June 29, 1973. A blackout in a saloon near Disneyland, buying drinks for six strangers while his wife of twenty-nine years was splitting from him. Chuck H. was a "big shot" who climbed the corporate ladder in electronics, fueling his ascent with double Manhattans and a rotation of twelve bars a day so no one group knew the extent of the wreckage. He spent years as a "boy breaker," treating the program with arrogance and surviving seven stints in a detox hospital where they poured hot booze down his throat to make him puke.
The bottom arrived not as a sudden crash, but as a slow bleed: handcuffs in the driveway, a judge calling him a scourge to society, and the realization that he couldn't take one more day of himself. He describes a Higher Power that returns dignity through the grit of "clowns" who hauled him to meetings by the neck. For Chuck, the truth only hurts once if you let it.
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