get into treatment tonight. The follow-on thing that I remembered was that there was no, no internal reaction when he told me that. And the reason that that registered is because I have hated alcoholics all my life. I grew up in an alcoholic home and I hated what alcoholics did. I grew up in a Native American community. I hated seeing drunk Indians on the streets of small towns in Oklahoma when I was pow-wowing. I was so ashamed, so embarrassed. I said, I will never be like that. Alcoholics to me were life's non-hackers. They were the people in the alleys with the brown paper bags. They never had any success. They never contributed anything to society, I didn't think. And so I hated alcoholics. And yet he looked at me and said, you are an alcoholic. And I had no reaction. I thought about it later and I thought, you know, probably at some level in the 24 hours that had passed, maybe at some point, I would have been a little more comfortable. I would have been a little more comfortable. At some level, I had connected the dots. Maybe I saw that it was the choice I had made and the behavior I was engaged in in a place that I wasn't supposed to be that had cost me my life and destroyed it. Maybe I already knew what he was going to tell me. I don't know. But I looked at him and I said, well, I thought you would probably tell me that and I don't have a problem about going to treatment. And I said, I just got home tonight. And I said, please. I said, let me go home and let my mind uncoil and let Barbara just hang on to me. Pull the drapes and just hang on to me until I can absorb what's happened. And he said, you need to go into treatment tonight. And I paused and I looked at him and I thought, why would I come all the way over here if I'm not going to do what he tells me to do? So I said, okay. And I guess maybe that was my first lesson in willingness. So Barbara and I got back in the car. We were following his directions and we headed back for the treatment center, a place I'd never heard of, had no reason to know anything about it. And as we made the last turn, it was dark, naturally, and we made the last turn and the headlights swept a sign that is no longer there but was at the time. And when the headlights hit the sign, I hit the brakes with the lights on the sign. And it said Anchor Hospital, a hospital for alcoholism and other conditions. And I sat and I looked at it. And it was like somebody had just kicked me in the stomach. And I said, I thought to myself, 51 years old, and this is how my life ends, in a treatment center for alcoholics. And I'm looking at it. It's real. It's right there in front of me. And just for a few microseconds, I had a quick mini flashback. And I was just thinking about some of the high points of my life, things that I was very proud of, things that I thought measured and marked and defined me and made me who I was and what I was, things that had been accomplished mostly against the odds. And as a matter of fact, I read a report some years later, summarizing a paragraph by this doctor, said, given the history and background of this man, it was unlikely to believe he would ever be a productive member of society. And I remember looking at that. I was stunned by that. I thought, oh, my God. I thought, geez, that's pretty doggone dismal. And I thought, well, I gave him all the information. So I remember it was like as quickly as it came, it went. It was like somebody had taken a big giant eraser and wiped all those things out. They were gone. They didn't count. They weren't part of my life anymore. But I remember sitting there feeling absolutely worthless. As a human being, I had zero self-worth, no value. And I took a foot off the brake and we started down a hill. And I thought, it's March the 9th. It's my 27th wedding anniversary. And I said to Barbara, hell of a way to spend an anniversary, huh? And again came the soft voice. Might be the best one we ever had. And I couldn't deal with it. Who could think such a thing at a moment like this? How could that be? And I didn't comment. I just strove down the hill. I headed to this treatment center, the last place on earth I thought I would ever be. And my mind is starting to work again. And I'm thinking, oh, God, what's this going to be like? You know? And the only thing that came to mind was the movie One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. And that's all I could vision. And, of course, those of you know that it was not like that at all. It was certainly not like that. But that's what I thought I was driving into. I'm going to stop here and go back and fill in some of the other pieces and hopefully pick up where I left off. But by way of... Background, I was born in Wichita, Kansas, September 1938. So I'm 67. I'll save you the math. I always do the math when I'm out there. And I just hate it when somebody comes up and says, well, I graduated when I was 17 and then three years later. In 1970, I had a baby and then four years later, and then I then I'm going to... Because I can't go back that far. I miss half of what they're saying. So I'm 67. I was born into a very blue-collar family. And both parents were alcoholics. And both of them took the disease to the grave. Neither of them ever got to AA that I know of. I have an intuitive kind of a feel that maybe they may have come but didn't stay. I don't know why I think that. I just do. But I think it's also important to acknowledge from the podium that they were good people. And that I owe my parents a lot. That they weren't drunk all the time. And they taught me many good things during those periods. Periods of time when they could. And I need to say that. We were not very well to do. We were always stretched financially. And we lived in a World War II housing project on the southeast side of Wichita called Plainview, which was very hastily built, not intended to last. And it's where the people lived that didn't have very much money. It was a very diverse group. A lot of blacks, Hispanics, whole white trash, and Native Americans. And I was part of the Native American community. And I'm kind of an ethnic cocktail. But I'm a mix of several different things. Two of which I don't think particularly respond to the alcoholism. But the Comanche and Irish part sure as heck do. And so if we're going to go drinking, it's going to get interesting before the evening's over. I can tell you. I was an active member of the native community there. But you know, when I was on layovers, I loved the Irish part too because I knew where all the Irish places were around the country. The Black Rose in Boston and the Dubliner in D.C. and all these places. And I loved that music. And I would immediately get out of my clothes. I was a solitary drinker. I didn't go with the crew most of the time. And hit these places. And I knew those rebel songs and drinking songs. I knew them all. Boy, I'd close those places up. I loved those bands and all that Irish music. And if I was at a place that didn't have one of those spots, then I'd have a couple of drinks and just decide to go out and kill some white people. And that could get pretty interesting if I was in Montana in some of the cowboy bars. I watched the alcoholism destroy my family like it always does. I was 14 when the first divorce hit. And within a few years, each parent had been married and divorced two more times. I didn't like step-parents. I didn't like step-siblings. None of whom I remember. Wouldn't know if there was one of them in the room tonight. And I remember basically having two emotions. I either laughed a lot or I was pretty angry. And I found myself going back and forth between families because I couldn't get along with people in there. And faces would change. Names would change. And all of that. I graduated from high school when I was 17. A few months later, I turned 18. And the area that I came from, I weren't high on a lot of college applicants. I do the background. And mostly, I was a student. Most of them where I came from married their young high school sweetheart and went to work for Boeing, Beach, Cessna, or a couple of the other aircraft plants that were there at the time. I was not encumbered. And I had decided to join the service. Wasn't sure what I was going to enjoy, no. And about that time, one of my buddies from the Marine Corps came home and looking really good, right out of boot camp. And he and I spent several hours in a little bar there in Wichita. And he was a good guy. And he would regale me for hours on end with these sadistic stories about what Marine drill instructors do to their recruits. And I'd look back at that and I thought, you know, I had a brief window of opportunity to alter the course of my life if I'd sought some professional help. But I was enthralled by those stories. And within a day or so, I'd found a Marine recruiter. And I head for San Diego for a Marine boot camp. I think I had been pretty unremarkable up to that point. I was an athlete, probably average at best. I was a good student when I applied myself, but that wasn't often. And I went to boot camp with the idea of just trying to survive it. And I hear a lot of people say, I never fit in. And I understand that. That's their story. They never fit in. And that's their truth. And it is the way it is. I can't say that. Within the course of the 13 weeks, I really fit in. I loved it. It was tough. It was structured. It was disciplined. And an unbelievable amount of esprit de corps and camaraderie. And I had found my home. I had found a home. Something that I hadn't really established myself in up to that point. But I found my home, and I liked it. And at the end of the 13 weeks, the drill instructors call out three names, top three guys in the platoon. My name was the second one called for a set of PFC stripes. I had never really excelled. And this was really excelling because it had been competitive, and it was long and hard and grueling. And I was blown away. I was surprised. I was proud. And we went to Camp Pendleton. I just couldn't get my eye off that red stripe. I kept looking down there. Man, this is heavy-duty rank. And, well, my buddies were all slick-sleeved, so it's all relative. And so I'm up there at Camp Pendleton one night, and it was raining, and I was standing guard duty. And because of my heavy rank, I was inside acting corporal of the guard, and my buddies were outside walking post in the rain. And I remember looking over at the corner, and there was a lieutenant's uniform over there. And I was looking at that, and I thought, you know, I think I got a real good thing going here because at the rate I'm moving up, General can't be too far away. And this is where I belong. And four and a half years later, I came walking in, and they said there's a new program out called Marine Aviation Cadet. And I said, well, what's that? And they said, well, it's a program that's going to test people for people that want to fly. And they said, you are the only guy qualified in this unit to go take the test for that. And I had some high scores. I don't know how they got there, but I knew I had some high scores. So I tested, and I passed. They also told me about half of these people are not going to make it through the 18 months. They're going to wash out. And you're one of the very few that are going to get to go in the back door because you're enlisted for the Army. The rest of these guys coming in from the street are going to have to have two years of college, and most of them are going to have a lot more than that. And you'll be competing against them. And so I could do the logic. If 50% were going to make it, I was on the high statistical end of the probability of not completing. And I just can't stand to fail. I just have never been able to tolerate failure my own. And I thought about it for a day or two. I'd always wanted to fly. But, you know, I'm not going to fly. But, you know, I had long since known that flying, those opportunities were for people who were well above me in the stations of life. People who were educated. People who had prestige and status. Those are the people that could go do this sort of thing. Not guys like me. And finally I decided I would make the attempt. And I went home to Wichita, and there was a powwow. And I went out and danced. They had a special for me. Because I was going away, and that special really impacted me. Because I thought about it all the way to Pensacola. And I thought, you know, I cannot go back as a failure to this community. That I'm the only one who has this opportunity. None of the others have a chance to go through that door. That if I'm successful, I'll get a set of gold wings and gold bars. And I almost couldn't dream both of those things. They were just too big. The idea that I was going to be a commissioner, a Marine Corps officer if I made it. A designated Marine Corps pilot, Naval Aviator if I made it. Who could, it was just still wispy. So I went through the, there were four phases to Navy Marine Flight Training. And I went into those driven by this fear of failure. Some of that's good. Maybe as much as I had isn't good. But I never let up and I never slowed down. And I kept thinking I'm going to wash out. I'm going to wash out. And I was watching my buddies wash out. Weekly, sometimes daily. I watched them try not to cry. As they came up with their sea bags over their shoulders saying goodbye. And their dreams are gone. It's terminated for them. And I thought one of these days they'll get me. And in every one of those phases I ended up as the number two guy. Don't know why, don't know how. And I never, I could never translate that into any real level of solid confidence. Now I was not drinking real heavy. My drinking took a long time before you could really pull me out of the crowd. I was too busy with the curriculum here. On weekends I would drink. I would drink hard. But it was not affecting me yet. When we got to the final phase of flight training I left the Florida area for the final six weeks of advanced jet training. I went to a town called Beeville, Texas where there was a naval air station. Immediately hooked up. It was before Vietnam so we had weekends off. Immediately hooked up. It was a Friday. Got hooked up with a bunch of my buddies. We got drunk at the officer's club. And then they said let's go into town. Lots of good looking South Texas girls here. And they like us cadets. Because we had a lot of that marrying potential. So I said okay. And we went into town to a little place called Canes Drive-In. And they immediately went up to this carload of girls. And I hung back a little bit because I wasn't quite ready. And they said, well, you know, we're going to the airport. And they go spread out on faceOG just like everybody. And I don't know if someone has pressed and hit that sign. JMA you know does. They're like oh, yeah. And, of course, they displaying number five on the bar. Steven's now got his head up. Jeff is Sue's sign name. And she said, hey, what's the other party called? JMA let me know. I said you know. For I didn't know��. just standing there looking at her, and now I wish I wasn't there. I wanted to be back where I was, and I couldn't get back. And I think what I said was something pretty articulate, and it came out kind of like, Eagles push the riders. And she looked at me, and I looked at her, and I thought, geez, I just made an ass out of myself. And this expression came back to me like, yes, you did. And I turned around and walked away. I just left. I just walked away and left her. And I'll drink some more. And I did, and I was standing back there, but I just happened to be standing where I could see her, and she got out of the car to go into the ladies' room. And I couldn't see it like it was yesterday. And I looked, and I thought, man, turquoise shorts, cute face, nice panty, nice legs, and brown eyes. Way more than I had on my list. And I actually had an A thought then, but I didn't know it, and wouldn't know it for about another 29 years. Because I watched her go through those doors. I thought, man, I want what she has. I'm willing to go to any lengths to get it. But I didn't that night. I accidentally ran into her the next day as I was headed back out to the base, saw her go back into this same place with a girlfriend. I had a cadet buddy. Went in and talked very nice to her and was polite and sober and was nervous. Asked if I might please call her. She finally said yes. And she was that girl that was with me as we started down the hill to the treatment center. We have now, in about another week, we'll see number four, 43 come up. Barbara, would you stand up please? If I could have ever written anything, I would like to have written this song. You are the wind beneath my wings. It so fits her. And on February the 25th of 1936, 1963, her birthday, she pinned my wings and gold bars on me and we went to El Toro, California. We lived a life that Hollywood couldn't have scripted any better. I was a young, hot jet pilot. I had this good-looking wife. I was in the finest squadron the Marine Corps ever put together, I think. And now, and I'm drinking. Now I'm really, now, happy hours, you know. You're supposed to be a pilot. You're supposed to drink hard, fly hard. And by God, if you're not night flying, you better be at happy hour. And of course, I didn't need any encouraging, encouragement. And Barbara joined me out there. And the first two happy hours in a row, I wrecked the car going home. Which should have been a sign, but I just lied about it the first time. And the second time, I was so drunk, I just walked in and said, I hit a mountain, went to bed, and she just looked, oh, what. But, you know, in those days, I could get up early in the morning and get going on things, and I really wasn't affected. And it wasn't affecting me professionally yet. But it was starting. It was starting. And I went to Vietnam. We were one of the first jet squadrons in Vietnam. I came back with some nice combat decorations. A great reputation. We immediately, Barbara and I, immediately had two little boys, back to back, eight days less than a year apart. And I got so tired of people coming over and saying, are you guys Catholic? You know, like, you know, like you've got to be Catholic to do that. And I'd say, no, we're just horny Protestants, and we don't have much in the way of birth control. So, I left her and a little six-month-old boy and a little 18-month-old boy and went to Vietnam and had some adventures over there. We didn't have alcohol there. We couldn't get it where I was at. I came back and spent another two and a half days in the Marine Corps, drinking really hard and heavy now, but still not being affected professionally. Still not being affected professionally. Finally decided to get out, even though it was a painful decision. I loved it. I was going to stay until I died. But I had also, by that time, seen a war. And I also knew that it was going to take four to six years of my life away from home if I did what I wanted to do. And I couldn't do that if my kids were going to die. I couldn't do that if my kids were going to die. I couldn't do that if my kids were going to die. I couldn't leave home when they were 18 without a full-time father. So very painfully, in a very anguished way, I sat down and I wrote my letter of resignation. I got out of the Marine Corps. And the last thing I wanted to do was go to the airlines, but that's where I ended up. I wanted to be a bush pilot, but that didn't work out. And so I ended up at Northwest Airlines two weeks after I had separated from the service. Now, for nearly 22 years, I had almost the same kind of reputation at Northwest. I became known as a partier. A lot of us were. I demanded solid cockpit performance. But once we hit the ground, we hit the ground running. For a long time, I obeyed the drinking rules. And then as things began to progress, I started hedging. And I never knew when I would or when I wouldn't. The particular afternoon that caused this thing to come to national attention was one of those rare occasions where I was out with the other two crew members. I just did not do that. The, the thing that I should also tell you was after we'd gone to the airlines, Barbara and I had talked about adopting a little girl even before we got married. A little child. And we had these two boys, so we adopted a little Indian girl. It took us 14 months to get her. And I thought, good, Barbara's got her daughter now. That'll be good for her. Of course, I had no clue what daughters do to their dads until I saw this little girl. She came to live with us when she was 17 days old, this beautiful little chip wall girl. And just every father's dream. Just gorgeous. And she couldn't walk past me. Without me saying, Dawn, come over here and give me a hug. And I'd say, thanks for being my girl. And she'd say, thanks for being my dad. And I thought we had the all-American family. I thought we, I thought I had a great marriage. I thought I had a great family. And when she was 17, unbeknownst to me, she ran away. I mean, I didn't see it coming. I knew she ran away. But I had put it, been, put off being a captain for two years. And that was a big thing on my part. Which later gave me tons of room for martyrdom and self-pity. And I said, okay, you're getting ready to graduate from school. You're going to college, I thought. And I went to Chicago to take a special written test so I could become a captain. The following day, I was headed home. I called home. Barbara said, hello. And that's all she said. And I knew something was wrong. I knew something was wrong. And I forced her to tell me. She said, Dawn ran away yesterday when I had taken you to the airport. Apparently with the help of some of her friends, they took stuff. And there was a note that Barbara didn't see until late at night. Couldn't call me because she was afraid that I, my reaction. I blurted out these panicked instructions about who to call, where to go, where to look. And I got on the airplane in two hours and ten minutes or so. I was back in Atlanta. And all of that had changed. That had all changed. I walked to the front of the airport as I always did. Barbara was there. I got in the car. And I announced that that was off the burner. That I hated this girl. I hated her with a hatred and arousal and a rage and a passion that defies description. I hated her. And I said, under no circumstances ever will she be allowed back in our house. I don't care what happens to her. Not only that, I don't want anybody in my entire family to ever mention her name to me again as long as I live. And inside of two days, all of her furniture was gone. Everything that had been in the house that she had ever touched was gone. I had thrown out and destroyed little girl things that she made for me through the years that I had saved and treasured and cherished. Smashed them and broke them up. I went to the safety deposit box and ripped up her adoption papers. I went to an attorney and gave him $500 and disowned her. I tried to annul the adoption and could not. And in the midst of this, I looked around and I said, you know what? I think Barbara needs some therapy about this stuff. I'm going to just find her. She's got a problem. And so that's where this doctor came from. I plucked his name out of the phone book. Fortunately, I got a good one. We saw him weekly just almost for two years about this incident. And I didn't like talking about my daughter. He ended up knowing as much about me as anybody in the world did except for Barbara. One time he was talking to me about my daughter and I looked at him and I made a statement that I had never formulated. I had never even had the thought as far as I knew. But I looked at him and I said, I'm going to tell you something, doctor. I would rather hate than hurt. And boy, that sized it all up. That summed me up. And for two years, I would sit in a room, solitary drinker, and drink a quart of rum and coke or whiskey, whatever it was I had. And I would just stoke these feelings, this fire of this hatred and this resentment and this self-pity. And look what I did for her. Look at all these things and look how I got repaid. And this doctor looked at me and he said, you know, Lyle, you survived a childhood doing that, but he said, if you continue, it'll kill you. And I never said a word to him, but I know doggone good and well he knew exactly what I was thinking because I looked at him and I thought, you may be a Ph.D. family therapist, but I'm an airline pilot and I'll do it my way. And he was so right and I was so wrong. And this is kind of where we were for two years. I would just sit there and I would just sit there and I would just sit there and I would just sit there and I would just sit there and I would just sit there and I would just drink. You know, I'm not an alcoholic because my daughter did anything. I was well on my way. But the alcohol was my solution. You know, I never got any relief from it. All I would do is I would drink and the more I drank, the more I hated her. You know, Father Martin talks about feelings and the ones that are the worst are the ones we cultivate. And I cultivated that night after night after night after night. So that's pretty much where we were family-wise when this thing hit. And I went into treatment and I was so ashamed I couldn't look at anybody. It was a week before anybody knew the color of my eyes. I sat with my head down everywhere. Couldn't look at anybody. Couldn't talk to anybody. Didn't want anybody to know who I was, what I was. And within a few days, it's all over the media. I'm the lead story in Atlanta every time there's a new segment. Now they all know. And then I began to get suicidal in there. I thought it was kind of tough and I thought it was kind of hard. But what I found was the level of pain and shame went so far beyond any human threshold that I thought existed that I wanted to die. I really wanted to die. And I didn't care how. I just wanted it to end. And I was very close when I apparently had some kind of a God-given moment of clarity. And I said, if you do that in here, it's the only thing that'll be worse than what's already happened. Your family will never survive that. And so I gave up on that idea. But I thought I could will myself to die and I continued to try that. And I exerted, millions of foot-pounds of energy to try to make that happen. I walked into a group. The good thing was that I think when you get that close to suicide, there can be no greater sense of despair or hopelessness. And so the thing that that gave me was this so-called gift of desperation. None of my answers had any value anymore. So I listened to what they told me about the 12 steps and about AA and about recovery. And I didn't argue. I didn't debate. I didn't try to analyze. I didn't try to figure it out. I believed them. I had trouble understanding it because it was too simple. I had a lot of problems, vocabulary problems in there. And somebody would have to explain it to me, which they kindly did. And I walked into a group in the first week. And I sat. They closed the door. I didn't intend to talk. I didn't intend not to talk. But for some reason, there were eight or ten of us in there, and I began to talk counter-intuitively. I began to talk about my daughter. And I said, and I broke down and cried. And I didn't think it was okay to cry. I hadn't even cried at my parents' funerals. And I didn't think it was okay to cry. But I did. I sobbed. And I guess maybe it was the first time ever, maybe in my entire life, that I accepted the pain for what it was. Just pain. And it was mine. And I looked straight at it. And I took it. And then, of course, I felt so ashamed and naked that people, I felt like I had no clothes on. They'd all see me. And I was embarrassed that I had done it. But I think it was a great breakthrough moment for me because I got a hold of Barbara. We had no visitors, no phone calls. But I wrote her a letter. I said, get a hold of Dawn. Find out where she is. She knew. And bring her up. And let's put the family back together again. The hospital said, that's such an amazing breakthrough for you. We'll give you a day room and let you do that. The two doctors heard about it. The one who diagnosed me and the one who had been the family therapist. I asked if they could please come watch. The therapist had written down, it will never happen. Get in his notes. His family will never come back together again. So, I walked into a day room one afternoon. And the door opened. And I see my daughter for the first time in two years. And I had forgotten how little she was. And off to the side of the two doctors. Barbara's there. My other son is there. The two sons are there. I walked over. And I'll never be able to tell you what it felt like to put my arms around my little girl and tell her, how much I loved her instead of how much I hated her. And so I began to see the promises come true. And I wasn't even halfway through treatment yet. And off to the side, Barbara, then I told them, I said, okay, they've all seen the news. I said, you need to prepare yourself to see me led away in handcuffs on television. I think that's going to happen. And Barbara was standing to the side with her hands out. And I turned and I looked. And she had tears in her eyes because the family was finally back together. And she said, you know, I feel like this entire sky is just falling down all around us. But I'm being able to catch the stars. And I just looked at her. I had no response. I couldn't understand that statement. I understood it. I just couldn't understand what I'd done to deserve her. And about that time, of course, I started getting worried about legal things. Nobody knew anything about legal things. A week to the day that I'd gone into treatment, I wouldn't go near the TV sets. There were two of them. And I stayed completely away from them. Patients were coming to tell me a week to the day that Northwest Airlines had fired me. And they should have. They should have. The FAA had pulled all my licenses on an emergency revocation. They should have. I had lost my FAA medical certificate because of my diagnosis of alcoholism. And I should have. Nothing that happened to me was unfair or inappropriate. I strongly believe in acceptance of responsibility. So now I was stripped of everything. Within 30 days, we were broke. I had grown up poor. I had managed to acquire some things. And now they were gone inside of 30 days. Now I'm back to where I started. Those things were gone. Then came the inside of the first week. At the end of the first week, somewhere around there, we started getting worried about legal things. Nobody knew anything about legal things. Not the Airline Pilot Association attorneys, nor did Northwest Airlines. Now it turns out there's a felony on the books. Over the course of the last year, I've been in the office for a year. I've been in the office for a year. I've been in the office for a year. I've been in the office for a year. I've been in the office for a year. I've been in the office for a year. Over the course of the next couple of weeks, every two to three days, they come in and take me out. And they gave me the latest bad news. Beginning with Minnesota charging me, North Dakota charging me, doubling the counts. Federal marshals are coming down to take me out of treatment in handcuffs. And then the final time I stepped outside, there was a doctor there, and I thought, oh my God. And every time I stepped outside, there was a doctor there, and I thought, oh my God. And every time they would do this, it would take me a couple of days just to be able to catch my breath and breathe again normally. Because it felt like they sucked the air out of the room, and I couldn't breathe. So the doctor took me down to his office with my counselor, and he said, I have to tell you, federal grand jury has just come back in, and they have indicted you. You're looking at 15 years in federal prison. A $250,000 fine, and there's an attorney coming in Sunday and wants $50,000. And I didn't have it. It was gone. And I said, well, I'm going to go to jail. And I said, well, I'm going to go to jail. And they said, the attorney wants $50,000. And I didn't have it. It was gone. And I remember just going numb. And the doctor said, I have to ask if you're going to hurt yourself. And I said, no. I went back to my room, and I don't remember the actual collapse, but what I remember is lying on the floor, crying again, next to the carpet, saying, God, I can't do this anymore. I can't do it anymore. I got nothing left. Please help me. And I remember sleeping that night. And I remember that night. I had many intense experiences in treatment that I don't have time to go into. I got out of treatment. I went to Minnesota. I was quickly in a three-week trial. Everywhere I went, cameras, journalists, reporters, everywhere. And I can't tell you the terror of walking up to the courtroom and seeing these throngs of reporters. And what I would do was mantra the serenity prayer over and over and over. I'd just cycle it, cycle it, cycle it, until I could feel something beginning to take over. And I would walk through these people. At the end of the three weeks, I had an advantage on the other two guys because I was the alcoholic. And so at night, I would go to meetings. And at first, it was scary because they recognized me. And it would take me a few minutes to settle and remember that I'm in a safe place. And I never shared. I never said a word. I just sat, and I took the energy that you would let me have from you. And I would go to court the next day, and I could survive a day in prison. I could survive a day in a trial, which is a horrendous experience. Sometimes, I would look across the room, and Barbara would sit there, and she would mouth the words, I love you. And I could get through the rest of the day. The jury came back very quickly. I had an amazing story with an attorney I'd love to share with you, and I can't. Amazing story. And the jury came back very quickly, and I was guilty. I knew I was going to be guilty. I knew I was going to be guilty. I knew that. Sentencing guidelines were in play at the time. 12 months minimum, 18 months maximum. I knew I was going to get 18 months because I was the captain, and I had made some peace with that. We went back for the sentencing a few months later, and as I walked into my attorney's office, I knew something had changed, and something was wrong. And he said, an hour ago, I got a phone call from the judge, and I knew the judge had strong feelings about this case. I got to read the judge for three weeks. I knew the judge, and he had every right to have that, those feelings. This was a horrific betrayal of the public trust. He was entitled to feel that way. He said, the judge just notified me and the other two attorneys, along with the media, that he's going to up the ante. He's going to depart upward from the guidelines. I'd had two dreams, separated in time, but they were identical, in which I stood there expecting 18 months, and he said, five years, boom, and both times I almost shot out of bed. And I told Barbara, I said, I think those were visions. That's what's going to occur. Tomorrow. We walked into the sentencing. I had tried for a day and a half to compose something, and I couldn't. I was too scared. And even as I stood to speak, I didn't know what I was going to say. But my prayer had been, God, please, just let me say something from the heart and get it out. I have a judge up here that's hostile. I have a jury that's hostile. I have media back there sketching my pictures. I talked about being grateful for the things that had occurred in my family, that I had accepted responsibility, always had, that I couldn't change what had happened yesterday, and I couldn't change what had happened some months earlier. I'd been in treatment with a federal judge. He said, we never change our sentence from the bench. He told me a lot of things, some of which I just assumed not have known. But he said, when we walk in the room there, if the sentence is set, nothing you say has any effect or sway. And the judge announced a sentence as I stood there and looked at him, gave me a sentence of 16 months. Two months less under the guidelines, after the media had already printed this. And it was several years before I found out why that occurred. But certainly one of the miracles took place that morning. Now I wasn't anxious to go dancing off into prison, but 16 months was an awful lot better than what I was expecting. He also did something that surprised everyone. I had given Barbara my personal effects. I said, I don't think I will be coming back. And I went through the turnstile and did not think I would see her again. He said, this is an extremely complex case. First time anybody has ever been tried under this law. A lot of appeals issues. He said, I will let you three men remain free until your appeals make their way. The other two guys opted to do that. I said, no sir, I will not. I have been convicted. I am going to prison now. He says to this day, that no defendant has ever done that before or since. But I had learned in here that I dealt with life on life's terms. I didn't want to go in that prison. I was scared to death to do it. I told my kids so. But I said, the reality is I cannot come out the back door until I go in the front. And I wanted no more countdowns. No more countdowns. I had seen the night come to an end too many times knowing I was one night closer, one day closer. I was doing it one day at a time. But I was conscious of when that day was over. And I wanted no more. So on December 5, 1990, 34 years to the day that I entered Marine Boot Camp, I walked into the Atlanta Federal Prison. And I had many, many experiences in there. I was in there a total of 424 days, 8 months and 3 days there, another 6 months at the halfway house, which most of them consider worse than a prison. You know, I had a guy come up to me one time. I talked and he said, 14 months? He said, I was out there for 18 years. I said, good for you. You win. It was long enough for me, I can tell you. I was not accustomed to being locked up. The air is different in there. When it rains, it smells different in there. The breeze is different in there. The moon doesn't look quite the same from inside. And it was enough for me. I make two comments usually about prison and that's it. Because I think prison had nothing to do with my recovery, but my recovery had everything to do with it. It had everything to do with how I dealt with prison. I used every step I could grab onto to exercise it and gain power over that system and to get through the days in there. The inmates used to come up and ask me, how come they can't get to you? How come this and how come that? I make two comments. I say, there are two groups of really, really, really sick people in prison. The sickest group goes home every night. Every now and then somebody will come up and say, I'm a correctional officer, I've got luck. If you're in this program, this fellowship, that doesn't apply to you. And if that doesn't soothe your feelings, call your sponsor. I cannot help you. The other thing is, I made 12 cents an hour in there and the really bad thing about that was there was no 401K plan. I came out of there broke. I came out of there as the most notorious pilot. The judge put sanctions on me, made it impossible I'd ever fly again. And another one of the miracles that I don't have time to go into, he lifted those sanctions. Nobody thought there was a chance in a thousand that that would occur. And he did. And that just took one of the S's out of the word impossible because the FAA had said if you want to fly again, you'll start again with a private license. I had never had a private license. I thought I had the ATP, that's the highest license you can get. In and of itself, regaining that I thought was impossible, but certainly if I could get that, they would waive all the lower licenses because I'm performing to the highest standard that they've got. They said, no, start with a private. And that knocked the props out of me. And then again I go back to the program, one day at a time, one thing at a time, one step at a time. If I do it that way, it's doable. If I don't, it's not. And I told Barbara, it's about my attitude. It's all about my attitude. It's always about my attitude. And I can do this if I change my attitude. And ten and a half months later, I had four licenses. Had no quick fixes, no cut-acrosses, no shortcuts of any kind. But there's a flying part that needs to be done to that. And I looked at that and said, no way. I'm working in a treatment center with alcoholics and I'm making $675 an hour. We're broke. I can't do that. $10,000, $20,000 to do that? No way. Barbara said, well, she said, we've got our furniture left. Why don't we sell the furniture? I don't know if you'll ever fly again, but I think it's important you get your licenses. And I just looked at her. I couldn't believe. She's willing to empty the house. And at that same time, I get a letter from a Northwest guy that had a flight school. He said, I want you to come up here and live with me and go through my flight school free. I was under 13 conditions. I was under 13 conditions of probation. I had to coordinate with the Georgia Department of Corrections and the Minnesota Department. I went up there. It was in the summer of 93 when we had massive rains and floods throughout the country. And I was up there 44 days. We were rained out 14 days. But one of the things my parents bequeathed me is an incredibly hard work ethic. And they did it through their own example. I saw it. And so I never slowed down. I never quit. I always was over there studying eight or 10 hours. Even when I couldn't. I couldn't fly. And in the 30 days remaining, I flew 78 hours and I got four licenses back. Two of them I got by 1115 of one morning. I don't think that had ever been done before. Two licenses before noon of the same day. And I came back. I had a wonderful experience up there with a lot of people. A lot of AAs up there also. And I came back and I thought, well, okay. Who's going to hire you? I was the most notorious name in all of commercial aviation. And I thought my only chance at flying is if I can find some spot in the middle of Africa that had no TV. And maybe fly some sheep and cattle. And three months later, a couple of months later, my licenses actually came in the mail. And I got a phone call from the head of the pilot union at Northwest. Now, a grievance had automatically been filed because of the termination. But I had not activated it because I thought they were right to fire me. They didn't fire me. They didn't fire me for being an alcoholic. They fired me for what I did. And that was fair. And I had not challenged it or fought it. And he said to me, this is the best phone call I've ever made, Lyle, because three hours ago, John Dasberg, the president and CEO of Northwest Airlines, has personally reinstated you to full flight status. I sat there and I wept. I couldn't believe it. The airline I had so horribly shamed and disgraced. And this man was crazy. He was going to take a chance on me. Why? One person out of 50,000. What happened if I relapsed? What happened if I went out and had another flying incident? His career would have been irreparably damaged. It would have been over because of his flawed and faulty judgment. Why would he take a chance on me? And to this day, I don't know. But he did. And I went back on November the 1st of 1993, not quite four years since the arrest. And I signed my back-to-work agreement, never to be a captain again. Northwest now had an alcohol program and I was active in that, watching young pilots come in and getting a second chance at their careers in life. And I couldn't believe that I was part of that. And as I approached my final year, I got another phone call. I had just spoken at United Airlines and Barbara was with me. Late at night, they woke me up. Same pilot who is no longer head of the union. And he said, Lyle, John Dasberg just talked to me. He thinks you need to be a 747 captain when you come home. So I went back. And I checked out as a 747 captain. I spent my last full year at Northwest as a 747 captain. I got to be really good friends with John Dasberg. I saw him quite often. He would call me in and we would talk. And I loved it. Because I was free. I had no secrets. There was nothing that they could discover. I had nothing to hide. And I loved that. So I retired at the mandatory retirement age of 60 in September of 1998. Fully restored. Everywhere I went, there would be anywhere from 6 to a dozen pilots over the course of 12, 13 days. Stopped me in the hallways, the lobbies, hotels, whatever. And said, I'm glad you're back. Now there's always a small group that would prefer we never get up. Who would like to keep their foot on our neck. But you know, I had very few experiences with them. Virtually nil. Because they stayed away. They never came up to me. So all my experiences were positive. And as I retired, my attorney, who had worked for me for over 20 years, who had worked for me for over two years for no money and wouldn't take any money. All he would tell me was, Lyle, I believe in you and I'm staying to the end, wherever that is. And he came up and notified me. He said, Judge Rosenbaum, the toughest judge in the Minnesota Federal District. My judge. I was always lucky. Just called me and said that in 16 years on the federal bench, he has never ever supported a petition for pardon. But if you want to make the attempt, he will support yours. And I thought, what are the chances? Presidential pardon? One in a million? I thought, what are the chances I'd fly again? One in 50 million. So in January of 99, I sent away and got all the papers. Spent two years filling them out, sending them in, getting them done. On January 20, 2001, I came walking in. Barbara and I came in together. And there were eight excited messages on our phone answering machine. All saying, you have just received a presidential pardon. That is an amazing life. That is a life. Amazing life altering event if you have a felony conviction. It changes everything. Changes a lot. The irony of all this is that on my second day in treatment, I sat with my head down listening to the readings. And I heard the promises come up. And I'm listening to the promises. I'm hoping there's something to that. And then they said, no matter how far down the scale we've gone, we'll see how the experience can benefit others. And I said, no. No, it might work for you. And it might be true for you. But I'm going too far down. And I have had this incredible, miraculous, wonderful journey full of miracles. Not because of anything I did. The only reason that any of these things happened is because I believed in this program. And I tried to do the things it asked me to do. I take credit for suiting the Lord. I take credit for suiting up and showing up. That I take credit for. But I take credit for nothing else. So if you're new here tonight, and you don't think it can happen, I hope you take something away with you. Because I didn't think so either. And I'm still in awe of it. I'm still incredibly grateful. And still completely in awe of the things that have happened. Thank you for bearing with me. 68 and a half minutes, I'm done. Thank you.