50+ Years Sober: AA Speakers – Chief Blackhawk, Liz B. & Steve P. – Akron, OH
Three AA speakers with 50+ years each share at Founders Day in Akron. Chief Blackhawk, Liz B., and Steve P. tell their stories of long-term sobriety.
Chief Blackhawk, Liz B., and Steve P. shared at Founders Day in Akron, Ohio, bringing over 150 years of combined sobriety to the stage. These three AA speakers tell their stories of transformation — Chief Blackhawk from Skid Row in Detroit to 36 years of carrying the message, Liz B. with 51 years of staying present through every crisis life threw at her, and Steve P. with 56 years after a relapse taught him what it really meant to work with others.
This AA speaker meeting features three members with over 50 years of sobriety each sharing at Founders Day in Akron, Ohio. Chief Blackhawk discusses his journey from Skid Row to becoming a hereditary chief who has worked with over 3,000 people in recovery. Liz B. and Steve P. share their experiences of long-term sobriety, daily vigilance, and the importance of service work in maintaining their recovery.
Episode Summary
Three powerhouse voices of long-term recovery took the stage at Founders Day in Akron, Ohio, each carrying decades of sobriety and hard-won wisdom. Chief Blackhawk leads off with 36 years, sharing how he went from living on Skid Row in Detroit to becoming a hereditary chief of the Ottawa Chippewa Nation who has worked with over 3,000 people in recovery with a 90% success rate.
Chief Blackhawk’s story cuts straight to the bone. He started drinking on 190-proof hospital alcohol in Guam during World War II and loved every drop until he ended up homeless on Michigan Avenue. What strikes you immediately is his directness about the miracle of recovery — not just getting sober, but the complete transformation of his heart. “I was standing before 8,000 people and I said to myself and to that audience, I love white people. And to me, that’s the biggest miracle that AA has ever performed on me,” he shares, explaining how someone who grew up with deep racial wounds found healing through the fellowship.
His approach to recovery work is both practical and spiritual. He guarantees results because he combines the program with his cultural identity, joking about his “heavy Tommy Hawk” while describing a systematic approach that has kept thousands sober. The weight of losing his son to alcohol comes through in his voice, but he channels that grief into service, believing God had him in mind when the program was created.
Liz B. from New York brings 51 years and the energy of someone half her 82 years. She’s pure Brooklyn fire — calling out people who treat meetings like social hour, refusing to sugarcoat the life-and-death nature of recovery, and loving every minute of her sobriety journey. Her story includes waking up in abandoned buildings, going through nine major operations while sober, and losing both a son to violence and a daughter to ALS.
What makes Liz extraordinary isn’t just her time, but her daily vigilance. “Every day my sobriety is my life. And every day I do what I’m taught to do. I live this program. I just don’t speak it,” she emphasizes. She’s been speaking for 41 years, covering every state but Alaska and Mexico, never saying no to a request. Her connection to AA royalty — Bill Wilson gave her a signed Big Book calling her “a magnificent demonstration of all that is AA” — only reinforces her commitment to carrying the message through service work.
Liz doesn’t do recovery quietly. She takes buses and subways to meetings, never owned a car in 51 years, and lets her neighbors wonder about all the different people picking her up for meetings. Her philosophy is simple: accept life on life’s terms, not your own. When she went through a recent depression, she turned to page 449 in the old Big Book — the acceptance passage — and reminded herself that her will was never any good to begin with.
Steve P. from Mentor, Ohio rounds out the trio with 56 years, starting his story at 26 after a relapse taught him what he needed to learn. His brother killed their father in a car accident when Steve was four, and Steve watched him become an alcoholic, swearing he’d never drink. But when he took that first drink at 16, “it was like pouring gasoline on a fire.”
Steve’s first time in AA lasted only a year. New Year’s Eve 1945, his mother handed him a drink and he knew immediately where he was heading. Nine months later, Labor Day 1946, he came back to stay. The difference was throwing himself into 12-step work when it meant going into flophouses and jails to find people who needed help. “Nobody admitted they were an alcoholic back in them days. You had to go fish them out,” he explains.
The program taught Steve how to love, which he discovered when his daughter was killed by a drunk driver. While his other daughters wanted vengeance, Steve wrote to the judge asking for the man to get help instead of maximum punishment. That same brother who killed their father and inspired Steve’s fear of drinking? He came into AA five years into Steve’s sobriety and died at 87 with 40 years clean.
At 81, Steve still makes coffee at his Tuesday meetings, sets up the room, and looks for missing faces. His excitement about seeing people walk through the doors hasn’t dimmed. When a 14-year-old asked for service work, Steve marveled that he thought he was young coming in at 26. The boy told him the same thing waiting on the outside that Steve left 56 years ago — the jails, the fear, the torture of active addiction.
What connects all three speakers is their understanding that recovery is a daily practice, not a one-time event. Chief Blackhawk maintains his commitment to go anywhere God sends him. Liz B. lives the program instead of just speaking it. Steve P. stays as eager to help newcomers as he was decades ago. They’ve each discovered that acceptance and surrender aren’t concepts you master once but attitudes you choose every day.
These aren’t recovery stories with neat endings — they’re ongoing demonstrations of what happens when people fully commit to the program. Each has buried children, faced serious illnesses, and walked through depression while sober. What kept them going wasn’t perfection but willingness to keep showing up, keep helping others, and keep growing into the people AA promises they can become.
Notable Quotes
God is the founder of this program, and Bill is a co-founder. Don’t let anybody tell you any different.
The minute I tasted alcohol, I loved it. My career started with 190 proof hospital alcohol that I picked up in Guam during World War II.
I love this program so much and I love talking about it, but I honestly believe something — when this young man in Towns Hospital got down on his knees and said, ‘God, if there is a God, please help me,’ that’s when Alcoholics Anonymous was born.
Every day my sobriety is my life. And every day I do what I’m taught to do. I live this program. I just don’t speak it.
If you don’t live it, it don’t mean a thing. Don’t mean a thing. Believe me when I tell you.
My will is no good. Never was any good and never will be any good. Because if it was so good, I wouldn’t need to come to AA.
You people in these rooms taught me how to love. Taught me how to love, how to live, and how to be a decent person.
Service Work
Acceptance
Fellowship & Meetings
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Full Transcript
This transcript was auto-generated and may contain minor errors. For the best experience, listen to the audio above.
Thank you. I'm Chief Blackhawk and I'm an alcoholic.
Deeply grateful alcoholic. And I want to thank the committee that brought me out here and asked me to come. I'm deeply grateful that anybody asked me any place anytime to go anywhere today, and never happened when I came to Alcoholics Anonymous. I wouldn't expect anybody to be like me. I came from the bottom and I had no place to go but up. So I didn't have too much of a chance of going down.
I'm not going to get into my story too much except for the fact to let you know that I had lived on Skid Row of Detroit, Michigan Avenue for about two and a half years before I met the program of Alcoholics Anonymous. My life had led from a millionaire's country club life to the criminal world to the sporting world and then down to Skid Row in Michigan Avenue in Detroit.
When I came here, I didn't think I was going to be alive. I was the youngest kid that walked into the program of Alcoholics Anonymous in the Detroit area and I was scared. I'm not used to being amongst white people. I wasn't brought up that way. My father never allowed you in our home. And I found out the thing that alcohol did for me—it allowed me to tolerate you and mix with you and go to school with you. A lot of things alcohol did for me, I was deeply grateful for it.
When you heard those words, cunning, baffling, and powerful, I know what they mean. Because I never dreamed that alcohol was going to take me on the road that it did, down through two wars and into World War II. That's where I started my drinking. I'm not going to get in that. I'm not going to get up to where I ended.
I'll tell you what I'd like to get into. Something that every alcoholic sitting in this room can identify with, and that's simply this: Someplace somewhere, we all took our first drink. And I don't know about you, but I certainly never said to myself, "If I go at this stuff hot and heavy for about 15 years, I can join…"
Something happened along the line. And I'll tell you this—the minute I tasted alcohol, I loved it. My career started with 190 proof hospital alcohol that I picked up in Guam during World War II. And I loved every bit of it and progressed from there. I loved everything I drank and everything I tasted about alcohol for all of my drinking life, except the few things down I used to drink on Michigan Avenue in Detroit on Skid Road. The one I really couldn't stand was men's shaving lotion. I don't know if you've ever tasted that, but that stuff stays with you for two weeks in your food and everything else.
But I was a young man when all of this happened. Very ambitious, well educated, had missions of becoming the first American Indian president of the United States. I had a million dollars and lost it. And I sat on Skid Row one time looking up at the sky and I said, "God, what has happened? What's happened to me? I'm all alone." And I knew it.
I love this program so much and I love talking about it, but I honestly believe something. You know, when this young man in Town Hospital got down on his knees and said, "God, if there is a God, please help me"—that's when your Alcoholics Anonymous program was born. God is the founder of this program. And Bill is a co-founder. Don't let anybody tell you any different.
[applause]I get kind of sick and tired of hearing a lot of things that have come into Alcoholics Anonymous today. It's killing a lot of young people. And I still feel that I'm pretty young and I work with young people all of my life since I've been in AA. Ninety meetings in ninety days. Hell, I wouldn't have lasted ninety minutes when I came here.
But you know, I know God knew what he was doing when he tapped Bill on the shoulder because he knew on October the 13th, 1958, a very sick little Indian was going to be dying if he didn't do something. And he gave him many opportunities and I never took them. I lost many things. Most of you know I lost a son that have heard me before, through alcohol. And if you don't think that puts a lot of self-pity in you, you're crazy.
My wife got tired of listening to me talk about that so many times in AA that she says, "I'm sick and tired of listening to you talk about losing your son." She says, "You lost your son because you drank. God gave you the opportunity to have many sons and many children." And thank God he has, because I've worked with over three thousand people. We only lost about twelve but went back to drinking. We will guarantee you a ninety percent success rate. I will take anybody in this room and guarantee to be happy in two weeks time.
We have a program out that I've practiced for thirty-six years. And we have that kind of success rate. Of course, I got a little advantage over you white people. I got a heavy Tommy Hawk. If you don't straighten out, you know what happens.
But you know, the miracle of Alcoholics Anonymous came to me one day when I was speaking at a conference in North Dakota and I was standing before eight thousand people and I said to myself and to that audience, "I love white people." And to me, that's the biggest miracle that AA has ever performed on me. And I still believe it today.
And you may not think so when I get done talking, but I truly love every single one of you here tonight. And I'm sure glad you showed up. I'm glad I showed up. But most of all, I'm glad he showed up. And that's what I can believe today. He knew I was coming and he had to form this program.
After all, you white people should have formed some program for us Indians. You got us drunk in the first place. See, your weapons didn't beat us. John Barleycorn beat us and you knew it. But thank God Alcoholics Anonymous came along. The greatest thing going on the face of the earth, bringing me the one most wonderful way to live in your life.
I've been happy and I've been sober since October the 13th, 1958, when I walked into this program. I still am today.
[applause]I love every one of you. I want to congratulate you again for coming down to Founders Day. I know you're going to have a wonderful weekend to enjoy yourself to meet and fellowship because here's where it is. It's here in Akron. You people who have come here have gone the extra mile, which many people don't do, particularly a lot of times the old-timers. I'm not speaking to the young people. I'm speaking to the old-timers now. It's pretty tough in Detroit. We don't have that many old-timers. It seems like the only time we see them is when they got a birthday coming and we show up at a meeting and everybody says, "Who the hell is he?"
Did you ever hear in your program down around this way, you know, you get a token and they say, "Tell us how you done it." I was prepared for him one time in about thirty some years of sobriety I had. I had a piece of paper in my pocket and I was going for a job and I had a resume in there and they said, "How'd you do it?" And I pulled this paper out and I started to read. They've never asked me that question again.
Again, I want to thank you very much for having me here and I want to thank the committee for the wonderful accommodations. And last night, I didn't think I would be here because I was so sick that I could not walk, but it seemed like the power of Alcoholics Anonymous and the grace of God had always gotten me anywhere I needed to go in Alcoholics Anonymous. I made that pack with God a long time ago. "If you will give me the power and the grace to go anywhere you send me, I will go." I know when I get done speaking, the pain and everything else will probably come back. But that's all right. I'm here. And I'm deeply grateful for just one other thing. When you get to be my age and you're still above ground, you better thank God.
[applause]My greetings, my greetings come from a person called Monster. Now, Monster is a fifty pound Indian cat that lives with me today. He says, "Tell him to stay sober." I got another friend called Chiefy Bird and he's a parakeet that's been with me for about six years now.
But most of all, it comes from a loving ex-wife of mine who I talked to today, who's only two years behind me where we're the two youngest kids in Alcoholics Anonymous in Detroit. And due to circumstances, finances, and everything, we're divorced for ten years now. But we still love each other very much. And I think of her, and every time I go to a conference, I call her up and ask her the one simple question. "What do you want me to tell those people?" And all she ever says is, "Tell them to stay sober or else."
A greeting from Northern Michigan. I'm hereditary chief of the Ottawa Chippewa Nation in the state of Michigan. I belong to the Little Traverse Bay band of Indians. My home is a museum. I'm the great grandson of Chief Blackbird, one of the last hereditary chiefs of the Ottawa Chippewa Nation.
And from my world, I want to bring you the greetings and the gratitude that you people have brought me and the happiness that you've given me every day of my life, irregardless of what's happening. And it's sure great to be here today. Thank you very much.
[applause]I don't know if you can see it from your vantage point, but for me sitting here, this man is just glowing. Thank you, Chief. The energy that's not only up on this stage here, but just the energy in being with these individuals over the last hour or two—there's more energy in these people than I have seen in myself in the last month. And I think that has something to do with their sobriety and their program.
Next, we're going to have Liz from New York with fifty-one years of…
[applause]And this lady is a dynamo as well.
Cuz I can hear you. Oh, Lord have mercy. I need a stool. I'm too short. Thank you. Thank you. Oh, Jesus. I don't know if you guys know what you're doing to me, but man, it's a mess. It's a mess. I never knew I'd get sober to go through all this.
[laughter]I'd like to say good evening to each and everyone. My name is Liz Bailey. My anonymity shot to hell for a long time. And I am convinced that I'm an alcoholic.
[applause]I am convinced. I'm a very grateful alcoholic. I want to thank this committee that we just had a beautiful dinner together and to hear how hard this committee has been working. I'd love you all to give a round of applause to them.
[applause]I'm going to start with Calvin, one of my sponsors. He met me at the airport today and I want to thank you, Calvin. It was good to see you again. And that I've lived to see you again. That's a great thing.
I want to thank all my Jamaica people. St. Orans, raise your hands. Come on here. Look at them. Look at them. Isn't that right? And Brooklyn. Where's Brooklyn? Brooklyn is in here, too. Queens, Manhattan. There's my Brooklyn. There. I know. Isn't that gorgeous?
I don't care where I go, they come to support me all the time. And I can honestly tell you, I haven't done this alone. We do together what I could never do alone. I could never do this by myself. And I want to thank you all for coming.
I'm sorry I can't name your names by name. I want to thank all the friends that have heard me speak over the last eighteen years out here and all over the place you've heard me. I want to thank Lou for inviting me to Pittsburgh. I had a natural ball up there. Lou met nice people and had a good time. I have a good time everywhere I go, to tell you the truth, because I set that up before I leave my house—that I'm having a good time. And I do have a good time.
See, I want to thank Shirley, both of my Shirleys. I have two Shirleys in the audience. One who stays by me all the time and the other one stays by me. So again, I'm not doing anything alone. I see my other sponsy Joyce who I just love to death. Also, thank you for supporting me all these years, too. It's just been great.
I'm highly emotional today from seeing you and loving you and caring for you just like you care for me. Please expose yourself to this love. Don't stay at home. Go out to that lousy hour meeting to help yourself or somebody else. Believe me, go out to it. You'll be surprised how great it is.
I used to go to meetings very, very sick and my husband would look for me to come back drunk. I'd come out to the meetings and get all this hugging and kissing and we're the kissingest people in the world. You know that. And I'd come back home, flip it out, and he'd back up on the wall cuz I'm supposed to be drunk. But not with you. I didn't have to drink.
I think many of you know I've been through many, many crises and cycles and all kinds of stuff. In this next month I'll have fifty-one years.
[applause]It's awesome. Really awesome. I have no words for it. But I've done it with a daily reprieve and a daily vigilance. Every day my sobriety is my life. And every day I do what I'm taught to do. I live this program. I just don't speak it. And I tell you, you can read that big book all you want cuz I love it. But if you don't live it, it don't mean a thing. Don't mean a thing. Believe me when I tell you. Believe me.
And I was speaking at a meeting last Wednesday and I get off—I get on a roll. I'm glad she got a bell because I get on the roll of how good AA has been to me and so many others. And I can't stand to see you play games with this fellowship. It's a life and death matter.
A little girl was running up and down in front of me in Valley Stream one night. I said, "Go sit with your mommy or whomever brought you. I'm not up here socializing. I'm up here with my life hoping to reach someone else's life. Always. Bernese, don't let me forget to tell you I love you. Don't let me forget to tell you that. I don't want to get off here without you knowing that."
Okay, very good. And again, you know, they reported me to Intergroup. I don't know what she thought Intergroup was going to do to me. I said she should have went to God or me. Either one of the two of us.
Had a girl walk up to me one night. I was getting ready to speak in Dicks Hills. She says to me, "Are you sharing?" I said, "Yes." She says, "You know, I don't like you. I can't stand you." I said, "Well, see two doors over there." I said, "You walk out any one of them doors you want. You don't have to stay and hear me. Nobody has to stay and hear me." I said, "But I want you to look me in the face." I love the ground you walk on.
And what did she do with that but back up and sit down? First one that had a hand up when I finished. She said, "Oh, I heard you differently tonight." I said, "Gee, she must have been drunk the first time. I said nothing different. I haven't gone out and got anybody a new story at all."
I came in here July the 11th, 1952, and I have been here ever since. And I don't plan…
[applause]Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. And that's small when I say thank you, but you know, I'm not planning to go anywhere. I'm eighty-two and I'm swaging, baby.
That as most of you know, I've never had a car in my whole sobriety. Never had a car. Don't blame it on that. You don't have a car—that you can't get sober. See, he had trouble with white people. I have trouble with white people too. Cuz every night a different white dude picks me up. And I upset my neighbors something terrible. They say, "Oh my God, from a drunk to this. What is she putting down?"
But you know, thank God I know what I'm putting down today. But I must never, never forget the days that I didn't know what I was putting down. I can't forget those days. Waking up in abandoned buildings, basements, places that I didn't know. And I meant good every time I went to take that drink. "I'm going to do it different this time. I'm not going to get in as much trouble." And it got worse. It never, never got better.
And you know why I stay here too? Cuz I go to many meetings and I listen to you guys that go out there and do it and come back in here. Not one of you have told me it's so great out there. You haven't told me it's great. So I'm not planning to go back out there. I don't care what you lay on me.
I'm just coming through a depression and I want to tell you that was the hardest depression recently that I've had to go through. And I went through that depression because life wasn't on my terms. Things wasn't happening the way I thought they should happen.
And thank God for the big book on page 449 in the old book and page 416 in the new one. The word is acceptance. I've got to accept this life whether it's good, bad, or indifferent. And nothing has to be on my terms. My will is no good. Never was any good and never will be any good. Because if it was so good, I wouldn't need to come to AA. I wouldn't have needed it. And I'm so grateful for that third step: "Relieve me of the bondage of self that I may do his will."
I flew in today. I usually don't speak on the same day that I fly in because I've been up all the night before practically. And Julie and I had to leave very early this morning. And you know the airports are not what they used to be. They work you to get on that plane. Oh yeah. They work you. They search you and take your shoes off. You have to get undressing, you know. And then by the time I'm hungry now, they don't give you nothing but pretzels.
I've been flying for forty-one years this year. I have covered every state in this United States but two—Mexico and Alaska. And they're not ready for me. That's the only reason. Not ready for my help. But I was trained in here very well never to say no to anyone or any place that I'm asked to go. And I've been very successful in doing that these forty-one years.
I say forty-one years because when I got to ten years of sobriety, I had the honor and privilege of speaking for our late co-founder, Bill Wilson. And Bill presented me with my first big book. And in it he wrote, "Dearest Liz, you are a magnificent demonstration of all that is AA."
Now, if Bill loved me like that, am I going to worry about you? No. No. Bill really loved me. He was good. He was a beautiful person, too. And so I keep coming. I keep giving.
And I'm going to say a couple of things. How much I got?
Okay. I go to a group in the city and they sit somebody down in the front with a card and the card will tell you you got ten minutes. Then it'll come up you got five minutes and then it'll come up good night. So that's enough to shut you up right there.
See, but sometime I get up here and most of you know I get on a roll. Woo. Lord have mercy. I used to dance all over the stage. Yeah. I used to show you what I was at seventeen. I'm still showing you that at eighty-two. Come on now. Yeah. Yeah. Come on now.
I was talking in Brooklyn one night and I was standing up here saying, "If you see what I got and you want what I got"—and I was just shaking and the guy winked at me. I said, "Man, I ain't talking about that stuff. Let me rephrase this thing."
Let me rephrase it. I get myself in trouble. I've been out of trouble a long time. Thank God. Thank God. I do thank him. I want to thank you for your love. I really do. I don't know where I would be today if it wasn't for you.
Give somebody some love. Speak nice to somebody when you leave this place. Hug somebody. But most of all, give of yourself to somebody, someplace, somewhere. And you'll see the benefits that will come back to you.
I've had nine operations in forty-one years. I've been to death's door nine times. God keeps bringing me back. He keeps bringing me back. I went up and had three operations in six weeks. The doctor says to me, "You've got cancer. I'm giving you six months to live." I said, "You don't talk to me like that. I'm in a fellowship that teaches me I live one day at a time."
I'm now thirty-six years in the best of Kansas.
[applause]The doctor's dead. I'm not. He's been gone and I'm still hopping these cabs and buses and subways and trains and planes. Come on. What you going to do with your life? What are you going to do with your life?
Come in here and live happy, joyous, and free. That's what the name of the game is. And don't ask me if I have a boyfriend cuz I'll tell you, I'm happy. I'm joyous. And I'm free. Totally free. Yeah, you're right. That's right.
[applause]And I'll beg you, watch your relationships in AA. That thirteenth step is a cuckoo lulu boo. You got to have love and respect for each other and grow together, stay together. There's been a lot of happy marriages in AA and there's a lot of unhappiness, too. Let God give you somebody cuz learn that what you pick ain't nothing. Nothing. You look at your past. Look at your past. Let your past tell you something. Let your past tell you something. Cuz it will tell you something.
Please get sober for yourself. If I had to stay sober for my mother, I'd have been drunk. Drunk. Drunk. For Mr. Bailey, I'd have been drunk. Drunk. Drunk. Mr. Bailey couldn't stand me in AA. After I spoke for Bill, he asked me to please leave. And I did leave.
My oldest son is sixty-three now. He was twelve when I came in. He still hates my living guts. But that's all right. I found a God who has forgiven me seventy times seven. Woo. I'm telling you, any man, woman, or child want to hold my past over my head has to be their problem. That is not my problem. I love him. He's going to be like the prodigal son. One day God will have him ring my doorbell. Yes, he will. I just have to wait patiently. That's all. And keep love in my heart for him.
My second son was shot and killed at the age of twenty-eight. And I don't cry for my son because I would disturb his beautiful spirit. My sister went in right after he was killed and she jumped thirty floors. I just lost a daughter recently, with Lou Garrick. To see a beautiful girl go down to a skeleton almost kill me. I walked the streets of Jamaica on many days coming from that hospital crying.
But the AA members were with me. And God sent me an angel to be with my daughter at the end of her life. I went on a twelve-step. This young man took him to a meeting. And bringing me back from the meeting I said, "Don't take me home. Take me to the nursing home to see my daughter." And he took me to see Judy and he fell in love with my Judy and he started going every day to take care of her and gave her a good Christmas. He'd take her to dinners and beauty polls and he made the last of her life a very happy life. And he got sober. He got sober.
[applause]And you girls and boys don't know he took the weight off me too. Took a lot of weight off me to let me come back to myself. So we love each other and we care for each other.
I have a beautiful AA baby. She just made forty-six and she's gorgeous. I have twelve grandchildren that I see by appointment only. I do not babysit. No, no, no babysitting. And I have five great grands. God has been good and he's good all the time. If you let him, you've got to let him. You've got to let him get yourself out of your own way, please, so that you can have this beautiful life that we can do together what I can't do alone.
I love you guys. I love seeing my girl here, too. She had a—I don't know if my girl is from the table tonight. I'd like you to meet this young lady who had a motorcycle accident. And when I saw her walking up here in my face tonight, I almost went to the floor because she said she's following my footsteps. So honey, you headed for something. You headed for something. I'm telling you. But I love you so much. Her name is Peggy, too. And I'm not shooting her anonymity because I didn't mention her last name. See, but that's Peggy. And I'm so grateful for God and you, Peggy.
Many of you. Many of you. I could stand up here all night and mention you. And you know who you are though in my life? Yes, you do.
I had two young dudes. You know, my doctor asked me, "Do I go to senior citizen?" I said, "Oh, no, no, no." She said, "Why, Miss Bailey?" I said, "Cuz I can't stand the moaning and the groaning." No, I really can't. I hang out with these young dudes in AA. Fine young dudes who's going and giving and doing. And you see what they do to me? They charge me up. Charge me right up. Get a hold of one of them because they're the next legacy. Really, they're our next legacy and we need to keep them here. And don't put them down for no god-given reason. Care. I love you. Oh, yes, I do. I love you.
And I got to watch myself cuz I could break down up here so bad. But I'm trying to keep myself up because I'm not allowed with stress and I try to stay away from stress. The bell is ringing, honey. Thank you all.
[applause]If you don't think that that's hard trying to ring that bell, it truly is. We are a diverse group that normally would not mix. Steve, how does it feel to be in the white minority at Pure? Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Steve P from Mentor, Ohio with fifty-six years to ride.
[applause]My name is Steve and I'm an alcoholic.
Uh boy, that's a couple of tough acts to follow. You know, I have to thank God for AA because I didn't have to go through a lot. I didn't lose a lot of things like other people did in the program.
I had a brother that became an alcoholic in front of my eyes when I was a little kid. He happened to be driving a car that killed my dad when I was four years old. And I watched this man become an alcoholic. And I decided that I would never take a drink. Maybe I never want to be like that person. But somewhere down the road when I was about sixteen or seventeen, I took that drink and it was like pouring gasoline on a fire. I started drinking every day right almost right off the bat. And by the time I was twenty-two years old, I was a worse drunk than my brother, the guy I used to go after at the bars. He was coming after me.
In November of 1944 was my first entrance into AA. I was twenty-three years old. And there was a guy that when I was going up to the steps to the Don men's group—they met on a Sunday afternoon. They used to call them training meetings. And I went up there at three o'clock Sunday afternoon. And some guy met me at the door and he says, "Hey kid, you in the right place." And I says, "Yeah, I want to quit drinking." He says, "Go inside, keep your mouth shut and your ears open."
And that happened to be Harry Ryan, one of the old-timers. And I'm grateful to every person that was here long before I was because they're the one that kept me sober. I didn't stay in the program very long. That was in October in forty-four and New Year's Eve nineteen forty-five, I took my—my mother handed me my first drink and I knew right away. Soon as that drink went down my gut I knew where I was going to go. I went back to Shaky's bar where I used to drink, started drinking the same way I drank before and made a fool out of myself for nine more months.
Labor Day 1946 is my anniversary date. I was twenty-six years old this time. And I made up my mind I was going to do something about it. And I started hanging around with the right people, the right places. They took me to the jailhouses, the courthouses, the Salvation Army—wherever there was a person that we could work with.
Twelve-step work back then was a priority. You know, nobody admitted they were an alcoholic back in them days. You had to go fish them out. You go into the flophouses and everywhere to look for these people. And I worked with them. I helped sponsor a few people. I learned how to live this program. I learned how to love this program because without this program, I wouldn't have anything I have today.
Next month, I'm going to be eighty-two years old.
[applause]I have a wife that I'm going to be—we're going to be sixty years that we've been married.
Oh my goodness. And she's sitting right over there.
[applause]Thank God for AA. I had four children by her. One of them was killed in an automobile accident. She wasn't driving. She was walking and some drunk hit her. He was sixty years old, had three DUIs. And he never knew he hit her. And the judge asked us—he sent us a letter because this happened in Florida. And he sent us a letter out here to Mentor asking us what would be a good punishment for this gentleman. And of course my daughters wrote, "Kill him, shoot him, hang him, throw the key away." And my wife wrote something similar to that.
But I didn't write that letter right away because I was going to meetings and I had people hanging around with me in AA and I made sure I went to a lot of meetings right after that because I didn't know what to do. I didn't know whether I'd kill this man or I would try to help him. And you people had taught me in these rooms that I should learn how to love. And that's what I did. I wrote the judge back. I says, "This man needs a lot of help. See that he gets it."
The man died a few years later of cancer. He never served his term. He only served about five months. I never know—I never knew that I could do that. But you people in these rooms taught me how to love. Taught me how to love, how to live, and how to be a decent person. Thank God for AA.
My brother that was an alcoholic—I was sober about five years. And he called me up and he says to me, "Steve, I want to join your club." And I said, "Gus, there's no club, but there's a lot of people here that know you and they're waiting for you. They knew you were going to come."
Well, anyway, this person that I didn't want to be like died when he was eighty-seven years old at forty years of sobriety. Thank God for AA.
How I stay sober today, I do the same thing I did when I came in. I go to meetings. I go to three, four meetings a week. I try to help another drunk. I got a home group. I'm still making coffee there for the last thirty years. And you know what? How I got that job, don't you? One day I complained about the coffee and the guy says, "You make it tomorrow." That's what I did. And I've been there ever since.
We meet every Tuesday. We have a beginner's group and I'm so anxious to get there to start setting up the meetings. I still set it up. I go there at noon and I set the meeting up and then I go back at six o'clock and I set make the coffee for the beginner's meeting at seven o'clock. Then our regular meeting starts at eight.
But I'm so anxious to see these people coming through those doors and shake their hand. And if somebody's missing, I always ask, "Where's this guy? I haven't seen him for a couple of meetings." I'm always looking for somebody to talk to.
A young fell came up to me, you know, I thought I was young when I came into the program. He came running up to me when I was making the coffee and he says to me, he says, "Steve, I just joined your home group. I want you to give me something to do." And I said, "How old are you?" He says, "Fourteen." Fourteen years old. And I thought I was young.
And he's telling me, and I talk to these young people as they come through the door, and they tell me it's no different out