I’m Not a Has-Been, I’m a Never Was – AA Speaker – Jerome S.
Jerome S. shares his journey from streets and institutions to stable recovery. This AA speaker tape covers hitting bottom, finding sponsorship, and building a life through the program’s design for living.
Jerome S., from South Central Los Angeles, arrived at AA as a broken 26-year-old with nothing left—no home, no hope, just a moment of clarity that told him he’d die if he went back to Skid Row. In this AA speaker tape, he walks through decades of active addiction, multiple psychiatric hospitalizations, jail cells, and the one moment in June 1973 when he knocked on his father’s door asking for help. What followed wasn’t just sobriety—it was a complete redesign of his life through the fellowship and a sponsor who wouldn’t give up on him.
Jerome S., an AA speaker, describes 15+ years of addiction marked by homelessness, psychiatric institutions, and repeated jailings before finding sobriety in June 1973 at age 26. His talk emphasizes the role of sponsorship—specifically his sponsor Jack—in teaching him practical recovery, character building, and the spiritual principle of letting go through prayer and forgiveness. From a mail carrier to a graduate student to a family therapist, Jerome illustrates how “the design for living” outlined in the Big Book transformed every area of his life over 50+ years of continuous sobriety.
Episode Summary
Jerome S. opens with a striking image: a psychiatrist who once deemed him institutionalized for life, now witnessing Jerome’s graduation from grad school. That contrast—from a diagnosis of “deep neurosis and episodes of schizophrenia” to a productive, sober life—frames everything Jerome discusses in this talk.
He doesn’t rush to the bottom. Instead, he walks back to his childhood in a large, working-poor family. His father was strict but fair; his mother loving. Jerome felt different from his siblings—restless, irritable, discontent—and couldn’t name why. At his first high school dance in 1962, at age 15, someone procured cheap fortified wine. That first drink was transformative in the worst way. Jerome discovered that alcohol erased his shyness and insecurity instantly. For the first time, he felt like he could act, perform, and not care what anyone thought. He got drunk, crashed his mother’s coffee table, fought his older brother, and his father beat him. But all Jerome could think was: *This stuff is miraculous.*
What follows is a raw, detailed descent. He married young—”Sweet Lucy”—to keep drinking without consequences. When his father threw him out at graduation, Jerome took to the streets as a “hustler”—stealing newspapers, selling blood plasma twice a week, all while planning an impossible escape fantasy (a car, respect from his father, vindication). But the money always went to wine. He lived in filth, appeared at his mother’s church asking for food, humiliating his father. His father kept taking him back; Jerome kept leaving for the streets.
In the early 1970s, Jerome was cycling through Skid Row, psychiatric holds, and county jail. He had twin arrests for felonious assault on a police officer and marijuana possession. He was on a strict probation that guaranteed jail time for any infraction. He kicked and hit his aging father. He chased his aunt, not knowing she had a gun. He was deeply, actively suicidal—not by intention, but by behavior. He wanted someone to kill him because he was too cowardly to do it himself.
The pivot came in an unlikely place: Camarillo State Hospital, a psychiatric facility where he was involuntarily committed. His sponsor Jack—a man he’d met briefly at a meeting before relapsing—happened to visit another patient. Jack found Jerome reading the newspaper like nothing was wrong and asked him a simple question: “Jerome, what are you doing here in Camarillo State Hospital?”
Jerome’s answer was honest: “I don’t know.”
In that moment, something shifted. Jack didn’t lecture or judge. He looked at Jerome with pure love and said: “Jerome, if you do what I do and follow what I follow, you will never have to drink. As long as you live, you will not have to drink.” Jack extended his hand to help. But Jerome’s pride—what he calls “baseless pride”—kept him stuck in his seat. Jack and the other patient left. Jerome stayed, got his discharge check for $67, got drunk one last time on the bus, and assaulted his father when he got home.
That night in county jail on June 5, 1973, Jerome had a spiritual awakening. He thought of all the people who’d shown him sincere love—his sponsor, his mother, strangers—despite his madness. He promised himself (not God, not anyone else): if he could get out of jail, he would go back to AA.
He walked out June 6. The next day, broken and homeless, he attended his first meeting with genuine willingness to listen. A man with a year sober offered him a ride, but Jerome was still too proud to ask for help. He almost wandered back to Skid Row. But at 3 a.m., he heard a voice: *If you go down the Skid Road, Jerome, you’re not coming back. You’re going to die.* He turned around and knocked on his father’s door.
“Dad, I think I could stop drinking if you could offer me a place to stay and some help.”
His father agreed. One condition: no drinking. Jerome has not had a drink since June 6, 1973.
What Jerome builds in the rooms is a masterclass in character and acceptance. His early sponsor Jack becomes central—not because Jack gives Jerome easy answers, but because Jack teaches him to work. When Jerome complained about having no job history, Jack prayed for him on the side of the road at 11 p.m. The next day, a stranger walked into the club offering work. When Jerome wanted a car, Jack insisted he ask his father to co-sign (something his father had refused before). But now his father saw sobriety and agreed. When Jerome failed the postal exam repeatedly and faced humiliation from a postmaster, Jack reframed it: maybe Jerome needed 35 more interviews as character building. Jerome protested. Jack smiled: *How much character do you want me to have?* Eventually, Jerome passed, and a fair-minded postmaster hired him.
Over decades, Jerome built a life—21 years at the postal service, then back to school. Algebra nearly broke him, but a teacher became an “algebra sponsor.” He graduated with honors from junior college, university, and graduate school. His mother came to every ceremony. He adopted a son (now 21 and in the Navy). He remarried and had another son at an age when most men are settling. Now he works as a therapist helping others.
But the centerpiece of his talk is forgiveness and letting go. When his first marriage ended, Jerome was devastated—full of resentment, depression, anger. His sponsor told him he had to pray for those people 70 times 7. Jerome didn’t want to. But he did it, clinched teeth, through the pain. His sponsor told him to pray they have happiness first, and trust God would give it to him as a byproduct. He prayed while walking up the street in his new home in Corona, snow dusting the hills behind Cleveland National Forest, and suddenly the burden lifted. God had done exactly what his sponsor promised: put him in a place twice as good.
Jerome closes with a prayer he wrote and has carried throughout his recovery—a meditation on gratitude, protection, and peace. He thanks his wife, his God, and Alcoholics Anonymous. His final line: “I want to thank you, Alcoholics Anonymous, for my sobriety, but most of all, I want to thank you for another day of sanity.”
Notable Quotes
I’m not a has-been. I’m a never was. And alcohol took me to a point in life that didn’t even cross my mind.
I have a spiritual disease, a soul sickness that had dogged me every step of my life. I was always restless, irritable, discontent, angry, separate, alone, and afraid.
Jerome, if you do what I do and follow what I follow, you will never have to drink. As long as you live, you will not have to drink.
Jerome, let it go lovingly, and God will replace you with something better.
Jerome, you got to pray that they have that, but you have to pray that they have it first. And then as a byproduct, maybe your God will give it to you.
For today is the first day of my life for the rest of my life, one day at a time.
Sponsorship
Hitting Bottom
Letting Go
Forgiveness
Topics Covered in This Transcript
- Step 4 – Resentments & Inventory
- Sponsorship
- Hitting Bottom
- Letting Go
- Forgiveness
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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. >> Uh, good evening everyone.
My name is Jerome Scott and I'm a very grateful and very fortunate member of Alcoholics Anonymous. >> God, it's good to be here and it's definitely good to be sober and somewhat dressed in my right mind. When I was thinking about the theme, a design for living, I reflected back when I was in seeking some mental health treatment and the therapist was doing their case conference and it's a weekly event, but I'm educated far beyond my capacity.
And I would go up there and demand and knock on the door, what's my diagnosis? What's my prognosis? I NEED TO KNOW.
Little white-haired psychiatrist would look out the room and say, "Jerome, you just can't handle it. It's too deep." And I was fortunate enough to get sober and to return to school. And I was doing my internship.
And this psychiatrist was the medical director of this facility. And I was in there doing one of my groups. And he came in and interrupted the group and he said, "This young man 10 years ago would come and demand his diagnosis and his prognosis.
But now after 10 years of sobriety, I believe he could handle it." in the good doctor's judgment, medical professional judgment, that I would be in some institution, some boarding care home on medication for the rest of my adult life and that I suffered from deep seeds of neurosis and episodes of schizophrenia and that I would never function in society. And this design for living, this simple process outlined in the book Alcoholics Anonymous has not only afforded me the ability to have a life and a design, but to be able to function and be a productive member of society. And God knows I knew I would never have the opportunity to come back because I didn't have anything to come back to.
Because I stand here tonight as a testament that I'm not a hasb been. I'm a never was. And alcohol took me to a point in life that didn't even cross my mind.
And that's why I'm grateful because I've been spared from an insidious disease called chronic acute alcoholism. See, something happens to me every time I drop, take anything that breaches the bloodb brain barrier, reaches the topmost part of my brain and kills the will of care. And while I'm under the influence, I can't care what happens to me, how it happens to me, and under what circumstances happens to me.
See, I have a spiritual disease, a soul sickness that had dogged me every step of my life up until May of 1962. I was always restless, irritable, discontent, angry, separate, alone, and afraid. And I could not put any labels or names on why I felt so out of the ordinary different from other other siblings in my family.
And I used to try to figure it out. Why am I so strange? And you know, I thought I had figured it out.
I thought I had came up with a good understanding of why I was the way I had up had become. And see, I come from a large family. I have um nine other siblings, three older brothers, two younger brothers, and uh four sisters.
And uh my parents were the working poor. My daddy didn't make enough money to get drunk, so he had to bring his paycheck home with all them kids. And his whole claim to fame was there's a roof over our heads with food on the table, we were decently dressed, we could go to school, and there were values and principles that he uh astounded and insist that we acquire.
But what made me uh an alcoholic was that on Saturday mornings was a ritual in our home. My mom would make breakfast for all us kids. And she loved to make buttermilk biscuits and she'd roll out that dough.
I see some people in here know about buttermilk biscuits. She'll roll out that dough and she take that glass and bang bang bang. and she make all these little old glasssized biscuits.
But what she would do with the remnants was she'd take it all in one big old huge biscuit. I never got that huge biscuit. Cuz those other three older brothers would UH BEAT ME OUT of it every time.
But really, in the summer of 1962, my father gave me five Chris $1 bills to go to my first high school dance to hear Hunter Hancock spin some records, him and old Marge at the high school. They call it a record hop. I had been looking forward to going to this dance for several years because that meant that I would have arrived.
I would be able to associate and mingle with the elites in the neighborhood. And I would be the center of attention. I would be able to be alive at at last instead of that laidback radio or TV set.
Awkward, insecure, clumsy. For the first time, I would be a part of life. See, my old man didn't let me run around the streets and sing Bloom Moon on the street lamps.
He was a strict disciplinarian. He didn't take that mess. You better be at home in front of that TV when that street light came on.
I didn't steal no tail lights off of 59 Cadillacs and hubcaps. But he gave me that Fist Chris $1 bills to go to that dance with my friends from vacation bible school. Cub Scout, Boy Scout.
And we went to this dance and someone in the crowd, I don't know, it wasn't me, said, "You know what? We can enhance this evening if we proposition this habitual guy who hung around the liquor store called Old Joe the Wino to get us something to drink." And I didn't want to seem like no chump, no poop, but so I went along with the program. We beckoning old Joe in the alley and we propositioning.
We say, "Joe, we want to get something to drink for this dance tonight. Will you get us something to drink?" Old Joe said, "Well, what are you little young punks drinking?" And being, you know, uh, worldly, as I say, sisticated, I told Joe, "Well, whatever you drinking, Joe." Old Joe is a gallows man. He went and got some some gallow white pork right off the top of the shelf.
Hot. Wasn't even chilled. You know, it wasn't a grape in that wine.
You know that it's all chemical, 21% by volume. And he said, "This is some powerful stuff for you little whippers snappers. It would be in your best interest to get some strawberry Kool-Aid to cut the taste.
See, unbeknownst to me, I was going to be introduced to the original wine cooler. I'll never forget that first drink of wine. It was the most filest beverage I had ever tasted in my young life.
It almost made me gag. One part of me said, "Spit it up." But then that other part, THAT LOUD part said, "If you spit it up, chump, it'll be a reflection on your manhood. Force it down." And I forced it down into my chest cavity, and I got that warm sensation.
And then it hit the pit of my stomach. I got this instantaneous rush that radically transformed my entire life. I knew three things instantly that I could act, I could perform, and it didn't matter what anybody thought about it.
All of a sudden, my Marorrows came out of my sock and into my top pocket, and I became Marboro man. No longer was I shy, insecure, awkward, and clumsy. I could lean with whatever I had to say and do.
No longer did I have a stick up my behind. I could just I was cool. Instant cool.
Got up to that dance with belligerent, intoxicated, created a disturbance in a commotion, cigarette dripping all off my lip, talking out the side of my leg, talking more noise than a radio. And the lady said, "You can't come to this dance." And I had to correct her immediately. I told her, "I've been waiting to go to this dance for three years.
I have my $3 and I'm not going to be denied. You need to get your superior here immediately so we can discuss this thing." She had her superior there. He was a sergeant for the Los Angeles Police Department and she had sent for him as soon as I started talking.
Thank God my friends uh who had took me to that dance say we better leave here and leave here in a hurry. We left out the back way which was going to come up mo later on the back way every way. And someone said that's all right about that funky dance.
We could go there anytime. Let's get some more wine. And see, that's what separates me from a social drinker, problem drinker into chronic acute alcoholism.
I came on and I came on a living color. And I said, "No, it's not going to be that way. You get yours and I'll get mine." And I drink for the effect.
And that's what makes me an alcoholic. despite the consequences, despite the circumstances, I will continue on trying to produce that glow and that effect that alcohol gave me. And later on that night, my good friends from vacation Bible school propped me up on my old man's front door, rung the doorbell.
They didn't stick around to discuss anything with Mr. Scott. And I have this older brother who I hated with a passion, who had ridiculed and BELITTLED ME ALL of my life.
Took that biscuit every chance I had. I fell in. He said, "Well, look at the little punk.
He's drunk. And that wine told me tonight's tonight. You going to settle this score immediately." But my coordination was a little off and my left jab fell over and I missed him and I crashed and broke my mom's coffee table.
You know, the one with the mermaid up under it. She rushed to the living room immediately after this crash. And she knew when she took her eyes on me, she knew it was going to be violence and mayhem.
And it was going to be inflicted upon her young son because when the real man who wore the pants in our family caught the young fake man who was intoxicated intoxicated, it was going to be swift retribution. and they tried to get me out, but the wine wouldn't allow me to to be hid or disposed of. And my dad came from the back of the house and he took one look and he knew something gravely was wrong with one of his sons and he looked at the damage on the floor and he leaped across that room in a single bounce, snatched all 90 lbs of me up and he wasn't like Bill Cosy.
Oddlink letter, father knows best. Go to your room, we'll discuss it tomorrow. Oh, you intoxicated.
He was a strict disciplinarian. They didn't have 911 then. Oh man.
He knocked me back in that chair and he was whailing on that head. He got tired. He picked up a belt and he was whailing on it.
And I'm sitting there taking all this abuse and this punishment and getting a tear drop. And I'm sitting there reflecting on my experience with that initial drink. And all I could think of, I could act, I could perform, and it doesn't matter what anybody think about it.
This stuff is miraculous. I don't feel no pain. My faith was sealed.
I got married in my that day in the latter part of May of 1962 to a little girl in my neighborhood commonly known as Sweet Lucy. I said, "For rich or for poor, better off for worse, to good times and bad, to death do its part." Serious commitment. Cuz I wasn't going to give up that wine no matter what happened, what the circumstances or the conditions, because it held out the promise that I would be a part of and I won't have to suffer the consequences of any of my actions.
And every chance I got, I got drunk. And every chance my old man caught me, he punched me out. I graduated from high school in ' 65 and I was sitting at the kitchen table that early part of July, right after graduation and my old man came in there and he was a little upset with me.
He stood over me screaming and foaming at the mouth talking about he had paid the mortgage and not had not contribute not one dime to that endeavor. He said his family would have something to eat because he is responsible. He goes to work and he provides.
And he says the utilities are paid and you haven't contribute not not a dime to it. He says it's only one. He stepped over.
He says only one man wear the pants in this family and it's me. And since you can't go along with my program, there's a doe. Let it hit you where the good Lord split you and don't let it hit you on the way out.
Arrogant, self-centered, egotistical. I went into the cupboard, got a Safeway paper sack, got my only soup from Zylers and Zyler, blue on blue pinstripe, and I told him what to do with his house, food and lights, and I stepped off to my chosen profession of being a hustler. Oh, I see.
There are no hustlers in the room. Well, let me break hustling down for you. Well, mine was a pitiful uh type of hustling.
I'm not going to be grandiose. I stole the newspapers in front of the Greyhound bus station down on Skid Row. And I sold them on Spring Street like I had a route.
And when that didn't work, I sold whole blood every 58 days in plasma twice a week. Now, it's a art to sell in plasma. You have to do it a long time.
Like they take a little drop of iodine, a little drop from your earlobe or fingertip, drop it in a big vial of iodine to see if your blood is uh marketable. And that's where I learned to pray. They dropped that drop down in.
I closed my eyes. I said, I hope it stay down. Who wants to be embarrassed in front of a whole bunch of other tramps at 5:00 in the morning, rejected and throw out the place?
How would I account for that? But see, I would have a plan. See, I'm selling my life bodily fluid.
And this is just seed money to come up quick. I'm just going to sell this so I can get me something decent to eat. Maybe get me some decent clean clothes.
Go work at the day labor market. Get me a little nest egg rolling. Check in the junior college.
Get me a trade. Get me a five figure job. You know, don't have to be high five figure.
Just like a five figure job would do. And buy me a pre-owned automobile. Get wo sharp like I am tonight.
Pull up in front of my old man's house at 4:00. I know at 4:00 sharp, Mr. Property owner, citizen, never been arrested, is sitting in front of his lawn, warding his grass.
And I'm going to pull up in front of my pre-owned automobile, get out of my vehicle, and lean on it and tell him, say, "See sucker, I told you I was going to be somebody." And get off and roar off. See, that's 4 hours on the couch while they take your red blood cells and separate your white blood cells and put the red blood cells back in. I'm planning, but soon as I get off that couch, get my graham cracker and broth, I remember something I read in the last emergency room I was in.
Since you done depleted your red blood cell count, a little red wine would build it BACK UP. OH, I'm telling you, those streets will chew you up and spit you out. I'm talking about in the early 70s, homelessness wasn't fashionable.
They didn't have a safety net. And I'm talking about I would be in a coat too long to be short and too short to be long, looking like death sucking a soda cracker. I'm talking about don't have the shakes, the leaks, and I show up in the neighborhood cuz I know they're responsible for my condition.
And I'm going to make them real sorry for throwing me out in the streets and I get me a strategic location where I know I'm going to run into one of my mom's friends from Bible study. I know I'mma run into some of them sisters from Metropolitan Baptist Church and I get me a location. I see one I'm going in the market and I say, "Miss so and so, I need something to eat.
Could you feed me?" Be do a good Christian deed. And she'll GRAB HER PURSE AND RUN IN THE MARKET. Total rejection.
But see, I didn't have the customer service skills that some of us homeless people have today. Today they would say, "God bless you, brother. God loves you.
Have a good day." Oh, when that lady come out of there, oh God, she had she had a tirade foaming at the mouth, raving maniac, cussing her all the way to the car. And I know she would call my mom or call my dad or some member from the church. Mrs.
Scott's son was down there on the streets. Oh, he looked so bad and he was performing so bad. And that would just I'm junior and that would tear my old man's heart up.
Just tear it up. And he say, "Come on back home." And I come back and he said, "No, drink it in here." I said, "Dad, I'm going to straighten up, fly right, turn over new leaf, take care of business. I'm going to give me a job.
I'm going to school. I'm going to make you proud." I came off the streets one time. I was serious in a heart attack.
Checked into junior college going to be an X-ray technician. Doing great. got me a part-time job for the county.
Went down there, didn't know anything about libraries assistant. TOOK THE TEST AND BAM, HIRED the same day. Checked into college.
Doing great. Christmas came up. I decided to go to this party.
I needed some recreation with some of my classmates. These are not these derelcts I hung around with. This is a college person.
Went up there to go to this party and this guy had stolen a burglar alarm truck. I say, "Wait a minute, man. I'm going to meet some girls in a stolen burglar alarm truck.
Are you crazy?" I turned around and I was going to walk back home and the back of that van swung open. It was Rabbit, Mad Dog, and Pooky. They had a half a gallon of Excel white port and the biggest joint I had ever seen and the smoke hit me in the face and they say, "Oh, you think you better than us?" And of course I was.
So I decided to educate them that night about how they could raise their standard of living. But they didn't too much care for my uh psychological and uh educational counseling and they start stomping my head on the street and the police rolled up and in a drunken days I stumbled and jumped on the police car. Now I tell you the police car has an entirely different sound going in a high pursuit when you on top of it as opposed to you being in Oh man, that police car took off wheel smoking, shot up the street around the corner in a dark alley and those police gave me a serious spiritual awakening.
I'm talking about I almost lost my left eye and uh they arrested me for felonious assault against a police officer and I was chained to the bed in the hospital ward up at General Hospital not knowing if this eye would ever be functional. And I'm sitting there with the patchy and it's everything is shut and I can't see. But I'm going over the events of how I blew it cuz I blew school.
Doing great cuz see I'm not a dumb person. Just a little inconsistent. Inconsistent by wine.
I blew the job and I'm trying TO FIGURE OUT WHAT HAPPENED. Every time it got down to that wine, I would say, "No, it wasn't the wine. It was those people you were with.
If you were drinking with some better people, you wouldn't be in this predicament." And from then on, I became explainer cuz all of my friends in the neighborhood saw me go by on top of the police car. And my only thought is I can never be cool again. That's when my mom them took me uh and got me some therapy.
You know, they took me over my mom took me over there to see the psychiatrist. I'll never forget it. I went over there that Monday.
They did their little assessment and evaluation. And the next day, I was going to start treatment. And that first day in treatment, I'm sitting in there waiting in the lobby to go back to the group session.
I met this other guy from the neighborhood that I didn't know and he flashed on me. He flashed senol, truenol or anything at all. My therapy went out the window because I drop anything too thin to chew and I went through those barbituates like they were uh you know it wasn't even a an addiction.
But when you OD or let me put it this way, OD and in a coma and you say that you was sleeping for 72 hours. Nobody sleeps 72 hours. You in a coma cuz see I like to chase barbituates with second all second F40s with bourbon deluxe.
See that don't mean 1 + 1 equals 2. It has a surgeic effect. 1 + 1 equals 6 and 8.
And I'd be walking along, you know, trying to be cool off of these second halls and drinking this here bourbon deluxe and old English and all of a sudden they would uh start affecting my equilibrium and you know and your equilibrium gets uh radical and you start falling like you're a tree. And I'd hit the payment and I bounced back up and I said, "Did nobody see that? The Los Angeles police have arrested me more times than I could count.
They would drive up downtown and say, "Get in, Jerome." 6:47F. I don't know how many times I've been to unit 3. That's the county hospital psycho ward.
72-hour lock down hole. Thorine shuffle in the middle of rail twist. I show up there because now alcohol is not working.
And sometimes I'm so sick going into DTS and hallucinations, audio and visual. And I show up at the hospital for my three hots in a cop. Three hot meals and a place to lay my head.
And I'm terrorizing the family. And I'm blaming them for everything. They had this little old room.
They called it Sunny's room. And in Sunny's room is is a filthy urine soaked mattress and I'm drinking in the back of the house with that cheap wine every day and it has this stench of that filth and that urine in my parents' house and I would go into DTS and I'll be hallucination hyperventilating screaming at the top of my lungs in the middle of the night and only two people come near me be my dad and my mom and my dad would get down on that mattress and hold me like I was just a little infant and be rocking me and I cuss him out. Get your hands off of me.
And I thought it was all their fault. And I get downtown on the streets and I'm a belligerent drunk cuz see I only drank to four states. Either I pass out, blackout, fall out of my mouth would encourage someone to knock me out cuz I got a death wish.
Nothing but a death wish. Too chicken to commit suicide. So I'll try to get one of you citizens to do it.
Oh, I used to mess with the police. I never forget I was messing with this rookie cop. Everything by the book.
I'm just harassing him, harassing him, just cussing his all his liturgies and everything. And I guess we got to the holding sale to the booking and I got on that last nerve cuz see I would alternate between drunk and citizen. So when I'm a citizen I want to know your badge number.
And he got tired. He said, "You want my badge number?" He took his badge off and put it in the palm of his hand and said, "Bam." And I had his number right on my face. 1972.
I'm at my wits end. I'm at my literal wits end. I'm 6'2 and I'm weighing something like 115 25 lbs.
And I'm talking about I'm slack. My people don't want me around no more. I've been downtown for weeks.
And my older brother, my younger brother was getting married to his childhood sweetheart. And he had decided that he was going to drop out of Cal State St. Louis and come home and get married.
And he told my dad that since he was getting married in the family church and I was his oldest brother, was only fitting and right, that I would be his best man. And they came down to Skid Row and got me, dressed me up in a tux. Oh man, I'll never forget that bath though.
They gave me a bath with some Vogue washing powder, which will clean anything. And added a couple of drops of Purex to make sure it would work cuz I was Oh, you talking about filthy? Oh, man.
And uh stood up at that wedding. is his best man. My mom wanted me to meet her supervisor's husband who was a sober member of AA.
And at the reception, standing at my uh new sister-in-law's parents' house, and I'm standing at the fence, and this guy was telling me his story. He had said that he had twin daughters, and his wife had gave him $3 to go get the baby some milk. And he took that $3 and he didn't come back for two days.
He was drunk and that was so horrified him that it made him go to AA and get sober. And I listened thoughtfully to this man. And I reasoned and I reasoned and I thought I said, "Well, when I get twin daughters and a wife and I run off with their milk money, then I'll go to AA." But shortly thereafter, I ended up in Camarillo State Hospital.
If anyone in the room has done institutional work at Camarillo, my hats is off to you. I'm thankful and I'm grateful because there weren't a night in that hospital where they didn't have a a meeting. But I was there under duress.
Boy meets girl on the nut house campus and falls in love. This lady who was on the ward a patient as I had been to the best prep schools in Europe for spoke four foreign language fluently but baby was in the nut house with me and she would say Jerry Jerry they going to have a a meeting at 8:00 they going to have cookies donuts coffee and cigarettes let's go and I'll call her a pregnant dog and tell her to get out of my face but out of lust and loneliness I went to an AA So it's not what you come for, it's what you stay for. >> I got out of that hospital after 90 days, ego tripping.
Abraham Maslo, Fritz Pearls are my heroes. All the intellectual giants in psychology, they was going to get me together. And I had done such a wonderful job in getting sober.
I thought it would be a good thing to do is to undo that and do it again. And I got drunk. And the very night I got drunk, she called me.
She was out of the hospital and she says, "I'm going to a meeting. Do you want to go?" And she said, I said, "Yeah, what no girls calling my parents house taking me out nowhere?" As a matter of fact, my brother who got married really embarrassed me. He went down to the courthouse and got his uh marriage certificate.
And at that time they had a TV program, the newlywed game and the dating game. And he gave them my name as a good person to call to come and be a contestant on the dating game. They called I'm right off of Skidro with no teeth in my head.
You know, even I knew I wasn't a candidate material for the dating game. Don't embarrass me like that. But this young girl called me.
She was in a recovery home on Corander and she came and picked me up and took me to this meeting where I met my sponsor. I didn't hear anything in that meeting other than the Lord's prayer. That's what I heard at that meeting.
Huge meeting just like this. About three or 4 hundred people got up and held hands and said the Lord's Prayer. And that drunken stouper.
I flashed back to two years previously. I had been stabbed in the back. The knife had pierced my heart and broke off in my lungs.
And I was dying. Was no doubt I was dying. And I tried to remember some prayer growing up in a religious home with some religious training and background.
I could not even remember now lay me down to sleep. I was so hateful that I was so far removed from any type of spiritual teachings or I couldn't even say, "God, will you please help me?" But hearing that Lord's prayer got me to come back to that meeting. And I would come back to that meeting on an infrequent basis if the Lakers or Star Trek wasn't on.
But that's where I met my sponsor, little old guy about two years sober. Ethnically, financially, we worlds apart. I wouldn't have never met this man if it wasn't for Alcoholics Anonymous.
PhD in literature from Indiana. He stuck out his hand at the door. He says, "Hi, my name is Jack." And he said, "Jack K is my name and sobriety is my game.
Call anytime." And he held my hand 5 seconds longer than any man should hold my hand. And for the next 10 months, he gave me his card. It says, "Jack K is my name and sobriety is my gang." I said, "Damn, he's a poet, too." For the next 10 months, if I'm at that meeting, that's Jack's home group, the Wilson Normandy group.
He'll burst across the room, stop what he's doing, talking to his friends, his other AA babies, his wife, his sponsor. He'll rush across that room and he say, "Jerome, how you doing?" And I had that newcomer line. I'm fine.
Lying. I'm talking about I look new, I smelled new. Everything about me was saying, "Somebody, will you please intervene and help me?" and I collect those cards.
One time downtown on Skidro coming out of DTS, I had Jack's card in my top pocket and I came somewhat coherent. I said I looked at his car. I said, "I'mma call this chump Jack and see what he could do." This aa I called his house.
The phone rang three times. Jack didn't make a mad dash, push his wife off his lap until the dog move out the way. That's Jerome calling.
Can I help? I say, Jack don't care. He sucks and stay drunk.
That's why I'm known around some circles as a Camarillo nut house rethread. And I was there for another 90 days. And that last May of 1973, I'll never forget it as long as I live BECAUSE IT'S REAL DARK JUST before the light of sobriety comes in your life.
I'm sitting in the county in in the nut house facing a year in the county jail. Ain't no doubt cuz I know soon as my probation officer find out I've been arrested for playing drunk, I'm going to jail for a year cuz he already been violating me every 30 days like it was. I was on the installment plan, sending me to Wayside Honor Rancho to be a pig farmer.
Didn't know anything about pigs. I'm from South Central. But I know about farming.
You know that May I'm sitting in the day room up at Camarilla. A gentleman comes in all dressed sharp with a white shirt and a tie and he's walking on the ward. He says, "I'm looking for Jerome Scott." So the attendant points him out to me over here sitting in one of those chairs and he come over there.
He said, "Are you Jerome Scott?" I said, "Yes." He says, "I'm special agent." So and so from the Internal Revenue Service, you owe us $8,000." And I look at him, I say, "You ain't nothing but a damn fool." I said, "Do you look do it do I look like I have $8,000? Do you know where I'm at? This is Camarillo Nutouse." He just turned around and left.
And I screamed at I said, "You can't get blood from a turnup either." Cuz see, I had worked my only job besides that uh part-time job at the county. My psychiatrist had got me a job at International Business Machine as an operations clerk. And as operations clerk, I had worked almost a whole year and I had bought one share in uh IBM IBM stock and employee purchasing plan.
And so that year I wanted to uh get all my in income tax back. So I lied and told them I had 12 kids. I got all my money back.
But I couldn't verify the children, you know, so they wanted their $8,000 back. And the next week, Mr. Linker came up there on Mother's Day.
My probation office, not parole, probation. I'm on probation for a $5 bag of marijuana that was not mine. It wasn't.
It was my best It was my best friends. He was standing in front of me and the police were behind me. I didn't see the police.
And he asked me to do him a favor. He said, "Will you hold my marijuana for me?" And I did. So, I was on probation for six years for a nickel bag of weeds.
So, Mr. Linker came up there on Mother's Day with his 90-year mo old mother to visit me. And he talked real nice to me, but when he got down to his car, he got real nasty and sarcastic.
He said, "Mr. Scott, if you get arrested in the vicinity of a liquor store for jaywalking or spitting on the sidewalk, I guarantee you going to do a year already had a year coming. So, and his little white-haired mother stuck her head out the window and say, "Good luck, young man." I wanted to cuss her out, too.
But I bet not. I was depressed. Depressed.
And see, what happened was two weeks later, just before uh Memorial Day, it was another young man from South Central had one of Jack's cards. Jack had another baby in Camarillo. Had ran up to Camarillo to get away from AI.
And this young man was named Raymond. Raymond called them. You know, it had to be a collect call to your sponsor cuz what a baby goes to the nut house with enough change to call their sponsor?
None. Call Jack. Say, "Jack, this is Raymond.
I'm in the nutouse and I'm not crazy. will you come and get me and take me to that ANA recovery house you was talking about? Jack got in his plush AA Beamer that AA had given him from West Hollywood and drove all the way up to Ventur County to pick this guy up some 55 miles and they were leaving off to Ward and I'm sitting kickback like I'm in my living room reading the Los Angeles Times business section if I had some stocks of bonds.
I was checking on that one share I had bought to see if it had split and my sponsor eased behind the paper and he says, "Jerome, what are you doing here?" I knew that voice. I said, "Damn, he done follow me to the nut house." But he asked me a question in the latter part of May of 1973. He says, "Jerome, what are you doing here in Camarillo State Hospital?" And unbeknownst to me, I got rigorous honors, not only with him, but with myself.
And the answer that I could give him that day was was simply, "I don't know. I don't know why I'm here. I have no inkling to my condition or my circumstances.
I guess I'm here for just a little RNR, rest, and relaxation." And he saw my perplexion and my confusion. He didn't immediately come from some superior, knowledgeable premise and say, "Jerome, you need to do this or talk down to me or belittle me." He looked at me with all the compassion and love that one alcoholic could have for another. And I knew in an instant that here was someone standing before me that cared about me and was willing to do anything to help me.
Because an alcoholic will know in an instant when someone is being judgmental, he'll turn them off in an instant. Because I can look in his eyes and I've seen that look before. I've seen that look in my mom's eyes.
I've seen that look in my father's eyes. I've seen that look on strangers on the street who came and rescued me from my own madness. And I know he loved me.
And he said, "Jerome, I'll never forget it as long as I live." He said, "Jerome, if you do what I do and follow what I follow, you will never have to drink. As long as you live, you will not have to drink. If life and some of the vestitudes that life could be flicked upon you, some of the heartaches and frustrations and disappointments, you won't even have to drink even then.
And you won't ever have to come to a place like this unless you choose to." See, that's what AA promised. The ability to face life on life's terms, not ducking or dodging any of life's issues. And there are plenty of issues to deal with with life because I think people are hearty.
And I had a lot of issues to deal with, lots of issues to deal with, far too many to overcome by myself. and he stuck out his hand to assist me and to help me to overcome those issues. And I and I have something that will keep me sick even today.
And it's my baseless pride. It will dictate how I and when I receive the help I so desperately need. And that day I couldn't go with Jack and Raymond because my pride wouldn't let me get up out of that seat.
That baseless pride wouldn't let me move. And it's more formidable than any resentment I'll ever have. And it's always lurking in the shadows to pon upon me and undermine whatever spiritual growth I may ever acquire.
Jack and Raymond turned around and walked away. And I did what I always do. poor poured me a drink and I got out of that hospital a week late.
Well, basically the reason why I say I didn't leave is that I had $67 in patient account and it was Sunday and I wasn't going to leave my $67 in no nutouse for nobody. But I didn't realize that $67 was going to finance my last drunk cuz I got that check from Camarillo. Was at the first bank of Camarillo with no ID.
Cash the check. went to buy my bus ticket to come back to LA and the bus was going to be 30 minutes late and I said, "Well, since it's going to be 30 minutes late, I need a little refreshment." I went and got me a bottle when I was so drunk and I was just terrorizing the bus driver. As a matter of fact, he was coming down Pacific Coast Highway and he was going to let me out in Malibu.
Not in the town of Malibu. You know that part of Pacific Coast Highway. Where's nothing?
But I begged him to be kind with me. He let me stay on the bus. And I got back and I reached my parents' house and I was in a drunken blackout stuper and I assaulted my dad, the only friend I had.
I hit him, kicked him, and knocked him to the floor. By now, he's not a robust man. He has heart disease and emphyma, and he's sick.
The only person who would come up to the county jail and bring me $3 so I wouldn't have to pick up butts off the floor. The only person who would tr up to Camarillo on the bus to see his son. I got there kicked him and knocked him down and spat on him.
They had me arrested and I did one day in the county jail and I still had some of that money from him. Got a kick out and uh got drunk again. saw my aunt crossing the street from my father's house.
I say, "Get that be too." And I chased my loving aunt to her house and she ran in. I thought she was running from me, but she wasn't running from nephew. She was running to get that pearl handled snub-nosed 38.
I forgot she had it. But when she came to the door with it, I said, "Oh shit." Cuz see, I know something. people on the streets and say, "Oh, don't kill him.
He's drunk." But you mess with family, they'll take you out. I ran and jumped in the trash can and hid for a very, very long time. And I got out of that trash can.
The police was there. They took me to jail again. And on that city jail on the 5th of June, 1973, I had a spiritual awakening.
I thought about all the people I had met in those previous 10 months who had extended themselves with sincerity and love to try to help me. And I couldn't figure out why I could be in some institution and I could do fine. But as soon as my foot struck Zion, I'd have a problem.
And I made a commitment that day. I didn't promise God. I didn't promise anybody.
I promised myself that if I could get off this floor, I'm going to try to make it back to Alcoholics Anonymous. I got a kick out of jail again. And that was the 6th of June.
I had one day of sobriety. I was filthy and nasty because I had passed out by the commole and they nobody asked me to move. And so I needed a change of clothes to go to my first aid meeting.
I couldn't go that way. And I broke into my mom's house and I was in there getting into my brother's clothes. He was away and I was getting all sharp.
And she approached the room. She said, "What are you doing here?" I said, "What it look like? I'm getting dressed." And she got to I got to talking that drag to her and she said, "Son, you might not be familiar with BB King's new record." And my mom told me, she said, "Don't nobody love you but your mama." And she might be driving, too.
and she said, "We old and we tired. Why don't you leave? Because your dad said, "If you ever light his doorstep, he's going to kill you and I don't want any violence in my house.
Why don't you leave?" And I left her house and I walked down to this AA clubhouse in South Central LA, 9604 South Figaro. Broken young man, 26 years old, not a has been, but a never was. no hope.
And I walked into that meeting. This time I sat up front and I began to listen like only the dying could hear. But that pride is slow to die.
I left out of that meeting. A guy with a year sobriety offered me a ride. I didn't have enough gumption, enough honesty to tell that man I didn't have a place to stay.
I just said, "Well, drop me off here on this corner." And I was going to wander the streets that night. I was going to wander back down to Skid Row. And I got almost to Skid Row.
And for the first time in my little miserable life, I listened to that still quiet voice. And that still quiet voice that I heard talk to me said, "If you go down the skid road, Jerome, you're not coming back. You're going to die." And I turned around at 3:00 in the morning with no place to go and I ended up at my father's front door.
And I knocked on his door and he came to the door and he said, "What do you want?" Told him. I said, "Dad, I think I could stop drinking if you could offer me a place to stay in some help." And we made a bond that night. If I didn't drink, I could stay.
I have not had a drink, drop a snort, or anything that breaches the bloodb brain barrier since June 6th, 1973. And I came here with more issues than the law would allow. But see, I arrived in AA where it was no nonsense, practical AA people, and they didn't believe in you had a opinion of anything.
They say, "You don't know nothing about staying sober. Shut up and sit down." And I'm talking about these people seem like if you didn't, they would do something to you. So I did what they said.
If they said jump, I asked I. And I never forget, I got my first 90 days at the beginner's meeting. I was able to share at the meeting.
AND I WOULD SAY, "ONE DAY, MY SHIP IS going to come in and everything is going to be all right. Keep coming back, newcomers. The program works." And I'll run back there with someone two days more than me or less and say, "How did I sound?" And I got at this Saturday noon meeting and they undressed me real spiritually one Saturday.
And this lady named Marian C, God bless her, wherever she is, she said, "Jerome, you've been talking about that when your ship is gonna come in." She said, "When in the hell are you gonna send a ship out?" And they laughed just like you did. Seemed like they laughed for a whole day. But but I I'm so thankful that I was able to hear what she said after that because that's what saved me.
She said, "Jerome, sometimes life will have some storms that are so severe and so devastating that if your ship is tied to the moorings, it will smash against the rocks and can't nothing come back." She say, "Sometimes you have to put your ship out on God's seas and pray that they come back because faith without works is dead. And this faith has to work in you and through you on a daily basis." So what she was telling me was I needed to go about acquiring some faith and I was without a clue because I'm an agnostic and a belligerent unbeliever. Me and God is still not on speaking terms.
But I watched and learn by example. this one guy. I'm sitting in the club and I'm retired on SSI and ATD and they don't allow you to be uh you know a welfare leech at my club, you know.
And these guys came in there and said, "You going to LOOK FOR A JOB TODAY, JEROME?" They came and got me and took me out of the club. Took me to this place where I could fill out an application for a custodian's job. and the line stretched from here look like the State Street and they came back and checked on me too.
I didn't get that job but I'm sitting in there complaining about I don't have a work record. I've never worked before and but one 11 months and this guy pulled he gave me a ride. He pulled over to the side of the street in South Central on Figaro about 11 o'clock at night.
He said, "We're going to treat this spiritually. This is how we deal with this. We'll treat it spiritually right now." And he pulled over to the curb 11 o'clock at night after the meeting.
He said, "Give me your hands. Give me a hand." I gave him my hands and he said, "We going to pray on you a job." He started praying and I started opening one eye looking around to see if who was driving by seeing these two men hold hands in the car. So I come back to the club the next day and the meeting, noon meeting is over and I'm sitting there, this guy come, never saw him before, burst in the club.
He said, "Is any alcoholic in here want a job?" I said, "God dang, this spiritual stuff is too quick." And see, I needed transportation. This guy wanted me to open up a gas station for him. and I needed transportation.
So, I had to needed a co-signer for my first car, sober car. And this friend of mine say, "I'll cosign for you, Jerome." I said, "No, I'll go ask my dad." And uh my dad wouldn't co-sign for me for a pair of roller skates, but he saw that I was sober and he did. And I took my dad, the only place I could take him to was to that AA clubhouse at noon, you know.
And my dad lived to see me sober six years in Alcoholics Anonymous. And by that time, this lady had told me that it would be a good idea if I apply for the post office. I told them they ain't going to hire me.
She said, "You haven't took the test. You haven't passed it. They haven't offered you no physical anything." I took that test 39 times after taking it nine times.
I memorized all nine tests and I got a perfect score because on a federal application they want to know dates, places, and disposition back to April 15th, 1939. Have you ever been arrested? And I told him my sponsor, Jack is still my sponsor.
I said, Jack, I don't remember all those times. He said, oh, that's all right, Jerome. I know of a guy with the same predicament as you.
He had a long rest of rest record and he went down to Parker Center, paid the $17 and they sent off to Jagger Hoover building for his records. I'm quite sure they knew about you too. So I had a big old thick application, all these arrests, plain drunks, felonious assault against a police officer, and then they wanted to know, have you ever been treated for alcohol or drug addiction?
Camarillo long. Oh man, LIKE A LITTLE application in itself. I'll never forget I went to this one interview in Elmani and the postmaster in Elmani called my name and I got up to go for my interview and I got to the door.
He said, "Damn, I didn't even believe you would show up." Oh, what a way to go into an interview. He walked me in the front door, out the back door. He said, "This is your interview." And I He got to the door and he slammed it.
And before he slammed, he said, "If you work in my post office, it' be over my dead body." And I almost went postal before I went to work for the president. But I went and called my sponsor, JACK. I ALWAYS called Jack.
I called Jack on the phone, told him how they were treating me and that what I was going to do and I'm never going down to the post office for another job. So he asked me, he said, "How many times you take took the test, Jerome?" I said, "I took this test 39 times." He said, "Well, how many times have you been for an interview?" I said, "This is the fourth and last time. I'm never going down." He said, "Look at it this way, Jerome.
it might be necessary for your recovery and your sobriety to go down there 35 more times as an exercise in character building. I said, "Damn, Jack, how much character do you want want me to have?" But I only went down there about another four more interviews, and this guy who wasn't an alcoholic, was just a fair-minded person. He read my whole application.
And at the bottom of that application, it stated that for the past five years, it hasn't been necessary for me to do or repeat any of the above. And he believed me. He says, "I believe in your rehabilitation, and I'm going to treat you just like any other job applicant." And he hired me to carry the United States mail.
And I carried the mail for three years. And I never forget that first day they offered me to to carry mail. They gave me a about 9 ft of SSI checks.
I'm only 5 years sober, but that don't mean, you know, I'm thoroughly honest. And I thought about it. I said, you know, you could come up quick with a couple of these checks.
But see, your experience comes in handy. And I remember my experience messing with people's checks. You know, that used to be one of my op hustling operations.
I wait till the mailman drops somebody's check in and then I go help myself. And I did that one time. I reached in the mailbox.
I said, "Oh, this is easy picking." And I grabbed that lady's uh SSI check and that screen door exploded. BOOM. IT JUST FLEW OFF THE HINGES.
And it WAS THE LARGEST BLACK WOMAN I EVER SAW in my life. She had to be 350 lb. There I am all what 145 115 lbs.
I smile. Oh, she's not gonna catch me. But see, when you drug out by wine, you lose a couple of steps.
And I was hauling. I thought I was making some distance. And I looked back, SHE WAS GAINING.
I SAID, "OH, TAKE THAT CHECK." That told me, "Say, leave the government checks alone. You'll be running all your life." Now, I've been with them for 21 years. And uh next Friday I'm going in and turn in my resignation because I've grown as much as I can at the US Postal Service.
I've gotten to a point it's either grow or go. I choose to grow and go because uh eight years ago they told me they said in order to hold your job and maintain your job, you have to get a master's degree. not one of those uh fly by night mail order masters.
They wanted it documented master's degree. And here I was, I graduated from Jefferson High School and they only had one microscope and it was broke. As a matter of fact, I majored in agriculture and print shop because I wanted to be the preeminent marijuana farmer in South Central.
And if that didn't work, I would uh print my own money. And I tell you, I'll never forget it. All terrified.
And I told called Jack. I said, "Jack, in order for me to keep my job, I have to have a master's degree." I said, "By the time I get a master's degree, I'll be 50 years old." My sponsor laughed. He said, "Oh, well, Jerome, look at it this way.
If you live to be 50, you'll be 50 without a masters." Oh, go on and try. And I took my little old transcripts up there to the counselor. Oh, he laughed just like that guy.
And he dropped them in the trash. He said, "You not worth a dime. You can't transfer any of this.
You have to start over from scratch." And oh, I was devastated. But like my sponsor, I took the first class, algebra. Go at the top.
Never had algebra before in my life. didn't open the book for five weeks, got three fails. On that fourth fail, I walked out.
I said, "The heck with this school. Let them fire me." And I got down the hall and the teacher left 45 other students in the classroom. Came and got me.
Had a student and teacher conference in the hall. He said, "Look at this, Mr. Scott.
If you come 30 minutes early, I'll come 30 minutes early and I'll help you pass this class." I said, "Well, damn. I got an algebra sponsor. That was one of the two C's I got in my whole college career because from then on I was on the deans list, the president's list and graduated sumakum ladi from junior college, university, and from graduate school.
And by then, of course, my dad was had died, but my mom, she made every every ceremony that I made. And my little wife, who was right there with me, she was right there with me, too. You know, it haven't been all great, you know, cuz I was married before in the program, doing great.
She was a street walker as by self-defin. And I was a Camarilla Nuth rethread. And uh we adopted a little boy.
And she told him the day we went to pick him up to apply. She said, "Jerome, they ain't going to give us no kid. We the kind of people they take kids from, you know." But my adopted son was, you know, he was born on my birthday and I didn't care if he was lame, or down syndrome.
He was a kid from me. And uh my son is 21 now. We and he's in the United States Navy and he's getting ready to serve a a year's tour in the Mediterranean.
And uh I'm grateful for that experience because he taught me how to be a father. Cuz see, I wasn't expecting to ever be a biological father cuz I had long since passed the childbearing age and being a father. And I got married in 1991.
And my wife is, she's 48 now. I hope she don't mind me talking her age, but she was 46. And she said, "Jerome, I want to have your baby." And that's tough for a woman 46 to want to go through that, you know.
Now I have another son. He's two, Matthew. And I tell you, this program has taken me to places I never dreamed for, cuz it is a design for living.
It'll meet you right where you're at. It doesn't mean that unfortunate disappointment things and issues are not going to come up. They're going to be there because I believe this programs gives me the ability to face life on life's terms.
Because why I have such a firm belief and a faith today is I have acquired a loving and living God that has not only solved my drinking problems but have solved all my problems. And I was devastated when I had to give up my first home. I was devastated.
My family was gone. She had came downstairs and said, "I need my space." So I asked her, I said, "You want me to go upstairs and look at TV?" She introduced me to a new term, space. Had to give up the home.
I was called my sponsor. He said, "Jerome, let it go lovingly, and God will replace you with something better." And I couldn't see that because my faith was so weak. And I was full of resentment, depressed, and angry.
And my sponsor said, "Jerome, this is killing you. You need to let this go." And he told me how to let it go. He said, "You got to forgive 70* 7." And what he was saying, Jerome, you got to pray for those people 70 times seven.
And I didn't want to pray for them, but I was that that oh, it was just tearing me up and I was slowly sinking into that anguish and depression and madness because my family was gone. But I started praying just like he outlined it for me. He said, "Jeron, what do you want?
What do you want out of this world? What do you want out of life? And my simple thing has always been this.
I don't want to be rich, famous, and good-looking. I want to be happy, joyous, and free. I want to be comfortable with me and comfortable with you.
And he said, Jerome, you got to pray that they have that, but you have to pray that they have it first. and then as a byproduct, maybe your God will give it to you. And I started praying through clinch thief because I couldn't rest and I couldn't get away from that that hurt and that pain and I was walking up to my wife and our new home in Corona and we had just moved in it.
And that February in 96, it had snowed at 10,000 ft. I mean at 1,000 ft. And the hills behind the Cleveland National Forest was dusted with snow.
And I'm walking up the the street from the mailbox and I always would pray and I had just been praying. And I'm talking about that burden was lifted because God had did what my sponsor said he would do. He had put me in a place twice as better than I was before.
And my life is good. I look forward to the evening of coming home and Matthew coming from daycare with his mom and he's holling and screaming, "Daddy, daddy, outside, outside." And you know, people see us in the market and they do a double take. You see these two old people with these this little kid, but age ain't nothing but a number.
cuz my life is rich. And this design for living, I tell you, cuz I'm getting ready to go work for the county of San Bernardino as a therapist, cuz I need to get my license as a marriage family therapist. And that's a major transition from being outside the door bamming on it, asking for my diagnosis and prognosis.
I'm going to be on the other side of the door cuz my clinical supervisor who is like a sponsor said, "Jerome, you've grown here as far as you can. If you stay here, you limit yourself and you don't want to be a limited therapist. You want to get a vast amount of experience." So I applied to San Bernardino and they hired me and we went by the facility where I'm going to be working at sits off in a field.
Ain't nothing around it. And my wife said, "Oh, such a depressing building." I said, "Well, ain't as depressing as the post office." Well, I'm getting ready to close. I want to thank the committee and everyone responsible for me being here, including my God.
And I want to thank you for warmly greeting me. But I would be truly remiss if I didn't do this because I do this uh for my wife whether she's here or not. Uh this is how I got this fabulous woman.
And I'll tell you this story. She became the group secretary after I left and I had wrote this in the meeting book and she was a newcomer and she said this has sustained and help her stay sober more than anything not more than anything but she said in those early days it really helped her and I'm going to say that sit down and shut up and it's oh how constant is your precious love I seek protection under the comforts of your wings. For you have made this day.
Let me rejoice and be glad in it. For today is the first day of my life for the rest of my life, one day at a time. And thank you, dear God, just for this day.
May you lead and may you guide me in this prosperous new life. And may I never forget during the sunshine of my life, during the storms of my life, and after the rains of my life, there is peace with you, dear God, always and forever. And all praise to the loving living God to whom all praise is due.
I want to thank you, Alcoholics Anonymous, for my sobriety, but most of all, I want to thank you for another day of sanity. 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.