Woke Up Naked in Four-Point Restraints and for Just a Second Thought I Might Have Missed Something Really Cool 🥴 – Kip C.

Oh, Lord. How y'all doing? Good. Probably serves you right. My name's Kip Collins and I'm an alcoholic. I ain't had a drink all day long. I ain't that grand. I didn't hurt nobody today. Didn't hurt myself. I worked all week, paid my way. My kids caught talking today. They all said they love me and they miss me. In a hurry home, Daddy. As I was pulling out my driveway, my neighbor waved at me with all five fingers. I might not impress y'all, but it's more than I've ever deserved. I'd like to thank Tennessee, my dear friend Tennessee, for inviting me out here. This is an honor to be here. It's always an honor to participate in anything to do with Alcoholics Anonymous. But anything to do with a men's conference, I'm there. Because you guys saved my life. You taught me how to be what I never knew how to be. You taught me how to do what I did not know how to do. My sobriety date is May 12th, 1984. My home group is Robert's Roost, Clothes Men's of Alcoholics Anonymous. My sponsor's name is Pat T. His sponsor's name is Harry Homer. And Harry's Homer is a guy named Blake in Detroit that I've never met. And if you ain't got those three things in your life, I'd suggest you get them. A sobriety date, a home group, and a sponsor. Because that's what's going to save your life. It's good to see. I got family here, man. I got family. I got my brother Larry Scott sitting over there. I love that man. The reason I love him, he's got two real nice dogs. And they're good dogs. And they like him, so I know he must be all right. And I got my buddy Ray. And I got Art Sutherland. And I got Bill. You know, Bill and Art, they've been to my home. And a lot of these guys have been to my home in California. I'll tell you, Bill and Art, she loves all these guys. And she goes, Bill and Art, those are my southern gentlemen. She's never heard Art's story. Oh, Lord. You know, I got my buddy Austin, man. I watched that kid get sober, man. What a miracle. What a miracle. I got to see a miracle today, fellas. I got to see something today. The reason I stick around here. Went to lunch with some brothers, old ones and new ones I just made. And I sit next to this big old gangster, and we started talking about the change, the miracle of Alcoholics Anonymous and how it happens in people that it's impossible to happen to. And I looked at that old gangster, and I looked at his eye, and I saw a tear coming down his eye. And it touched my heart. And, you know, it just touched me, because, you know, that's what I'm here for. I never had no emotion over nothing, man. I walked through this world, and I did everything I ever wanted to do, and I did everything I ever had to do, and I never looked back on nothing with no emotion. I didn't know you could feel, man. And you guys taught me it was okay. You know, my father, he's Irish and Sioux, raised on a Cheyenne reservation, because my grandpa was so damn mean, they kicked him off the Sioux reservation. My mom... My mom... My mom... My mom... My mama, she's Irish and Cherokee and Choctaw. And my daddy likes to drink. And my mama, she loves to fight. You know? And just to share with you just a little bit, a general way of what my childhood was like. You'd be waiting around. It'd be getting later and later. Me and my little brothers, we'd be talking about... We were scared to death, because the later it got, the madder she got. We'd be talking. We'd be getting scared. We'd be talking about, man, when we grow up, we're not going to be like this, man. We're going to be talking about the kind of fathers we were going to be and the husbands we were going to be. And, you know, all the kind of men we wanted to be. It wasn't nothing like these crazy people. And after a while, you'd hear that truck rolling up the driveway, man. You'd look out the window right about that time. You'd see all the neighbors grabbing their lawn chairs, turning off their lights as they're walking out the house to get a good seat. You know? Daddy'd pull in that driveway. My mom would come flying out that front door with a butcher knife. She'd hit that passenger door. He'd bail out the other door. And she's chasing him around the house. And the neighbors are all... They're all cheering, depending on who gave them the most trouble that week, you know? That's just Monday night. And I'll tell you straight up, man, none of that makes me an alcoholic. My daddy, if anybody in this world, my daddy taught me exactly what alcohol will do to a family, what it'll do to a marriage, what it'll do to a career. I had no illusions about alcohol. I was never, ever going to be an alcoholic. I wanted nothing to do with it. I blame my alcoholism on the sanity of the Unified School District. No, really. I'm a victim. You know, one day, it was about sixth grade. They called us all in this hallway, you know. And they want to teach us about this stuff we don't talk about in A&A. And they showed us this movie. And they got these guys, got up and talked. And the guy went back down. They dismissed us. I looked over at my buddy, Balto. I said, can you get some of that? He said, oh, yeah. My daddy smokes that stuff all the time. I said, well, hook me up, man. He said, yeah. He said, yeah. He said, yeah. He said, yeah. He said, yeah. He said, yeah. He said, yeah. He said, yeah. He said, yeah. He said, yeah. So the next day, I said, did you get it? He goes, yeah. Meet me after school. So I hooked up with him after school. I said, so what do we do? He goes, we've got to go boost some wine. I said, what for? He goes, I don't know. But my daddy always drinks wine when he smokes this stuff. And, you know, we didn't want to make any mistakes. I went down this little market. And I stole my very first short dog, a sweet red port. He bought a bottle, got a bottle of Mescatal. And I love them screw caps. I went down this little canyon, man. He fired up that cigarette. And he took a big hit off of it. And he handed it to me. And I took a hit off of it. And I started coughing my brains out. I took that bottle of port wine. I looked up at it. I said, man, that sure is a pretty color, ain't it? You know, and I took that fancy screw cap off. I took a big pull out of it. It hit my belly and jumped out and landed right on my shoes. But I ain't no quitter, fellas. I took another pull off that, man. It hit my belly. Started doing that yo-yo thing. You know, I go, whoa, man. I pinched my nose. I learned that real quick, you know. And it started bouncing back and forth, man. It started bouncing. And pretty soon it settled down. I took another pull. And that one went down a little bit easier. By the time I finished that bottle, it was going down smooth. I looked over at Balto. He squatted down, sucking on this little cigarette. And he goes, I went, no, man. I said, you going to drink that? He goes, good God, no, man. That is the worst thing I've ever tasted in my life. I said, can I have it? He said, knock yourself out. He was right, you know. It was horrible. But I drank every bit of it, you know. And I leaned back. It was a beautiful day. It was a Santa Ana condition day. It's a warm, beautiful condition we have in Southern California. And it's a real warm air that comes out of the humidity drops to about 10. It's crystal clear. And I was laying down on this grass, looking back up at the sky. Had my head in my hands. I can remember it crystal clear. And I had my absolute first spiritual awakening right then and there. Something happened to me that day that changed my life forever. I was living in a neighborhood. My dad drank. He drank. He drank every penny he made. We lived in the barrio, you know. We were the only white people in this neighborhood. It was all first-generation Hispanic. Nobody even spoke English. My cousins lived with us. All the outside neighbors, man, they all had dark brown skin. They had dark brown eyes. They had dark brown hair. My cousins have dark brown skin. They have dark brown hair. They have dark brown eyes. I was born with white skin, blue eyes, and white hair. So was my brother. And, man, we walked outside of that house, man. The Mexicans wanted to beat our ass. We walked in the house. Them Indians wanted to beat our ass. And most of my life I spent at that doorway, I was afraid to go out of the house. I was afraid to go in, you know. And I grew up in absolute terror all of my life. I was scared to death. All my life there was this fear, just waiting. You know, I knew someone was going to jump me the minute I walked in the house or walked out of the house. Something was going to come down. And that day I drank that liquor, man. I laid back. And this thing came over me. And the only thing I can describe it was when I first came here. And you all read the promises. I thought you were talking about alcohol. But that's exactly what alcohol did for me. I knew a peace that I didn't even know existed. For the very first time in my life, I laid there and my skin fit absolutely completely. I was not afraid of another human being in this world. And I was comfortable in my own skin. And it brought tears to my eye, even knowing you could feel that way. I was 12 years old. I laid back, man. And I didn't know. I know a lot about the first three steps of Alcoholics Anonymous. A long time before I knew about you guys. You see, when I was 12 years old, I knew that I was powerless over this world. I had no doubt about that. I drank this magic stuff, man. And I came to believe that there was a power greater than this world that could restore me. And I immediately, with no reservation, turned my will and life over to it. And I never looked back. You know, a couple of years later, I got kicked out of school for hitting a teacher for the second time. He was a jerk. You know the most dangerous person in the world? The scaredest. He scared me, you know. I fired on him. I got home. My mom had found this contraband. She's standing at the door. The school has already called her. You know, I walk up to the door and she's standing there with this bag. She said, what's this? I said, it's probably exactly what you think it is. Huh? She says, get out of my house. I've been waiting for her to tell me that since I was five years old. I took off. My mom's mean. I love her to death. I take care of her. I support my mother today, you know. I love her to death. She's mean. She takes no prisoners, man. I saw her stab my dad three different times. The most impressive thing I ever seen her do was a neighbor started arguing about her or something. She reached over and grabbed her old flathead shovel and knocked him cold. She don't mess around, man. Her talk ain't cheap, you know. When she had that look in her eye that I knew so well, man, she said, get off my property. I said, yes, ma'am, as I was backing up, you know. And I split. I went over to a friend of mine's house over on the coast and I said, well, he said, what are you going to do? I said, man, I don't know. I've never been anywhere. And he said, check this out. And he opened up the newspaper. On the front page, there's a story. He says, look at this. He says, all these people, they're going up to San Francisco. And all they do up there. They get high and listen to music and make love. I like music. I like music a lot. Especially when I was 14. That's about all I thought about was music. And some other music lovers in here, I hear. I got up to this place called Haight-Ashbury in San Francisco in 1964. I'll tell you straight up, fellas, I was the worst hippie that ever got there. I grew hair real good back then, you know. But, you see, I've been fighting all my life. And anything that I even thought threatened me, I'd hit first. And that didn't go over. These people were pacifists, you know. And they were going, hey, man, give peace a chance. I'm going, I ain't giving nobody a chance. I found out right away what my true calling was. I am not a hippie. I am not a socialist. I am a capitalist pig, you know. I saw opportunity. I saw these crazy white kids that didn't know what time it was. What day it was. They all come from the suburbs. They want this certain product. All my friends come from Mexico. I ain't no dummy. I called up Balto. I said, Balto, you're not going to believe what they're paying for this. He said, you're kidding me, man. He says, come on down. We'll go down and talk to the family. I went back down. We went down to Mexico when I was 14 years old, me and Balto. And we talked to his family. And we put a little enterprise together. And we started an international trading business. And when I was in college, I went to college when I was 45. And I got a degree in marketing. And they were asking anyone in the class, I said, has anybody done any international marketing? And I raised my hand. She said, would you like to talk about it? I said, no. She goes, oh, OK. That's another story. And that thing went real well for us for a long time. When I was 16 years old, I was arrested in Rosarito Beach, Mexico, with 200 kilos of this green vegetable matter. And I was sentenced to 25 years to life in prison in La Mesa Federal Penitentiary. I had long, long blonde hair. And I had blue eyes, very white skin. I weighed probably about 90 pounds. And they marched me in that prison in hair and handcuffs. And that's the scariest I've ever been in my life. And they walked in there, and there was all these men standing there. And they were all related to Balto. And I found out these were the people I was working for. And what should have been the scariest thing in my life turned out to be one of the greatest career opportunities I ever had. I love Mexico. It's a lot like Louisiana. Works on the principle of Mordida, a little bite. That just means you can do anything you want as long as you know the right person. You got the money, you know. We knew the right people. I was more valuable outside than I ever was inside. So they got me out of there after about a year. But I got a real good education in there. I got to find out how this world really works. And I got back out, and I continued doing what I was doing, just on a little bit larger scale. And I did that. I hooked up with this young gal, man. Beautiful little girl. She got pregnant, and we were living together, man. And I was wheeling. We were living and dealing. And I went to this guy's doing this deal, and I fell asleep at this house. And I came to, man. The cops were there. It was my 18th birthday, and they took me down for 27 felonies. I was set in court for, in jail, in the San Diego County Jail for a little over a year, about 18 months, fighting this case. And we finally, I finally beat it. And when I got, I tried to go, I tried to call this girl all the time I was in there. I tried to write letters, and no one called me back. Nobody came to see me, and I couldn't get any information. Because she was, she was supposed to have had the baby. I knew she'd already had the baby, and I couldn't find, get any information. And when I got out of there, I went to go find the family, man. They said, just stay away from our family. You've done enough damage. She's long gone. You'll never see her again. And I walked around for years with this big hole in my gut, man. Because I'll tell you straight up, man, all the other guys were young men. They were talking about what they wanted to be when they grew up. I never said it out loud. The only thing I ever wanted to be, the only thing I ever dreamed about all my life, is I wanted to be a daddy. I wanted to be a father. I wanted to have a woman who loved me. I wanted to have a neighbor that when I pulled in, man, they waved at me. They didn't get out in lawn chairs and watch me, you know. I wanted that more than anything in the world. And I wanted, there was this hole in my gut wondering about that child. And I carried on, man. I ran into this little gal. After I got jailed, she was 15 years old. And this company called Roar came out with this new product. Anybody here ever go to jail for just being stupid in public? Only three. Only three. Only three. I believe that. I went to jail three times in one week for being stupid in public. And this little girl bailed me out of jail every single time. I'd no sooner get to my bunk when they're saying, roll up. And I'm going, what? And I'd have to go get my clothes and get out. And I'd get out and there'd be this little gal. And she bailed me out of jail. Third time she did it, I said, how come you keep bailing me out of jail? She looked at me with this real dumb look on her face. She goes, well, what else would I do? I married her. I don't know nothing about love, but I know about jail. And anyone that ain't going to bed till I get out of jail, I want them on my side. And I want them to where they can't testify against me, you know? And I'll tell you something, man. That woman is still one of my dearest, dearest friends to this very day. We were married for 14 years. She was the greatest crime partner I have ever had in my life. I'd put her up against anything. Hell, this angel I ever had business with, man. This woman was tough. She was not afraid of anything. Her motto was, I'll do anything at least once. You know? And she would. And we went on a trail, man. I got busted again. Did a little bit, you know, and I bought on parole. I knew I'd never make parole in California. And when I got out, I got my case transferred to Oregon. Anybody has that problem, I can tell you how you can do that. It's real simple. You know, I didn't know anyone up there. And I went, I decided, you know, she got pregnant and I'm going to be a citizen, man. I got a job. I got a job as a logger out in the woods and I fell in love with that kind of work. I worked out there for two years, stayed completely out of trouble, didn't drink, didn't get loaded, stayed clean and sober, man, for almost two years and everything was okay. One day she says, we've got to go have the baby. We're going to the hospital. And I drove her down to North Bend, Oregon. I went in this little room after a while, they came out and they brought this little boy and they put him in my arms and I held that little boy. And I looked at him and my heart exploded in my chest. Something happened to me. It was, I call it my second spiritual awakening. I looked at that little boy, man, and I fell absolutely, totally in love, unconditional love with another human being. And I did not know you could even feel like that, man. I held onto that baby and I'm looking at him and I said, Hey, you're my pal. You're my. My pal, man, ain't nobody ever going to hurt you. You ain't never going to live in fear. We're going to do all those things I dreamed about. We're going hunting and camping and fishing, man. And you're going to be my pal. And I meant it with everything I had. And I went back, you know, and I got off parole. I moved back down to California. There's about a year later, I'm standing at another hospital and they came out and they bring this little girl and they put this little girl in my arms and the same thing happened, man. My heart exploded and I fell in love, fell. Absolutely. Head over, head over heels in love with this little girl, you know, and I don't know about y'all, but I'm the kind of alcoholic. I think real fast, always have always do still do. I'll be sitting at a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. Some pretty gal walk in, I'll fall in love. We'll get married, have a couple of kids. She'll cheat on me with that old timer over there. I hate her guts. She hadn't even got to her seat yet. You know, I'm holding on this little girl, man. I realize this is a female. Someone's going to want to marry me. I'm going to get married. I'm going to get married. I'm going to marry her. What are the conditions going to be? Where are we going to have the wedding? What am I going to wear? Ladies going, hey, we got to weigh the baby. I left her there and I'll tell you straight up, fellas, that I was, I was the best father I could possibly be for the next five years. Alcohol and drugs were not a problem for me at that time. I was well aware of the fact that when I drank, I drank alcohol, I do stupid things. Something happens and I stayed away from alcohol. You know, the business that I was in, you don't do stupid things, you know, and I worked maybe a week, two weeks out of the year and the rest of the time I had a beautiful place and I spent it with my kids. That's it. Just my kids and my brother, my wife. I had a good life. On September 6th of 1976, my wife and daughter went. Their school was getting ready to start and they went down, getting school closed. My little boy was seven. My little girl was going into kindergarten. Me and my little boy were playing out Frisbee. It was a real hot day. A friend of mine came over and he brought this stuff over and we smoked it and I went in the house to get a beer. It was hotter than heck that day. And I went in there and I didn't have anything cold to drink. There was no cold beer, man, and I just wanted to drink so bad. And she had the car and all I had was my bike there and there was no one else there. And I said, You know, just wait right here, son. I'll be back in just a minute. And I got on my bike and went up to go get a six-pack. And I came back down. When I'm coming down the hill, I can see all my neighbors are out in front of my house and the cops are there and the fire departments are pulling up, you know. And I waded through this crowd of people and I found out my son had chased me out of the driveway. He'd been run over by a truck. And I got down to my little baby boy, man, and his head was split open and I could see his brains. There was rib bones protruding through his chest. And leg bones. There was rib bones protruding through his legs. And the thing I loved more than my life, more than my very life, man, was laying there. And a big piece of me died. A great big piece of me died. And we got that little boy to the hospital and I sat by his bed for the next nine months and I wouldn't leave. I just prayed to God. You know, I'm nothing if I'm not God. My parents didn't go to church. My dad knew his last name is all I knew about God, you know. But I'd heard other people talk about God. And I cried after this. God, to give me back my son. I told him, I'll do anything in this world if you give me back my baby boy. I'll do anything. Please, just give me back my son. And every day I'd go in that hospital and those doctors would say, just pray that he dies. Just pray that he dies. There's so much brain damage. There ain't nothing to hope for, Mr. Collins. And this is when things started changing in my life, man. The pain, the guilt, all of those feelings, it was so intense. I started drinking, man, and I started showing up at that hospital. I started getting those. I started getting those looks that we get to know so well, of showing up when your son has to have an emergency surgery, life or death, and you show up to sign the paperwork and you're too drunk to sign your name. And those doctors don't look at you in a kind and loving way when you come in in that condition. I tell you, my son survived. He made medical history. The little boy, his personality was gone forever. I got back a little child who never emotionally or mentally got past the age of four years old. He couldn't hear and he couldn't talk. And he spent about three-quarters of the rest of his life in and out of hospitals, one brain surgery after another. And I knew who did that. I knew who dropped the ball on that one. That was me. In the middle of all this, my little brother Bill, anything I've told you about that I did, my brother Bill was right beside me. We were only 11 months apart. Only human being I ever trusted absolutely, totally. We've been backing each other's play right or wrong since we were little tiny boys. Me and my brother were tight. And in that hospital, my brother came down with a disease called schizophrenia. And my family had him committed to a hospital. And right after my son got out, my brother called me from the hospital. He said, Kip, he says, get me out of this place, man. I said, are you okay? He said, yeah, yeah. Just get me out of here. Do whatever you've got to do. Get me out of here. You know, it wouldn't matter where he was. I went against the doctor's advice, the family's advice. And I got my brother. I got him out and I brought him back home with me. And he had a little. He had a little mobile home across the creek from my house. And I needed to make some money. So I put this deal together and I went to New York. And I told my brother, I said, man, you've got to watch the kids. I'm going to be gone for about three days. He looked at me and he was shaking real bad. And he says, man, you can't go. I said, what do you mean I can't go? He says, you can't go, man. I'm coming apart. I don't know what's going on, man. But I'm falling apart. And he was shaking real bad. And I said, Bill, you know what, man? I can't back out on this now. You know the deal. I can't. I've got to go. You know? And he says, Kip, he says, I don't know if I can handle it. I said, here, man. And I reeled off a big pile of money. I put it in his hand. Money's fixed everything all my life. I gave him this money. I said, Bill, hang tough, brother. I'll be back in three days. Whatever it is, we'll take care of it, man, me and you, just like always. And I got in this cab and I looked at my brother. And he was standing there holding my kid's hands. And he was crying. I'd never seen my brother cry before. And I got back east. And this deal I was supposed to do, instead of three days, it turned into about three weeks. Everything went sideways. When I got back, my little girl was out there. And I said, Janet Marie, I said, where's my brother at? She goes, I haven't seen him. I said, what do you mean you haven't seen him? She goes, I haven't seen him since right after you left. I said, no. So me and her, she took her hand. We walked across that creek. And I went over to my brother's trailer. And I opened that door. And my brother's head rolled out of that trailer. Because three days after I left, he took his gun and he blew his head off. And when my brother landed, his head landed at the foot of that door, man, something inside of him. He broke completely in half. And it was my very psyche. You could hear it was like a branch breaking. And I can tell you this from my heart to yours, that I thank God that I'm an alcoholic. I thank God with all my heart that alcohol does for me what it does for me. And I don't know what it does, y'all, but I know what it does to me. Because it immediately takes away that guilt. It immediately takes away that pain. It changes the way I feel about anything that's going on in my life absolutely immediately. It stops the screaming in my head. It gets rid of the visions that are burned into my brain. It allows me to get some rest at night. And it stops the screaming when I get up in the morning. And if I can keep enough alcohol in my body from that day forward, I won't have to blow my brains out. And thank God that alcohol does for me. Because I sure wouldn't be with you. I would have joined my brother. And I don't tell you this for any other reason. I don't want to impress you. I don't need your sympathy. I like to always drive home one very pertinent part of the big book of Alcoholics Anonymous. It gets read at every single meeting. And a lot of people just don't quite understand. It just goes real quick. It says, are those among us who got here with grave emotional and mental disorders? And that's who I am. My very soul, my very psyche was completely snapped in half, man. There was nothing left of Kip Collins. I'll guarantee you there was nothing left. I lived to drink, and I drank to live. And that's the way it was from that day forward. You know, I couldn't do the business I was doing. And all the stuff started going. You know, my wife, she left, man, because I wasn't paying attention to that woman. She was a good wife, man. She loved that little boy just as much as I did. She loved my brother. Man, they were as tight as brother and sister themselves. But I can't pay no attention to anybody's pain, man, because I'm an alcoholic, and I'm self-centered, and I can only look at mine. I don't care what's going on in your life, man. I hurt. And I didn't give her no love. I didn't pay no attention to her like a good husband should have done. And another man was paying attention to her. He took her off. God bless him. And I was sitting there with my little girl. She's six years old now. She's crying. She's sitting there. It's dark. It's just me and her, and she's crying. And she's going, Daddy, what's going on? Everybody she loved was dying. They were leaving her. Daddy, the most rock in her life, man. He was acting absolutely nuts, and he was crazy. She goes, What's going on, Daddy? And I got her in my lap, and I started talking to her. And I said, Baby, we don't need nobody. We never need nobody. We just hit a big. We just hit a big bump in the road, man. I'm going to catch my breath in just a minute. And I ain't going to let nothing happen to you, honey. It's going to be all right. We're just going to get on the other side of this in just a little bit, and everything's going to be okay. And I got her to bed. And about that time, I got a knock on the door, and this fellow came in with a change in my life. Anybody here for their first meeting? Anybody here for their last? If you ever have any reservations about this A&A stuff, and you decide to go back out and try it one more time, I recommend this. In California, we call it Mad Dog 2020. I always called Mad Dog 2020 an event drink. Every time I drank it, something very eventful happened. I drank this stuff, this Mad Dog 2020. My next conscious thought, I opened my eyes with this lady tapping me, and she says, Excuse me, sir. You have to get off the airplane. I opened my eyes. I'm looking around. I'm on this big, wide-bodied jet. It's completely empty, except my little girl. She's sound asleep, leaning on my shoulder. And I'm going, Where am I? She goes, You're in Fort Lauderdale. I said, Florida? She goes, Yeah. I said, I hate Fort Lauderdale. She goes, I don't know nothing about it, man. You've got to get off the plane. And I'm going, Okay. You know, maybe my daughter. knows what we're doing here. So I wake her up. I said, Honey, honey. She opens her little eyes, man. She looks at me and she looks out the window. She goes, Are we there? Yeah. Oh, goody. Okay, let's go. You know, you don't want to act like you ain't got it together. You know, so I took her little hand. We walked off that airplane trying to form a plan. Got into the lobby, looked around, you know, you got to look like you got it together. Walked over this billboard, saw these cab numbers, called a cab. I said, Yeah, you need to take me to a hotel. Pretty nice when I have a bunch of money on me. And I said, Stop at a liquor store. I need to figure out what's happened here. I got me a good bottle of Cuervo Gold. At that period of my life, that was the drink of my choice. And I went up to the, yeah. And I went up to this room. And I'm. My name is Jim. I'm a lawyer. My next conscious thought, I come to completely naked and four point restraints on this gurney all alone. And for just a brief second, I thought I might have missed something really cool. And then I saw the color of the walls. I've been in jails and institutions in three different countries in about every state in the United States. They paint them all exactly the same color. And when you wake up and you see that. That calming green, you know, you weren't walking a little old lady across a crosswalk the night before. I found out apparently that I had met a young couple in this hotel room and I started drinking with them and they were drinking Jack Daniels and they had this Floridian additive and boy, you could drink a lot with that stuff. You know, we're. We went through all of their additive. We went through all of my tequila. We went through all of their whiskey. And I said, Y'all have a. Yeah. I've never heard of Mad Dog 2020 and we went and got some Mad Dog and apparently down about three o'clock in the morning, I'm down this night's hotel, but naked trying to introduce myself to this young lady in California that ain't no big deal, but you people are real conservative here in the South. They didn't know what the cops came. They didn't know what to do, man. I was just a tongue chewing, babbling idiot, you know, so they took me to the county mental health. They gave me that magic Thorazine. They called my butt right down. I come to and I have no idea where my daughter is. I don't got a clue. Kind of scares me, but you don't want to say nothing because they could call the cops. You know, we don't want the cops involved. Not yet. Maybe I got some matches or something or wherever I was, you know, and I'll track her down if I can get out of here. And they put me to talk to this psychiatrist. I'm talking to him and he's he's looked. I said, Listen, this is a big mistake. And he goes, Really? And I said, Yeah. I've been through a lot. I've had a lot of traumatic experience lately, and I know I blew it last night. You know, if you let me out of here, I guarantee you, I will be out of your state before the sun sets. And he goes, Be gone, give me my clothes. I look for those matches. There wasn't any. So I go, OK, plan B. And I start. I got dressed. I'm walking out that hospital. Here comes that young couple with my little girl. They're walking up the steps and she comes running up and grabbed the tips of my arm. And I said, Come on, baby. We're getting out of Florida. We're getting out of Florida. I told you this place sucks. No offense. I'd love to tell you that that was it. You know, that was it. But in all truth, that was only the very, very, very beginning. And for the next three years, my little me, my little girl, we lived like animals. My little girl was exposed to things that no little girl should have ever been exposed to. We lived in five different states on the south. Every place we lived, we left at midnight on a dead run. We lived like whatever. If we couldn't carry it, we didn't need it, you know. And we'd get to a new town and I promised her, man, I'm going to get a job. I'm going to get something going on here, you know, I'm going to get you in school. We're going to start a new life. And I'd no sooner get there, man, something had happened and I'd have to leave. And that's just the way it was, man. And I lived in bus stations and we lived in little flophouses. We lived in an abandoned bus. Mostly I looked for real sick pre-Alanons, you know. You've got a lot of them here in the south. They want to help you. And I'd go through their lives like a tornado, man. And I'd have to leave at midnight, man. The last place was in Oklahoma City. I'd run into this real nice Christian man. We left Georgia on a dead run. And this guy, just a real good Christian family, and they said, you know, my daddy's got this little business in Oklahoma and we got this little, we got an apartment in the back of our barn and you and your daughter can come in and you can stay there and we'll get her into school and, you know, and you can work for my daddy and you come to our church and we'll help you get your life together but you can't drink. And I said, can you do that? And I said, I'll try, sir. I'll try. Thank you. And they were the nicest people I've ever met in my life. And they took us into their home and they gave me a little job, you know, and they got my little girl in school and they went and bought her a nice little dress and I worked for that man for one whole week. I worked with this other fellow and he gave us a paycheck on Friday. And the man says, I'm going to go downtown and cash my check. You want to come with me? I'll buy you a beer. I said, God bless you. When we went downtown, I don't have to tell you all what happened, you know. I come in late that night, come in late that night, my little girl asleep on that couch laying there. She looked up at me, man, and she just dropped her eyes. She grabbed her pillow and her little doll and she stood by the door and I changed my clothes. I grabbed a couple of things. We went out and we stole that man's truck. Got to the bus station, got me a bottle of wine, got on that bus and I had enough money to go back to California. I said, baby, we're going back to California. When I got on that bus, I drank that bottle of wine and I passed out. And I come to the next morning, we're pulling into Albuquerque, New Mexico. My little girl who I come to, she was standing, sitting there and she was rocking back and forth, holding her stomach. And I said, what's the matter, baby? She said, Daddy, I ain't ate. I'm so hungry. And I said, as soon as we stop, I'll get you something to eat. She said, what's the matter, baby? She said, Daddy, I ain't ate. I'm so hungry. I'll get you something to eat, honey. And we stopped at this little liquor store. There's always a little liquor store next to a Greyhound bus station, thank God. And I walked in there and I got her a little sandwich and I got me a bottle of wine and I got up to pay for it. And I only had enough money for the wine and her sandwich. And I had to put her sandwich back. And I've done a lot of things in my life that I don't ever even come close to sharing from the podium. But I've never done anything in my life that shamed me more than that moment. And it shames me to stand here and tell you that. I got back on the bus and she saw that brown paper bag and she just looked at me and she just looked at me. I walked right past her. I couldn't even sit there. I sat behind her. And there was this elderly black lady sitting there right across from us and she looked up. She was a wonderful woman. She didn't even say one word to me. She looked over at my little girl and she said, honey, she said, my daughter made me this big lunch. Would you come over here and sit with me and help me eat it? She goes, I just hate to drink. I hate to travel by myself. And that wonderful woman, she took care of my little girl. All the way back to California. And I sit back in that bottle and just sucked on that little bottle of wine back to California. And I got back and I did what all heroes do at the end of the road. Went to mom's house. Told you about my mom. What I didn't tell you was that my daughter is the apple of my mother's life. She loved that little girl like life itself. She did not know if we were dead or alive for the last three years. She didn't know nothing. And I come walking up. She opened that door. She saw her granddaughter standing there she hadn't seen in three years. She had long raggedy hair. She had this dirty old dress on, holding on to this raggedy old doll and this raggedy old pillow. And she looked at me with a, I've never seen a human being look at me with that much hate in my life. She grabbed my daughter, pulled her in the house. She pointed her finger at me. She says, you get off my property. If you ever come back here, I'll kill you. And I said, yes, ma'am. But she wasn't joking. And I left that place. And thank God. My mother saved my daughter's life. I know that. In the next three years, I don't know nothing about it. It's all hearsay. I'm not joking. I lived in California, Carlsbad, California, on the Pacific Ocean, a little bamboo patch below this restaurant, where a septic tank drained down into it, with 7-Eleven right across the street, Pacific Coast Highway. I'd go over there and I'd panhandle until I got enough money to buy a bottle of wine. I'd go down into my little bush. And where that septic tank drained, because it was dark in there and it smelled, and nobody would go in there. And I'd drink my wine. And when I was done, I'd go back and I'd do the same thing. And that's where I lived for the next three years. And I don't know a hell of a lot about it, folks. I know that I was arrested on that one corner 52 times in three years for drunken public. I know there was three members of my home group that were young men, little surfer rats. And they used to stand on that cliff and throw rocks at me. And they'd throw rocks at me. And they'd throw rocks at me. I sponsored one of them today. I sponsored one of them today. There is justice, fellas. I lived like an animal, because that's exactly what I was. I lived like an animal, because that's exactly what I was. I lived like an animal, because that's exactly what I was. I'm standing in front of that 7-Eleven one morning. I'm sick, just so sick, like I'm always sick, you know. When the minute my eyes open, I got to get something in my body as fast as I possibly can. And I'm standing in front of that 7-Eleven man, and I'm so sick, I'm shaking so bad. I'm shaking so bad. I can't stand up. panhandle. I got 67 cents. And a short dog cost 89 cents. And I can't even panhandle no more, man. I am just dead. And I'm standing there dying. And I know I'm going to go into convulsions. And this car pulled up. And this man got out. And he's got this three-piece square suit on, you know. And he walks over to me. And he looks at me. He pulled open his wallet. And he gave me two $1 bills and walked in the store. And I ran in that store. And I got a quart of wine and a short dog. And I came out. And I put that short dog straight down, man. I just sucked it down dry. And leaned my face against that cold glass until the shaking stopped. And when I opened my eyes, I looked. And I was looking in this glass. And this family was sitting right behind me. And it was the man that gave me that $2. And he was sitting with his square little wife and his square little kids and his square little four-door sedan, you know. And I looked at him with complete contempt. I wondered how he could live like that. And they were talking. And I knew they were talking. They were talking about me. And I turned around. And I flipped them all off. And I cursed them. And I went walking back to my bush. I'll tell you what. Those folks are real good friends of mine to this day. And I'm here to talk about religion because it's got no business in Alcoholics Anonymous. But those were some real fine folks. They weren't judging me. They were on the way. It was on a Sunday morning. And they were on the way that morning to their temple to worship the God of their understanding. And that family was sitting in that car. And they were praying to their God to step in and do something for this poor pitiful human being they saw standing there. And I got down to my bush. And I opened up that bottle of wine. And I took a pull off of it. And out of nowhere, I've had lots of hallucinations. I had audio hallucinations, visual hallucinations, everything all the time. And I never knew what was real. I kind of like it that way. But out of the blue, man, there was this voice. And it says, maybe you ought to go to A&A. I've been to A&A. Different detoxes and hospitals and jailhouses. And those H&I people would always come in with their square little suits, you know, with their ugly little blue book, telling me how wonderful it was to be sober. I'd look at them, you know, and I'd say, you know, I ain't no alcoholic. And they'd go, really? I'd go, yeah, I'm a drug addict. I just can't afford any drugs right now. They laughed just like you guys. This fellow says, well, if you ever find yourself drinking when you don't want to be drinking, and you're drinking and you can't stop drinking, come to A&A and we will love you till you can love yourself. Sure you will. You know. Sure you will. I swear to God, I haven't got a clue. But my next conscious thought was, I opened my eyes, and I'm standing in this doorway, all these people have their back to me. This man's scanning, and a podium just like this, I'm looking at these people, they all have short hair, they're wearing shorts and sandals, clean Hawaiian shirts, and the women are all pretty, and I thought it was a PTA meeting or something. And this guy says, are you looking for Alcoholics Anonymous? And I nodded my head, and he said, well, come on in. He says, would you like to identify yourself? I drink wine all day long, every single day, for a long time. I drink so much wine, I am so nuts, the other winos, they see me with a gallon of wine, they will cross the street, they won't drink with me. I have not had any meaningful conversations with anyone in about three years, you know. And I'd lost the ability to talk, especially if I got nervous. I'd have these absolute epiphanies in my brain. And I'd start to say it, and the only thing that would come out was, ahhh. And this guy made me nervous, and I went, ahhh. The guy looked at me, and everyone turned around and looked at me, and they said, welcome, have a seat. There was this pretty little girl there, and I want her to love me back, you know. So I sit next to her, and she scooted all the way down. I'm sitting there all by myself, these people are all looking at me, and they're kind of going. I've been living in the same clothes for three years. My hair came down to about here. My beard came down to here. You know, I weighed about 120 pounds. I was covered in wine sores. A bunch of stuff lived on me besides me. The lady said, something's crawling across your face. I said, leave it alone, it eats the fleas. That's an exaggeration. Sounds good, though, doesn't it? Oh, Lord, wasn't far from that, though. I'm sitting in this meeting, man. All of a sudden, I'm listening. I'm listening to what they're doing, you know. And they're talking about God. I'm going, oh, no. You know, and then I see them, they're passing this basket. And I said, oh, yeah, they're going to start singing. And I'm sitting here, man, and I'm nervous. These people are looking at me. I'm looking at them, and I'm going, man, this was a mistake. What the heck? And I got up to leave. Now, there was this little old lady, the minute I walked in that room, I noticed her. She just grinned from ear to ear. She's the only one in that room. I mean, she saw me. She just went, her eyes just lit up. And she kept grinning and looking at me and catching my eye, man. I just thought she was nuts, you know. And there was this guy talking, very profound, about his personal perception of God, I believe. And this lady just shocked her feet when I got up to leave. And she cut that man off cold. And this lady saved my life. She looked right at me, man, and she said, I walked in these rooms 27 years ago in Long Beach, California. I didn't come here willingly. A cop made me go, and he said he was tired of arresting me. I came in the back door of this meeting, and I saw all these squares standing there. And I wanted to leave because I knew that when they turned around, especially the women, when they turned around and saw me and knew what they know what I was, and they wouldn't want me around their menfolk. And I felt dirty when I saw you people, and I wanted to leave. But a lady grabbed hold of me and brought me in the room and got me a cup of coffee and said, Honey, don't go nowhere. We need you. This lady sat there, and she started talking to me about 27 years of continuous sobriety in the program of Alcoholics Anonymous. She talked about a woman who grabbed hold of her and taught her how to be a woman, got her and Rob involved in a woman's group with just women, with none of those hairy-legged boys to bother her, learned about her, made her go to school and get a job. She talked about 27 years of living a good, clean life. She walked over in front of all those people. They didn't know what to make of me, man. This old gal, she only came up to about here to me. She put her arms around me, pulled my face down, kissed me right on the mouth. The bravest woman I've ever met in my life, man. She said, you know, I lived on the streets of Los Angeles since I was 13 years old, and I've done everything a woman ever had to do to survive out there. And I felt dirty when I came in these rooms, but these people loved me, and they taught me how to live in a world I didn't understand. She put her arms around me, man. She squeezed in my neck, and she whispered, she whispered in my ear, she said, baby, she says, please, please don't go anywhere. We need you desperately. People have been beating on me since I landed on your planet. Ain't nobody in this world ever made me cry or flinch. And I'm standing there in front of the PTA, and this old gal says that in my ear. And all of a sudden, my eyes got wet, and that rumbling started in my belly. And 30 years later, I'm in my room, and I'm in my room, and I'm in my room, and I'm in my room, and I'm in my room. And 36 years of holding back tears just came pouring out of me right in front of those people. And I stood there, and I cried harder than I've never even cried. I stood there, and I cried every tear I'd ever held back my whole life, right in front of the PTA. And I started coming to ANA. And you all lied to me right from the beginning, every single one of you. You see, this meeting, although they've meant well, there's a lot of things going on in ANA that have been for a long time that kill people. That kill real alcoholics like me. But these people told me, just go to meetings and don't drink. That might be fine for a problem drinker. You see, alcohol is not my problem. It has never been my problem. It never will be my problem. My alcoholism, my drinking might cause you all some problems. They don't cause me no problems. My problems start when I stop drinking. You know what? About three days, in my wildest fantasy, I can't even imagine why you would want to feel like that. Everything's so real. How do you go to sleep? How do you stop the screaming? How do you stop the voices? They say, just go to meetings and don't drink. Don't keep... I go, okay. And I go to meetings and I wouldn't drink. And you know what happens to a real alcoholic? You know what you got when you take alcohol away from a... A real alcoholic? You know what's left? Ick. Ick. Why would you want to feel like this? I'd go absolutely out of my mind. Start raving sober. I'd stay sober. I'd go to these meetings, especially speaker meetings, because you don't got to do nothing, you know? I learned all the little lingo. Easy does it. One day at a time. Hugs, kisses, whimming at the women, you know? And I'd go out to coffee. I'd do this. I'd do that. I'd go to meetings and I just wouldn't drink. And I got nuttier and nuttier and nuttier and nuttier and crazier and crazier. And I'd stay sober for as long as I could, sometimes 10 days, you know? And I'd come back, man. You say, keep coming back. Just don't drink and go to meetings. And I'd just don't drink and I'd go to meetings. And I'd get crazier. And I lived this way for the next six years. And I went absolutely insane. But I loved Alcoholics Anonymous. There was some of you. I guarantee you, not all of you then and not all of you now. I had something I wanted. And I couldn't put my finger on it. It wasn't your money. It wasn't your stuff. It wasn't your women. It was the look in your eye and the way you walked through this life one day at a time with a little thing called dignity. You walked on the sunny side of the street no matter what was going on in your life, man. And all you people talked about the same thing. You talked about this God, this God thing that I don't want nothing to do with. You see, if there was a God, He had nothing coming from me. I cried out to you people's God many times in those jail cells. In gunfights, stabbings, things I had to do in this world, man, that I can't even sleep sometimes tonight about it. I cried out to your God. Nobody cut me no slack ever. Your God never cut me no slack. God likes those people in the suburbs. He don't allow nothing to do to me. He got nothing coming from me. I got nothing coming from Him. And you guys would talk about this God and I'd just cringe. But I didn't want to drink, man. I didn't want to drink. I wanted that thing I could see. I couldn't even pronounce it. But I could see it. I wanted it. And I kept coming to meetings. I kept coming to meetings. And this guy says, he says, you've got to get a sponsor. And I said, you know, I've been on parole half my life. I ain't about to volunteer to one of these lobsters in my life. I don't need nobody. That was always my motto. He said, you've got to take these steps. I said, I looked at those steps. They don't apply to me. He said, what do you mean? I said, well, I looked at it and said, first of all, I ain't powerless. I've been carrying a gun since I was 14 years old. I might just be on a bad streak right now, but I ain't powerless. Believe me. Think about my life was unmanageable. I like it that way. Mediocrity is my greatest fear. I hate knowing what's going to happen next. God stuff, don't need that stuff. I saw this other one that says, what's this about? He said, well, you've got to write down everything you've ever done and admit it to another human being. I fell out of my chair laughing. I ain't going to go into it, but I am a career professional criminal. Very successful, I might add. I prided myself on absolutely no paper trail of any of my activities. Now you want me to write it all down and share it with the PTA. That ain't going to happen, fellas. That might be okay for you guys that come from the suburbs. You know? I ain't putting nothing on paper. My motto is, I don't care if you've got a picture of me doing it. It wasn't me. God says, well, I think really. I said, what's in the men's? This one really killed me. I said, what's in the men's? He goes, you've got to track down everybody you ever hurt and make it right. Hey, loopy, don't shoot. Hey, brother. Hey, I'm sorry I shot you and your brother and your dog and took all your dope. But I'm in a spiritual manner of living. And I'm here to make things right. You bet, fellas. I'm going to jump right on that. Hardly wait. There are places I can't go back to. All the kinfolk are dead. But I wanted what you had, man. And I kept coming to A&A. And I kept coming to A&A. And I kept coming to A&A. I counted A for six years. And I'll tell you this. Thank God that there's some real members of Alcoholics Anonymous at every meeting I ever went to. When you start coming in and out of these rooms, people start seeing you. You're coming in and out of these rooms with your hand in the air. They start making cardboard pictures of you with your hand in the air in case you're not there. You know? It's happened. They think that's funny. Almost killed me. There's people like a man. I'll break his anonymity because I love him with all my heart. His name's Cliff Roach. Went to Thursday night workshop. Big, giant, big meeting. It was my favorite meeting because there was a guy named Bill there. Bill Blake. And Bill Blake's at the big meeting. His wife, Margie. A guy named Skip. My sponsor today, Pat. And a few other old-timers. And I'd walk in that room, I don't care how many times, under any conditions, and they would see me walk in that room and they would get everyone out of their way to get to me. To welcome me into the room and say, Thank God you made it back, Kip. Thank God. Good to see you, son. Good to see you. And it saved my life. And that's why I kept coming back. I come to Christmas morning, 1983. Butt naked. Hog tied. In this rubber room. Cops had beat me down so bad the night before. They broke both my cheekbones and my nose. I'd been bleeding real bad. My face was stuck to that mat. I'm trying to peel my face off the mat, you know, and finally got it off. And I looked up at them portholes and cops were looking down at me laughing. And I knew Santa Claus wasn't coming. The big cops knew me so well in that jailhouse, man. They said... They opened the door. They saw me come through. They gave me my clothes. They said, Merry Christmas, Kip. We'll see you later. And they let me go. But I think someone made a mistake. I have no idea where it came from. But there was $90 in my pocket. And I made a decision when I was laying in handcuffs that morning. Hog tied. Laying there. I said, you know, I ain't going back to A&A. I can't do this no more, man. They lie. You know, I'd heard that one part in there a million times. I said, maybe I'm one of those people that's... constitutionally incapable of being honest with myself. And I like that part. It wasn't my fault. I like that. It wasn't my fault. I couldn't do this deal. God bless you guys that could. But I couldn't do this deal. I mean, I cannot live without alcohol. Alcohol is the only thing in this world that's never lied to me. Alcohol has never lied. It's never exaggerated. It takes away the pain immediately. It takes away the terror immediately. It stops the screaming in my head immediately. It stops the screaming in my head immediately. It stops the screaming in my head immediately. It stops the screaming in my head immediately. And best of all, the greatest thing in the world, it takes away that loneliness. You know, and we all, everyone in this room, we got a different story. We come from different places. When you're in a room of Alcoholics Anonymous and you talk about alcohol loneliness, we know what it smells like, we know what it tastes like, and we know what it feels like better than any segment of society in this world. That's something we all know real well. Because I was the loneliest human being on the face of the earth. I didn't need nobody and I didn't want nobody. At the same time, I was dying inside for someone to hold me. I made a conscious decision, I ain't going back to A&A. I took every penny of that money, penned it and spent it on Gallup port wine. One of the prettiest sights I've ever seen in my life, man. It took me two trips to get it all down to my hooch. And I got down there and I started drinking that wine and on January 6th, of 1984, the worst thing that has ever happened to me since I landed on this planet, the absolute most tragic worst thing has ever happened. Alcohol stopped working. It didn't take away the pain no more. It didn't take away the guilt no more. It didn't take away the loneliness no more. If anything, it amplified it. And I don't care how much I drank, my body would not, it wouldn't work. It didn't take away, I couldn't even walk, but my brain was just going, just going a million miles an hour. It didn't deaden anything. It amplified it. And I've been here and I've heard all you guys read all that stuff in A&A many times and I knew what was going on. Talked very clearly about it in a vision for you. Says there'll come a time where you cannot imagine life with alcohol or without it. You've been coming to AA for a long time and AA don't work for you? Fellas, is that day that alcohol don't work for you no more? You are going to know loneliness such as few people in this world can even fathom. You're going to come to the jumping off spot and you're going to wish for the end, man. And when I knew alcohol wasn't going to work no more, I pulled out my piece, put it up to my chest and pulled the trigger and I blew my left lung and two ribs out. Knocked me all the way across the room. I slid down this wall with blood flying everywhere. And the only thought I had was thank God this nightmare is over with. Thank God this is over with. Let me out of here. I don't care where I'm going. Just let me out of here. Stop this. And I came to you in a hospital. You thought I died, didn't you? I love it when I hear this guy say, for me to drink is to die. I said, baby, only if you're lucky. Only the lucky ones get to die. There was a man in Alcoholics Anonymous who I hated his guts with a passion. His name was Charlie Tuck. I'll break his anonymity because he's at the big meeting now. Old Charlie came up to me in those days. I was coming in and out of here, man, and he got dead in my face one day. Old Charlie, he'd been sober so long, he said they only had one A in it when he got here. Always wore a suit. Always wore these wingtips. Always had that big, ugly blue book underneath his arm everywhere he went. I thought it was glued to him. Always had two newcomers everywhere he went, one on each side. I don't care when. I think he slept with them. And he always had two newcomers with him at all times. Everywhere he went, he had two newcomers with him, always. He's standing there. He got down and did my face. He looked at me. Looked me right in my very soul, and he looked at me. He says, you think you're pretty tough, don't you, kid? I looked at him, man. I looked him right in the eye. I gave him my best jailhouse look, man. I looked him right in the eye, and I said, old man, I'm tough enough. Don't you ever doubt that. He got this big green. He put his nose so close he almost touched mine, but I didn't flinch. He looked at me right in the eye, and he says, you ain't tough. You're the scariest son of a bitch in this room. And that might make you dangerous, son, but it don't make you tough. And he walked away laughing at me. I avoided that man like that. Like the plague. I'd go to them A&A meetings, man. I'd go through and look in every single window to make sure he wasn't in there before I'd step foot in. But I'll tell you something, gentlemen. When I did get sober and I did my inventory and I got down to my fears, I'm going to tell you what my fear was. My fear was of you guys. I was terrified of you guys. I was afraid. I was still that five-year-old kid. I was afraid to go out of the house, and I was afraid to go in. And I'll do anything in this world, man. I'll do gun at ten paces. I'll knife fight you. I'll do anything we got to do. And I would rather have you kill me than to see the fear. But inside, I was dying at all times. And this old man knew it. He knew who I was. He busted me cold, and I avoided him like the plague. I come to in that hospital, man. I've been laying there. I've been in a coma for a few days. And I hear this voice. Charlie had the deepest, graveliest voice God ever gave a human being. And off in the distance, man, I hear this voice. I'm going, oh, no. I open one eye, and there's Charlie Tuck standing at the foot of my bed. And he's got these two dumb newcomers standing right next to him. He's got that big, ugly blue book under his arm. And I know I have died, gone to hell. And this is it. For eternity. I said, he's going to start preaching that A&A. Oh, God. I opened my eyes, and I just kind of glared at him, dared him, you know. And he looked at me with a love and a compassion that I'd never seen him look at me like. He put his arm around these two young men. He said, look at this fellow laying here. Look real close. Look at those holes in him. Pay attention, fellas. This is what happens to an alcoholic who refuses to take the steps. Come on. Let's go to a meeting. Hurt my feelings. He could have tried, by God. I got out of that hospital, man. I wanted to die. I wanted to die so bad. Alcohol didn't work. I'm drinking around the clock. They gave me a prescription for dope. The dope don't work. Nothing works, man. Nothing works. I come to every morning, and the first thought, God, I'm still here. God, why don't you love me? God, why don't you let me off this rock? What do I got to do to leave? May 12, 1984, I come to the same way I've come to a thousand times. My eyes open. My very first conscious thought is I need to get something in my body as fast as I possibly can. And I'm laying there on that bed. The big book, it talks about it. It says we stood at the turning point. I know what that means. I laid on that bed that morning. And thank God I've been coming to AA for a long time. And thank God they read Chapter 5 at every meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous I've ever been to. And I'm laying on that bed. And the only thing I can think of, man, is the ABCs that's read in Chapter 5 at every single meeting I've ever been to. And it says that I'm an alcoholic, and my life's unmanageable. Now, I have no problem with this denial thing I hear people talking about. I know I'm an alcoholic. I have absolutely no problem. I have absolutely no doubt about it. I am not in denial about anything. I know I am. And I have paperwork from the state of California classifying me as an acute alcoholic. But in the book, it says this is my innermost self. What does this really mean? What does this really mean in here where I live? Not what I admit to you. What does powerless over alcohol really mean? What does my life's unmanageable really mean to me? I'm laying on that bed. And I remembered, man. And God opened the door, and he gave me a vision. He gave me that vision of that day that my daughter was born. That day that my son was born. And me holding him in my arms. And a love that I didn't even know you could feel. I could feel that love in my heart, how much I loved my daughter. That I'd lay down my life without a hesitation for her at any moment. And then I saw that man get on that bus with that brown paper bag and walk past his little girl while she's hungry. And I understood in my heart of hearts exactly what powerless over alcohol means. That as much as I love my child, that I'll steal the food right out of her mouth to get a drink. Because alcohol is my master. It is my Lord and master. It tells me where I can go. It tells me when I got to get up. It tells me when I got to go to bed. It tells me who I can run with. It runs every aspect of my life. It says that my life's unmanageable. I didn't quite understand that. But I remembered that day when me and my little brothers. When we were little kids. And we were dreaming about the kind of men we wanted to be when we grew up. The kind of father I wanted to be. The kind of husband I wanted to be. The kind of neighbor I wanted to be. The kind of son I wanted to be. And I looked at this animal. And I see the way I make plans in my life. It's a mess. And then I got to this part I've been dodging since I got here. Because it said that no human power was ever going to fix me. I kept hoping some one of those pretty little gals. In AA was going to fix me. Some of them tried. God bless them. All I can say is they should have listened to their sponsor. You know. But that left me with the last option. The thing I've been avoiding since I got here. I started thinking about men. And I got on my knees. And it was with absolutely no reservations. I said this little prayer. I said, you know. I don't know who you are. And I don't know what you are. And I sure hope it don't make no difference. But from this day forward. I will do anything that you put in front of me. If I don't have to drink. And if you're not there. I'm screwed. And I meant it with every fiber of my being. And I do not have the. I don't have the vocabulary to tell you what happened. But I know without a doubt. That I am one of the truly blessed ones. Something happened to me that very, very instant. That I can't even describe to you. But it was a knowing with all capital letters. A knowing without a shadow of a doubt. That if I could hold on to that complete surrender. With everything I had. That I wasn't going to have to drink. And I got over to Charlie Tuck's house. Because where else am I going to go? You know. And his lovely. Member of Al-Anon. For 40 years. His wife. We called her Saint Edie. You know. She opened that door, man. And she looked at me. And she goes. Oh. Charlie is going to be so excited. You know. You're his favorite. And I melted, man. I went. Really? I found out later. She told every drunk that came to the door that. You know. She said. Son. Come around to the back porch. You know. And Charlie will be right out. And so I go out on the back porch. And I'm sitting there. And here comes Charlie. Walking out in that same blue suit. Got that big book under his arm. And he come over. And he sit right next to me. And he just looked over at me. And he said. How can I help you, son? I looked at him. I said. Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. You and I both know that I don't know nothing about God. I don't even know if there is one, but I believe you have one. And I pray to your God that I'm done. He goes, hmm, that's pretty good. He sat there and he looked at me and he says, Kip, I've been an A a long time. Met a lot of fellas like you. I got some good news and I got some real bad news for you. The bad news is people like you don't get sober. You die in institutions. You die on the side of the road. Very seldom do they even write your name down. The good news is this, that I've been here for a while. And I can see that God has opened a door for you. He's opened this little window for you. Because I can see that twinkle in your eye. I know something's happened. He said this is the way it's going to have to be for you one day at a time all the days of your life. One simple fact. That absolutely nothing, no woman, no job, no child, no nothing in this world can ever become more important than you doing the things that you must do to maintain your sobriety. And he said, son, that is a lot more than just going to meetings. You willing to do that? I said, I'll do anything you tell me to do, sir. It was on Mother's Day. He said, come with me. He lived right across the street from this. And we went across this park. And there was all these families there having picnics and stuff with their mothers, you know. And he walked right in front of all these people in that park. And he got on his knees. And he looked at me. He said, get on your knees. And I'm looking at him. These people are looking at him, you know. And I'm going. He goes, don't worry about those people, son. He said, they've been stepping over you for years. He said, son, you only got one hope. You only have one hope that the grace of God is going to step into your life. And if you are ever ashamed of your God. You don't even. Waste my time. And I got down on my knees. And that old man took my hands. And he taught me how to pray. And he took me back to his little house. He had a little room in the back. And he went and got a big bottle of orange juice and K-Rose syrup and some whiskey. And that old man detoxed me on K-Rose syrup, orange juice, and just a little bit of whiskey. And he got the guys that he sponsored. And those men came over and took turns. And they sat with me. And they told me their stories. Charlie was one of the original. He was one of the original tapers in California. And he had all the greats, man, on reel-to-reel. He had hours. I mean, eight hours solid AA speakers for newcomers. He had put a reel on about that big, man. And he would say, you know, but you can't sleep, you know. And after about five days, Charlie came in and he looked at me. He says, okay, son. Alcoholics Anonymous is a program of action. You ready? I said, yes, sir. I said, what do we do? He said the magic words. For years, I thought it was the first step in Alcoholics Anonymous. He said, get in the car. And that's where I got sober. In the back seat of a car with a bunch of other members of Alcoholics Anonymous going from one meeting to the next for the next three years. First place we went, he got in the car. He's driving. Charlie was driving.