Ron W. shares his Step 1 experience at a retreat in Primm, Nevada, tracing his alcoholism from its roots in childhood feelings of inadequacy to a devastating bottom at age 31. Growing up in Watts, Los Angeles, he describes the "ism before the ism" — feeling too short, too skinny, too dark-skinned, never comfortable in his own skin. His escape mechanisms progressed with the disease: from books to comic books to television, each losing its power and demanding something bigger. He dreamed of becoming Perry Mason, the powerful attorney who could bend people's will with words.
Alcohol arrived at his high school graduation beach party and transformed him instantly — he got taller, bolder, fearless. It carried him through college at Loyola Marymount and law school at Hastings, where he graduated early and passed the California bar at 24, one of the youngest Black attorneys ever licensed in the state. But the disease is progressive. By 30, he had no bank account, no career, and was carrying out trash for a 21-year-old drug dealer across the street from his mother's house. He stole her food, her shoes, and the gold watch Prudential gave her — a woman who raised six boys alone, put herself through college, and never took a drink.
His bottom came on July 13, 1986, when a man named Kenny beat him on his mother's front lawn and his mother — the one person who always saved him — watched from the porch, turned around, and walked back inside. The next day he entered the Salvation Army Harbor Light Center on Fifth Street in Los Angeles, more dead than alive. Through 130 days of treatment, sober living, and the fellowship of AA, he rebuilt piece by piece: a bookkeeping job for forty dollars a week, a couch in a sober woman's apartment, bus rides to his home group at 9604 South Figueroa.
Eighteen months sober, he called the state bar and learned he had not been disbarred — only suspended for unpaid dues. He saved half of every paycheck, paid the $2,500, got his license back, and was hired as a Los Angeles County public defender. In 1991 he cut the umbilical cord on his son Ronald Jr., married three months later, and by the time of this talk had celebrated 19 years of marriage. Every Sunday morning for 23 years, he and his brother have led a Big Book meeting that grew from his mother's living room to 150 people strong.
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