My Stepfather Hired Vito to Break My Legs — That Was My Intervention 🤣 – David R.

Thank you. No love for me? No, I'm just kidding. I'm David Robinson. I'm a recovered alcoholic. Hey, David. We love you, David. Lots and lots and lots. And more. I do know that when the phone rings, you never say no. Because the life you save may be your own. You never say no to service. You know? And I take that sign very seriously when anyone, anywhere, reaches out for help. I want the hand of AA to be there. And for that, I am responsible. You know? And if for nothing else, it's like at the end of Dr. Bob's story, you know? Duty, sense of pleasure. In doing so, you know, I take out a little insurance against the next slip. And I'm paying back the men. The men. The many thousands of men. That did it for me. You know? And I can tell you that I'm here today, a sober, recovered member of Alcoholics Anonymous, because thousands and thousands of people helped me. You know? No man is an island in Alcoholics Anonymous. You know? I really do believe that the most important word in all the 12 steps is that first word or first step, which is we. You know? Again, so I want to thank the committee for inviting me to come down. I want to thank Sarah. Is Sarah here? We did the corrections workshop today. Sarah's in the back there. Thank you very much. We did it. Yeah. Thank you. We did the corrections workshop together this afternoon. I did my little bit about corrections correspondence, and she got up and blew my doors out of the water. She's done more in six or seven years of sobriety than I've done in the 12 few years I've been around. My sobriety date is May 25, 1994. My sponsor is David Joyce, the lieutenant, his sponsor. It was Frank Wright, the Sheepshead Bay Group. Frank Wright's sponsor was George Lundy, and George Lundy's sponsor was Bill Wilson. Three of those guys were members of the Sheepshead Bay Group in Brooklyn, which is, you know, where I got sober. And my sponsors and I, well, actually, my sponsors are fortunate enough to have actually been to one of Bill Wilson's anniversaries. You know what I mean? I consider that kind of special to be sponsored by a man like that. I grew up on a Brooklyn waterfront. It was just me and my sister. My dad was a Marine who, you know, I'm not going to call him an alcoholic. Let's just say that when he drank, he was very free with his hands, very loose with his lips, and very free with the furniture around the house. You know, it wasn't father knows best, believe me. I'm not going to say he was an alcoholic, but, you know, by the end of it, you know, my mother basically ran out of the house. There we go. We'll have them in a couple years. He was very free with his hands. And, you know, he used to bat my mother and I around and my sister. And, you know, that's not why I'm an alcoholic, you know, but it's a very big part of my story. We basically ran out of the house when I was four years old. And I never saw him again alive. You know, I never saw anybody on my father's side of the family. And that would come years later as a result of the miracle of the ninth step. What about the miracle of the ninth step? Let me diverge for a second. I get to my room yesterday, and there's a dozen roses on a table. And I had a rough trip. Now, Ernesto slapped me three times. I work on Wall Street. I run a computer department. And we have a server farm down in Boca Raton that I had to shut down and turn back on again. And then I had the privilege of flying into Hurricane Ernesto, a tropical storm. Ernesto yesterday sat in Kennedy Airport for three hours. And the flight was delayed. I get down here. And, by the way, there's a tree in my yard, and my power's off. It's in North Jersey, where I live right now. But so I come into the hotel room, and I'm all bedraggled from my trip. And there's a dozen roses, right? A dozen roses sitting on my table. And I'm walking in, and, you know, I have a little bit of fear around this. I've got to be honest with you. You know, I have enough, you know, terror in me to light up the city of Chicago right now, you know. And I walk into the room, and I see a dozen roses on a table, right, with this card. It says, remember, faith. Second step proposition. God is everything or God is nothing. What is our choice to be? You know, Christ, it's all about faith. What am I worried about, you know? And I run downstairs, and I go up to Rob, and I thank him profusely. I go, that's wonderful, a dozen roses. He goes, I don't worry about it, no problem. Did you get your basket? And, you know, he walked away. And then I found out a half an hour later, this is from an old high school sweetheart that I know up in Virginia. You know what I mean? So. I never did get my basket, though, but that's okay. Yeah. So we grew up in a Brooklyn waterfront, and it was just, you know, my sister and my mother and I. And it was rough. It was rough, you know. My mother had to work a couple jobs. And she warned me very early. It's like in a book, you know, where, you know, Bill was warned about the dangers of alcohol. I mean, I was warned about the dangers of alcohol. Alcoholism runs in my father's family. And, you know, the big book makes no case for geneticism in Alcoholics Anonymous. And I have no opinion on that issue. But I do know that my mother warned me, you know, that there was, in my family, there was magic in the fire water. You know, stay away from it at all costs. Otherwise, you'll wind up just like your father. You know what I mean? And those words, man, that's like hammering nails through my heart. You know, you're just like your father. Those were like the five most profane words I could imagine hearing when I was growing up, you know. Because he was a violent, you know, heavy drinking man. And I'm not going to call him an alcoholic. So we grew up, and I always felt inferior. I always felt less than. I was always, you know. I was. I was the only. Basically, I was the only white kid in the Puerto Rican neighborhood. You know what I mean? So I used to get the tar kicked out of me because I had blonde hair, you know. And then I'd go up to Bensonhurst to play baseball up there. And I was the only blonde-haired kid in Bensonhurst. So they'd bat me around. And I didn't really fit in anywhere, which didn't help either, you know. And this all set me up for that first drink, you know. I picked up my first drink. I was 14 years old. Anybody remember the great blackout of 1977? George, you probably remember the blackout of 1970, right? I think it was July 17th. 1977. Actually, go look that up. It was me and two other kids. We went to Sunnydale Grocery on 3rd Avenue and 68th Street in Bay Ridge. And we chipped in, and we bought a six-pack of Valley Forge beer. Valley Forge beer. I kid you not. It was made in Staten Island. The tagline on a bottle was, Brewed on a shimmering shoals of the Kilvan Cull. All right? It was like panther urine. It was the most obnoxious chemical you could imagine. And I loved it. I loved it. You know, I loved everything about it. I loved the crack of the bottle, that noise it made. I loved the way it burned my throat. I loved the way it hit my belly. And I was looking for that ah my entire life. And I found it. And I could not imagine why the other two guys weren't standing directly underneath the rest of them with me, you know. I had five. The other two guys had one. And I remember exaggerating the staggers. I was leaving a park. And I left. This is. I left Alice Head Park. It's Alice Head Park in Bay Ridge. We come outside the park. And I look down Third Avenue towards the Trade Center. And that's another story. Towards the Trade Center. And I watched the lights go out down Third Avenue. And then Manhattan goes black. And we're in a blackout. And guess what? So am I. You know what I mean? Go figure. I don't really remember what happened. I do remember that I had my eye on it. I had my eye on his bicycle for quite some time. That was in a bicycle shop window down in Alice Head Road. So apparently I freed this thing from the bicycle store. You know, I liberated it from this guy. And all I know is I wake up the next morning. And basically I barely remember. I'm riding home on this thing. And I'm wobbling. And apparently this is all secondhand to me. Basically everything before the age of 30 is secondhand to me. But I'm driving this thing along. And Mike the cop, who's dating my mom. Not Mike the cop from Abedin Costello, by the way. This is just Mike the cop from the neighborhood. He says, hey, kids, where'd you get the bicycle? And I told him I stole it from the store, right? And he goes, very funny. Get in the car. I'm taking you home. It's dangerous. So I get home. And I wake up the next morning. And there's blood in the bed. I'd cut my hand. I'd puked all over the floor. And there's Mike the cop at the door, right? Apparently somebody had saw Mike the cop being the accomplice to the crime. And called the police station. So Mike had to come. Get me. Get the bicycle. It was just a mess. And my mother said the five magic words. You know, you're just like your father. You know, and those words, they cut me to the quick. I drank for, let's see, for five more years. Five of the best years of my life were spent in high school, by the way. Not four, but five. And just to show you where I was, I had the second highest. I went to a high school called Brooklyn Tech. I don't know if anybody's ever heard of Brooklyn. Anybody here at Brooklyn Tech? Any Brooklyn Tech alumni? Yeah, five, right? It's actually the second largest high school in the United States. And my dream was to be an engineer. But I just couldn't pull my, I don't know how people did it, man. I mean, the other kids got up. They put on clothes. They went to school. They sat in class. I mean, I was always worried about going out and getting the next drink. I don't know. From my experience in a park, all I could think about was getting loaded. That's all I could think about. I don't know how these kids were able to focus. I mean, you know, I was cutting class. When I left that school in disgrace, by the way, I left four and a half years later with my head down. I had the second highest IQ in the school and the second lowest grade point average. I had a 64 average, 64.9 when I left Brooklyn Tech. You know what I mean? That shows you where I was. You know, I just couldn't pull it together. And I had this big gaping hole inside of me. I mean, nothing I put inside of this hole worked. And I didn't know it at the time. You know, it started out with, you know, comic books, then junk food, then junk books, and then booze. And booze was the only thing that fit. And even that stopped working for a while. So I left Brooklyn Tech, and I was devastated because it was my first real failure. You know what I mean? I mean, my drinking was starting to have some consequences. You know, the first couple of years it was fun. Then I started being fun with consequences. And I had to go to the local zone school, Fort Hamilton. That was like the badge of shame. And Tech was such a good school. Actually, that I had enough credits to graduate, but I didn't have the time. So I took eight periods of typing, right, for one semester to graduate. And it's funny. You know, you never know what God's plan is for you. But now I work with computers, and I can type 80 words a minute. So there you go. So it kind of worked out. And then, you know, being the alcoholic realist that I am, I saw Officer and the Gentleman. I said, that's it. I'm going to fly Navy jets. That's what I've been missing. That's what I'll do. That's what I'll do. And believe it or not, I went to the local. I better get sober soon. Look at this. I went to the local community college, New York City Technical College, and I didn't drink. I just stopped drinking. I put it all down. I was smoking four packs of cigarettes a day. I was going out with about 15 girls. I was eating about 30 boxes of donuts. But I was sober. I was fine. You know. Yeah, it's true. I was filling that hole up with anything I could grab. You know what I mean? And the more I fed the hole, the worse it got. Can anybody identify with that? The more I fed the beast, the hungrier the beast got. Nothing worked, man. Nothing. I was dead inside. And the world was just raging around me, you know. I get uncomfortable thinking about that time because I don't feel like that today, thank God. So I pulled it together. I went to New York City Technical College. The first couple of years, I did it. 3.6. 3.7. I made the dean's list. I said, that's it. I'm on my way. I'm a genius here. This is it. All I had to do was knuckle down, you know. So I went to a school across the street called Polytech. And they're very serious over there. You know, they're a lot more serious than a community college. 3.0. 2.8. 2.6. Anybody see where this is going? My last semester of college, I was actually not doing too good. There wasn't quite enough donuts and women around to take care of what was really, really wrong with me. And I was just out of control. My attitudes was out of check. Excuse me. Attitudes were out of check. You caught me a little Brooklynism there. And never forget, a bartender, call that sick. That's the day that changed my life. I'd been waiting tables in this place called Nightfall. This is being taped, right? This local neighborhood establishment that was owned by a local tough guy. Let me put it to you that way. Forget about it. If you know what I mean. So the bartender was off that night. And I'm behind the bar, and I'm cleaning the bottles. And I'm saying, you know what? I'm going to join the Navy. I'm going to learn how to drink scotch. I don't know where that thought came. I don't know. To this day, I don't know where that thought came. It was like this little black angel was sitting on my shoulder. Because I was thinking about, you know, I'd seen some John Wayne movie or something where they hit a bottle of scotch in a torpedo tube. I'm going to be around torpedo tubes. I've got to know how to handle the equipment. So let me see what this one tastes like. The next thing I know, my mother's leaning over me, screaming at me. I'm in a pool of vomit in my bed. You're just like your father. And I never went back to school again. I never went back to school again. Man, it was just like gasoline on a flame. And I took off. And when I took off, I took off like this. I was 22. Actually, I was 23 years old because of the delay in high school. I was 23 years old when I left college. In the next seven years, I lost 52 jobs. I went from job to job to job. I waited tables. I attended bar. I was a bar back. And I worked at some pretty swanky joints. I worked at three- and four-star restaurants. I worked at a bar. I worked at a bar. I worked at a bar. The line on David Robinson was this. David, great guy, great with the customers when he's sober, but you can't pay him. You can't give him any money. Because I didn't know. That was the deal. You can't pay him. If you pay him, he won't come back. Right? I didn't know you're allowed to go home with money in your pocket at the end of the night. I thought you had to go to Hurley's. It's closed. I can say that one. All right? I thought you had to go to Hurley's on 50, I think it's 53rd Street or 51st Street and 6th Avenue. And you had to knock down 15 or 16 doubles. That's what I thought. And, you know, at 25 years old, what's the 16 doubles? It's a quart of scotch. I didn't think there was anything wrong with that. It's a good man's fault. Right? Burns your throat a little bit. You know, what's the big deal? Nobody's getting hurt. Well, let's see. You dropped out of college. You got no money in the bank. Oh, and my requirements for a relationship were very high. You know, for a woman to be involved with me, she had to drink enough so that my drinking wasn't so bad, but not quite so much, you know, that she couldn't pay the rent for us. That was my requirements for a relationship, you know. That shows you what a suave and debonair kind of guy I was. So here we go. I'm romping through the 80s here, you know, not doing too good thinking on the cat's meow, man. I thought I had it together. I just thought I had a string of bad luck. String of bad luck. At one point, I was living in a YMCA driving a cab, and I couldn't pay the rent. That's where I was, you know. And I used to say that's what alcohol did to me, but it really is what I did to myself. You know, alcohol was the last. You know, alcohol was the last. It was the last weapon of choice. And a long list of weapons I had used to destroy myself to fill that hole, right? So where are we going with this? So a guy 12 steps me, right? I go work in a restaurant that's still open. I'm not going to say the name of it, but it's in the Time Life Building on 6th Avenue in Manhattan. And this guy, I come to work, and it's just getting harder and harder. I mean, you know, God bless you guys for coming in so young. I mean, I was never, I'll tell you this, I was never so old as the day I came to Alcoholics Anonymous. That's the oldest day of my life. I never felt so old as my first day in AA. But I come to AA, and this guy's looking outside the office, and he's looking down at me, and he just shakes his head, and he goes back, and he starts laughing. And I have, like, my eyes are red. You know, I haven't slept in three days. I mean, I have to work a double, and I just, I got the heebie-jeebies and the whim-whams, and I don't see what's so funny. So I asked him what's so funny, and he's like, dude, you don't got to live like this no more. Why don't you come with me? And on the way downstairs, I had one last drink, and after I had that drink, I walked up to a manager, I kissed him on the lips, and I asked him if he could ever forgive me for sleeping with his wife. This guy was not the type of guy that was married, by the way, if you know what I'm saying. So I was out on the street with my locker. They cleaned out my locker, and that was it. That was my last day of work. And this was the only time, by the way, that anybody ever lied to me in Alcoholics Anonymous. The guy said, you know, if you come to me for three meetings, I'll get you your job back, is what the guy said to me. It's the only time anyone ever lied to me. And, you know, my story is really, you know, I have two tales in AA. I have AA before, you know, I got into work, and I have the tale after I got into work. You know, this guy took me to a place on Midnight Street, on Houston Street in a city called Midnight Madness, and his attitude was take what you need and leave the rest. That was his battle cry. You know, easy does it. You know, stay away from the God freaks. You know, you're going to meet these people that are called Big Book Nazis. You want to avoid them at all costs. They're fanatics. They're going to shave your head and make you chant out of the big book. And, you know, just, you know, go to, here's a meeting list, and call me if you need any help, you know. And, you know, I found out later that this guy probably wasn't the best guy for me. I was 28 years old, you know, and, you know, I used to blame him for that for years, especially after I found this message that we have in the first 164 pages of our book. I was very resentful. I was very resentful that this guy didn't just grab me by the back of the hair and drag me through the book, you know, with the pages on fire. But the reality is I probably heard somebody, you know, talk about the book. I just wasn't ready to listen. You know what I mean? And we were talking about this earlier today. I really believe God's grace falls evenly on everybody. It's up for us to reach out and embrace the grace if we want to get sober. So, you know, I spent six months in AA, and I was amazed that I wasn't drinking. The desire to drink was ripped out of me, you know. And I really believe that God graces everybody when we first come in here. He gives us just enough time to get into the work. Just enough time to, you know, to give us the opportunity to say, yes, I want this thing. I must have it, too, like it says in our book, you know. So I went to meetings for six months, and you know what? They became a little inconvenient. You know, I started dating. Oh, it was love. This is it. That's what I was looking to fill a hole with. I started dating this girl, and I started dating this girl when I was six months sober. And we started seeing each other more and more. Six months turns to seven. You know, seven turns to eight. My sponsor dropped. Out of my life, I stopped calling him. I stopped going to meetings. Ten months sober. It's Christmas Eve, 1992. I think I got it going on, but inside, I know I'm falling apart. I mean, the beautiful car I'd always wanted. You know, I filled my life up with the if-onlys. You know, if only I had a nice car, if only I had a nice house, if only I had a nice girlfriend, if only I had a nice job, if only, if only, if only these things would make me full. And to my dismay, none of it was working. All the things I'd wanted my whole life were not working for me. I was just basically a kid who wanted a nicer room. That's really all I was, you know. And. This girl became the center of my life. And my sponsor likes to say anything, you know, that's your number one priority in life is your higher power. So I made this girl my higher power. Did I mention she had a baby? I didn't mention that, did I? You know. I never asked her where the baby came from, by the way. It just never came up in a conversation. I dated this woman for four months and never asked her where the baby came from. I found out, though. Christmas Eve, I'd left work, and I rented a Santa Claus outfit, and I got some gifts for the baby, and I went over to the house. And we were going to stay home and have a nice quiet evening. No sooner than I get through the threshold of the house, the phone rings. And it's the baby's father, right? Just released from Dannemora State Prison, you know. And for some pretty nasty stuff, by the way. We're not talking about trespassing and loitering. This guy was in for, like, armed robbery with intent to kill or something. I don't know what he was in for, but he was a big guy, and he was outside the door. You know, she made me go out, you know, the back window. Thank God it was only the second floor, you know. And I went out. I went out that back window, and my world ended the moment I went through that window. My world came crashing down. There was nothing left. And I went out that window. I didn't have a meeting list in my pocket. I didn't have a sponsor I could call. I didn't have a prayer in my heart. I had nothing except the same idiot I had brought into AA ten months earlier and my bag of nonsense. I was without defense against the first drink. I had nothing between me and it. And we all know what it is. And it was like I was watching. It was like a movie. You know, I walked out to my car. I put the car in drive. I went right into the city. I went to this. It's closed. I can say now. I went to a place called Sally's on 6th Avenue, which was an adult entertainment establishment with alcohol. And I sat. And little Marie, the bartender, right, who had been my bar mistress for whenever I had money in my pocket, actually. I actually hold a record. I'm the only guy in buildings that was ever thrown out with money in his pocket, by the way. That shows you what kind of drunk I was, you know. But. I went in and I went to my chair and I wasn't going to drink. This is key. I wasn't going to drink. I was just going to go in. You know what I mean? And sort of sort things out. Maybe say hello to the girls and say hello to the guys. I just wanted a place to, you know, schmooze and look with some companionship and conviviality, I guess. And I go walk in. I sit down. And without saying a word, Marie slides a double grandma name in front of me with the rolling rock back says, good luck. And there it was. There it was. And I sat transfixed with this glass in front of me for about an hour. I was. I was staring at it. And, you know, my life flashed before my eyes. My life flashed before my eyes. I don't recommend this to anybody who's not prepared for the experience. I mean, there was no lying anymore. And I remember sitting down saying, no, I'm not an alcoholic. I haven't had a drink in ten months. And I started thinking about it. Well, you know, maybe I am an alcoholic. But I'll tell you why. You know, I'm an alcoholic because my mommy didn't love me and my daddy hit me and I got fired from 52 jobs. Actually make that 53 at this point. Right. And my girlfriend threw me out of the house. And I did this for about an hour. And I reached out and I said the very last two words they said I would ever say if I picked up a drink again. And I'm a gentleman. I'm not going to say what those two words are. But I said those two words. And I inhaled it. And every little bit of good that AA had shoved in me in ten months came sucking out of me like a vacuum. And I was right back. And the next two words were, I'm back. Those were the next two words that came to me. Those were the next two words that came, let's go. You know. I'll never forget that feeling. It was better than, it was. So we can better start moving this along. So let's see. I met one of the girls. She came home for a visit. Introduced me to something else which I had never experienced. And within six months I was there. And within six months I was living in Allishead Park in Brooklyn. And the last six months of that run I was actually drinking Listerine and boosting car radios. Right? And don't laugh when you hear Listerine. It's actually 86 proof. It's actually the same proof as scotch. Okay. I've got to fess up here. It wasn't Listerine actually. It was Duane Reade mouthwash which is a local drug store. It's a little cheaper. It's, you know, 99 cents. And my breath was not minty fresh, I assure you. My mother and various members of Alcoholics Anonymous attempted to throw me out of the car. I was in the car. The car driver was an anonymous. Attempted to throw a net on me. And I said, no, these guys are all suckers. Look at them. They get up. They go to work. They come home from work. It was the same nonsense as high school except I was drinking. You know? What saved my life was, um, May 25, 1994 they found me face down in my box. They pronounced me in the ambulance again. Apparently I went into cardiac arrest seven times. I was 117 pounds. Uh. suffering from scurvy, if you can believe that, because I hadn't any fruit and vegetables in close to six months. I had lice in my eyes and my ears. I guess they call them ear mites, right? Is that within the ears? And I woke up in a hospital handcuffed to the wall. Handcuffed to the wall. I should backtrack a little bit. My stepfather, who's going to kill me when he hears this, I've got to be careful how I say this because it's being taped. But let's just say that my stepfather knew some boys in the neighborhood that had me constrained against my will for a couple of weeks. And one of these guys was a sober member of Alcoholics Anonymous who stayed outside my door for two weeks. And Vito's job was to break my legs if I went out for a drink. So you might say I had an intervention. True story. So I woke up handcuffed to the wall. And I remember my first time around in alcoholism. Alcoholics Anonymous, this is important. My first time around debating the various levels of surrender one must transcend through to get to the nirvana of the second step. Can you imagine? Can you imagine this kind of tripe coming out of somebody's mouth? But this is the way it was. I sat in the back with the psychologist in inventory row in the back. This is what we talk about. And I remember looking up at the wall saying, okay, I get it. What's next? What's next? And I'm hanging on the wall here. I mean, I don't mean to try, you know, trying to stop. I don't want to sleep with your arm up in the air like this. But in through the door walks Joe with a big book under his arms. Whoa, excuse me. With a big book under his arms. Now, I'll tell you something about Joe. Joe is the guy that used to sit in the front of the room and talk about God and scare the crap out of me. You know what I mean? I remember, you know, one time sitting in a meeting with Joe at home group and getting really upset. The more he talked about God, the more I would hop my chair away from him. And I'd just harumph myself literally to the other side of the room. See, I'm not going to water on him. Sorry about that, guys. And Joe comes up to me one day. He goes, kid, you look perturbed. What's on your mind? I said, you know, it's against my constitutional rights to hear about God in a country that professes, you know, religious freedom. He goes, really? What's the matter? Don't you believe in God? I go, no. He goes, you know, for something you don't believe in, you're getting awful angry is what he said to me. And all I could say was, oh. You know, I'm thinking nothing really profound to say to him about that. So Joe comes into the hospital with a big book of Alcoholics Anonymous. They're his arms. And I was expecting to get a lecture from him. And he said, kid, how you doing? And I said, I ain't doing too good, obviously. What are you doing? He goes, I ain't doing too good either. I just found out I have throat cancer. And I'm going to die, kid. And I got to work with somebody, you know, or I'm going to drink. He goes, do you mind if I tell you my story? I still get goosebumps. Do you mind if I tell you my story? He did no preaching. He didn't speak down to me from any intellectual mountaintop. He told. He told me his story. Right? You know, and Sarah, you know, God bless her. You know, she was talking this morning or this afternoon about being jealous of people that are able. This guy drank until he was like 50. I couldn't believe it. How do you do that? How do you drink until you're 50 and not wind up handcuffed to a wall? That's really what I wanted to know at that point. How can I do this and not wind up handcuffed to a wall? So Joe told me his story. And, you know, his story couldn't have been any different than mine. But they couldn't have been more similar. You know, and finally, you know, when we got to the end, I'm like, wow, what do I got to do? He said, I'm glad you asked. And he took out the big book of Alcoholics Anonymous. And we read the book paragraph to paragraph. And you'd think the son of a gun would let me off the wall. But, you know, they were keeping a pretty close eye on me. We read the big book of Alcoholics Anonymous in 14 days. And God bless him for doing it. It changed my life. You know what I mean? He said, you know, put a star. Put a star next to everything in that book that reminds you of yourself. I had 267 stars in that book. I still have that book. First 63 pages basically asked me one question over and over and over and over again. David, are you a moderate drinker? Are you a heavy drinker? Or are you a real alcoholic? You know, if a real alcoholic, you know, Bill used all kinds of phrases. Alcoholic of our type. Alcoholic of our variety. Alcoholic of our description. On and on. But are you one of us? If you are, you're screwed. You know. Unless you may want to try what we found. That might help you. So we got to the jumping off place, page 63. Because, kid, are you in it or not? And, you know, I did it. And here's the thing. Here's the big secret. Here's the thing I was looking for my first time around in AA. I said a third step prayer to a God I didn't believe in on page 63. But he believed in me. That's the miracle of this thing. I felt like a total fraud getting down on my knees and saying that prayer with him. I felt like a total fraud. You know. And I got up from that and he handed me the notebook. And we got to work. And we did that fourth step. You know. And we did the four columns. Just like it's outlined in a book. You know what I mean? And when it got time to do that fourth step, you know, I thought I was going to get to tell this man my life story. And he's like, kid, I don't care about your life story. Because you've been telling your story your whole life. Read me that fourth column. Where are you? Selfish. Self-centered. Dishonest. And fearful. That's all I care about. You know. Fear is evil and corroding threat. And he beat into me over and over again. Page 62. You know. Selfishness and self-centeredness. That we think is the root of our problems. He beat into me over and over again. And they let me out. Fourteen days later I was out making nine-step amends. You know. And I got to tell you, it's kind of difficult to make nine-step amends when you live in a Brooklyn men's shelter. You know. I spent six months in a Brooklyn men's shelter. And then six months in a furnished room. And Joe made it to just about my first anniversary before he passed on. You know. But he got to give me my coin at my first anniversary. You know. Which was very cool. That's what it was like. What happened. And what it's like now. Well, let me tell you a little story. I started working with another guy. A man by the name of David Joyce who I mentioned earlier. And we worked. We've been working with David since 1995. So I guess he's been my sponsor for the last 11 years. And he was a real good influence on me. And he couldn't have been any more different than I was. David's a retired New York City lieutenant. You know what I mean. And I know some of you may not identify with this. But I got a little problem with authority. You know. I don't get along well with cops. You know. God love him. You know. I'm not one of those idiot cop haters at meetings. If there are any troopers or policemen around. I mean no offense. But I just have a real problem with authority. And it's just like again. Our stories couldn't be any more different. But we couldn't be any more identical. And we couldn't love each other more. You know what I mean. So I worked with David a number of years. And we took a big book meeting into a correctional institution in New York City. And that alone was an experience. Because you know. Every three months we'd take a hundred men. Split them into two groups. Read the big book of Alcoholics Anonymous. Go through the twelve chapters. And go through the twelve steps. Kick them out and do it again. And it was one of the most enriching experiences of my life. And the only way you can do that. Is if when you get to the fourth step. You know. The fifth step actually. Just look at that fourth column. I'm not telling people not to look at the third column. Obviously that's vitally important. But when you've got to work with that many men. That's how you get through the work. Where you're selfish. Self-centered. Dishonest. And fearful. You know. And it's very helpful. So we did this for a number of years. And my life began to change. You know. I went from. I went from collecting bottles in sobriety. To washing dishes. To waiting tables again. I started tinkering around with computers. You've got to remember something. Thirty years old. I thought my life was over. You know what I mean. I thought it was the end of the line. I mean. Wow. I couldn't get any worse than this. I'm thirty years old. And I'm in AA. You know. I mean. You know what I mean. And we don't have a young people's organization. Of course. I mean. I'm not as young up north. Than I'm aware of. So I mean. I was in there with. You know. And that is a lot more young people in AA. Thank God. But there wasn't many around. When I was getting sober. So I went from. You know. Really collecting bottles. To washing dishes. To waiting tables. To tinkering around with computers. To fixing them. And then to repairing them professionally. And about five years ago. I got the job I have now. Which is. I work on Wall Street. And I manage a computer department. You know. And that's not bad. For a guy who used to wet his pants. And sleep in a box. You know. And I really. I owe that. I owe that all. Well not since. Not since I drank actually. About. You know. Wet in the bed. But I owe that all to Alcoholics Anonymous. But I tell you. One of the greatest events of my sobriety. Was when I was seven years sober. Feeling very much. The accomplished sober member of Alcoholics Anonymous. I got in front of my home group. And I took my coin. And I thanked my sponsor. And I told everybody how wonderful it was. To have gone through the steps. So many times. With so many men. And my sponsor interrupted me. It was about 150 people in a room. And he said. Excuse me. I said. It's wonderful to have gone through the steps. So many times. He said. Have you actually finished your ninth step David? What do you mean? Have you finished it? I go. Well. No. He goes. Then sit down. You know. Because he was getting pretty fed up. And the reality is. Here's the reality. The reality is. That I was coasting. And. You know. I ride a bicycle. Any fellow bicyclists in here? Anybody like to ride the bicycle? I'm a cyclist. I'm. I'm an amateur one. But I love to ride. And the only way you can coast is downhill. You don't coast uphill. You know. I. I just bought. You know. My first car in sobriety. And it was a luxury German automobile. And I bought it basically. So I could. You know. Cruise in front of the sober coffee shop. And look cool. That was really why I bought the car. To be perfectly honest with you. I can tell you that five years down the road. I mean. Talk about an ego. I mean. How'd you like to get sober with this guy? Right? So. So that's where I was going. I. I just bought my own apartment. And my sponsor. You know. I. I actually had to take a look at my nine step again. And I still owed. About fifty thousand dollars. In nine step amends. And all these people were on a twenty dollar plan. Like I was saying. This one twenty dollars. That one twenty dollars. And. My sponsor suggested that. You know. I get honest financially. And I. I cleared my bank account out. And I paid back everybody I owed. You know. And I got that back like ten times. That's the amazing thing. You know. In. In a few short years later. I mean. It's like this thing in. In AA. You know. You put a quarter in. The. A quarter in a meter of sobriety. You get back ten dollars. It's just unbelievable. No matter how much you give. You always give. Get an overwhelming amount back. You know. So. I want to talk about a couple of my. My final nine step stories real quick. If I could. The last wedding. I remember my family inviting to. Was my cousin's wedding. And. I got very drunk. And. I don't remember anything. Except that my mother. And my sister stopped talking. For about ten years. As a result of. My behavior. At the wedding. And. So. About five years ago. I went to visit my sister. And. I remember something. I'd been looking for my father. My entire life. I mean. That was a very big point for me. You know. Not being separated from my dad. When I was young. I didn't know my uncles. I didn't know my grandparents. So. I went to visit my. My aunt. And my cousin. To apologize for the wedding. And at first. They didn't want to hear it. You know. It took three phone calls. To get the door. You know. This is why I stepped. I'm so used to pointing at the steps. I'm sorry. This is why step nine's on the bottom. You have to be ready for it. Good and bad. You know. I did the easy ones first. The hard ones are the ones that really bring you home. You know. So. I went. I made the cements. And. I went to the door. And at first. They didn't want to let me in. Then they let me in. But they were hemming and hawing. And then they showed me the pictures. Of me. Any small children in here? Taking a leak on a wedding cake. And they had this. They had this. In black and white. And video. And they made me watch it. Over and over. And over again. I mean. I mean. It's. I. I don't even remember it. And. The thing about crow is. You know. Crow is best eaten when it's fresh. When it's ten years. When it's ten years old. It's really ugly. And it gets rancid. And. I made the amends. And I. I told them that I was. You know. A sober member of Alcoholics Anonymous. And. Is there anything I can do to fix this? I mean. I know I destroyed your wedding. But is there anything I can do to fix it? And they were actually pretty cool about it. After the point. And. The night went. I'm not going to tell you. It was peaches and cream. And they welcomed me back. The first day. Although that relationship has been repaired. But my uncle Jimmy pulled me aside. At the end of the day. And he goes. David. If. If your mother knew. That I gave this to you. She'd kill me. But. You know. Your mother and I haven't spoken in a number of years. I know where your aunt Margaret is. And he knew where my. He knew where my. My. My father's sister was. And she's in Jacksonville, Florida. As is the rest of the family. So I ran home with this number. And I sort of felt a little bit like the dead zone. With Stephen King. Like I had this number from 50 years in the past. You know what I mean? I didn't know if it was the appropriate thing to call it. So I called it. And I introduced myself to my aunt Margaret. And she was really pleasant. She gave me the lowdown in the whole family. She goes. But. I got something to tell you. It's kind of embarrassing. But you have a right to know. You know. Your father had a twin brother. Uncle Gus. I go. Really? She goes. Yeah. And today is his first day in rehab. You know. And I said. Oh. That's wonderful. You know what I mean? So. She didn't. She didn't get the joke. But. I thought it was pretty cool. So I. So I went down. A few weeks later. I met the entire family. And. You know. It was wonderful. Except for Uncle Gus. Who was. You know. In rehab. And washing school buses. Apparently. You know. The state of Florida. Had a. Had a thing in him also. And. I went down. A month later. I met my Uncle Gus. And it was cool. I was spending every other month in Florida. Taking my Uncle Gus. He did AA meetings. And it was a lot like taking my father to AA. Because he looked like my uncle. Like my father. He acted like my father. And he sounded like my father. You know what I mean? He actually. Identical. Except he's about this big. You know what I mean? The last nine step amends I had. Which was huge. Was. There was a. There's a. A deli I used to work for in Brooklyn. Back in the late 70s. And I was. You know. I wasn't a big time robber. I was a cash register thief. You know. I used to go out on deliveries. With change of a 20. And I'd never bring the change back. You know what I mean? And the 12 and 12 talks about alcohol. As being a rapacious creditor. And they were wrong. My sponsor's a rapacious creditor. My sponsor charges 30% interest. On loans. So we sat down. We did the math. And we figured out. That I owed. Owed this guy about a thousand dollars. Right? So I actually had to. Go look this guy up. And it turns out. That this poor guy. Had passed away. A couple years earlier. But I found his wife. In Staten Island. And his wife agreed to see me. After three phone calls. Again. You know. Think about nine steps. You've got to be careful. I mean. You know. We do wreckage in our past. You know. These people aren't exactly. Happy to see us. You know what I mean? We have to make a case. In some cases. Except when to do so. Would injure them or others. But I didn't even tell her. I was in AA initially. I just told her. That I was. You know. At a point in my life. Where I was re-examining. My past behaviors. And I just wanted to. To clear things up. And would she mind. You know. Making some time for me. And I went. And I saw her. At a job in Brooklyn. She worked for the phone company. And she came over to me. Very trepidatiously. I can tell that she was a little concerned. Think about it. Some guy wants to see you. With you know. What the heck does this guy want? And I told her. What I had done to her. I offered her this money. And I asked her. If there's anything else. I could do. To make things right. You know. For the harms. I had done them. It turns out. That not only did they lose that delicatessen. But the father died. A helpless. And hopeless alcoholic. And she had a daughter. And a son. And they had just. Just. Canceled. The daughter's prom. Because they didn't have any money. For a dress. Or a car. So I was able to hand this woman money. You know. And. I'm not going to say. She was grateful to see me. But I am going to say. She was grateful to have that envelope in her hand. You know what I mean. And I went back to my car. And I wept like a baby. I wept. Because I actually felt. I felt physically removed from alcohol. The desire to drink was ripped out of me. You know what I mean. Like our book says. On you know. Page. I think it's 84 or 85. You know. We're placed in a position of neutrality. Neither. You know. Neither fighting nor afraid. You know what I mean. That the feeling will just come. We don't have to fight for it. You know. I was recovered from alcoholism on that day. You know. And. AA to present day. Is. You know. If I was any more serene. I'd be dead. You know what I mean. I got a terrific life. I just got my braces off. Six months ago. Huh? Just for the new people. You know. When you're spiritually pure. Your teeth straighten out. That's what happens. I stole that from Clancy. Actually. That's not mine. I graduated from Pace University. I was the second oldest graduating student. In the graduating class. I also. Yeah. I graduated second in my class. And I just started Columbia University. For my graduate degree. Which I'm very pleased at. And it's not about the cash and prizes. Thank you. It's not about. It's not about the cash and prizes. And it's not about the cash and prizes. It's not about the fancy cars. It's about my relationship with God. You know. I walk with God. I got this. I try to walk with God. I do my best to be. A loving example. His healing power. Again. This card. And a dozen roses. Remember. Faith. Faith is what got me here. Faith is what keeps me here. And faith is what keeps me coming back here. And I got to tell you. You guys have been so wonderful. So loving. So terrific. So supporting. I want to thank the committee. I want to thank the taper. Tapers never get thanked enough. And I want to thank you guys. For letting me tell you. My story. Thank you so much.