DOCTOR BOB’S NIGHTMARE

  A co-founder of Alcoholics Anonymous. The birth

  of our Society dates from his first day of permanent

  sobriety, June 10, 1935.

     To 1950, the year of his death, he carried the A.A.

  message to more than 5,000 alcoholic men and

  women, and to all these he gave his medical services

  without thought of charge.

     In this prodigy of service, he was well assisted by

  Sister Ignatia at St. Thomas Hospital in Akron, Ohio,

  one of the greatest friends our Fellowship will ever

  know.

I WAS BORN in a small New England village of

about seven thousand souls. The general moral

standard was, as I recall it, far above the average. No

beer or liquor was sold in the neighborhood, except at

the State liquor agency where perhaps one might

procure a pint if he could convince the agent that he

really needed it. Without this proof the expectant

purchaser would be forced to depart empty handed

with none of what I later came to believe was the

great panacea for all human ills. Men who had liquor

shipped in from Boston or New York by express were

looked upon with great distrust and disfavor by most

of the good townspeople. The town was well sup-

plied with churches and schools in which I pursued

my early educational activities.

   My father was a professional man of recognized

ability and both my father and mother were most

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active in church affairs. Both father and mother were

considerably above the average in intelligence.

   Unfortunately for me, I was the only child, which

perhaps engendered the selfishness which played such

an important part in bringing on my alcoholism.

   From childhood through high school I was more or

less forced to go to church, Sunday School, and eve-

ning service, Monday night Christian Endeavor and

sometimes to Wednesday evening prayer meeting.

This had the effect of making me resolve that when I

was free from parental domination, I would never

again darken the doors of a church. This resolution I

kept steadfastly for the next forty years, except when

circumstances made it seem unwise to absent myself.

   After high school came four years in one of the best

colleges in the country where drinking seemed to be a

major extra-curricular activity. Almost everyone

seemed to do it. I did it more and more, and had lots

of fun without much grief, either physical or financial.

I seemed to be able to snap back the next morning

better than most of my fellow drinkers, who were

cursed (or perhaps blessed) with a great deal of morn-

ing-after nausea. Never once in my life have I had

a headache, which fact leads me to believe that I was

an alcoholic almost from the start. My whole life

seemed to be centered around doing what I wanted

to do, without regard for the rights, wishes, or privi-

leges of anyone else; a state of mind which became

more and more predominant as the years passed. I

was graduated “summa cum laude” in the eyes of the

drinking fraternity but not in the eyes of the Dean.

   The next three years I spent in Boston, Chicago, and

Montreal in the employ of a large manufacturing con­

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cern, selling railway supplies, gas engines of all sorts,

and many other items of heavy hardware. During

these years, I drank as much as my purse permitted,

still without paying too great a penalty, although I

was beginning to have morning jitters at times. I lost

only a half day’s work during these three years.

   My next move was to take up the study of medicine,

entering one of the largest universities in the country.

There I took up the business of drinking with much

greater earnestness than I had previously shown. On

account of my enormous capacity for beer, I was

elected to membership in one of the drinking societies,

and soon became one of the leading spirits. Many

mornings I have gone to classes, and even though fully

prepared, would turn and walk back to the fraternity

house because of my jitters, not daring to enter the

classroom for fear of making a scene should I be called

on for recitation.

   This went from bad to worse until Sophomore spring

when, after a prolonged period of drinking, I made up

my mind that I could not complete my course, so I

packed my grip and went South to spend a month on a

large farm owned by a friend of mine. When I got the

fog out of my brain, I decided that quitting school was

very foolish and that I had better return and continue

my work. When I reached school, I discovered the

faculty had other ideas on the subject. After much

argument they allowed me to return and take my

exams, all of which I passed creditably. But they were

much disgusted and told me they would attempt to

struggle along without my presence. After many pain-

ful discussions, they finally gave me my credits and I

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migrated to another of the leading universities of the

country and entered as a Junior that fall.

   There my drinking became so much worse that the

boys in the fraternity house where I lived felt forced

to send for my father, who made a long journey in

the vain endeavor to get me straightened around. This

had little effect however for I kept on drinking and

used a great deal more hard liquor than in former

years.

   Coming up to final exams I went on a particularly

strenuous spree. When I went in to write the examina-

tions, my hand trembled so I could not hold a pencil.

I passed in at least three absolutely blank books.

   (See BB xxix:3 - xxx Top, 2:1, 5:3)

 I was, of course, soon on the carpet and the upshot was

that I had to go back for two more quarters and re-

main absolutely dry, if I wished to graduate. This I

did, and proved myself satisfactory to the faculty,

both in deportment and scholastically.

   I conducted myself so creditably that I was able to

secure a much coveted internship in a western city,

where I spent two years. During these two years I

was kept so busy that I hardly left the hospital at all.

Consequently, I could not get into any trouble.

   When those two years were up, I opened an office

downtown. I had some money, all the time in the

world, and considerable stomach trouble. I soon dis-

covered that a couple of drinks would alleviate my

gastric distress, at least for a few hours at a time, so it

was not at all difficult for me to return to my former

excessive indulgence.

   By this time I was beginning to pay very dearly

physically and, in hope of relief, voluntarily incar-

cerated myself at least a dozen times in one of the

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local sanitariums. I was between Scylla and Charyb-

dis now, because if I did not drink my stomach

tortured me, and if I did my nerves did the same

thing. After three years of this, I wound up in the

local hospital where they attempted to help me, but

I would get my friends to smuggle me a quart, or I

would steal the alcohol about the building, so that I

got rapidly worse.

   Finally, my father had to send a doctor out from my

home town who managed to get me back there in

some way, and I was in bed about two months before

I could venture out of the house. I stayed about town

a couple of months more and then returned to resume

my practice. I think I must have been thoroughly

scared by what had happened, or by the doctor, or

probably both, so that I did not touch a drink again

until the country went dry.

   With the passing of the Eighteenth Amendment I

felt quite safe. I knew everyone would buy a few

bottles, or cases, of liquor as their exchequers per-

mitted, and that it would soon be gone. Therefore it

would make no great difference, even if I should do

some drinking. At that time I was not aware of the

almost unlimited supply the government made it pos-

sible for us doctors to obtain, neither had I any

knowledge of the bootlegger who soon appeared on

the horizon. I drank with moderation at first, but it

took me only a relatively short time to drift back into

the old habits, which had wound up so disastrously

before.

   During the next few years, I developed two distinct

phobias. One was the fear of not sleeping, and the

other was the fear of running out of liquor. Not being

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a man of means, I knew that if I did not stay sober

enough to earn money, I would run out of liquor. Most

of the time, therefore, I did not take the morn-

ing drink which I craved so badly, but instead would

fill up on large doses of sedatives to quiet the jitters,

which distressed me terribly. Occasionally, I would

yield to the morning craving, but if I did, it would be

only a few hours before I would be quite unfit for

work. This would lessen my chances of smuggling

some home that evening, which in turn would mean

a night of futile tossing around in bed followed by a

morning of unbearable jitters. During the subsequent

fifteen years I had sense enough never to go to the

hospital if I had been drinking, and very seldom did

I receive patients. I would sometimes hide out in one

of the clubs of which I was a member, and had the

habit at times of registering at a hotel under a fictitious

name. But my friends usually found me and I would

go home if they promised that I should not be scolded.

If my wife was planning to go out in the afternoon,

I would get a large supply of liquor and smuggle it

home and hide it in the coal bin, the clothes chute,

over door jambs, over beams in the cellar, and in cracks

in the cellar tile. I also made use of old trunks and

chests, the old can container, and even the ash con-

tainer. The water tank on the toilet I never used,

because that looked too easy. I found out later that

my wife inspected it frequently. I used to put eight

or twelve ounce bottles of alcohol in a fur lined glove

and toss it onto the back airing porch when winter

days got dark enough. My bootlegger had hidden

alcohol at the back steps where I could get it at my

convenience. Sometimes I would bring it in my

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pockets, but they were inspected, and that became

too risky. I used also to put it up in four ounce bottles

and stick several in my stocking tops. This worked

nicely until my wife and I went to see Wallace Beery

in “Tugboat Annie,” after which the pant-leg and

stocking racket were out!

   I will not take space to relate all my hospital or

sanitarium experiences.

   During all this time we became more or less ostra-

cized by our friends. We could not be invited out

because I would surely get tight, and my wife dared

not invite people in for the same reason.

   (See BB 105:3, 119:2, 131:1)

      My phobia

for sleeplessness demanded that I get drunk every

night, but in order to get more liquor for the next

night, I had to stay sober during the day, at least up

to four o’clock. This routine went on with few inter-

ruptions for seventeen years. It was really a horrible

nightmare, this earning money, getting liquor, smug-

gling it home, getting drunk, morning jitters, taking

large doses of sedatives to make it possible for me to

earn more money, and so on ad nauseam. I used to

promise my wife, my friends, and my children that

I would drink no more-promises which seldom kept

me sober even through the day, though I was very

sincere when I made them.

   For the benefit of those experimentally inclined, I

should mention the so-called beer experiment. When

beer first came back, I thought that I was safe. I

could drink all I wanted of that. It was harmless;

nobody ever got drunk on beer. So I filled the cellar

full, with the permission of my good wife. It was not

long before I was drinking at least a case and a half a

day. I put on thirty pounds of weight in about two

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months, looked like a pig, and was uncomfortable from

shortness of breath. It then occurred to me that after

one was all smelled up with beer nobody could tell

what had been drunk, so I began to fortify my beer

with straight alcohol. Of course, the result was very

bad, and that ended the beer experiment.

   About the time of the beer experiment I was thrown

in with a crowd of people who attracted me because

of their seeming poise, health, and happiness. They

spoke with great freedom from embarrassment, which

I could never do, and they seemed very much at ease

on all occasions and appeared very healthy. More

than these attributes, they seemed to be happy. I was

self conscious and ill at ease most of the time, my

health was at the breaking point, and I was thoroughly

miserable. I sensed they had something I did not

have, from which I might readily profit. I learned that

it was something of a spiritual nature, which did not

appeal to me very much, but I thought it could do no

harm. I gave the matter much time and study for the

next two and a half years, but I still got tight every

night nevertheless. I read everything I could find, and

talked to everyone who I thought knew anything

about it.

   My wife became deeply interested, and it was her

interest that sustained mine, though I at no time

sensed that it might be an answer to my liquor prob-

lem. How my wife kept her faith and courage during

all those years, I’ll never know, but she did. If she had

not, I know I would have been dead a long time ago.

For some reason, we alcoholics seem to have the gift

of picking out the world’s finest women. Why they

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should be subjected to the tortures we inflict upon

them, I cannot explain.

   (See BB 82:2)

   About this time a lady called up my wife one Satur-

day afternoon saying she wanted me to come over that

evening to meet a friend of hers who might help me.

It was the day before Mother’s Day and I had come

home plastered, carrying a big potted plant which I

set down on the table and forthwith went upstairs and

passed out. The next day she called again. Wishing

to be polite, though I felt very badly, I said, “Let’s

make the call,” and extracted from my wife a promise

that we would not stay over fifteen minutes.

   We entered her house at exactly five o’clock and it

was eleven fifteen when we left. I had a couple of

shorter talks with this man afterward,

   (See BB 155:3)

         and stopped

drinking abruptly.  

        This dry spell lasted for about three

weeks; then I went to Atlantic City to attend several

days’ meeting of a national society of which I was a

member. I drank all the scotch they had on the train

and bought several quarts on my way to the hotel.

This was on Sunday. I got tight that night, stayed

sober Monday till after the dinner, and then proceeded

to get tight again. I drank all I dared in the bar, and

then went to my room to finish the job. Tuesday I

started in the morning, getting well organized by noon.

I did not want to disgrace myself so I then checked

out. I bought some more liquor on the way to the

depot. I had to wait some time for the train. I remem-

ber nothing from then on until I woke up at a friend’s

house, in a town near home.

   (See BB 155 Bottom)

     These good people noti-

fied my wife, who sent my newly made friend over to

get me. He came and got me home and to bed, gave

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me a few drinks that night, and one bottle of beer the

next morning.

   That was June 10, 1935, and that was my last drink.

As I write, nearly four years have passed.

   The question which might naturally come into your

mind would be: “What did the man do or say that was

different from what others had done or said?” It must

be remembered that I had read a great deal and talked

to everyone who knew, or thought they knew anything

about the subject of alcoholism. But this was a man

who had experienced many years of frightful drink-

ing, who had had most all the drunkard’s experiences

known to man, but who had been cured by the very

means I had been trying to employ, that is to say the

spiritual approach. He gave me information about

the subject of alcoholism which was undoubtedly

helpful. Of far more importance was the fact that he

was the first living human with whom I had ever

talked, who knew what he was talking about in regard to

alcoholism from actual experience. In other words,

he talked my language. He knew all the answers, and

certainly not because he had picked them up in his

reading.

   (See BB 91:3 - 92 Top, 92:2, 157:4)

   It is a most wonderful blessing to be relieved of the

terrible curse with which I was afflicted. My health is

good and I have regained my self-respect and the re-

spect of my colleagues.

   (See BB 153:1, 156:2, 158:4)

         My home life is ideal and my

business is as good as can be expected in these un-

certain times.

   I spend a great deal of time passing on what I

learned to others who want and need it badly. I do it

for four reasons:

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   1. Sense of duty.

   2. It is a pleasure.

   3. Because in so doing I am paying my debt to the

        man who took time to pass it on to me.

   4. Because every time I do it I take out a little more

        insurance for myself against a possible slip.

   Unlike most of our crowd, I did not get over my

craving for liquor much during the first two and one-

half years of abstinence. It was almost always with

me. But at no time have I been anywhere near yield-

ing. I used to get terribly upset when I saw my friends

drink and knew I could not, but I schooled myself to

believe that though I once had the same privilege, I

had abused it so frightfully that it was withdrawn. So

it doesn’t behoove me to squawk about it for, after all,

nobody ever had to throw me down and pour liquor

down my throat.

   If you think you are an atheist, an agnostic, a

skeptic, or have any other form of intellectual pride

which keeps you from accepting what is in this book,

I feel sorry for you. If you still think you are strong

enough to beat the game alone, that is your affair.

But if you really and truly want to quit drinking

liquor for good and all, and sincerely feel that you

must have some help, we know that we have an answer

for you. It never fails, if you go about it with one half

the zeal you have been in the habit of showing when

you were getting another drink.

   Your Heavenly Father will never let you down!