November 13, 1978, in a hospital bed wearing pajamas, Phil C. first held the Big Book. He had spent a decade drifting through jailhouses and the "Knoxville Nuthouse," a "goddamn scumbag" who once laid a butcher knife on his mother's chair when she spoke of suicide. He grew up in a farmhouse where the music of his father's dance band ended in midnight screaming and coffee-sipping silence the next morning.
Phil describes his drinking as a cycle of filth and shame, from stealing pints at twelve to sitting in the middle of Main Street in Marshalltown with his back to traffic. He admits he was a "taker" all his life until he learned the "magic" of putting back into the stream of life. By taking daily inventories with his Higher Power and making amends to a brother he once tried to knife, he traded a life of hot checks and wreckage for a home found in the rooms of AA.
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