Step 1 Is Not Saying You’re an Alcoholic — It’s Admitting You Have No Power at All – Ray O.

My name is Ray O'Keefe and I'm an alcoholic. It's good to be in Akron. I suppose there is no AA speaker in the world who wouldn't want to have the assignment that has been given to me this weekend. And I appreciate it. I don't know who on the committee exercised that rare good judgment. I know Sam fairly well now and I know it couldn't have been him. I bring to you at Akron, Ohio and to AA everywhere the greetings of the world famous Mamaroneck Group at Mamaroneck, New York. You have heard of that group, no doubt. The Mamaroneck Group at a business meeting on Wednesday authorized me to extend to all of you a very happy Founders Day. The vote of that committee was 11 to 7. By the time I get back to Mamaroneck, the seven dissenting members will have formed a new group, which will probably turn out to be a better group than our group. I think Sam has introduced everybody in the room, but he overlooked one very important member. Stand up, Pete. There is a member here from the Mamaroneck Group. There he is. That's Pete Mixon. He's my pigeon. We don't talk about sponsorship, Mamaroneck. We don't talk about sponsorship, Mamaroneck. We don't talk about sponsorship, Mamaroneck. We don't talk about sponsorship, Mamaroneck. We don't talk about sponsorship, Mamaroneck. My wife Stephanie and Lois are friends, and I thought Lois would be with Stephanie. Stephanie is attending a very, very super meeting of the Al-Anon family groups, which is meeting in the mother church of Al-Anon, which is Our Lady of Perpetual Revenge. I told Lois I was going to do that. Otherwise, I wouldn't have the nerve. Let me also tell you that although anybody in AA would really love to be here and to speak at Akron, I have a connection with the state of Ohio that I would be remiss not to mention while I'm in Ohio. I have been traveling in AA for a number of years, speaking around, and when I first started to do that, one of the first places I ever attended was the Punditson Park Conference outside of Cleveland. And the world has turned over many times since then, and I have never... I've been on an airplane going to an AA conference, including this one, that my thoughts did not go back to Punditson Park, Ohio, because it was there on a Sunday morning that I was given a great gift to see something very clearly for the first time in my life. And for that, and for all of my friends in Ohio who are here and who I have met and greeted once again, I thank you very much. Now, I want to tell you... about my drinking. And I don't want you to miss any of this. This is a thrill of a minute. This is... I grew up in one of the neighborhoods in New York City, and my neighborhood was rough, and it was tough, and it was Irish. Now, I don't expect you to know anything about this in Ohio, but they drank in that neighborhood. You would actually see people on the streets intoxicated. Oh, this is a terrible thing for a young man to be subjected to. If you look at my house, you'd see a little drinking. My mother, the widow O'Keeffe, was known to take a drink from time to time. And if the pressure got on, Kitty would go for the light wines and spirits. And something would fly, usually one of the children. My brother Billy, on the other hand, was a very bad drinker. And in a neighborhood of Irish drunks, my brother Billy stood out as a drunk. So when I showed up at the local joint and ordered up whatever it was that they were handing out to 14 or 15-year-olds that afternoon, nobody paid any attention to me. It was just another O'Keeffe coming by, seeming to do what came so naturally to the rest of the family. I don't even remember what they gave me that day. I suspect it was a beer. But whatever it was, I loved it. I liked everything about it. I liked the way it looked. I liked the way it smelled. I liked the way it tastes. I liked what it did for my head. I liked the noise and the smoke and the confusion. I liked the Irish music and the fistfights. I liked the bullshit. I really liked that part. I was going through the parochial school system, in a manner of speaking. And I got into all of the trouble and all of the difficulties, difficulties you might imagine a young man would get into going through that system drunk. I was thrown out of high school a record number of times. I held the neighborhood record for being thrown out of high school, a record which was previously set by my brother Billy. When I was finished with high school, or more properly put, when they were finished with me, because someone made a mistake in a small school in New England, I was given a chance to leave the neighborhood. And I went away to college and my drinking changed. In the neighborhood we drank beer and we drank shots and beers and we called those bats and balls. But in New England they weren't drinking that way. There were no bars in that state. They sat around the tables. They drank beer out of bottles. They sang college songs and they wore white shoes in the wintertime. Being a man of no particular moral fiber, I got a pair of white shoes. I learned the words of a couple of songs. I got very collegiate. World War II was ending and it looked relatively safe and things were a little slow on the campus anyhow. So one afternoon I went for a haircut and I joined the Navy. I ended up on a minesweeper in San Francisco. And I hate to be indelicate here in the Holy City, but I have to tell you that I had a lot of trouble with my kidneys when I drank. And in the Navy we slept three to four hours a day. And I had a lot of tears. Now don't get ahead of me, lady. This is very difficult there. And this is very hard work here. It's not easy. Boy, the new man slept on top. I came back from my first liberty with all the beer that I could buy and me. And I had one of these rare nephritis attacks. I met the guy that slept below me that night. I guess he figured he'd be wet sometime in his naval career. It just hadn't occurred to him that I was going to be wet. I was going to be wet. I was going to be wet. I was going to be wet. I was going to be wet. I was going to be wet. I was going to be wet. I was going to immediately transferred to a lower bunk. One day this mighty ship of the line bristling with armament was floating around in the South Pacific. We were delivering the mail was what we were doing. And the executive officer sent for me. And he told me something that I was to hear many, many times in my life. And it never helped me with alcohol. In fact, if anything, I think it hurt. He said, you are... You are a very, very smart kid, O'Keefe, and I agreed with him right away. I thought he was beginning to show good judgment. And he told me if I could pass some examinations, they would send me to the United States Naval Academy. And so in a few months, I found myself in a very fancy preparatory school in Maryland. And I wasn't in that school too long when the executive officer of that school sent for me. He apparently did not have the type experience that the other man had because he told me there were rules in that school which prohibited people like me from going out through the window over the fence, coming back drunk, and starting riots. And he suggested that I resign my appointment to the Naval Academy and leave the school. In fact, he put his suggestion in the form of a written order. I thought they would send me far, far away. With characteristic military efficiency, I was assigned to duty with the yacht of the President of the United States. I would like to bemuse you with tales of intimacy with the President and my participation in affairs of state. Unfortunately, I have no such report to make. It was the Navy. I got paid, and then I got drunk, and then I waited to get paid, and then I got paid, and then I got drunk, and then I waited to get paid. And that's how I spent the balance of my enlistment. I came back from the service, back to the Navy. When I went to law school, my drinking changed again. I didn't know much about law school. We didn't have any lawyers in my neighborhood. We had cops, and we had priests. We didn't need any lawyers. I hate to be disloyal to the profession, but I have to tell you that when I got to law school, I found I was in the company of the biggest collection of stiffs that had ever assembled under one roof. These guys were very deadly. They all wore a blue suit, and they all had on eyeglasses. So after I got the uniform, I looked around for a companion, someone to drink with. My mother always told me, play with nice boys your own age. But nobody drank in that crowd. They all studied. They were all studying away. So I became the biggest grind they ever had in that school. And I didn't drink at all in my first year, and very rarely in the next two years, except during the summers when I worked in hotels and got to drink for no reason. As a result, when I came out of school, I was taken into a large, white, Wall Street, Protestant law firm. They hired me as sort of the resident immigrant. My superiors there determined that I ought to be trained as a trial lawyer, and so I was sent very early up to the courthouse in New York City to learn my trade. And I wasn't in a courthouse very long when I discovered that the wise guys were across the street, in a salon. So I moved my office into a salon, and I got a little credit and a priority on the phone, and I learned to drink in a different, more civilized, more genteel fashion. Very few members of the profession were knocking down bats and balls where anybody could see them. I discovered scotch in a tall glass with water and ice, and you sip on that. It takes a little while, but it gets the job done. Huh. Huh. Huh. Huh. Huh. Huh. I was introduced to cocktails. If anyone had ever ordered a cocktail in my neighborhood, it would have started World War III. I was introduced to all of the mysteries and all of the ritual that surrounds the very, very dry martini. And to this day, to this minute, my love, my admiration, and my affection for the very, very dry martini is surely the greatest case of unrequited love the world has ever seen. I was so loyal to the martini. I was so loyal to the martini. I was so loyal to the martini. I was so loyal to the martini. I was so loyal to the martini. I was so loyal to the martini. I was so loyal to the martini. I was so loyal to the martini. And they destroyed me. After about a year of this civilizing process, it became necessary in my natural development that I be married. And I had located a lady, or she had located me. I'm not sure how these things work. I met Ms. O'Keefe, my wife, my current wife. I always call her my current wife. I find it keeps her on her toes. I met Ms. O'Keefe once on a, when I was working in a hotel. I was a bellhop, and she was a guest. And that pretty well characterized. The relationship right now. Ms. O'Keefe was from a totally different background than mine. She was raised on a hill somewhere in Westchester County in New York. With a home and devoted parents and servants and a fence and a dog. In a word, her family had a buck. Now, I drank a lot in those days, but I knew what was going on. I will not burden you with the details of my wedding day. But I assure you. That one of the O'Keefes from the Bronx hit the Westchester Country Club. They set a few records. My Uncle Bernie hit a waiter. Other than that, it was an uneventful day. We settled down and set up housekeeping. And Mrs. O'Keefe then began to produce children. In a rather boring and monotonous fashion. And with a regularity that's known only to the devout Roman Catholic. After about the same time, I met Ms. O'Keefe. At a second or third of these wonderful events, I received a phone call from the Dean of the law school I had attended. And the Dean invited me to come see him and I went to see the Dean. And the Dean then invited me to become a member of the faculty. And to become Professor O'Keefe. And I responded with great alacrity. And there I was, and he'd say, how do you do, Professor? And I'd say, how do you do? And I'd do, have a drink, Professor. Oh, thank you very much. Yes, yes. I was very nervous about that position. And I. I knew I drank too much. And there wasn't anything in my background I thought that justified my having that position. I was nervous about it. So I resolved that I would cut back drinking because I knew that I drank too much. I was then 26 years of age. So I tried for the next several years to control drinking. But I was very unsuccessful at that. I only knew really the one way to drink. My brother Billy taught me how to drink. I only knew one way. I drank until I fell down. Or something happened. The place went on fire. The police arrived. Someone died. I used to wonder where everybody was going. I would see people walking out. I'd say, what happened? You know, what is the emergency that he has to leave? So I moved around in this period. But I tried to stop for, cut back for a number of years. Very unsuccessful. So I finally, after three or four years teaching, became secure in the teaching. So then I went back out to drink the only way I knew how. And during this period of time, too, I moved around New York. And did all of those things that young lawyers try to do to establish themselves. And I moved around. And I served by appointment of the governor of the state of New York in a number of capacities. And I was teaching. And I was with a law firm. And I was in politics. And I ran for office and lost. And I did a lot of things during this period of time. I won't go through it for you. You can tell just by looking at me how substantial I am. The only thing I remember now with any satisfaction at all that I did during that period of time was to be associated with a group of men in the early 50s who surrounded the candidacy of a young senator from Massachusetts that you will remember, I'm sure. And in this period of time, too, Ms. O'Keefe and I purchased a large, semi-authentic colonial home in a village called Lodgemont, New York. A village which abounds in semi-authentic colonial homes. And we had it up to five or six children. And the usual number of motor vehicles. And the usual memberships in the usual obscure clubs. And I was running around the city of New York. And teaching in one thing or another. And had you asked me in those days how I was doing, I would have told you that I was doing very well. In fact, whether you asked me or not, I would have been delighted to bring to your attention my version of the American dream. The truth of the matter was that at this time, at age 34, I had become a terrific daily drunk. And my day would have killed a lesser man. I used to come to in the morning in that wet bed. Because the problem with the kidneys had continued. Unabated all those years. And I would struggle out of that damp sack. And I would begin my morning calisthenics. My calisthenics were performed kneeling on the floor of a bathroom with my head in a bowl. And I would have all the water running. The water in the shower. And the water in the sink. And the water in the tub. Because I did not want Ms. O'Keeffe, and all of those little O'Keeffes, to know that Professor O'Keeffe was dying. I would struggle downstairs, much like Santa Claus, carrying over my shoulder a sack of wet laundry. Because Ms. O'Keeffe told me that the diaper service was for the children. And she did not think that a lady of her extreme breeding ought to do the wash of a 34-year-old bed-wetter. And you can imagine a man of her age, with my stature in the community, starting off each morning with a load of wash. But once I got my wash out of the way, help was at hand. I used to keep a quart of vodka in the refrigerator. My children call that daddy's juice. I would take a few bangs on daddy's juice. And then the question was, would I throw up in front of all those people? I knew if I lit up a cigarette, it was all over. I would take the train into New York City. And if the train got all the way into Grand Central, then help was again at hand. Because if you know New York at all, Grand Central is really not a railroad station. It is simply a collection of saloons that are connected by tunnels. And I'd scurry around the tunnels and pop up like a mole here and there and have a few. Sooner or later, I would get to the school. And as soon as I entered that imposing institution, my first thought was, how do I get out of here? And I would get out of there and I would tear across town and steal. Every morning, I would steal $20 from the petty cash. This drove several bookkeepers to distraction. But every morning, I'd make my lightning raid on the petty cash. And then I'd be out in the street and into a taxi. And I'd go to where I really belonged, to my first parish, the bar room down by the courthouse. And by this time, the other lawyers were treating me like a mascot. And they'd say, here he comes. And I'd throw it up. And the bartender and I'd have one. And the bartender'd have one. And they'd buy one. And I'd buy one. And maybe we'd order some lunch. And maybe we wouldn't. And maybe we'd move some cases. And maybe we wouldn't. And maybe we'd get some work done. And maybe we wouldn't. But that booze would keep coming at me. And whiskey made me very, very intelligent. And I had it figured out that at around 2 o'clock in the afternoon, I was really on the top of my form. So I would be in another taxi and I'd be head for the law school in order to inflict myself. On those poor, unsuspecting students who had come to study law at my feet. And I would shortchange those poor kids. And I'd be out of there. And I'd be in another taxi. And I would tear across town back to Grand Central to commute. Now even though I grew up in the city, I understood the theory of commuting. Commuters are entitled to a drink before they get on a train. So I'd have 10 or 12. And then I would take a train going north. It didn't have to go to Larchmont. North was good enough for me. I got to see a lot more of Stanford, Connecticut than any civilized man ought to. I'll tell you that. I would arrive home sooner or later. Mostly later. And bounce off a few walls. And find an old cheese glass that some kid had left laying around. And fill it up with what was left of daddy's juice. And inquire if anybody wanted a martini. But I was the only one that drank in that house. So I'd have a few pops. And I'd eat or not eat depending on my mood. Evenings I would spend in civic endeavor. Civic endeavor by me was cracking up the car. Throwing up on some hostesses rug. Or playing a little grab ass with the ladies of Larchmont. And a sorrier looking crop you never saw. Most evenings though I would just stay home and vegetate. And I would watch television. With one eye like that. Trying to get those sets to come together. I'd be there like this. And I would drink. And I'd watch television. I would go through all the programming. I would go through the programs. And then through the news. And then through the late show. And I'd be watching. And then through the late, late show. And I'd be there watching. And finally my big moment would come. When they would play the Star Spangled Banner. And the destroyers would come through the water. And the Marines would go up Mount Suribachi. And the airplanes would fly over. And they'd be playing that song. And I would cry. Oh. Would I weep and sob. And then I'd go upstairs and wipe the bed. And that's it. I was a great leaker. I'll tell you. From all ends. Now this is not just once in a while. This is every day. Weekends I would save for binges. And if everybody minded their own business. I could get drunk three times on Saturday. And three times on Sunday. Well as everybody who's ever been married can tell you. While all this was going on. Mrs. O'Keeffe was not entirely silent. From time to time. She would have the temerity to suggest. That there was something radically wrong. With the way I drank. But I would pay no attention to her. Why should I listen to her? First of all. She's a woman. Women don't know anything. Secondly. She is not an attorney. And I would tell her that. And then I would argue with her. I would start the argument. And I would say. I don't drink that much. I really don't. I'm not that. I don't drink that much. I don't even drink as much as my mother. And she would say. Nobody drinks as much. And I would say. Now that did it. And I'd be out the door. Well this drove Mrs. O'Keeffe to a distraction. And so she betook herself to her physician. Who as you might imagine. Is an obstetrician. And he couldn't find anything the matter with her. Until she told him. That she lived with a drunk. And this explained her condition. And he told her a few things for me. And she came home. Well we had a room in this house. It was a very pleasant room. It was like a den. It was a den. It was a panel room. And it had a fireplace. It was very nice. We don't live in that house anymore. We had some more children. We childrened ourselves out of that house. That is a polite expression of how we came to move. But I had in that room. In that den. I was very comfortable there. And I had erected in that room. A shrine. Now this shrine was not to any saint. That you ever heard of. This shrine was to me. So on the wall of that room. There were pictures of O'Keeffe. With the great and the near great. There were diplomas. And plaques. And proclamations. And mementos of political campaigns. All of which proved conclusively. That I did not have a drinking problem. And I would sit there. And watch the television with one eye. And I would drink. And they would put on a commercial. And I would look up at the wall. And I would think. You are terrific. And I would have another. Well Mrs. O'Keeffe came to pay a visit. To the shrine this evening. And the message that she brought me. Was that her doctor. The obstetrician. Had diagnosed her husband. The professor. As an alcoholic. I was outraged. I was easily outraged. In those days. And I rose to defend myself. And I started my defense. And my first argument. Which was a good one. I took a very strong position. Against doctors. Who would diagnose patients. Without having seen them. I was against that practice. Then I went into the room. And I said. You know. You know. You know. You know. You know. You know. You know. You know. You know. You know. You know. You know. You know. You know. You know. You know. You know. About one and a half years ago. Structurally speaking. I went into high gear. And I asked Ms. O'Keeffe a question. To which she has not yet discovered the answer. I asked her. What kind of a man. Became an obstetrician. In the first place. And I was off and running. In one of my usual. Fashionable arguments. And then it happened. And I don't know. How this happened. I cannot explain to you how this happened. All I know is. It happened. I can't explain it. I can explain many. Many. Other things to you. will in the third or fourth hour of this wonderful talk that I am giving here, but I am unable to tell you anything other than this happened. In the middle of all of this, I suddenly stopped and I admitted to Mrs. O'Keefe for the first time, and I had admitted it to anyone, that there was at least the possibility that I drank too much sometimes. This was a very serious tactical error, because in a matter of days, I was a prisoner in a mental institution in Stanford, Connecticut, and I was only there a matter of minutes when I discovered a very serious architectural deficiency in the building. There was no doorknob on my side of the door. They had sandbags. They had sandbags, the old professor, and I was overcome with great feelings of outrage and self-pity, because in addition to these terrible circumstances in which I found myself an innocent person, it also happened to be the occasion of my 35th birthday, and I mentioned this to a man in a white coat who was passing by, and I explained to him who I was and that on this very day, I had attained the age of 35. And therefore, under the Constitution of the United States of America, I was thus eligible for the office of president. He urged me not to plan any campaigns. He said that there were two other presidents in residence, Washington and Jefferson, I think. He thought that the presence of a candidate would tax security. And he went away, and he left me. And then I was left to do, for the next period of time, all of those things. And I was left to do, for the next period of time, all of those things. And I was left to do, for the next period of time, all of those things. And I was left to do, for the next period of time, all of those things. And I was left to do, for the next period of time, all of those things. And I was left to do, for the next period of time, all of those things. And I was left to do, for the next period of time, all of those things. And I was left to do, for the next period of time, all of those things. And I was left to do, for the next period of time, all of those things. And I was left to do, for the next period of time, all of those things. And I was left to do, for the next period of time, all of those things. And I was left to do, for the next period of time, all of those things. And I was left to do, for the next period of time, all of those things. all of those numbers that you know about. I shook and I sweat. And I went through the whole deal for a week or so. And I finally, as the doctor say, sat up and took nourishment. And I was then visited by the staff of the hospital. And they, of course, were psychiatrists. And the first one in to see me was the head of the hospital. And I would have expected no one less. And he fixed his cool professional glance upon me. And he asked me that question that so many people insist on asking alcoholics. It's such a terrific line of inquiry. He said, tell me, professor, why do you drink so much? So I told him. I told him of my wealthy parents. I told him that momsy and dada used to travel a lot. And that I had been left in the hands of cruel servants. And I had become insecure and turned toward alcohol. And he was very sympathetic. And he went away. And a little while later, he sent one of his colleagues in. And this man, second one, came in. And he spot around. And finally, he asked me the same question. So I told him, after all, one doesn't lie to a professional. So I told him of my impoverished youth. I told him of the beatings I had received at the hands of my drunken mother. I even told him of the beatings I had received at the hands of my drunken mother. And I told him about the time my sister Marie stole my rubber duck when I was three years old. He was very sympathetic. He told me I had come to the right place. He said that it might take a long time. He said it might even be somewhat expensive. But with his help and with the help of medical science, one day I would drink safely again. And I said, thank you, doctor. He was my kind of doctor, that doctor. And he went out. and left me and then the next one came in and he is the last psychiatrist I have ever seen with the exception of one I drive to meetings now from time to time I was not doing too well with this program and this gentleman had dubious medical qualifications and a pronounced middle European accent and he was fascinated with two things one was my professorial status and the other was the fact that I was wearing sneakers in January he found some mysterious relevance in the sneakers and we had a long talk about the sneakers and he finally asked me the same question I gave him a sexual aberration that drove him out of the room he thought he had been given a great degenerate to work with and perhaps he had well I wasn't as smart as I'd like everybody to think because they had a staff meeting and they talked about the fat guy in 102 and they came to the conclusion that there was a fraud in their hospital and so they sent for Ms. O'Keefe and poor Ms. O'Keefe had to come up to the snow on the ice and I was brought into a large room and she was in the middle of the room hysterical and she told me that I was in grave danger of being expelled from a mental institution I said let's go she prevailed upon me to stay and she was determined that I would become sober if it took the last dime her father ever made and almost did well I went back over to where I was staying and I was engaged in a monopoly game with three other gentlemen who were there not for alcoholism they were just there and we had this monopoly game going and one of them was under the impression that I was his real estate broker and if you know anything about the game of monopoly game and some nut thinks you're his real estate broker you can do very very well I had lots of hotels I was doing great and I figured I had another month left of the monopoly marathon and a couple of days later they said that I had another visitor and I didn't know who that would be so I was sent to my room to wait and I sat and waited and through the door of that room came this big tall imposing looking guy and he told me that he was from the Darien Connecticut group of Alcoholics Anonymous and I went after him said Alcoholics Anonymous are you out of your mind and I started and he told me to shut up I figured he had not been properly instructed I figured they had not told him who it was he was speaking to so I continued to speak he told me to sit down and to shut up and to listen to him well he was a very tall imposing looking guy and I was not a well person and so for the first time in 35 years I sat down and he began to explain to me as we are instructed in our book Alcoholics Anonymous what had happened to him he told me his story in a general way he told me how life had been for him drinking he told me how it was that he came to me and he told me that he had been drinking with me and there he came to Alcoholics Anonymous and he told me a little of how his life had been and this is what I haven't trying to tell you and then he said to me would you like to go to meetings and I said you mean outside to meetings he said outside I said I'll go besides that he gave me matches and nobody else had allowed me to have any matches and I thought that showed a certain degree of confidence in me and that's how it began it's been so great of my life for a few years. inłoa began with me. He started driving me all over southern Connecticut, and he took me around every night, and he made arrangements for me to go locally when I came home. And I came home, and I began to attend locally, and I don't really remember all of that very well. I was too new and too nervous and too afraid and too everything. And, of course, the hospital had turned me loose with a large sack of pills that they insist on giving alcoholics. But I know myself fairly well now, and I figure my attitude then was I would come here to Alcoholics Anonymous. You would recognize me as a superior person. You would elect me your president. I was always president when I joined something. I would serve a term as your president. You would give me a plaque. I would put it on the wall of the shrine, and that's it, onward and upward. So it should come as no surprise to you, although it was a terrible shock to me, to find... some ten months later, I was drunk. And this time, of course, I was drunk with a very great difference because I had turned away from the great power that is in this program. And I was to stay drunk for a period of time. And I do not, will not bring you through that period of time because even now I get a little queasy thinking about it. But I will just tell you that it was, without question, the worst period of my life. It was murder. It was pure and simple murder. I never knew when I would drink and when I wouldn't drink. I never knew where I would be when I started drinking. I would drink a week and then I wouldn't drink a month. I would drink a month and then I wouldn't drink a week. I would drink and then I would go to the meetings. And I would go to the meetings and then I would drink. I never knew what would happen to me in this period of time. And things began to happen to me in that period of time. And things happened to me in this period of time that had never happened to me before. And I am not talking to you now of things that happened to me in this period of time. which I no longer consider to be significant. I do not speak to you now of the fact that I was dismissed as a teacher and asked to leave my tenured position on the faculty. I do not speak to you now of the fact that I was in very serious, and I mean very serious, personal, professional, and financial difficulties. I do not speak to you of the fact that I had lost the affection of all those who were around me. All of this happened, but that is not what I am talking to you about. What I now speak to you about, and which I now see was happening to me in this period of time, was that there was in my case, and perhaps in yours, a terrible, terrible, terrible, terrible, terrible, terrible, terrible, terrible, wasting of my spirit. My spirit, that thing that separates me from my cat and separates me even from each of you. That spirit which gives to this form the individuality which it has. And that was a spirit which even I had seen had once burned in me so bright. And by this time there really was not very much left. And what made it so terribly worse was that if I gave this any thought at all I thought that there was nothing that I could do. Because I had been here and this didn't work for me. And by this time I had been here and by this time I had been everywhere else. I had been through the drying out places. I had been through the hospitals. I had been through the doctors. I had been through my wife's clergy. I had been through the money. I had been through the banks and through the jobs and through my friends. And I had been through it all. And if I gave a thought there was nothing that I could do about this. And of course I knew about drunks. I knew about drunks. I remembered. I'd been to the funerals. I'd seen what happened. I had a good memory. And so I figured this is how it is with me. It's that way with a lot of people and so that's the way it is with me. So what? And of course when you're alcoholic and you're Irish and you think like that you despair. And when you despair of course I drink. And so I drank. And I had no hope about it all. And I continued to drink. And then one day one day my time came. My time came one day. My time came. I say to you and it is simply my opinion but you will know what I mean when I tell you that there is a time for all of us. And there is and there is a time for each of us. I think there is a line somewhere beyond which we simply are not permitted to cross. And I say that there is a point somewhere beyond which we simply are not allowed to sink. And I say to you that there is a level of pain somewhere beyond which no one is required to endure. It is different I think in each case. We all come to this point and to this line in our own way. But it is different for each of us. For some it may be death. And that's how it was for my brother Billy. Billy died last May in a veterans hospital in Minneapolis of alcoholism cirrhosis of the liver esophageal varices. Billy died alone without family without friends. And he was a far piece from the neighborhood. But my brother Billy doesn't drink anymore. And that's one way to stop. And for other people of course something less than that. Maybe even something trivial. But we all come to it in our way. And my day came one day when I did not expect it and I really wasn't looking for it. It was a day that was not too much unlike many other days. I was three or four days away from a drink. I was nervous. I was upset. I was in my office. And I was thirsty. And I thought I'd go have a couple a couple of pops calm down a little. Instead of that I did something I had never done really before. I called someone who is a long time friend of mine and a long time member of this program whose office was nearby. I asked him if he would come see me. I asked him if he would come see me. His name is John and he is my sponsor. And of course John came. And he came through the room the door of that office. And he looked so good. And I felt so bad. So I asked him I said John what do I have to do to be as successful as you are in the program of Alcoholics Anonymous. John gave me that look he has and he looked at me and he said don't drink go to the meetings. Well I didn't want him to tell me that. And I told him I didn't want him to tell me that. I reviewed my background I said tell me something a little more complicated. He gave me that look. You know that look? That look that long time AA members reserve for smart ass people. John began to explain it to me. He said if you don't take one drink for one day there's no possibility that you can get drunk. Now wouldn't you think a smart guy like me would have figured that out? I said you see John you don't understand John. Let me tell you something John. I said this is murder here. This office is no place for me to be John. I can't work in this place anymore. This place has got to go John. And John said well don't drink. And you go to a meeting you'll be alright. I said yeah that's great John. Now let me tell you about home. Home is worse. She goes John. That's it. And you go to a meeting you'll be alright. So I said John now one other thing. Let me tell you about Bankers Trust John. I'm going to sue Bankers Trust. They are saying very ugly things about me at Bankers Trust. And they're going to get theirs John. And he said well don't drink. You go to a meeting you'll be alright. I sensed that there was no dialogue there. And so did John. He made a couple of phone calls and he said come on Raymond you're not doing anything. I'll take you home. He took me up to Grand Central and he stuck me on a train for Larchmont. It's about a 40 minute ride. And half way up I reconsidered. You know. What did I call him for? What does he know? Nothing. That's what he knows. I'm a better lawyer than he is. I'm a better lawyer than anybody is. Don't drink. Don't drink. Don't drink my ass. Wait till this train stops. And that was my attitude when we pulled into the Larchmont station. And standing on the platform of the Larchmont station was my mailman a guy named Al. Who was then the chairman of the Mamaronek group. And Al said get in the car. And I said get out of here Al. I don't hang around with mailmen. Get out of here. He said some guy named John called me from New York. You get in the car. Well a man of my stature cannot afford to have a fight with anybody. So I got in Al's car. And I said Al I'm in a lot of trouble Al. And Al said well don't drink. You go to the meeting. You'll be alright. Some of you are new and are foolish enough to seek my advice. Or if you come by the Mamaronek group that's the advice you will get. Don't drink. Don't drink. Go to the meetings. You'll be alright. Al came back to my house that night and he took me to the Mamaronek group. And I didn't have a drink that day. I haven't had a drink since. And it seems a long time. But it really isn't. First I had that day. And I had that day because two members of this fellowship were so filled with a gratitude of this fellowship. And with a message of these men of love and of service. That they took what God sent them that day. A dishonest arrogant drunk of a man. And they gave him a day. They gave him love and service. And because of that day there have been other days. And I used to see John every day. He'd find me somehow in the courthouse and we would eat or we'd talk or something. And I would see Al almost every night. And after I had a few months or so John said to me one day you know Raymond you're not a bad fellow after all. He said you hang around pretty good. And you don't drink. And you go to meetings. He said there's more. There's a great deal more. He said there is much more to Alcoholics Anonymous than simply not drinking and going to meetings. He said it's time for you to learn something of the program. Start to read the book. Alcoholics Anonymous. And because I am the way I am I said oh John I have read the book John. Rarely have we seen anyone fail to us thoroughly. And he gave me the look. And he said read it again. And I said yes John. Because he had then brought me to that point to which I hope your sponsor has brought you. That no matter what he said I would say yes John. And so I began to read again the book Alcoholics Anonymous. And I was appalled at my initial ignorance. When I first read the book of course I came to the conclusion that it was not a very well written book. That was in my capacity as literary critic. But then I figured well it's not really supposed to be great literature. It's sort of a how to do it kind of a book. I did not understand then or appreciate that the book was more or less the chronicle of the early members of this program. And that there had been this wonderful meeting that we celebrate in Akron and five years had followed before the book appeared and that the book contained the experiences of those 100 or so men and women who had become sober by the time the book was written. I did not understand that the steps that are contained in the fifth chapter of that book are steps that these men and women took on their way to becoming sober and that they were taken literally by these men and women. I thought when first I came to Alcoholics Anonymous that if I told you that my name was Ray O'Keefe and that I was an alcoholic I was doing something about the first step of this program. Of course that's my name and I'm an alcoholic. But the men and women who founded this program did a great deal more than simply identify themselves as alcoholics. They admitted that they were powerless over alcohol. That their lives had become unmanageable. Their lives had become unmanageable because they were powerless over alcohol. It was all one thing with them. They were powerless. They had no power. They were without power. It says in our book that the great dilemma of the alcoholic is his total incapacity for power. He has no power. He is powerless. But they didn't drink. And time began to pass for them. And time has passed for me. And time has passed for the great celebration of Founders Day. And if you come here new my brothers time will pass for you. And time has a way of passing in the program of Alcoholics Anonymous. It passes one day at a time. And somewhere after this succession of days these men and these women came to believe that there was a power greater than their own. And they believed that this power could restore them to sanity. And this was not just a casual observation that they made or an offhand reference that they shared. They believed. They really believed. They believed in a power greater than their own. And as they believed I believed. I believed that a power greater than my own can restore me to sanity. And so firm and so real was this belief. That they made a decision that they would turn over their will and their lives to the care of this power this God as they each understood him. And they were very very bright. Because at a time in the history of this country when no one else had this notion they conceived alcoholism to be a disease. They conceived it to be a disease that was physical and mental and spiritual. A disease of the body and of the mind and of the spirit. And when they stopped drinking they found that their bodies responded rather quickly. And when they came to that belief they began a mental recovery. That was a little slower than the physical recovery but they could notice it. It was perceptible. They made that decision. When they made that decision well to turn over their lives that was not so much they had already admitted that their lives were unmanageable but when they made the decision to turn over that will the alcoholic will that thing that was the thing that had me in all of that trouble for all of those years I was precisely a extreme example of self-will run riot. And when they were able to do that when they were able to make a decision to turn over that will when they were finally able to give up and to let go and to let God they continued not only a spiritual recovery but they set down the basis for a spiritual way of life to which you and I are heir. They gave that to us. And they were bright enough to know too that it wasn't enough to simply stop drinking and start praying. A lot of people have tried that it doesn't seem to work. They knew that if they were to be successful if they were to be sober somehow they would have to change. And in order to effect this change in themselves they began a searching and a fearless moral inventory of themselves. They could be searching because by now they were relatively clear. They could be fearless because they had turned over their lives to the care of a God of their understanding. Imagine an alcoholic without fear. That's impossible. It embarrasses me to tell you that the ruling emotion of my life when I drank was fear. For all of those years the great man and the boy professor was afraid most of the time. But this program helped with that. And when they were finished writing this inventory so great was the love and the affection of these people one for the other. They were able to readmit that inventory to themselves and to this God of their understanding. And they brought it to someone else and shared it with them. And it was very valuable for me to finally go to my John and show him that inventory. And these men and women found that they were in the process of becoming honest with themselves. You know I spent an awful long time when I was drinking making sure that everybody knew who I was. And I made twice as sure that nobody knew what I was. And it was a great relief for me to go through this process with my sponsor. And then they developed an attitude which took me a long time I struggled. And then they developed an attitude of God remove all of these defects of character. And with great and compelling logic they went to this God of their understanding and they humbly asked that God to take from them their shortcomings. And it was working for them. And they knew that. And they knew too that they had not come here alone. They knew that in their lives there was a great deal of wreckage. A lot of people had been harmed. And so they wrote a list of everyone they had ever harmed. And they became willing to make amends to everybody on their list. And they didn't just talk about it. They did it. And who would know better than you here at Akron how Bob spent his first day dry. He had a drink with Bill. Bill gave him a bottle of beer outside of the hospital. He came out of work and he drove around Akron. And he got home late that night. And Bill asked him where he'd been. And he said he was out mending fences. It's an over month expression. Bob was making amends the first day that he began. And I don't think we need way too long in this program because whatever it is is required of us. I don't think we have to wait that long. I think easy does it but do it. By this time these men and women understood that they had been given something very precious. And so they resolved that they would maintain it. And so they continued to take inventory. They knew they could not afford the luxury of a resentment. They would drink. And if they drank they would die. It was simple with them. And so when they were wrong they promptly admitted that they were wrong. And so great and so real was their reliance upon this power this God of their understanding. That they resolved to improve their conscious contact with this power. And they did that by prayer and by meditation. They meditated. They gave thought to their condition. They considered who they were and what they were. And they engaged in a very fine and very excellent form of meditation. It is a form of meditation in which you are now engaged. They listened. They listened. On the odd chance that this power would speak to them. And this power did speak to them. In their groups. At their meetings. And then they prayed, brothers. They prayed. And nobody needs to be told by me the value of prayer. When they prayed, they prayed only for knowledge of God's will for them. And the power to carry it out. And a little later in their development, they came upon a prayer. And they thought it would help them. So they began to pray for themselves. And the only thing they asked was peace of mind. And so they prayed to God to grant them the serenity. To accept the things they could not change. And they did change. Something happened to them. Something has happened to me. If you are new, something will happen to you. Something happens to everyone who comes here and puts this program into their lives. There was a great change in these men and women. There was a great difference between being drunk and being sober. There had been a great conversion of their values. And a great substitution of their standards. And this difference in them, the difference between being drunk and being sober, they termed a spiritual awakening. And they had this spiritual awakening as the result of the steps. And it wasn't ever that they had been so bad. It was that they had been ill and the good in them was dormant. And now as the result of these steps there was an awakening of their spirit. And these were the men and the women who at the beginning of this process had admitted that they were helpless and hopeless and powerless. These were the ones who had no power. And having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps they found that they held in their hands and in their hearts and in our program the greatest source of all power that the world had ever seen. They actually had the power to arrest the disease of alcoholism. They actually had the power to save life. And the only thing they were using was the great power of example of one drunk for an hour. And they said to the other I wanted to be like my sponsor and armed with that power and having had that kind of a spiritual awakening they went forth from this place to carry the message. And they did that so well to a dishonest arrogant man in the town of in the state of New York. And that my dear, dear brothers is a long long way from Akron, Ohio. And they knew you see they knew they knew what my sponsor knew. They knew what Lois knew way back then. They knew that there was still more to this program than a simple device to keep me from drinking like a pig. They knew that what had been given to them was an entirely new way of living. And in order to enjoy that new way of living in all their affairs. And so where they had been as I was very dishonest they tried not to be dishonest. Where they had been as I most certainly was very, very arrogant they tried not to be so arrogant. Happily for me and for all of us and as my friend Max read tonight they said we need not be saints. They said it was a program of spiritual progress. And my sponsor told me and so I believe that I can progress in this program if I don't drink and go to the meetings. I could keep you and I would love to for many, many more minutes and tell you of all of the good things that have happened to me wholly and solely and simply because I am a member of the world famous Marmarinic group. Which is of course the best group in all of LA. And if you don't feel that way about your group may I suggest that you get a new group. I won't keep you that long I'm ready for the dance. I know that if you have a good wish for me and I'm sure you do no matter what it is you may wish for me solely and simply because I am a member of the world famous Marmarinic group. You know they kid me in that group and sometimes they kid me and needle me a little about all this traveling I know. One of them on Wednesday was complaining that I actually travel too much and stay away from the group. This lady said to me, beloved leader which is their form of addressing me why is it you're always traveling and staying away from me? And I said I have to go where I am going because I have a great debt to pay and this is how I do it. I really don't like to be away too much from the Marmarinic group because I like to know what's going on. I was in Tulsa, Oklahoma last time and in my absence one of my spies reported to me that while I was away one of my real smart ones had put the think sign where the easy does it sign belongs. Now that's the kind of thing that I will not tolerate in that group. I one time sent a guy to the store to get coffee and he delegated that to his wife and she got the wrong kind of coffee. This kind of stuff can get us all drunk. I want nothing to change in that group or anywhere else. I want that room and this program to be precisely what it was when Al dragged me in there. I hope we add to it, I hope we improve it but I hope we never change one word of it. While it's time everywhere I go I leave with something that's in one of our pamphlets. Indeed I really hope that everything I've said to you from this program comes from some of the material. I really hope there isn't too much O'Keefe in all of this. We have a pamphlet called A Member's View of Alcoholics Anonymous and it's a pamphlet that's near and dear to me and at the end of that pamphlet the author takes a few words and he reminds us of the time when John the Baptist was once again languishing in one of Herod's prisons and John sent two of his friends to inquire of his cousin Jesus as to whether or not he was the Messiah. And so these two men found the Lord and they walked with him a while and they finally asked him the question. Are you the one we are to wait for or shall we wait for another? And the Lord really did not answer that question but he said to them go back to John and tell John only what you have seen and only what you have heard. Tell John that the blind see and the lame walk are made well and tell John that the poor have the gospel brought to them. In my early training I was told that the word poor in that context could mean poor in spirit and everyone knows that the word gospel simply means good news and so my dear brothers here at Founders Day in Akron if you will accept a report from me based upon my years in Alcoholics Anonymous I will tell you only what I have seen and only what I have heard and based upon those observations it seems to me that the blind do see and the lame and most certainly my brothers the sick are made well and I have seen over and over and over again through the longest day and into the darkest night the good news of this program of love and of service brought to the alcoholic who still suffers the poor in spirit God bless you