Seventy-One Years Old and Seventeen Years Sober — I Call Myself a Spiritual Teenager Until Twenty – Tim R.

Please Rate This Tape!
Be the first to rate!

About This Speaker Tape

Tim shares from the Monday 8 p.m. Blue Chip Speakers Meeting at the NAVA Club. His sobriety date is April 30, 2007 — seventeen years at age seventy-one. He flips the numbers and says he feels like a spiritual teenager, with a few years to go before he'll call himself an old-timer. He traces his sponsorship line back through Tim Moore to Ken Horvat of the 615 a.m. Dawn Busters to a man called Papa Bill, who greeted him with the question, 'Are you happy, joyous, and free?'

He was born near Otis Air Force Base, son of an Air Force jet pilot and former Auburn tight end who died in a crash the day before Tim's third birthday. An uncle told the toddler he was now the man of the house. He was a pack-a-day Parliament and Marlboro smoker by fourth grade, hiding crush-proofs in his shoulder pads at football practice. A stepfather with a well-stocked bar modeled three-month dry stretches broken by binges that ended in the drunk tank. As a kid he poured after-dinner liqueurs into Kool-Aid slurpies and carried them to his bedroom. By high school in Sandy Springs he was buying bags of pot and reselling nickels to his twelve-year-old brother's treehouse crew.

He graduated UGA in journalism on black beauties and all-nighters, then at twenty-six tried to become a jet pilot. He talked his stepfather into a letter of recommendation, then forwarded that letter to then-President Jimmy Carter, who actually wrote back on gold letterhead. He cleared every hurdle until the eye exam, lied his way through, and was told he could fly as a navigator but never in a fighter. He walked to the package store, drove home knee-walking drunk, and quit the Air Force dream instead of the drinking.

At fifty-two a family member's intervention rattled him. He went cold turkey that Thanksgiving on his knees, got a one-year AA medallion from his family a year later without ever attending a meeting, and then 'romanced' his dying mother with a glass of red wine that became months of sneaking. His sister drove him to NAVA on a Monday night. He picked up a white chip, met Tim Moore, was told to go home, kneel, ask a Higher Power, and read the Big Book until he fell asleep. He made it one paragraph. Three years into sobriety, stage four colon cancer took forty percent of his colon and his lymph nodes; he worked the steps through chemo and his oncologist eventually hugged him goodbye. Today he commutes fifty-five miles from Gainesville to the Fresh Air Group at the Hawk Club and back down to NAVA on Monday nights.

Take me wherever promises are made. My name is Alex, and I'm an alcoholic. Welcome to the Monday 8 p.m. Blue Chip Speakers Meeting at the NAVA Club, where a member of Alcoholics Anonymous with one year or more of sobriety tells his or her...
Take me wherever promises are made. My name is Alex, and I'm an alcoholic. Welcome to the Monday 8 p.m. Blue Chip Speakers Meeting at the NAVA Club, where a member of Alcoholics Anonymous with one year or more of sobriety tells his or her story. This reading is based on a passage from page 29 of the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous. Each individual, in our personal stories, describes in their own language and from their own point of view the way they establish their relationship with God. These give a fair cross-section of our membership and clear-cut idea of what has happened in their lives. We hope no one will consider these self-revealing accounts in bad taste. Our hope is that many alcoholic men and women in our room tonight, and listening later on aabluchipspeakers.org, will hear our speakers, and we believe that it is only by fully disclosing ourselves and our problems that any of us shall be persuaded to say, Yes, I am one. Yes, I am one of them, too. I must have this thing. And tonight's speaker is Blue Chip's very own Tim, who has been a wonderful presence in my life, and the way he welcomes people into this meeting specifically is something I very much admire, and I am very excited to hear his story. Thanks, Alex. Thanks, everybody, for being here tonight. Well, I'm Tim, and I'm an alcoholic. I am. My Friday date is April 30, 2007. And my birthday is December 30, 1953. Thank you. Thank you. That makes me 71. I've got 17 years since my last drink. Justin, you take 71, and you flip it over, and you've got 17. I feel like a spiritual teenager, so I guess I am. I've still got 18, 19, and then I'll be an old-timer when I'm 20, and that's it, because I can only do this one day at a time. We've got a website, aabluchipspeakers.org. Our speaker meeting, we go a little overboard. We record our speakers, put them online. We've been doing that for a while. We started doing it with the naboclub.org website, and pretty soon we were dominating the homepage. So there goes a little. There's a little bit of a lady named Donna to navigate. And right now we have over 800 recordings. We go back to about 2008. Now, this meeting predates that by a long shot. My sponsor, Tim Moore, he's been in the meeting longer than I have, by several years. But I got my first, I had my first AA meeting here. I picked up a white chip that night at this meeting. And I'll talk about that a little. I'll talk about that a little bit later on. But as I said, my sponsor is Tim Moore. His sponsor is Ken Horvat, a long-time member of 615 A.M. Dawn Busters group at 8111. And he's now recently settled with his wife on Hilton Head Island, which is the kind of history that I should talk about too much. But he's there rectifying some of my wrongs, I hope. His sponsor was... His sponsor was a guy named Papa Bill. When I came to the program, I was 53 years old, and I thought I was over the hill and I was shot. He looked at my medical chart. He would have said he didn't have much longer. Papa Bill, he got... Except when he was in his sixth, or right at sixth, he was thousands of guys. And one day, Tim, when I walked in, it was like Yoda. You know, he just, he was glowing above his chair. I walked up to him, and I was introduced to him. He goes, Well, welcome to A.A., Tim. Are you happy, joyless, and free? And I said, He asked me that before. And I said, Well, not yet. But, you know, I really want to be. He said, Well, just hang in there. Stick with your sponsor. I promise you, you will be happy, joyless, and free. And Papa Bill was right. I'm going to pause for a second and just say a little prayer to try to collect myself and try to get on the right spirit of things. God, please direct our thinking tonight so that those thoughts are divorced of self-pity, dishonesty, self-will, self-seeking, and fear. For us to relax from doubt, and then give us our next step in the words to better express our will. Ask all these things, and I'd be of maximum service to you and our fellows. In the name of the steps, the powerfully loving way of life, I pray. Amen. I was an Air Force practicalist, born in a town called Warren next to Otis Air Force Base on the Cape in Massachusetts. Most of the time, I guess I was raised in the South, but family being an Air Force family, we traveled all over in the beginning, early ages, and ended up in Taegu, Korea. My father, he was a jet pilot, had a fatal aircraft. It was the day before her third birthday. He was bigger than life. He was a character, and certainly had the shoes that were difficult to fill. He was an all-SEC tight end at Auburn. His senior year, he played under Shug Jordan that had a good run of it in the 50s and early 60s. Quarterback, he was a freshman. He kind of reset his diet, and Vince was a member of the military. He was a vet also. When we were in Columbus, Georgia, I always knew he was there, and I opened the door, and the house smelled like pipes. He was a real positive influence. I found myself in a cigarette store on a motor cigarette pack. There was Parliament. We were puffing on these things. My friends would pass it around, and my friends would hardly do anything, and I was taken deep. And they were going, you better watch out, you're going to get addicted. And they were right, and by the time I was in fourth grade, I was a pack-a-day smoker. I didn't have to sneak around. It was like, you know, fourth grade secret agent. Lying, and cheating, and stealing. You had to get the cigarette somehow. And I was pretty good at getting them. I fed that habit. Later on, I was in Offrey Elementary. I played sport. But I would have my, like, crush-proof Marlboros in my shoulder pads at football practice. Sneak out in the woods and smoke a cigarette. You know, the adults smoked and seemed like they did, but nobody ever confronted me, ever. You know, those are characters and those are the defects that were there. When I came to my first A&E and I picked up a chip and they read how it works, I was going, rigorous honesty? What's that? I thought I was going to be one of those types. But, you know, I found that if you come into the room and you just keep coming back, one day at a time, there's hope for all of us. It's a program with second chances. So another was, before I get to that, my father had a a military, you know, military honors. He won gun salute. Far over two years old. I didn't process at all. But I had an uncle who put his arm around me. You're now the man of the house. And that kind of led me into the, you know, wanting to get out of my feelings with the cigarettes early before I could get into alcohol. You know, we had alcohol around the house. My second stepfather, well-stocked bar, three months without a drink in the world. And then he'd go on a binge and he was like a goat. We'd pick him up to the drunk tanks. I would ride him in the car and we'd put him in the back seat. My mother said, our children fistful out into China and we had white wine on certain courses, red wine on certain courses. And we had after dinner liqueurs. And we were just kids. It didn't taste that good to me, so I didn't, you know, I'd just sip on it. I volunteered to clear the table and I would take all those and pour them into a slurpy with Kool-Aid on top of it. And I would sit down, take it back to my bedroom and, you know, we didn't do it all the time. But I was, I had alcoholic behavior. Cemetery in Theology at Vanderbilt. Quite a gentleman. He was also very handy as a carpenter and he built a treehouse in the backyard. And this treehouse was like right out of Leda. It was just so great. I was the oldest grandchild. They let us watch Gunsmoke one night. We didn't get a chance to watch much TV. We'd get sent to bed when we were years old. And I went to my grandfather's workshop, so I made a news where it was up under my arms. News coming up out of my t-shirt. I was just entertaining myself. And my grandmother came out to tell me it was time for lunch. And she went down. She hit the floors, fainted, dead, dead away. She just died. And you know, she just, her first impression was this kid just, and I'm like, grandmother, grandmother. And she's out. I go to get a little dish towel on and I'm patting her face with it. She comes to, she looks at me and I deserve it. That was the loose cannon of the Ridgeway family after that. Every time we would come there, what you gonna do next? Poor lady. I traumatized her for the rest of her life. Somehow, she came to Atlanta in her nursing home. I would go visit her. I was living in Angely Park at the time. And she was just like, what are you gonna do? Instead of comforting her, she was like terrified that I was gonna do something. I wanted to be a good grandson at the end. And I guess I was. Our relationship was always strained. So after a mother married her second husband, Sandy Springs High School, and already I could buy a bag of pot, and I could make a couple of nickel bags, and end up with a dime bag, and somehow end up with a free pot. It started out simple, and when I was 53 years old, still doing stuff like that. I mean, I never grew up. I was just, my maturity stopped when I was like 8 years old when I started smoking. And when I started drinking, I really, you know, I had a dragster, and there was another treehouse. My little brother was like 12 years old, and I was his bootlegger and dirt dealer for him and his little friends. And they had a treehouse, and that's where I would meet him on Friday nights. God bless him, he financed our romance. I had a lot more pocket money for dates than I would have if I didn't do that. And he comes up later in the story, comes into the picture. I was in the University of Georgia. Somehow I got in. I did well, and always did good on tests, effort into things. And then once I got to UGA, I discovered, you know, things called black duties, red and blacks, and stay up all night for an exam or essay. Somehow I graduated with honors. And it wasn't because I didn't take the test. I was solid, but then the drinking age was 18. So I went to the 30th. All of a sudden I had my, before that I could always get whatever I wanted to get, but now I didn't have to. I went to Hilton Head. I met my, a lot of water, resettling Atlanta where my son was born. I'm just getting nowhere. I've got this journalism, photographer, reporter, so I might as well, and then I started thinking about it. I said, I want to be a jet pilot. I go in, I said, I'm 26 years old, and you've got to do this before you're 27. The guy goes, you got a degree? I said, yeah. He said, what's it in? I said, journalism. The Air Force doesn't really. I said, well, I'm going to be a jet pilot. He said, oh, you are. I said, yeah. He goes, there's no way. I said, there's no recommendation. I said, there better be damn good letters of recommendation. Let me see what I can do. Stepfather, Herman Townsend, letterhead. He said, if there's anything I can ever do for you, don't hesitate to ask. I get in the Air Force. So I sent him a copy of the letter he sent me with a letter asking him for a letter of reference. But this letter, golden boss letter, I always send it on Forces Committee. Well, not those letters, but the letter he sent me to the other sector. And lo and behold, in just a few days, I had another Jimmy Carter, who just passed away yesterday, a hundred years old. God bless his soul. He had just been elected president. So I took their letters and sent them to him. And that was a big letterhead. I mean, big old gold. You know, I don't even think about as far as my father's memory. I mean, I can just see his spirit going, oh my God, I can do this. I wanted what I wanted. I took those letters into the recruiter. I told you I'd get some letters. He looked and he goes, oh my God, well today, what I put that guy through. He showed me back up and he said, okay, you got a green light if you can pass all the other tests. But you'll have to pass them. You're not just getting in. We'll accept you for OCS, put you in flight training. I'm drinking like a fish. But I told everybody. Sport Car Center, Salt Jaguars. I'm going to be good luck. I go down to Warner Robins. I passed every test. I did all the stuff. We got 20-20 vision. We have one more eye test. Get your driver's license. You know, the lights are flashing. I didn't understand the instructions. I fixed it up. Well, that's what I did. I lied. He said, listen, there's no way you're going to fly a jet. You're not going to get in one of these jets. You'll never be able to land on an Air Force. This is Air Force. I'm not worried about that. Well, listen, you're just not going to be able to do it. We're not going to trust you with a high-performance, multi-medium with weaponry that you can wipe out half. Well, if you're not going to let me do that, I'm just not going to do it. Oh, no, you could be a navigator. You could fly as a co-pilot. Get your certification. You know, whatever. You can fly. But you're not going to fly jets. Alcoholism kicked in. And I'm like, am I really going to stop drinking? And then go to OCR. And then have to wait for it. I went straight to the package store. I didn't have a cell phone or anything because they didn't have them. And I didn't call my wife. And by the time I got home, I'm knee-walking drunk. And I just, honey, I'm home. I decided not to do it. It's a good thing. Because if I had gotten in there and blew it with all those letters, you know, I found myself about 52 years old. I had a member of the family that had an intervention. Went to his view. I figured I was a lot worse case than she was. They're coming for me next. That Thanksgiving, I just went cold turkey. And I got on my knees and I asked God for the string not to drain. I didn't have any knowledge of the doctor's opinion or the big book or anything. So after about a month of that, the cravings went away and I started telling myself I had willpower. Praying to God all ego on Thanksgiving. I go to family Thanksgiving and I got a one-year AA. It was a real nice gesture from the family. I really didn't know what to do with that because I knew I had never been to a family. I didn't understand the significance of the medallion. My mother, she had fallen and broken her hip. She was in the long process of dying. So I started romancing her with a glass of red wine. I was just going to go to have a nice dinner and have a glass of red wine like a gentleman. And that worked out great. I finished the glass of wine. All I thought about was how to do this thing. I get this wine and that time I didn't stop drinking for months. I was living at the lake house and my sister at the lake house comes by and says, Hey, how you doing? I said, I'm good. Stop drinking. We gave you an AA medallion. We thought you'd quit drinking. I said, well, I did for a while but I've been sneaking around. What do you think I should do? She goes, I know a psych warden. And it was a Monday and they drove me here to this room. I was telling this story. I was 12 years sober. I recognized them. We started talking about the tree house and Sandy's boyfriend. We got them started. And I'm sitting out there for my very first AA meeting and they offered me a white chip. And I said, I better get it. And so at that point I got a white chip. That night I met Tim. He got me a big book out of the literature cabinet. And he gave me a little advice. He said, listen, don't complicate it. Keep it simple. Get home. Get on your knees. Ask your higher power first. Read until you fall asleep. I made it one paragraph. I woke up that morning without a hangover, without a cotton mouth. I got on my knees. Thank you, higher power. Oh my gosh. I'd been at NAVA the night before and came back to NAVA the next day. I believe that's what happened. To be honest, I don't know what the hell happened. I had DTs rolling around the carpet and if they hadn't been for Pam it was... I never just... But I hadn't been drinking. I never got a fresh liver. But then I found out I had cancer. They told me it was stage 4 colon cancer. Three years into sobriety. And they said, get on your knees. Get your affairs in order. I said, well, I've worked the steps. Do I have to do any more than that? They said, well, that's a good start. It just turned out, a little bit of money every month for several years. I took out 40% of my colon and all the associated lymph nodes to that section. And I took chemo. And the oncologist said, I'm not saying you're not going to die of cancer one day Tim, but you're not going to die of that cancer. And he said, I always lose... Being in the cancer business, you lose your patients. They either die or they get well. I gave him a hug and he got well. And I hadn't had a drink throughout this whole time. I was going to go through all the steps just to prove it. I've got it all here condensed into one page. But I'm not going to go through that. We're running out of time. Like I said, aabloochipspeakers.org Now it's about 800 hours of experience, strength, and hope. We've just reserved and we haven't gotten anybody up there. 55 mile commute to here. So I come down here on Monday nights. And other times like when we have acoustical coffee houses and things and events. I like to help out with that kind of stuff. Another home group in Gainesville called the Fresh Air Group that's at the Hawk Club. And I'm a regular attendant of the Sunday 9 a.m. If you're ever in Gainesville we'll go to a meeting. And if you ever want to take us to school we'll put you on the schedule. As Bill Wilson said, when pain comes we're expected to learn from it willingly. Help others to learn. When happiness comes we accept it as a gift and thank God for it. Dr. Bob's Nightmare says it's not about being good or bad and more about the general ability to feel feelings. Being restored to sanity isn't about getting the brass ring or cash and prizes or being happy, joyous, and free all the time. But it's about being in the present moment whatever it happens to look like. What am I experiencing? How about now? Can I present to all of my feelings without any one of them defining me? Happiness might be next to regret. Joy might be right next to being overwhelmed. That is just the human condition. And experiencing all of my feelings feels sobriety. Dr. Bob goes on to say it's the most wonderful blessing to deal with the terrible curse with which we are afflicted. For many of us our health is good and we are gaining our self-respect and respect for our colleagues. Our home lives are 12 steps closer to ideal. Our businesses are good as can be expected in these uncertain times. Many of us spend a great deal of time passing on what we have learned to others who want and need it badly. We do it, one, since before because every time we do it a little more insurance will help me to walk with faith and acceptance to see good things in unexpected places and talents and give me the grace to tell them so. I want to thank each of your children and that you do not need my opinion of them or suggestions on what they might deserve. Thank you very much. Thank you, Tim. And I'm sure you'd be happy to share the prayer with anybody who wants to hear it after the meeting. First I slept and then I crept You rescued and found Waking their eyes Looking to fall The sun comes through He kicks his wood On a bride He turns

Discussion

Be the first to share your thoughts on this tape.