From Nine Varsity Letters to Everything I Own in a Cardboard Box – AA Speaker – Frank J.
AA speaker Frank J. shares his journey from decorated Marine and police officer to homeless alcoholic—and how the steps rebuilt his life, family, and faith over 20 years sober.
Frank J. from California was a high school athlete with nine varsity letters, a decorated Marine, and a police officer. Yet alcohol turned his life into chaos: jail in Okinawa, two failed marriages, lost custody of his children, shooting himself in front of his daughter, and eventually homelessness with everything he owned in a cardboard box. In this AA speaker tape, he walks through hitting his bottom at a hospital bed, refusing to go to meetings at first, and the slow work of rebuilding his family and self-respect through the program—one meeting and one sponsor’s direction at a time.
Frank J., an AA speaker with over 20 years sober, describes his decades-long descent from a athletic high school star and Marine to a divorced, violent police officer drinking daily to manage fear and rage. After years of blackouts, jail time, losing his family and everything material, he hit a medical bottom at 36—hemorrhaging, homeless, and suicidal—and was committed to a hospital where he first came to AA meetings. He credits sponsorship, meetings, the steps, and finally taking direction to rebuild his marriage, repair his relationship with his children, and learn how to be a husband and father sober.
Episode Summary
Frank J. tells a long, unflinching story of privilege destroyed by unmanaged alcoholism and fear. Born in Danville, Illinois to a solid, non-drinking family, Frank excelled athletically—winning nine varsity letters and earning college scholarships. Yet something drove him to seek out tougher crowds as a teenager. He was afraid of the dark, ashamed of his appearance, and desperate to feel macho. When he first drank at a party, it wasn’t the taste he craved—it was belonging. Alcohol removed his fear instantly. That became his answer to everything.
The military made it worse. In Okinawa at 17, he discovered that enough alcohol made him feel invincible. He could fight, chase women, and ignore consequences. A violent incident in a bar—beating a cab driver nearly to death with a rock—landed him in the brig for almost a year. His father had to negotiate with a commanding general to keep him from court-martial. Frank blamed the system, not himself. He rationalized every act of violence, theft, and infidelity.
After discharge, marriage and fatherhood came next—neither of which he knew how to handle. He drank in bars instead of staying home. His sponsor told him he was too immature to be a husband. When he and his wife fought, he’d leave in a rage and find women in bars for validation. He’d come home drunk and lie about it. His children cried when he was home; he resented them for needing him. Guilt drove him to drink more. Alcohol was the only thing that took those feelings away.
Vietnam intensified the pattern. A sniper assigned to dangerous patrols, Frank carried 151-proof rum in his canteen. Alcohol made him bulletproof, allowed him to do things he wasn’t proud of, things that haunt him still. He was wounded and came home angry, unable to settle into civilian life. He drank daily now. A moment of drunken rage nearly cost his daughter her life—a gun jammed while he threatened his wife, and a stray bullet passed between his daughter’s legs, leaving only powder burns. His wife divorced him shortly after.
As a police officer, Frank was violent on duty. He needed drinks before his shift to manage his fear of darkness and the demons he couldn’t describe to his partner. The drinking escalated. He had affairs. His partner shot him in the head over jealousy. He quit the force.
Real estate money came next. Frank made over $130,000 in his first year—Cadillacs, diamond rings, gold chains, a house with a pool. Nothing fixed him. Money didn’t take away anger, greed, or his need for validation. By 36, it was all gone. His wife and children had left. He was homeless, bleeding from his stomach, and living out of a stolen car.
A woman from his real estate days found him and took him to a doctor. The doctor’s verdict: liver failure, internal hemorrhaging, cirrhosis—quit drinking now or die before summer. Frank heard relief in that sentence. He was tired. He wanted to die. He bought whiskey and beer and drank as hard and fast as he could. He’d held a gun in his mouth before, unable to pull the trigger. Now alcohol seemed like the answer.
His parents, whom he hadn’t spoken to in four years, had him committed to a hospital in Indiana. Strapped to a bed, forced to go to AA meetings, Frank walked into his first meeting full of contempt. He judged everyone in the room. They were clean, happy, together—they couldn’t have done what he’d done, walked where he’d walked. He had better cars, better women, more money. Why should he listen to them?
The old-timers didn’t care. “Get your coffee, shut up, and sit down. Go to 90 meetings in 90 days. If you want a drink, come to AA.” Frank hated them for that.
He left the hospital and tried sobriety on his own—no meetings, no sponsor. He was tough; he could handle it. He found his family in Oregon, brought them to a garage in a vacant field. They slept on the floor, ate cereal with water. At six months sober with no meetings, he nearly killed a man on the freeway with a gun because the driver wouldn’t move out of his way. At ten months, he nearly assaulted an elderly woman in a grocery store over violating the “10 items or less” rule. His rage was building. At 13 months without alcohol but without help, he choked a man in a real estate office and had a nervous breakdown.
An AA member found him, pulled his fingers off that man’s throat, and laid down a card: “I know what’s wrong with you. You got to call this guy.” Those members took his weapons—handguns, a grenade—and sat with him for nine days while he cried, unable to remember most of it.
When a sponsor finally told him the truth—”You haven’t got a drinking problem right now. You got a living problem”—everything shifted. The sponsor told him to get to meetings, sit in front, shut up, and listen. Shake hands with people. Get commitments at meetings. Don’t just take; give back. Get a higher power, even if he didn’t believe in God. Tell your family you love them even if you don’t feel it yet.
Frank listened. He came to meetings every day. He started going home and telling his wife and kids he loved them—and didn’t mean it. But he did it because his sponsor told him to. Week after week, something changed. One day, he went home and told them he loved them, and he actually meant it.
He worked the steps. He made amends. The daughter he almost shot became an attorney and named her son after him. His middle daughter is a teacher getting her master’s degree. His youngest is a senior in college studying to be a veterinarian. His wife of 30 years is active in Al-Anon. His oldest son, an angry alcoholic like him, spent 13 of 16 years in prison—and Frank chose not to visit or go to court, because his sponsor told him his son had his own God and his own timing. But Frank stayed sober and visible so that when his son got free, he could see that AA works. Last he heard, his son was eight months sober.
At 14 years sober, Frank lost his house, cars, and credit. Unemployed for two and a half years, he went to seven meetings a week and didn’t file bankruptcy because his sponsor said no. He finally got a job he’d never wanted and used it to rebuild his life responsibly. He’s learned that sobriety isn’t rosy all the time—there’s death, illness, sadness, breakups, failure. But the one thing that hasn’t changed is Alcoholics Anonymous. The meetings are there. The people are there. His commitment is there.
Frank’s message is direct: if you’re an alcoholic of his type—fear-driven, seeking validation, rationalizing everything, blaming everyone—and you don’t plug into AA fully, get a sponsor, work the steps, go to meetings, and put the program first, you will lose everything like he did. Money doesn’t fix it. Cars don’t fix it. Women don’t fix it. Only the steps, meetings, a sponsor, and a higher power fix it. And if you’re new, don’t expect perfection. Just show up, sit down, listen, and take the direction you’re given. Every time he’s followed direction, he’s felt better. Every direction from his sponsor has benefited him. That’s how recovery works.
Notable Quotes
I drank like a pig, and when I didn’t drink, I acted like a pig.
When I drank, I didn’t care about consequences. When I drank, I didn’t feel guilt. When I drank, I didn’t feel shame. I became bulletproof and invisible.
All I’ve got is right now. If I can put enough of these nows together, I’m going to have a sober tonight.
You haven’t had a drink in over 13 months. Right this minute, drinking is not your problem. What you’ve got right now is a living problem, and you need to find a living answer to your living problem.
I don’t have to want to take direction. I don’t have to think it’ll work. I just have to go do it. And every time I’ve been given direction and I do it, I have always felt better when I got through doing it.
Alcoholics Anonymous allows me to have a calm head and a calm stomach. That’s all.
Step Work
Sponsorship
Relapse & Coming Back
Family & Relationships
Topics Covered in This Transcript
- Hitting Bottom
- Step Work
- Sponsorship
- Relapse & Coming Back
- Family & Relationships
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Full AA Speaker Transcript
This transcript was auto-generated and may contain minor errors. For the best experience, listen to the audio above.
Welcome to Sober Sunrise, a podcast bringing you AA speaker meetings with stories of experience, strength, and hope from around the world. We bring you several new speakers weekly, so be sure to subscribe. If you'd like to help us remain self-supporting, please visit our website at sober-rise.com.
Whether you join us in the morning or at night, there's nothing better than a sober sunrise. We hope that you enjoy today's speaker. I'm Frank Jones.
I'm an alcoholic. >> I want to thank Bruce and the committee for allowing me to come here and participate this weekend. And uh it's an honor and a privilege.
And uh I've had a great time here and uh met a lot of good people. You bet I have. And uh I like your banners up here and uh with the circle and the triangle on it and the and the and the valley up there on those.
That's whoever come up with that idea. That's pretty slick and it looks good. And uh I've had a great time until they drugged me around this afternoon to where Clancy was born.
That was just a pain in the butt. And uh I told him when I came out here, I really don't care where you were born, Clancy. It's just not a big deal to me.
And uh he said, "Well, you're going anyway." And uh so we went there today and into the college where uh he got in trouble out there, broke in with another young lady there. And uh I didn't want to go there either, but I did. And uh and now the dirt.
That's just great. Uh am I a makeout artist or what? But uh I am I'm very honored to be here.
And I got to tell you that I'm just an alcoholic. I don't go to any other 12step programs. I don't go to Narcotics Anonymous, Sex Anonymous, Overeaters Anonymous.
I don't go to any of those anonymouses. Uh my sponsor told me if I can't work our 12 steps, I can't work any of theirs because they got their 12 steps from us. And so I'm just an alcoholic.
Uh I've never smoked marijuana cigarette. I've never shot heroin, snorted coke, taken pills, bennies, uppers, downers, nothing because it doesn't take any talent to be a dope fiend. And uh so I'm just an alcoholic.
I'm not a speaker that's going to stand up here and tell you that I'm searching for an inner child to nourish because if I ever find that little sob, I'll choke him unconscious because I've been trying to be a mature adult for over 57 years now and I have no success at all. My entire life has been a childhood. So, I'm just not looking for anything else.
I have no reason for being an alcoholic. My mom and dad never held a gun to my head and said, "Frank, we want you to drink and make an ass out of yourself or we'll kill you." So, I can't blame my parents for me being an alcoholic. I can't blame my uh my brothers.
I can't blame my wives, my kids, the jobs I've had, the places I've been. I can't blame anything for me being an alcoholic but me. I drank like a pig, and when I didn't drink, I acted like a pig.
And that's the bottom line. I was born down the road here in Danville, Illinois. I was born into a great family.
Mom and dad were married to each other for 50 years. They didn't drink. Well, they drank now and then, but they they weren't alcoholic.
Uh they were married, like I said, for 50 years to each other and they provided me a good home to grow up in. I knew right from wrong. And uh I had two brothers and uh dad worked on the railroad and mom took care of the house and everything and us guys and all the neighborhood kids.
And I had a great childhood growing up. I did everything that kids in the Midwest want to do. I played little league baseball, pony league.
I played sports in high school. I I run track. I played basketball and football.
I won nine varsity letters. And uh I had offers to go to college and they were willing to pay my way to college if I played basketball for him. And and that's not why I'm an alcoholic.
And uh also growing up, I had this other thing. I wanted to be a macho guy. And uh I know you guys here in Oaklair, don't worry about that.
But I grew up wanting to be macho. And I mean, check me out. I look like Mr.
Peepers. And I hated that. And uh tall, skinny, bad teeth, thick glasses.
And I just hated that growing up. And so after ball practice, I'd go down to Main Street and hang out what back then they call juvenile delinquents. And these guys all had ducttail haircuts, long sideburns.
They wore black leather jackets with zippers and dudads on them. And they carried bicycle chains, switchblade knives, and zip guns. And these were bad dudes.
And it was an adrenaline rush for somebody like me cuz I was afraid of the dark. And I couldn't tell anybody about that. I was ashamed of that.
And I know none of you guys were afraid of the dark, but I was. I was a And uh I hated that feeling of being a wuss and a wimp. And uh so I'd hang out with these guys on Main Street and we'd have rumbles back then.
And that's that's 40 or 50 guys out in the parking lot beating hell out of each others with clubs and chains. And uh when you guys did that and I was allowed to participate, I felt macho and I felt a part of. And I'd watch you guys beat these guys up with clubs or chains or whatever.
And you go on to the next guy and it didn't bother you. And I'd hit somebody upside the head with a brick or a club and I'd feel sorry for them. and I'd go home and worry about if they were hurt and I that don't make you feel macho and so that's how it was for me growing up and uh I didn't analyze any of this growing up and stuff.
I came into Alcoholics Anonymous and I did that inventory the fourstep and I read it to my sponsor and talked about my defects of character and shortcomings and I found out some other things about my childhood. I didn't I didn't analyze it or take notes on it. But I grew up being a thief and I didn't you know that everybody stole.
You know, it's just it's easier to steal something than it is to stand in line and pay for it. And if you leave the store, you got the item in your pocket and your money, you're a double winner. I love that idea.
And uh so I stole all the time and I'd give stuff to people so they'd like me. And then I lied all the time cuz it's easier to be a liar than it is to tell the truth. When you tell the truth, the truth is just out there.
And when you're a liar, you can be anything you want to be. And I've been everything from a truck driver to an airline pilot to a gynecologist. I didn't even graduate high school for Christ's sakes.
I've done it all in the bars, baby. And uh so I just lied so I could be anything I wanted to be. And then I cheated cuz I never wanted to work hard and earn anything.
It's just easier to cheat and get by. And I picked that up naturally. And so that's the way I was growing up.
And that's not why I'm an alcoholic, but that's that's the way it was for me growing up in Illinois. And uh the first time that I ever drank, I was at a party in Danville. It was a hot summer night back there.
And uh my girlfriend brought me over this big iced tea glass full of slow gin with some Seven Up in it. And it was red and it had ice in it and it it looked like strawberry Kool-Aid. And so I took a little drink of it.
It tastes like strawberry Kool-Aid. And that was my drink of choice. And so I chugged that glass of Slow Jin and Seven Up Down.
I didn't know what Slow Jin was. And I know you hear a lot of men speakers and alcoholics anonymous stand up here and tell you that when they took that first drink, it went down into their stomachs and out to the tip of their fingers and the tip of their hair. And they all got 6'4, 240 lb, and their pimples fell off.
And uh that didn't happen to me. I just drank that glass down. Said, "Get me another one." She brought me another one over.
And uh I drank that glass of Slow Jen and Seven Up down. And you know, I didn't get a bottle of wine, throw it in a paper bag, and put on a wrinkled trench coat and head down to Skid Row. I didn't plan on being an alcoholic.
I didn't talk to my school counselors about it. Hey, what do you got to do to be an alcoholic and speak in Oaklair, you know, I didn't do that in high school. And uh and uh I'll tell you, I was drinking for one reason and one reason only that night.
And it wasn't for the taste of the alcohol. It wasn't for what alcohol was doing to me or for me. I was drinking because at that party, all my buddies were drinking and they were having a great time.
They were laughing and dancing, hugging and munching. and their girlfriends over in the corner and I'm hung up on the front wall being macho cuz I don't want to ask anybody to dance. They're going to say no and and I don't want to talk to you.
You're going to think I'm stupid. I I don't know how to make small talk. And so I thought if I drank like you guys, I could have the fun you guys were having.
That's the only reason I drank that night. And I drank almost a gallon of slow gin in about 30 minutes. That was no big deal.
I didn't get kneew walking, commode hugging, puking on your dress shoes drunk. But about 20 minutes after I drank that last glass of Slow Jin and Seven Up, I found out where Slow Jin got its name. I got drunk as hell.
I went into a blackout. I got taken home that night. I passed out.
And the next morning when I come to, I'm puking red stuff up all over the bedroom. I thought it was blood. I was sicker than a dog.
I had a terrible headache. My head was throbbing. I couldn't open my eyes cuz the light hurt my eyes.
And I was just sick. And there was something else funny about that morning. I couldn't remember how I got home that night.
Now, I don't know if you drank in blackouts or not. It's none of my business. But some of you, most of you, you wouldn't be married to who you're married to, but I didn't mean to say that.
I just I apologize. Some Cliff has brought out the worst in me today. And uh so I didn't mean to say that.
And uh but I didn't know what a blackout was. And I came into Alcoholics Anonymous and the old-timers told me that a blackout is when I consume alcohol. I'll go on and do whatever it is I'm doing that night, but the next morning I will have amnesia about parts of that night.
And I didn't know that. I didn't know that. I didn't know that blackouts are an indication you got a problem drinking.
Normal drinkers don't have blackouts. I didn't know that. I thought everybody that drank experienced what I experienced.
and I look over my drinking and I can see that that that I had blackouts from that first day and I'd drink and then my wife or my girlfriend and I we'd go to a party or a movie or something and the next morning I'd come too and they'd be telling me about the party or the movie we went to see and I have no recollection of it and I'd stand there and look at them like they got two heads. And then I'd go in a bar and I'd be in a bars drinking later on and I'd get ready to leave. I'd walk out and my car is gone.
How do you lose a 4,000lb automobile? And I go back in and I call the police. The police show up and uh the bar clears out and I walk out with the police and my car is parked right there.
And I said, "Well, I guess they brought my car back. I don't know." And but that's a blackout. That's an indication I had a problem drinking.
And at the end of my drinking, I'd wake up in these dark places and I'm in bed. I don't know where in the hell I'm at and there's something in bed with me. I don't know where I got this thing at and the hair's all matted down on it.
I don't know what this is. It should have been tagged by the Humane Society. I know that.
You have to get up and sneak out of that room. And I got to get the hell out of there cuz this will hurt me if it comes too. And you know, those are blackouts and those are indications I had a problem drinking from the very first time I drank till I come to Alcoholics Anonymous.
And uh I missed three days of school with a terrible hangover and being sick and I went back to school and the guys told me about that night and they told me I was laughing and dancing and funny and uh and that everything was cool and I had a good time and they said some guy said something and I punched his ticket and we had to pay for the screen door so we had to collect up money. And when these guys told me about that, what I felt when they told me that is I felt a part of those guys. I felt like I'd had a good time at that party and we'd got along and I thought it was great.
I didn't remember it, but from what they told me, I had a good time. And the other thing I got out of that was from that day to night, I don't drink Seven Up anymore. But that stuff will make you throw up red stuff and forget everything.
I can't chance that. And so I don't drink Seven Up. I blamed it on the Seven Up.
And and you know, I didn't turn into a blazing alcoholic after that and drink in study hall or get the shakes when I didn't drink. I drank when I could get it. And when it was accessible to me, I drank.
And when I drank, I got drunk. When I got drunk, I'm a fighter because I'm afraid. And I don't want you to know about that fear.
And the only way to keep you away from me is to be macho and to be a fighter. And so I started getting in trouble fighting. And then you dare me to do something, then I'm going to go do it.
Because when you're drunk and you're young and you're stupid, you do things that people dare you to do. And that's what I did. And I got in trouble.
And uh so that's how it was. And uh then about 2 weeks before graduation from high school, I had this scholarship to play basketball at this university. And uh I don't know about you, but I got a committee in my head.
My committee talks to me all the time. And and these guys convened in my head and they started telling me, "What if you don't make the basketball team in college? What if you don't get grades good enough to stay on that team?" Well, that scared me.
Now, I don't know what you do with fear. I don't know how fear affects you, but I can't go to college and look bad in front of all those adults up there. And that scared me.
and I don't want to go to college and look bad. And so I made a keen alcoholic decision. I quit high school.
Made sense to me. It just you can't go to college on a scholarship if you quit high school. And so I quit.
And uh about 2 weeks later, I made another keen alcoholic decision. I joined the Marine Corps. If you're a wimp and a wussy and afraid of the dark, going into Marine Corps is a bad deal.
I should have went in the Army. I didn't know that. I just didn't know that at the time.
I found that out in sobriety. I didn't know that then, but I went in the Marine Corps and I'm sitting on a train getting ready to shoot up to Chicago to get sworn in and I'm homesick and I'm lonely and I miss mom and dad and the wheels of the train ain't even moved yet. I'm 17year-old and I'm sitting next to a guy in a black leather jacket with a ducttail haircut and long sideburns and he's drinking out of this little brown bottle and uh I want to hang with this guy in Chicago cuz I'm full of fear.
I'm going to the big city and uh so this guy says, "Hey, do you want a drink of this stuff?" And I looked, I said, "Yeah, I'll take a drink of that cuz I want to be cool. I want to be macho." And I took that and I turned it up and I chuggled three or four big mouthfuls of that stuff. And it was whiskey.
Now, I don't know how you drink whiskey at the age of 17, but I can tell you what I did. I sprayed that crap all over the seats in front of me. And I had tears coming out my eyes.
I had whiskey and snot running out my nose. I couldn't breathe. This guy's looking at me funny.
And I got to hang in and alcoholics are quick. And so I walked off my face and I hand him the bottle and I said, "That stuff was pretty good." And uh I just wanted to fit in with him. And he said, "You want another drink?" And I said, "Not right now.
I can't breathe." And uh that's just how it was. And I got sworn in at uh Chicago and they sent me down to Marine Corps Recruit Depot San Diego. And I went through boot camp scared.
I went through boot camp homesick. And I can't tell those other guys in boot camp about it. They're all older than me.
They're 19, 20 year old and they're men and and I don't want them to know what a wimp I am. And uh so I put that facade out there and I acted like what I thought a man should act like and I struggled and got through boot camp and after that they sent me to Camp Pendlean in the infantry and in 1962 October the Cuban crisis broke out and we shot down the coast and went through the canal and we did that deal and I was scared to death cuz we're going to war and uh so I'm frightened and stuff and then we go back through the canal when that's over and then they sent me to the far east for 13 months and the first night we get over in Okanawa we unpack our gear and the guy said hey Frank we're going out and drunk. You want to go with us?
And the guys had asked me to go out with them and I wanted to be a part of and I felt macho and I said, "Yeah, I'll go out with you." And I shot out in a villa with these guys and they bought a typhoon fifth a sacki and it holds about two gallons. Big bottle cost 75 cents back then about 140 proof and it tastes like Clorox and they're passing this bottle around and they're drinking it and they're slapping each other on the back doing this male bonding ritual that guys do and being macho. The bottle got to me and I turned it up and I chug lugged four or five big mouthfuls of that stuff.
Now, I don't know how you drank saki at the age of 17, but I sprayed that crap all over their shoes and I had saki running out my nose. I couldn't breathe and they're laughing and pointing at me and and I hate that when people make fun and I feel like a wimp. And uh that bottle come around again and I turned it up and I chug a lug some more of it and I puked it back up and uh I learned something that night that if you're going to be an alcoholic, you can't let bad bother you.
You got to just you got to hang in really. You know, you got to just hang in. And uh we all hung in, didn't we?
And you know, the bottle would come back around and I drank enough of that sacki that something funny happened. And I don't know what alcohol did for you when you drank it. But I'll tell you what alcohol did for me.
When I held enough of that sacki down, I looked at those five or six Marines I was drinking with and I realized something. Those guys are punks. I don't know why I'm hanging out with them.
I'm too cool for these guys. That's all. And I shot out and left those guys.
And I went out drinking on my own. I'm in a bar drinking a shooting pool with another Marine. And he said something evidently I took offense to cuz I hit him in the face with a pool queue.
And uh it looked cool in the movies, but he's laying there bleeding. And I don't know how many of you have been arrested. Well, I can see most of you have.
So, you know that feeling of fear you get when you know you're going to jail or the brig. And so, I got scared and I run out of that bar cuz they're calling the MPs. and I run down through the alleys in a noco and I went in another bar and I sat up there at the bar and I started drinking shooters chasing it with beer and something funny happened.
The more I drank that fear went away. I wasn't afraid of going to the brrig anymore and I didn't care about the consequences of hitting that guy. And so then I started to brag about hitting him with a pool queue to the marine sitting next to me.
And that's stupid. Now he's going to go tell the MPs. And so I'm sitting there and I'm drinking and I'm macho now cuz I just hit that guy with a pool queue.
And I looked down at the end of the barn. There's a nissan sitting down there. And I'm a sucker for a pretty face.
Women have been able to take me for everything I've got all my life. And uh she slid up next to me and she asked me to buy her a drink. And of course I did cuz I'm a nice guy.
So I bought her a drink and then she started telling me about her sick mom that needed surgery. And man, it just broke my heart. So I gave her some more money and her and I trudged the road of happy destiny to her hooch.
And uh well I just stand up here tonight and tell you that we had such a great time. And I was so dynamic. She probably still remembers it to this day.
It was over too quick for me to remember it. And you know, she split the clean up. When she did that, hurt my feelings and my little macho ego.
And I was a little upset about it and embarrassed. And so I stole my money out of her headboard and set her house on fire. I mean, it just made sense to me at the time.
I I don't know why I did that. That's just the way it was. And I went back to the base and I passed out.
And I come to it revly the next morning and uh I couldn't remember anything that had happened that night and I'm in the head throwing up and I got a terrible hangover and my head's banging and I'm puking and my stomach's upset and the and the guys are telling me the MPs are looking for who had hit that guy with a pool queue and that fear come back and that anxiety come back. Now I know I'm in trouble again. Now I know I'm going to the brig and then they tell me about a fire in a villa and uh when they told me about that I was embarrassed.
You see my father hadn't raised me to act that way. My father hadn't raised me to treat women that way and I didn't know why that had happened that night or where that had come from and I was ashamed of that and I didn't know how I was going to make that up and I really got scared but I found out an answer that morning in in Okinawa. I opened up my locker and there's a bottle in there with a big red dot on it and that was Okadama wine and I took that bottle of wine down that morning unscrewed the cap and chugged like four or five big mouthfuls of it.
Put the fire out and something funny happened. I didn't puke it back up. So, I drank a little bit more of that sweet wine and went out to formation.
And by the time that formation was over and I come back in the barracks, something funny had happened. My headache was gone. I didn't have a headache no more.
My stomach had settled down. I wasn't throwing up no more. Now, I don't know what that tells you, but what that told me was if I drink in the morning, I don't have to be sick.
I don't have to have a hangover. I went right straight back to that locker, got that bottle out, and drank some more of that wine. About 20 minutes later, I started to brag about hitting that guy with a pool queue.
I started to brag about setting that woman's house on fire. You see, when I drank, I didn't care about consequences. When I drank, I didn't feel guilt.
When I drank, I didn't feel shame or care about what I did to you, if I walked through your life or their life. I had no consequences when I drank. I became bulletproof and invisible.
And that morning, I became a daily drinker and a morning drinker. And at the age of 17, that's what I was doing. All my money went on booze and the women in the bars.
And I became a bar fighter. And I'm too light to fight. I'm too thin to win.
I developed the technique of ambush. Somebody say something, I'd hit them with an ashtray or a bottle of beer from behind and uh what happened was I'd make a stripe and they'd take it away from me and then they'd restrict me to my base and then I'd go out and get in a fight in the vill. And then they'd restrict me to the barracks.
And if you'd have walked up to me over there and said, "You know, Frank, every time you drink, you get in trouble." Maybe you had to quit drinking or cut back. I could have given you reasons why that's not true. You see, I don't know about you, but when I drank, if that guy in that bar hadn't said that to me, I wouldn't have hit him in the mouth with a bottle of beer.
So, it ain't my fault. It's his fault. He needs to learn to shut up and not talk to me that way.
And then, if the duty NCO hadn't told me to shut up and hit the rack, I wouldn't have smacked him. And so, it ain't my fault, it's the duty NCO's fault. He needs to learn how to talk to other people.
And all my life, I blamed everybody for my problems. I blamed the Marine Corps, my wife, the kids, the job, the boss, the police department, the highway patrol. I blamed everybody for all my problems.
It was never my fault. It was always them that had had the problem. It wasn't me or drinking.
And I came into Alcoholics Anonymous. And what I found out in Alcoholics Anonymous, the old-timers snapped me up, told me, "If you want to see what the problem is, Slim, go look in the mirror. You'll see what the problem is." This big book of Alcoholics Anonymous, and those 12 steps are made for you to work, not the people around you.
People around you don't have to work this program. you have to work this program and become different. I didn't know that.
I didn't have a clue about that. But I continued to drink over there. I got in a lot of trouble.
One night I run out of money. I decided that I was going to rob a cab driver. Their meters were fixed and they were always overcharging us.
I knew that. Nobody else did, but I knew it. I figured it out.
And uh he and I got in a fight and I held his head down to the pavement and I picked up a rock the size of a softball and I beat his face in with it. And that man almost died. And uh my father flew over to Okinawa and he and uh I was in a lot of trouble.
He put me in a brrig and uh my dad met with a commanding general third Marine Division and uh he paid for that man's surgery and he paid for that man's retirement, gave the cab company some money and some deal was struck somewhere and all this was going on. I was still locked up and by the time court marshall happened the only thing they did is beg I begged the Marine Corps not to throw me out. The only thing I knew how to do.
I was 18 years old and uh anyway, some deal was cut to make a long story short and by the time paperwork went through to get me released from that brrig, I'd spent almost a year locked up in that brrig. And if you'd have walked up to me and said it was behind drinking or trying to get money to drink on, I'd have said that's not true. These guys are always overcharging us and they're ripping us servicemen off.
And I could rationalize and justify that action. It wasn't my fault. I just got screwed one more time by the Marine Corps.
I got all that brig and I and they sent me to Camp Lune, North Carolina. and I went through Illinois on my way down there and I met a girl that uh there that just graduated high school and I married her in a short time and took her to North Carolina with me and she wants me to stay home and be a husband. Now, I don't know about you guys, but I'm a bar drinker.
I like the intelligent guys out in the bars and the beautiful women and I so I just like a bar and so I got to get out in the bars, but she wants me to stay home. And what I would do, I don't know what you'd do, is I would start a fight with her and we'd have that argument and we'd have that cuss fight that alcoholics have with all the cussing and screaming and going on. And now I can't stay there and drink in a noisy place.
I got to get out in the bars where it's quiet and serene and and so it's her fault. And and so that gives me my reason to get the hell out of that house and get out in that bar. So I'm out there in a bar drinking and somebody will invariably say something that I take offense to and we'll get in a fight and I'll hit him with something.
they'll call the Jacksonville police and him and I got to run from that bar and I get down into another bar and I'm sitting in there drinking and I got to be validated. I don't feel like a man and uh so I got to find me a woman and then me and some honey will lock eyes and uh we'll know that we're meant for each other and so we'll trudge off to her place and do what we got to do to validate me cuz I don't feel like a man and this is what men do and so I'll feel like a man. And then I'm laying there sobering up and I start to think and that's a bad deal when you're drinking you should never think.
And uh so I'm laying there thinking and I think about that wife at home and what I realize is she ain't done anything to cause this. You see, it's my fault. And I have all those feelings when you when you're a liar and I have all those feelings when you're unfaithful and they cheat and I can't go home and look at that woman now.
And I feel bad and I feel that guilt and that shame and I know it's not her. So what I do is I stop in a bar, have a couple of shooters and a beer and what my head says now is this is what guys do. This is a guy thing.
This is macho. You're cool. And now I can go home and look at her.
And I walk in and she says, "Where have you been?" I hate that question. I got to lie to her now. You see, I wouldn't lie if she didn't ask that question.
She's causing this. It ain't my fault. And then another cuss fight.
And what happens is I'm on that treadmill. I can't get off of that. And I come into Alcoholics Anonymous.
And what I found out is I'm too immature to be a husband. I didn't know that. My intentions all my life is to be like my father, good and decent man and raised me and my two brothers, loved my mom, never heard him raise his voice to my mom and just provided a great and that was my intention.
And I don't know where in the hell I went wrong at on this deal. But you guys told me that my wife was none of my business. You told me that those steps are made for me to work, not her.
She don't have to work those 12 steps. It's my job to do that and take care of me. And it's not my job to tell her what to wear.
It's not my job to tell her how to cook dinner. It's not my job to tell her what to fix for dinner. It's not my job to tell her how to clean that house.
My sponsor told me if you don't like how that damn house looks, clean it yourself. I thought, "What? Not me." And that's what I was told.
And I had to learn in Alcoholics Anonymous how to be a husband. Then we had a kid and I don't know how to treat kids. They cry.
They make messes. They break things. They spill They crap their diapers for Christ's sakes.
I mean, what's up with that? Who walks around doing that? You know, kids ought to be born at about 9 years old, already potty trained.
And uh you know, she'd do that and make messes and I'd grab her and I'd shake her and I'd throw her in that crib and in that guilt and that shame and come over me when you know you're a bad father. And God, the only thing that'll take those feelings away is another drink of alcohol. And me and my wife would have that cuss fight and that kids crying and I got to get the hell out of there.
And I'm out in those bars and that's just how it is. It's going on and on. And I come into Alcoholics Anonymous and what I found out are kids are little people, you know, and that's how they grow up.
I didn't know that. Kids, they spill things, make messes, move stuff around, break things. That's how they learn.
And I was told by the people in Alcoholics Anonymous to never touch my kids, unless I'm going to put my arms around them and hug them. Never raise my voice in that house. Don't use four-letter words or cuss words around that family.
I had to learn how to completely restructure my vocabulary and my actions around the house cuz I didn't know how to be a father. And I was ashamed of that for a long time into sobriety. Then what happened?
And I got called into the CO's office one day and they issued me a rifle with a telescope on it and gave me some live ammunition and sent me across the ocean to a place called Vietnam. And I got to tell you, Vietnam's not my problem. I get tired of hearing guys whine about that crap on the West Coast.
Uh I've only been sober a little over 20 years. But uh I've been to a lot of meetings with Alcoholics Anonymous and I've never seen an NVA soldier walk into an A meeting and take a Vietnam vet out at gunpoint and make him drink. So I just can't blame those people.
I'm sorry. It just won't work. Tell you what my problem was.
I was afraid. I couldn't tell anybody about that fear. I'm a I'm a Marine.
I'm supposed to be macho, but I had this fear and I can't tell those other guys I'm serving with that I'm afraid. They didn't look afraid. They looked like they were handling everything fine and I was ashamed of that.
And I found out a secret in Vietnam. 151 proof rum. Put that in my cantens.
I'm bulletproof and invisible. Now what I can do is I can go out on those patrols. I was a sniper.
I was up at Kesan and Konten in ' 6768. And now I can go out and do those things to show everybody how tough I am and what a what a a macho guy I am. And uh I do a lot of bad things out there.
And then I come back in that harbor site and I'd break that canteen out and I drink from that cantina and it take that guilt and that shame away, you know. And what alcohol did for me in Vietnam is saved my sanity. That's what alcohol did for me in Vietnam.
And uh I'm not proud of the things I did over there. And uh I did a lot of bad things to a lot of people. And uh what I learned in Alcoholics Anonymous is is that uh all I've got is right now.
And if I can put enough of these nows together, I'm going to have it tonight. That's all. I'm going to have a sober tonight if I can just keep doing what I'm doing right now.
I can't put enough nows together to go back and change my past. I can't undo the things I did over there. I know there's somebody sitting here tonight that like to change some of the things they done when they were out there drinking and using, but you know, we can't do that here in Alcoholics Anonymous.
What I've learned I can do is try not to act the way I used to act. try not to react to every thought I have or any perceived injustice I have or I can just try to treat people the way I want to be treated and I've learned that in Alcoholics Anonymous but I can't change any of those things that I did over there and I wish I could but I can't and what happened was in 1968 in March during the siege at Quesan I got wounded over there I got blown up and uh I come back to the states and I got out of the hospital I went home we were living in Oceanside and while I was over there we'd had a son born to us and he's crying and then my daughter's growing up and she wants my attention attention and wife wants me to stay home and I can't stay home. I got to get out in the bars and drink.
I'm a bar drinker and I want to get out there and talk about the war. You know, it's our Vietnam vets. That's our only claim to fame.
So, we got to talk about it. We can't drop it. We got to carry it with us.
So, I want to get out there and rap about that stuff. And so, what I do is I start that cuss fight again. And we're having that cuss fight.
I've been home two days. And uh there's chaos in that house. The kids are crying.
And I finally told my wife I'm drinking. And uh I told her to shut up or I'll kill you. And that woman didn't believe me.
And uh when I came to Alcoholics Anonymous, I didn't believe in God. I had done too many bad things to too many people, walked through too many lives, and I knew there was a God. I was screwed.
And uh you guys told me there's always been a higher power in my life. And uh when I look back over my life, I can see that's true today. But I didn't believe it back then.
But uh you see, I walked in the closet and I got a gun out that I had left home with her while I was over there. And uh I walked back in that kitchen and said, "Shut up or I'll kill you." And that woman didn't shut up. And uh the safety wouldn't come off the gun.
and it was rusted. My daughter standing down between my legs pulling on me telling me don't shoot her mommy. And uh I hit a pin at the base of the receiver and that pin come out and when I pushed the pin back in it was the firing pin and the gun went off and the bullet went through my hand and down between my legs where my daughter was standing and the bullet didn't hit her and I could have accidentally shot and killed my daughter that day in a drunken rage and all she had was powder burns down her side.
And uh my wife divorced me shortly after that. I couldn't believe that. I fired one shot and I shot myself and she split.
I drank over that. She took my kids. So, I drank over that.
Shortly after that, I went down to Marine Corps recruit depot and I was a drill instructor down there and I instructed the new recruits and uh and I abused them and hazed them and I thought that's what made him a man and it made me a man. I thought it was macho and they left their lockers open. I stole from them and I used that money to drink on cuz I needed that money to drink and uh and I and I can't undo those things and I was ashamed of that.
But uh that's where alcohol took me when I drank. And then I'm out in the villa out there in San Diego and I'm fighting there in the bars. Now I'm carrying a gun cuz I'm afraid.
Now the fights are getting worse and now I'm starting to hurt people. And after two and a half years down there, what happened is I had a committee meeting and my committee decided I should go back to Vietnam. That's where the macho guys are.
And so I volunteered and went back. I spent a second tour in Vietnam. This time with the infantry in 1977.
And I came back to the States. And I got out of the hospital. I'm at Camp Pendolan.
And what happened was is the Marine Corps expects me to come back after lunch and I can't do that. What I have to do is I have to drink now to keep the demons away. And so what I do is I stay there at the staff club and I drink.
And when my enlistment was up after 11 years, I got out of the Marine Corps. And then after I got out of the Marine Corps, I did what macho guys were doing back then. I put on a gun and a badge and I became a police officer.
Freeze. I love saying that. That gets me hot.
And And newcomers when they hear that their eyes go twang they immediately do a little inventory for their sponsors. My license current do I have any warrants and do I have insurance? I'm just helping out the newcomers and uh if you can't harass newcomers in AA why stick around?
I mean think about it. And if the newcomers are in here thinking dog gone you well just stick around and you can harass them when they come in after you. That's all.
It's great. That's the only reason I've stayed sober is to hurt the newcomers. It works and uh that's not true.
I apologize. I don't mean it, but I don't have to. The book just says I have to do it.
But I became a police officer and I can't tell my partner in the car I'm afraid of the dark. I can't tell my partner that there's demons in that alley that I can't describe to him. If I do, he'll think I'm crazy.
So, how what do you do when you're full of fear? and I can't tell him. He knows I'm a Vietnam vet.
And so what I do is before I go to work, I have a couple of drinks and it takes that fear away. Now when I go to work, what happens is is when you scare me, I get violent. And I was a violent police officer where I worked.
And I'm not proud of that. But I thought that's what made me a man. And because of Alcoholics Anonymous today, what I get to do is uh I get to go to some of the institutions out there in California Wayside and Chino and some of these prisons.
I speak in there and I make my amends to those guys in there and I tell them what I used to be like and I tell them what I'm trying to be like today and that Alcoholics Anonymous works and uh and so I get a chance to clean that wreckage up in my past and and what I try to do today is not treat people the way I used to treat them and I got to tell you cuz I know that you can't notice but I'm still intense and uh you know I'm still right there and and I hear a lot of speakers in Alcoholics Anonymous when they get to the podium and they tell you how wonderful they are cuz they got some time and They're just they're wonderful, kind, loving people and they never do anything to offend anybody and they just walk hand in hand with God about a foot off the ground and and they're just beautiful people. I you know and I hear them and I got to tell you that I'm not like that. Yeah, I know you don't know that but I'm not.
And uh I'm not a good father today because I'm sober over 20 years. I'm not a good husband or a good man today. I got to I just want to be honest with you because if you're sitting out there noon tonight, you don't have to do this perfect.
You just have to do it. You just have to show up no matter what. You have to try to work this program to the best of your ability.
And if you fall short sometimes, don't run. Come back in and stay with us because you don't get drunk for making mistakes. You only get drunk by defending them.
That's what my sponsor told me. What I'm trying to be today is I'm trying to be a good member of Alcoholics Anonymous. I try to set an example for the guys I sponsor and the people in my home group.
And I never say no to an Alcoholics Anonymous request. And I do the things that's requested of me. And I try to change every day.
I got to tell you, I work at it. But I got to tell you this, I'm a better husband, father, and man today than I was 20 years ago. And hopefully tomorrow, I'll be a little bit better than I was today.
But I'm just a human being. And my sponsor said I'll never rise above that. And I'm going to have anger and lust and greed and sloth.
And I'm going to have those things. The object is not to react to every thought or emotion or feeling that I have. It's trying to be an example of Alcoholics Anonymous and having a sponsor that kind of directs me and guides my life and uh try to live according to those 12 steps in chapter 5.
in our big book. That's what I got to do because it keeps this quiet and keeps this calm. And when that happens, when those two things are coordinated, I'm fine.
I only get out of whack when I'm not doing what I'm supposed to do. I only get out of whack when I don't show up where I'm supposed to be when I say I'm supposed to be there. I only get out of whack when I don't do Alcoholics Anonymous the way I've been taught to do it.
That's when I start to get intense and crazy and agitated. When I don't give something back, when I just come into these meetings and take and suck the life out of them, I start to get crazy. I have to give to get back.
I didn't know that. I didn't know you had to give in order to get. I didn't know that takers were losers until I came to Alcoholics Anonymous.
I didn't know those things. So, I got a married again and we have a daughter and then my wife gets pregnant and you know, I don't feel like a man still and I still got to be validated and so I start to have an affair with my partner. My partner's a female.
time has moved on. I have a female partner and uh principles for personalities. It doesn't matter to me what your preference is, but female for me.
And uh so I'm having an affair with my female partner and she somehow found out I got my wife pregnant. She took offense to that and she shot me for Christ's sakes. And that's not even funny.
What What the hell's so funny about that? You're going to have to talk to your sponsors when this is all over. I want you to know that she almost killed me.
She shot me in the head. I don't have to worry about where I part my hair. The scar is right there and the water just falls the hair over the scar tissue.
It's not a big deal. But I thought rather than get gunned down in the police car, I'd resign. And so I left the police department and I got a real estate license.
And in California in the 70s, real estate was booming. And I got to tell you this that if you're an alcoholic of my type, money doesn't fix it. I made a ton of money.
I made my first year in real estate. I worked about seven months, made over 130 grand. I bought a brand new Cadillac, paid cash.
Bought my wife one and paid cash. Bought a house, put it on a quarter acre, put a swimming pool in, three-hole putting green. My kids wore designer clothes.
I wore diamond pinky rings, gold chains, neck medallions. I had a Mr. T starter kit before he was ever on television.
And if you're an alcoholic of my type, money doesn't fix it. Money doesn't take away anger. Money doesn't take away greed.
Money doesn't take away sloth, laziness. Money doesn't take away any of those things. It allows you to act that way in better places.
That's all. Money does not fix alcoholism if you're an alcoholic of my type. Big cars don't fix it.
Jewelry don't fix it. Women don't fix it. Houses don't fix it.
Clothes don't fix it. 12 Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous. Alcoholics Anonymous meetings and a sponsor.
fellowship and a higher power. That'll fix it. But money, property, and prestige doesn't fix it if you're an alcoholic of my type.
And at the age of 36, I stood there and I looked around and all my life, what I had worked to get was gone. My wife and kids had left me. We'd lost the house, the cars, the jewelry, the clothes, everything I owned was in a cardboard box in the backseat of a stolen car.
And that's a hell of a note for a former police officer. And I ended up homeless. And I ended up passing blood when I went to the bathroom.
And I was very sick. and a and a woman that had I had worked real estate with seen me one day and she took me to her home and she cleaned me up and she took me to a doctor and that doctor gave me a physical and when he got those results back he called me into his office and he said Mr. Jones, he said, "I got to tell you." He says, "Uh, you're alcoholic." He says, "You're dying." He says, "You're addicted to alcohol the way a heroin addict is to heroin." He says, "You got a hole in your throat.
You're hemorrhaging internally. You got ceros liver. All the crap you can get if you're treating and acting and doing to yourself what I was doing to myself and how I was living." And he said, "If you don't stop drinking right now, you will die before summer." And when that man told me that, what I felt was relief because I was tired.
I'd been busy out there. I had walked through a lot of people's lives. And I stood up and I shook that doctor's hand.
I walked out of his office. I went straight to a liquor store, bought me a fifth of whiskey and a case of beer. And I started drinking as hard and as fast as I could cuz if alcohol was going to kill me, I wanted to die.
I used to my gun and put it in my mouth and I didn't have the guts to pull the trigger. I was just that desperate. But I just couldn't crank the trigger.
And so I started drinking. And uh to make another long story short, my parents found out I was dying on the streets and wouldn't take care of myself. and they had me committed.
I can't believe they did that to me. I had not spoke to my parents in almost four years. And uh they had me committed and strapped down in this hospital in Indiana.
And I and if I could have got out of restraints, I'd have went and talked to him about it. But I couldn't get out. And I don't remember the first week in that hospital.
I have no recollection whatsoever of what transpired. And after that, after about the sixth or seventh day, I I'm now knowing what's going on. and I have the cramps and the sweat you get when you're detoxing and I seen the little gnats in the room full of flies and fires in the waste basket and uh and it was a bad deal.
And uh after about 11 days or so, they strapped me from that bed and what they made me do is go to meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous. Now, I couldn't understand that. I'm not an alcoholic.
And I went to that very first meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. It was mandatory and there was a bunch of losers in there just like you. I could not I couldn't believe my eyes really.
And they were doing exactly what you were doing tonight. They're out there shaking hands, hugging and and kissing and how are you and nice to sit and kissing and you're all wearing clean clothes and your hair is clean and the women have their makeup on. Well, most of them and the men are all clean and everything and you look good.
And I looked at you and I did something nobody in this meeting does. I judged you. I judged you.
I could tell by looking at you how clean and happy and together you were and loving each other. You could not have been where I had been. You hadn't done the things in Vietnam I had done.
You hadn't abused the people on the streets where I was a cop. You hadn't abused two wives and four kids. You didn't walk through the lives I walked through.
You didn't end up on the streets the way I did and then strapped down. I could tell that by looking at you. And what you told me was, "Frank, get your coffee, shut up, and sit down.
I will rip your throat out if you talk to me that way. You're not ripping anything. Rip yourself a seat and sit out.
Go to 90 meetings in 90 days. If you want to take a drink of alcohol, come to Alcoholics Anonymous. That's what I heard.
Or I thought I heard. Go to 90 meetings in 90 days. Come to AA if you want to take a drink.
Then you wanted me to hold hands with you and say the Lord's Prayer. I ain't touching you. And you are not touching me.
Okay? We are not doing that. And I left there and I hated you.
I had utter contempt for you. And I had to come back the next day. And I walked in and I looked at you and I thought, "You people ain't made the money I made.
You didn't have the cars, the jewelry, the clothes, the women. You ain't as hip as me, as slick as me, as macho as me. You folks are nothing.
You guys looked at me and said, "Frank, you ain't got it now. Get your coffee, shut up, and sit down." And I hated you for that. And what it is is I was better than you when I got there, or I was less than you when I got there.
And I couldn't find anything in the middle. I couldn't fit in the middle. I was better than or less than.
You guys said we don't care about that. Go to 90 meetings in 90 days. If you want to drink, go to AA.
And that's what I heard. And I got to tell you that if you're an alcoholic of my type, what happened to me might happen to you if you don't plug into this thing called Alcoholics Anonymous. If you don't get yourself a sponsor, follow some direction, work those 12 steps, go to these meetings, and put Alcoholics Anonymous first in your life before anything else, before your wife, your kids, your job, your boss, school, or anything else.
If you don't put a first and you're an alcoholic of my type and you don't do this, you'll eventually drink all that stuff up anyway. So, it doesn't make any difference because they're not going to add a chapter in the big book to you. They're just not going to do it.
I heard that today from Jim. They're just not going to do it. But if you're an alcoholic of my type, what happened to me might happen to you if you decide to do it your way and you feel macho and that you have willpower and that you can do this thing on your own.
Because you see, I walked out of that hospital and I stood out there in that sun in Indiana and I started crying and all the things I'd done all my life to two wives and four kids Vietnam and when I was a cop came down and started sitting on my chest and started choking me out and then I thought about shoplifting when I was a kid and dishonoring my parents and lying and the cheating and stealing I did and the taking of lives and it's choking me out. I don't want to take a drink of alcohol. I wanted to commit suicide.
Where do you go when you quit drinking and you want to take your own life? I've never heard that at a meeting. At least I didn't think I did.
Where do you go when you have no hope? When you quit drinking. Where do you go when you have no place to go with a roof over your head?
Where do you go when you have no clothes to wear, no clothes to change? You don't have a dime in your pocket, your family's gone, you don't have anybody to turn to. You don't have a sponsor, no fellowship, no meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous, no higher power that you have faith in.
Where do you go when you want to take your own life and there's no light at the end of that tunnel? You see, I never heard that at any of the meetings. I didn't think.
And I got to tell you, what happened to me might happen to you if you don't plug into this deal called Alcoholics Anonymous. If you don't get yourself a sponsor, get commitments to these meetings and become involved. You see, I went back to California and I found my wife and kids up in Oregon with her parents.
Brought them back down to New Hall, California. Found a little vacant garage in a 6acre vacant field there. We moved into that garage in that vacant field.
We slept on the floor of that garage. We ate out of a styrofoam chest and my kids put water on their cereal. And I didn't go to meetings.
I'm a tough guy. Do you see? I'm macho.
I don't need you. I can do this on my own. I don't need a sponsor telling me what to do.
I'm a combat veteran for Christ's sakes. I've killed a lot of people. I got overrun in Kesan.
I fought handtohand combat. I can handle sobriety, baby. See, I'm a tough guy.
And I know there's a tough guy sitting out there tonight thinking he can do it on his own. I hope you get rid of that thought cuz I got to tell you whe whether you think so or not, you ain't no tougher than I was when I got here. I'd been through a lot of life, but I'll tell you what, I didn't go to meetings.
I can do it. And at 6 months without a drink of alcohol and no meetings of alcoholics anonymous, I'm driving a stolen car on the Hollywood freeway. And I honk at this guy in the fast lane and tell him to get the hell out of my way.
I got places to go. I don't have a job or anything, but I got to get somewhere. I'm just out there driving fast.
I don't know where I'm going and I honk and he don't get out of the way. Well, maybe if you don't have a sponsor and you're not going to meetings, you're still serene and wonderful. Maybe you're calm and you just pull around him here in Oaklair and you wave at him and go on about your business.
Maybe you're wonderful that way. Maybe when you quit drinking, you don't get intense. Maybe you don't get desperate and anxietyridden and nervous and the rage doesn't start.
Maybe you're that wonderful. I rear ended the guy and I followed him off the freeway and when he stopped I stopped and I had a 45 on me and I walked out of my car and I put that gun in his window and I said, "You ever drive that slow again, I'll kill you." I didn't want a bourbon of water that day. I wanted to take that man's life.
Where do you go when you get that desperate? Where do you go when you get that full of rage? Who do you talk to if you don't have a sponsor?
Who do you talk to if you haven't made friends or fellowship and Alcoholics Anonymous? Who do you talk to when you don't have a higher power to pray to? Where do you go when you don't have meetings to attend?
When you get that full of rage and desperation that you want to take another human being's life because he didn't drive the way you wanted him to drive. That's how I get when I don't go to meetings. That's how I get today when I don't go to meetings.
I get a little bit testy and I'll turn on you at 10 months without a drink of alcohol. I haven't been to any meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous. I don't need you people.
I don't need a sponsor. I'm tough and I'm standing in Alpha Beta. That was a grocery store in California.
And I'm buying me some Pepsi and cigarettes. Do you think I'd buy my kids milk for their cereal? I'm selfish.
I don't know about you. Maybe when you were out there drinking and you were charitable. Maybe you just gave to everybody.
Maybe you were wonderful. I'm a taker. I'm selfish and self-centered.
I'm not giving those kids anything. I'm getting mine first baby into hell with that family and everybody around me. I've been a taker.
So, I'm standing there getting my Pepsi and cigarettes and my head kicks in. The committee's back and it's really chattering now and the sign says 10 items or less cash only. And I look in this woman and I look at her items and my head said, "Count that lady's items." She's got 13 items in a 10 item line.
Maybe that don't do nothing to you. Maybe that don't aggravate hell out of you here in Oaklair, Wisconsin. Maybe you'll let the little woman go on through the line cuz she's got 13 items and what's three over the limit?
or if YOU CAN DO THREE, you can do a 100. You just violate the store laws anytime you want then, can't you? And so my head kicks in, and I don't know about you, but I'm a thinker and an analyzer, and I got to have all my little questions answered.
And so I started thinking, is 12 eggs in a carton, is that 12 items or is that just eggs? Is two half gallons of milk, is that milk or is that two more items? Four apples in a bag, is that four items or is that just apples?
By the time I look, she had about 40 items. And in California, that's a felony. That's a major one crime.
And I'm standing there ready to launch. And I'm as full of anger as I can get. I don't know about you, when you get angry, but my head says, "You better settle down.
You know how you get. When I get angry, I can't settle down. I can't just shut off anger.
And when I get angry, I got to touch it." I told that lady, I said, "That's" and then she turned and smiled and she says, "I'll be through in a minute, Sunny. I said, "Dad, I've got a bit of sunny lady." And she broke her checkbook out. And I said, "You're not writing a check.
You can't write a check in here. It says cash." And I started taking eggs and milk, throwing that all over the alphabet. They call the sheriffs on me.
I didn't want a pina colada that day. I wanted to rip her blue wig off. Sorry, Mary friend.
I apologize. I hated that old woman. I hated her.
I was so Where do you go when you feel that way? Where do you go when your life's running out your sleeve and you you got nowhere to turn at 13 months without a drink? I hadn't had a drink of alcohol in 13 months and I hadn't been to any meetings.
I'm standing in a real estate office. This guy walks by and said, "Hey, Frank, how you doing?" I said, "That's a personal question. Why are you prying into my private life?" I said, "I'll tell you how the hell I'm doing, but I don't want anybody else to hear." And I grabbed that guy by the throat and I choked him on a desk.
HOW THE HELL DO YOU THINK I'M FEELING? I had a nervous breakdown. That's what happens to me when I don't drink and I don't go to meetings and I don't have a sponsor or fellowship or a God.
And I got to tell you how God worked in my life when I didn't believe in God. There was an active member of Alcoholics Anonymous, my home group, in that office that day that had never been in there. And they pried my fingers off this guy's throat and he laid a card down.
He says, "I know what's wrong with you." He said, "I can't help you. You got to call this guy." He said, "I'm afraid of you." And these guys took me back to the garage we were living in and they took my guns and I had a hand grenade and some debt cord and stuff and they I was waiting for the war and uh they took that stuff out of the garage and they sat with me for about nine days and I cried. And I have no recollection of those days whatsoever.
And uh Bill Daly when I got sober while he told me about him and uh I didn't recall him but the the ninth day he took me down to this man's office and I sit in his office and I cried and I had taken sobriety as far as I could take it without some type of help. And what that man sit in his office and told me that day has saved my life and sanity up to it including tonight because this is what he told me. He said Frankie you haven't had a drink in over 13 months.
He said right this minute he said drinking is not your problem. He said, 'What you've got right now is a living problem, and you need to find a living answer to your living problem. He says, you'll find it in meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous.
He said, if you go to those meetings, there's a group of people that's walk down that path before you got there, fall in behind them, and do the things they're doing. He did not tell me to bring the body and the mind will follow. He told me to get in with those people and do the things they're doing.
He told me to sit in the front and he told me to shut up and listen. He told me to have respect for Alcoholics Anonymous because we're playing you bet your life. Regardless of how you sit here tonight and feel, this disease will kill you just as sure as anything if you don't do these things that's outlined in that big book called Alcoholics Anonymous.
And I have seen it many, many, many times on the West Coast at my home group. And it's a sad thing to watch. He told me to come in here and start shaking hands with you people to get my sick mind off my sick self.
He told me to get commitments at the meetings. He said, "Make the meeting yours." He said, "Do something to support the meeting. Don't just come in there and suck the life out of it." He said, 'We got enough old-timers around AA that just suck the life out of meetings and give nothing back except their beautiful existence at the meeting.
He said, 'd do something to give something back. Take out the trash, fold chairs, wash the coffee pots, do something to be a part of and to give back to alcoholics anonymous. He told me to get a higher power and I told him I don't believe in God and he said, "Whoever puts the moon out at night and takes it down in the morning, pray to them." And I can understand that kind of talk.
He told me a commitment means I show up unless there's a death in the family and it's mine. I can understand that. And so I came into these meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous and I didn't jump in and turn into an AA cheerleader.
I sit around and I watched you because see you can tell me anything but I don't listen. I got to watch you and see if it works. And what you guys told me to do, he says, "Go home and tell your wife and kids you love them." And I said, "Well, wait a minute.
I don't love them. I don't know who they are. I got sober.
They were just there. I do not know about those people." people. And I said, "If I if I tell them I love him, I'll be lying to him." And this is an honest program.
And you guys said, "Well, you've lied to him for 10 years. Go lie to him some more." And so I went home and told my wife and kids I loved him, and I didn't love him. But I did it because you told me to do it.
And day after day, and week after week, I went home and told them I loved him. And one day I went home and told them I loved them. And something funny happened.
I loved them. They had changed. I don't even know what program they were going to, but they had become different.
And what I learned from that exercise is it makes no difference how I feel about the direction. I just have to take it. I don't have to want to take it.
I don't have to think it'll work. I just have to go do it. And every time I've been given direction to go do something and I do it, I have always felt better when I got through doing it.
I've always followed my sponsor's direction and every direction he's given me has benefited me. And so I started to build a relationship with that family and I had to work those steps and I had to make those amends. And that daughter I almost shot that day.
uh she's an attorney in Indiana for a medical corporation and she's given me four grandkids and uh when she had a little boy she named him after me and that's because of Alcoholics Anonymous not because I'm a good father cuz I'm not. What I learned in Alcoholics Anonymous is to let my kids grow up and leave them to hell alone and let them become individuals and little people. And that's what they've done and they've been successful in spite of me.
I take absolutely no credit for her success. My middle daughter is a teacher in fifth grade. She's getting her master's degree and right now she's going to school in Barcelona.
And she accomplished that in spite of me, not because of me, because I'm not a good father. But you people taught me enough that I could go home and I could act like a member of Alcoholics Anonymous in my home because that's where I have a problem taking AA. I don't have a problem in here with you.
I have a problem out on the streets. I have a problem in grocery stores and malls. I have a problem at home.
I don't know how to act there. I have to come here to learn how to act there. And that's what Alcoholics Anonymous does for me.
And my youngest daughter's a senior at San Diego and she's going to be a veterinarian and she wants to cure sick animals. Like I give a about sick animals. And when I say that to her, she says, "Dad, you got to stop saying that." And she hugs me.
You know why? Because she loves me. Why?
Because you people taught me how to treat her. And I treated her like a human being. And I took Alcoholics Anonymous home with me.
And we would not have had a home had we not had God, AA, and Alanon in that house. And I am still married to that woman today. And we've been married 30 years.
And and we have that home because she's an active member of Alanon. And an active member of Alanon is someone who attends meeting. It's not someone that's married to an alcoholic.
I hate to tell you that, but if you're going to be a member of Alanon, you need to get your butt in the meetings like we come to these. It's none of my business. And I ain't judging you.
I'm just telling you that you can't get the help from Alanon by osmosis either. you have to take some actions, but that's none of my business. And she's an active member and she sponsors ladies and she does a good job and she allows me to do Alcoholics Anonymous and the things I do.
And because of God A and Alanon, we have a home today and those children were raised correctly after I got sober and she got in Alanon and that's the only reason. And she's a hell of a lot better mother than I am a father. And I give her all the credit.
And I got to tell you that I'm just not a good guy today. And I'm not a wonderful guy. And when I get sober, I wanted everything to go my way.
And I wanted everything to be wonderful. And everything's not wonderful when we get sober. We have bad things happen in sobriety.
I told you I had a son born to me when I was in Vietnam. He's 34 year old. He has spent 13 out of 16 years in state prison.
He's a violent, angry alcoholic. I don't know where in the hell he got it from. Just makes me crazy the way he acts.
But I love my son. I got to tell you, I don't go to court with him when he goes to trial. I never visited him when he was in prison because I didn't help put him there.
I advised him that if you want a relationship with me, I'm out here in Alcoholics Anonymous. So, if he wants a relationship, the choice is his to come here and have it with me because it won't be in there. That's what my sponsor told me.
That was tough to do. I love my son. I have no respect for him, but I love him and he's the only son I got.
And what you wise people told me is this. He has a God in his life the same as you do. He'll get to AA in his God's time, not your God's time.
I can accept that. And so what I have to do is stay here in Alcoholics Anonymous. So when he gets running free, he can see that AA still works cuz I'm still here.
And the last I heard, I seen him about 3 weeks ago. He's sober eight months. But it's up to his God, not my God.
And I love him and I hope he gets this deal because it's a good life. And so my father died and that was tough. And what Johnny Harris and Clancy told me is go home and support your mom.
She was married to him for 15 years. quit worrying about how you feel. It ain't about you.
It's about her. You see, I still have to be told at 9 years sober how to act. And I went back and put my nine-year medallion in his pocket when they lowered his coffin into the ground.
And I supported my mother because that's what I was told to do. I learned how to be a man in Alcoholics Anonymous because I've never known how to be a man. I don't have to validate myself today.
I do a lot of bad things today. I do a lot of things wrong, but I don't justify them and I don't rationalize them. I did them because I want to do them and I'm willing to pick the tab up.
That's all because I'm not a perfect good human being. I'm an alcoholic and I have the same maladies everybody else has. I have the same emotions and feelings I had when I got here.
But the 12 steps today for the most part allows me not to react to them. Alcoholics Anonymous allows me to have a calm head and a calm stomach. That's all.
Alcoholics Anonymous works if you want it to. At 14 years sober, I was unemployed for two and a half years. My wife and I lost everything.
House, car, credit cards, good credit. I couldn't get a job to save my life, and I made looking for a job a job. My sponsor don't allow me to file bankruptcy.
He said, "You made the bills, you're going to pay them." And I kept looking for work and couldn't find a job and we lost everything. And if that won't bust your ego, I don't know what will. But I tell you what I learned.
I kicked it up to seven meetings a week. I came in here and got my strength from you and got your experience and that got me through that. And I just went to Alcoholics Anonymous meetings and became a member of Alcoholics Anonymous and just stayed seven nights a week in AA.
And then I finally got a job that I never wanted to do, never thought about doing, and could have cared less about doing. And what that job has allowed me to do is catch up on the bills and put a roof over our head and get us back on track and get current with our creditors and become a responsible adult again. And that's because of Alcoholics Anonymous, not because of me.
Because this program works. If you will come in here and take some actions and do some things to help yourself, it will work and it will work well. But when you come in here, do not expect it to be rosy and sunny all the time because it won't be.
You're going to have to live life out there. in life has death in it and illness in it and sadness in it and marriage breakup and relationship breakup and school failures and friendship failures and relationship failures and I have had all of those in my life and the only thing in my life that has never changed is alcoholics anonymous because when I look up a meeting in a directory and I go to it it's there and the people are sitting in the chairs like you and I get my hope and strength from you by being there. The only thing that hasn't changed in my life is my commitment to Alcoholics Anonymous.
And I have a good life today. And when I woke up this morning, if I only got these three things today, I have been overpaid. I woke up this morning in a bed with clean, dry sheets on it.
And maybe when you got here, you had all that, but I didn't. But this morning, I had clean, dry sheets. When I sat down and ate with the folks on the committee tonight and uh and my friends here in this area, I didn't puke it up a lot of stomach bile and alcohol behind it.
I sat there, I enjoyed it, and we bantered back and forth and I harassed them and they harassed me and we had a good time and it was a great night. And before I came here to you tonight, I took a shower, I shaved, I put on clean clothes. And when I got here, I wasn't wearing clean clothes and I wasn't taking a shower and I wasn't shaving.
So, if I only got those three things out of this deal, I'm overpaid. I have a primary purpose today. Stay sober and help other alcoholics.
It ain't big money, big car, big job, big house. Stay sober and help other alcoholics. So, if you're new or used here tonight, the only thing I think you should remember was read to you tonight out of chapter 5.
And that line says it all. Rarely have we seen a person fail who has thoroughly followed our path. Thanks for having me.
>> Thank you for listening to Sober Sunrise. If you enjoyed today's episode, please give it a thumbs up as it will help share the message. Until next time, have a great day.