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My name is Joe. I'm alcoholic.

Friday, June the 5th, 1994. I'm as thankful as I know how to be for that today. A lot of people start with their childhood and all that kind of thing, and I just don't because that's boring to me when people start that way. Other than to say, I always say I come from a good family. I really did. My folks raised a preacher and a missionary, and my sister is almost an angel. I was the only sorry one in the bunch, and I kind of blazed the trail to hell. Everybody else went the other way. They went to church. I don't know how that happened.

The only thing I know about being alcoholic is the way I drink alcohol. And the only thing I know about staying sober is Alcoholics Anonymous. It's that simple. I'm going to share with you in a general way what it used to be like, what happened, and what it's like now. I want to thank the committee for inviting me. It's always an honor and a privilege to get to be asked to do anything in Alcoholics Anonymous. When you come from where I come from, to get to do anything, anything is just a miracle. It's an absolute miracle.

I'm going to get started with my favorite day of my life. If I was about 10 or 11 years old, I was walking home from school one day and a friend of mine, Jamie, said, "If we're going to be real men, we've got to dip Copenhagen snuff." I said, "By God, you're right." I got a big old dip in my mouth, made about three or four steps, and I've been doing it ever since. Got to his house later on that afternoon and he said, "If we're going to be real men, we've got to drink whiskey." I said, "By God, you're right."

He got this bottle of Jim Beam. I'll never forget it as long as I live. I can tell you everything I was wearing that day, everything that happened. Total recall of that day. He poured a shot and I looked at it and had never taken a drink in my life. I said, "You know what? That's not going to be enough." That's the truth. So we got this plastic cup, filled it about halfway up, and I got that juice down the hole where it does the most good. Let me tell you, I felt just like a man ought to feel. I wanted to go kill somebody, find me a girl, roll around in the hay, and fight. I thought, I have a ride. I thought to myself, I'm going to do this every day. Every day for the rest of my life. I can't wait till I get grown so I can get this done on a regular basis.

Half my family is Irish Catholic and the other half is Assembly of God, folks. I was confused, and you can just tell from the start which side I fit in best with. I like the drinkers.

All my people on my dad's side, which is the Catholic side, are up in Kansas City. My first drunk was a whole lot like my last. I was with all the people I wanted to be with, doing exactly what I wanted to be doing, and I overshot the mark and got sent home the next day. That's how that works. We're up there and my cousin is on home leave from the Navy, and he said, "What would you like to drink?" He got this big old plastic cup and I said, "Man, just pour a little bit of everything in there." He did. God, it was wonderful. The last thing I remember was passing out in the yard, making snow angels in the front yard, blacking out and passing out. Right after midnight mass, it was great. Got up the next morning, I was still drunk and nobody seemed to notice. Got back home and man, I was just looking forward to it.

I grew up in a small town and I lived in Fort Worth for a long time. They think anything east of 360 is East Texas. Kind of like y'all down here think everything north of 10 is Yankeesville. Kind of the same thing. I say I'm from here because it just makes sense since I talk so funny and it kind of explains it a little bit. I grew up in a small town and it's never hard to find somebody to buy you a little booze. Somebody's always got an older brother or sister. Somebody's house is fortified. I wasn't from a real drinking family, but I never had a problem getting ahold of alcohol, and from the beginning it seemed like I had a great capacity for it.

We'd get a 12-pack of beer with my buddies and they'd have about two or three and they'd talk about getting buzzed. I have never been buzzed in my life. I'm either sober or insanely drunk. There is no in between. When I read about social drinking in the book, I think, who are they talking about? I never did any of that.

Things kind of rocked along. I started getting in trouble real early. I was bad about getting MIP. I relate a lot to Mike, what he was talking about. He never got DUI. I never got DUIs either. I never had a car. I had one once for a while, but I lost it. Anyway, I was always getting in trouble. I started dating the Justice of the Peace's daughter. I thought, man, that'll keep me out of a little trouble. Later on, I had to move up to the DA's daughter, and eventually had to marry her, but that's way later on in the story.

Things are rocking along and I'm the kind of guy I wasn't afraid of anything. I just was not afraid of anything. I don't know why. I really should have been. I did a lot of dumb things. I ran off to Mexico one time. I was about 15 and I called my folks from the border and told them I'd be back directly. It was about a month or so later. Worst beating I ever got, but it's best time I ever had. It was just a ball. What are you going to do? I was out of control long before that first talk.

My folks had gone on a vacation and they were dim enough to let me stay at home by myself. I had a little old preacher brother with me and they sent sister off to grandma. Our house was not very big at all. I had about 150 of my best friends in there and we broke every bit of furniture in the house. Just one of those great parties. Kind of like an Animal House kind of deal. I'll never forget the look on my folks' faces when they walked in the door. They're asking what happened. I said, "You know, we've been here for about 11 years and I just felt like we need to rearrange a little bit."

That's when mom brought the first faith healer home. His son was with us that evening and we did what you're supposed to do. We dropped him off on the front yard and rang the doorbell and all that kind of good stuff. The preacher came over and he's giving me the talk. He's laying hands on me and he's speaking in tongues and he's trying to cast that alcohol demon out of me. He says, "Boy, do you realize that you are going to hell?" I looked him dead in the eyes and I said, "Yes, sir, I do. And I plan on taking as many of you as I can with me." That healing stopped. He just left.

Things kind of rocked along and I eventually wind up down at the park. The park in my hometown is kind of like a lot of East Texas towns. It's just the way it is. It ain't right. It just ain't right. But it's a segregated place. Everybody has their place. I just fit wherever there was a lot of drinking going on. I showed up down there one night and my best friend would become my best friend in the world. His name was Ron Dale. He was the most crosseyed man I've ever met in my life. One eye went that way, the other one went that way. Whenever we play basketball, the goal's in front of you and he's looking like this. He never missed, man. He could have been the next Michael Jordan. But the bull got ahold of him, too.

The lady last night was talking about Wild Irish Rose. I love people that drink Wild Irish Rose. Best stuff you ever hadn't seen. A fruit one squashed in it, and it just tastes just like whiskey. I just fell in love with it. Best thing ever happened to me.

I'd stay down there for a few months and my brother could get away from the house for 24 hours and my folks would go running around looking for him. I'd be gone for three weeks. Nobody ever looked for me. That still bothers me. I didn't want to be found, but I thought I was worth looking for. I'd been down there for a few months and things had just gotten to where I was drinking constantly. I'm drinking constantly.

Mom had already had that talk with me, one of them crying, sobbing stories. "Oh baby, please don't let it control you. You control it." By the time that had come around, I'd long since overshot that mark. There was nothing I could do about it. She had found me one afternoon and said, "Boy, you have become notorious." Mom can say that with about 47 syllables in it and every one of them hit you in the mouth. It's awful. She said, "You're going to Houston." That's where my dad lived. He is at least a heavy drinker. I don't know whether he's alcoholic or not. That's his business. We lived in a wonderful part of town. It's right off Hammerly, right behind De's Pit Stop at the time. That is the most wonderful bar you've ever met in your life. Some of these guys know what I'm talking about.

She sent me down there because she thought if I was living with my dad and saw what alcoholism was like, I might want to stop. What she didn't know is that she thought she was sending me to the worst place I could be, but it was just like heaven. Man, I made some of the best friends I ever met in my life. My best friend when I moved down here was Charlie. Charlie lived in the dumpster next to the bar. He never ate. He never bathed. He never did any of that. Everybody bought his beer. Growing up, my favorite movies are them country and western movies. Those old drunks, they never have to eat or bathe and everybody feeds them booze. That's what I wanted to be when I grew up.

Charlie was kind of like Bill W's dog girl on the tombstone. He died before the end of the summer of acute alcoholism. He drank himself to death. I might should have taken a little heed to that, but I didn't. That's just the way that goes.

Me and my dad, we didn't get along too good. I didn't get along too good with anybody. He tried to cut me off at the bar one evening and we got in a big to-do. I was gonna stab him and put him out of his misery and he was gonna beat the crap out of me. Something happened that night and neither one of us got killed and that was good because it was going to happen. I'd only been here for a couple months. He decided it was time for me to go back already.

A couple of significant things happened to me at De's Pit Stop. There was a guy there named Hacksaw. I remember walking in to the bar one day. Back when I was a kid, all I cared about was fighting, football, and another word that starts with F that I'm not going to say, but you can figure it out. My dad always had a Coors Light and a Bourbon Press waiting for me when I got to the bar after I got off work. I told him, "Well, you know, today I don't think I want one. I think I'm going to go to the gym and work out a little bit because the most important thing in my life was playing ball. That was it. That's what I live for. I live for that and whiskey." I told my dad no and Hacksaw said, "Boy, I admire you. You have willpower." I thought about that. I thought, you know what? He's right. I could probably have a beer and then go on about my business. You know the rest of the story. I didn't leave the bar the rest of that night or the rest of the summer. That's just the way it went.

We had that big to-do. He sent me back home. Over the summer, I'd worked long enough to save up a little money and buy a car. An '87 Camaro. It was beautiful. The most fun thing I ever had. I made a decision on my way back from Houston that until football season was over, I was not ever going to take another drink. I wasn't going to do it. I didn't tell anybody this. I just told myself.

I stopped to get a 12-pack for the ride home. When I got back to town and I got to that four-way stop, if I'd gone right it was to the girlfriend's house. If I'd gone left it was to the liquor store. I just went left and I went right. You know, that deal about not drinking lasted about five minutes. Five minutes.

I got started, got to rocking and rolling, and I got hurt really early on in the season. I wound up separating my shoulder many, many times. My arm would just fall out and I was losing sensation and feeling in my hands. I was 17. My folks signed this deal and the doctor signed this deal and I couldn't play ball anymore. As far as I was concerned, life was over with. That was it. I'm done. I'm through. There's no point in living. I began a real serious attempt at trying to drink myself to death. That's what I was trying to do.

I was already getting kicked out of the house not long after that or not long before that. They had rules. One of their rules was you can't drink and stay here. Well, I had to drink. I had to drink every day. I'd gotten to the point where I was not welcome anywhere because everybody had rules. Most of them had to do with not drinking. I started staying in this shed next to a friend of mine's house. I stayed there for a good long while. A good long while. I was drinking. A good long while after I got sober.

I didn't need to be homeless. You're never really homeless in a small town. You know how that goes. You can always couch crash or something like that. But that's just where I was. I would rather be that way. I just would.

I'll never forget walking home one day, walking through the street, and my folks were standing out in the front yard asking, "Boy, where's that car?" I said, "Man, I have no idea. I lost it. I still got the keys and the title to it, but I can't find it. I'm sure it's in some pasture somewhere, rotten today."

I was passed out in my front yard one morning. It was long about December, right before Christmas, and I got 12-stepped by my neighbor. The old fashioned way. A lot of folks say you don't talk to a drunk when they're drinking. Well, had they waited for me to sober up, I never would have found this place. He came over. It was about 2 or 3 in the morning or something like that and he hit me on the head and he said, "Boy, I don't know but you might have a slight drinking problem. Maybe you ought to read this book." He gave me my first copy of The Big Book, Alcoholics Anonymous.

Just at that time, my very best friend in the world got sent off to a treatment center because he was bad about doing that dope and all that stuff and drinking too much. I thought, man, I needed a break. I'd gone from 215 lbs down to about 155 in a short period of time. I was at my whiskey weight, like Mike was talking about last night. Just at my whiskey weight. I'm telling y'all, all I wanted to do was die. All I wanted to do was die.

They took me to the meetings and I'm going to tell you exactly what I thought at my first meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. I looked around the room and they had all them signs hanging on the wall and everybody was so old and to me it looked just like a geriatric kindergarten. I'm 17 years old at the time and the youngest guy there is 30. That's double my age. I thought, my god, if I ever got that old, I'd quit drinking, too.

I poked along. I visited for about 30 days. I get a desire chip every day. I drink every day. You know how that goes. I go to school, pass them out like show and tell. Everybody just thought it was so wonderful, somebody going to AA.

After about 30 days, they had enough of me. That's no joke. I did a research paper one time. I knew there was something wrong with me. I figured out why I was alcoholic. I inherited it or something. I could tell you the chromosome number and color and all that neat scientific stuff. I just tell them all about it and they didn't care. You know how they are. "Sit down. Shut up, boy." They didn't want to know anything about it.

One evening after a meeting, they had their seal and about four or five of them were standing on the porch and they said, "Boy, what you need to do is go try some control drinking." I said, "Man, that sounds wonderful. What is it?" They said, "Well, it's on page 31 but since you probably can't read, we're just going to tell you." So they told me and my buddies rolled by. I jumped in the back of the truck, went to that old party, and I did what they said to do. I had about six beers, two shots, and when you're drinking the way I was drinking, that didn't do nothing for you. The next day, I got up, had a few more, just absolutely miserable. On Sunday, you know what I said? "The heck with it." I started drinking like I like to drink.

That began a six-month period of what I can only describe as blackout drinking. I have no idea what happened, where I was, what was going on or anything like that. I have no idea. Couldn't tell you where I was, who I was with, nor did I care. That was the thing. I just didn't care anymore. I just didn't care.

A lot of bad things were happening. If it could have got worse, it didn't. Everything I ever said I was never going to do happened in that period of time. I had stopped by the house one evening and I needed to pick up some money. I was stealing some money from my brother, actually. Mom was standing in front of the door trying to block it, keep me from getting out. She's just begging and crying, "Baby, please stay here. Please stay here." What do you do when your mama is standing in front of you begging and crying, telling you to stay? You just throw her out of the way. That's what I did when I drank. That's what I did. You go on about your business. I'll never forget that day. I'll never forget a lot of days, but there's a whole lot of stuff like that that went on.

We got this big senior trip planned to Port Mexico. In my graduating class, there were 106 of us. That's not very big. Everybody knew everybody, first and last name. We'd known each other our whole lives. I'd made a prayer before I left that last meeting where they told me about control drinking. I believe it was the most sincere prayer I ever said in my life. I said, "God, either let me die or make me want to have what these people have." That was it. That's what I wanted.

We're out doing what you do when you're from the country. Got drinking with one of my coaches and we picked up a bunch of pretty girls and we're on these back roads and we're swerving and ducking and dodging and we're in this brand new 1994 Pathfinder and it starts to roll. When it starts to roll, the thought that goes through my mind is thank God it's over. Thank God it's over. I wasn't dead, obviously. I was disappointed. I was disappointed. I thought to myself, this is my sign from God. This is it. I will never drink again as long as I live.

We got everybody back to town and within 15 minutes we were out there getting all the bottles that hadn't broken and the cans that hadn't busted. I finished that drunk just like you're supposed to.

I was bad about not being where I was supposed to be like school. They expect you there on a regular basis. I didn't do that. My mom was there one morning. She said, "Boy, I'm here about your attendance. How many days you think you missed?" I said, "Well, probably about 10 or 11." We got to the office and it was more like 43. That's not good because that's like half of the deal, and you're not going to get to graduate.

They worked something out where I had to go to detentions before and after school every day, on Saturday, and go out to the vice principal's house on Sunday and bail hay and do those kind of things. That's just the way it works.

By the time I was 15, I'm going to slide back a little bit. Like I said, I was going to the Justice of the Peace on a regular basis. He called me the town drunk and I was so proud. He taught me how to get around all that stuff. He said, "God, boy, would you just put all that stuff in a suitcase, go to one pasture and stay all night?" You know, that's where you drink when you're from the country. In the pasture. There's no bars or any of that kind of stuff. Just go out there and raise cane, burn stuff down. It's wonderful. We did it real good. Everybody in town knew what happened by the time I woke up the next morning.

That was one of the other deals. I had to go set up the whole thing for graduation and all that. People are asking me, "What happened, Joe? Are you okay? What's going on?" I didn't remember a thing. They took me by the car later on that afternoon and I just couldn't believe anybody survived that wreck. I really couldn't. It was amazing. Every one of us walked away.

We got through that deal, got my little diploma and all that stuff, and I got on a good run of drunk. I wound up somewhere down in Corpus Christi or Robstown or something like that. I vaguely remember being at a fiesta or some big Mexican party and it was great, man, because they had tons of tequila and tons of rum and it just couldn't have been any better. I fit right in.

We had a few days left before we were supposed to get on that flight. Every bit of money I'd gotten for graduation, everything else was gone. By the time it was time to make that trip to the airport, I remember why I had this—I have no idea. Might have been some women involved—but I had this box of wine and it was about empty. You know how that stuff is. You got to rip the box apart. On the way to the airport, I'm squeezing on that bladder, pulling on that little deal, trying to get that last little drop out because I was afraid they weren't going to serve me on the airplane. That was true.

When we got there, my mom was there, girlfriend was there, her mom, everybody I knew in this God's world was there. My mom and her mom and her, everybody was crying. "Joe, please don't drink. Please don't drink till the last day. Please, please, please, baby, don't do it. Don't do it." "All right, I won't do it." But I fell in love. There was this girl that I believe danced for a living. I fell in love right away with her and her friend and that's just my kind of deal. So I left the girlfriend, everything else, and I'm running around trying to do what I need to do.

We got down to this resort thing. I remember trying to sign in. They wouldn't let me drink on the plane and I was right. I started getting into bad shakes and I was shaking so bad I couldn't sign my name on a little piece of paper. My buddies are holding my hand. They're saying, "Joe, you got to stop drinking, man."

This orientation deal lasted about 15 minutes. I was good for two and went to the bar and the first thing I did was order a glass of tequila. Then I asked for some rum. When I drink rum, things get stupid in a hurry. I mean, real stupid.

Where I grew up, there's lots of trees and you can kind of go to the bathroom everywhere you want to go. In Mexico, they're a little bit smaller. I was using one and I missed and I hit somebody's table while they were eating and that didn't go over so well. Then I guess I had to go again real soon so I just used the pool. That didn't go over real well either. A little bartender cut me off. I got angry so I tried to beat him to death with a bar stool. They locked me up in the room. They thought maybe I need to take a break, maybe if I get a little sleep, it might wear off a little bit.

Later on that afternoon, the sleep wasn't helping none. They brought me back down and thought if I get some food in my stomach, I might sober up a little bit. That's when I saw my opportunity. I was going to kill myself. So I grabbed somebody's drink as I'm making my way out to the ocean and I'm just going to drown myself out there. I got about 400 or 500 yards out and the water never got above my chest. My buddies are chasing after me and they're dragging me back into shore.

Just in case you want to kill yourself in Mexico, don't do it in public. It's against the law. I know that because the federales were passing by and they were ready to take me in. They convinced them to let me just go back to the room. I'm standing there screaming and yelling and cussing at them, telling them to go back to their own country and leave me alone. "Don't they know who I am?" Having no idea where I'm at.

I have another opportunity. I'm going to jump off the balcony and get to town. I would have made it had I opened the sliding glass door, but I didn't. It was a plate of glass. That knocked me down for a bit. That was good. I come to and I was in the best fight I'd ever seen in my life. Everybody just beating the crap out of me and looked like they were having fun. I wasn't.

I was under room arrest, but the guards gave up later on into the evening. I made my way to them girls, see what I could do with that, and find me some more whiskey. I remember coming to the next morning because that's what I'd been doing for a long time. I'd been shaking awake at about 4 or 5:30, just having to take another drink. That's what happened one more time and I couldn't find it. I couldn't find it.

I got down to the main floor and they had a little bus waiting for me and a couple of police cars and they were deporting me from Mexico for Christ's sake. How do you get thrown out of Mexico? You know, that's hard to explain.

You get on the bus and you get going. Got to the airport. I tried to make it to the bar and that didn't work out so good. I saw the biggest man, the biggest man in any shape or form you've ever seen. He was my bodyguard and bigger, three times bigger than Bobby. That's pretty big. Anyway, they take me out to the plane on my very own bus, one more little bus by myself. I got my bodyguard and he's sitting next to me on the plane. All these important people are loading me up, shipping me out.

This poor old woman sitting next to me on the plane ride back. I know I just reeked because I hadn't bathed in days and I'd been hard drinking like I like to drink. I remember just crying. Just crying. Every time I asked for help, it was always a stipulation to it. That evening, there was no stipulation. That morning, I just said, "God, help." That's all I could get out of my mouth. "God, help." I didn't know what to do.

Got back to the airport, my mom standing there crying one more time. My stepdad standing there laughing. He's a big shot administrator at one of the oldest treatment centers in Dallas at the time. He asked me a real important question. One of the guys that kind of headed up the trip and a couple of the chaperone people were asking me right before they sent me off. They said, "Joe, why do you drink like you drink? Why do you do this? Why do you always do this?" I told the absolute truth that morning. It was the first time, probably the last time, I've ever told the absolute truth in my life. I said, "You know, I don't know why I do what I do." That wasn't a sufficient answer for a non-alcoholic. They don't understand that. You can come in here and say, "I don't know." We all get it. We know you don't know why you do what you do. They want answers. "Who, what, when, where, why." Those are just lie questions. If you ask me, I'm just going to lie to you. Just for the principle of the thing. "Where you been? Who you been with? What's going on?" I don't know. What do you want to hear? What's going to make you feel better about all of it?

My dad says, "Well, what do you think we ought to do with you?" I said, "Well, you can take me to jail. I know I got warrants out some kind of place. Or maybe we can go to that treatment center you work at." He looked me dead in the eyes. He said, "Boy, you ain't worth the money." I said, "Well, what about AA?" He said, "That's the best idea you've ever had."

So they did a little roll and stop at the meeting, dropped me off. When they said, "Don't bother coming home," I said, "Don't worry, I ain't." I walked through the glass door and the lady was sitting there. Her granddaughter was in my graduating class and the whole room just busted out laughing because they knew where I was supposed to be. I'm just blubbering and whining and crying. I didn't know what to do.

I didn't pick up a desire chip that night. They stuffed me full of a lot of cigarettes. Nobody offered me a ride anywhere home or anything like that. They just turned me loose when the meeting was over because they didn't like me very much. I don't blame them.

I had a tough decision to make. I didn't know what to do. I walked by the liquor store and it just happened to be a Sunday. It was closed. I couldn't get nothing. So I walked around town all day. One of the gifts I'd received for graduation was roundtrip tickets anywhere I wanted to go. So I flew to Houston. I figured if anybody could help me out, maybe my dad could. I wanted—I wasn't wanted where I was at and I just needed to get gone. I do that a lot. When I ain't wanted where I'm at, I just get gone. Sometimes I just get gone because I need to. I kind of like to run a lot and that ain't so good.

I believe the best lesson I ever learned in Alcoholics Anonymous is sometimes it's just best to stand up and be counted and that's okay. That's the greatest lesson I've ever learned here. A lot about becoming a man.

Anyway, I made my trip down to Houston. I knew he'd help me get off a drunk and he did. He fed me a lot of orange juice and honey and stuff like that. I shook it out for a good three days. Every time I laid down in this little old bed—you know, it's a drunk house and there ain't no furniture, there's just beds set up everywhere—I remember every time I'd lay down, I felt like I was falling into hell and the walls and the ceilings were shaking and moving on me and stuff was crawling out of the carpet. I was having my first real good shot at DTs. It was great. A free trip, I guess. I don't know what to tell you.

He had this little bottle of tequila on the wall. It said "break in case of an emergency." It was enclosed in glass. I studied that thing for three hours trying to figure out: is this an emergency or not? Wound up not drinking it. I called my folks and said, "Hey, look, can I come back to Kaufman?" Because I didn't know that AA was anywhere but in Kaufman and Dallas, Texas. I thought that's the only place that existed. I needed to get back. I needed to get back there.

They said, "You can come back to town, but you can't come home." I said, "That's fine."

I started going to meetings on a regular basis. The first night I was back, they took me into the back room. If you're getting took to the back room, you're going to a good place if you're ready to stop drinking. They give me that talk about four or five of them. They said, "Here there are going to be some conditions for you here and one condition is you cannot say anything until we ask you to."

I said, "Okay. I said okay."

They said, "You're going to have a case of sugar diabetes. What you need to do is keep you some candy and something sweet around and have you something to get you through the shake, because I shook awful bad for a long time. It was a good six months before I could hold a full cup of coffee without spilling it. You're going to get a sponsor." They gave me a sponsor. His name was Head. Head was a real hillbilly. Had hair way down past his neck, and he quit school in the sixth grade. He only had about nine months at the time, but they figured if he wasn't there, there was no way I was going to stay sober. But if he worked with me, it might help him out. That's how that whole deal worked. It worked out real good because Head didn't know nothing.

We just got started on the book and he didn't read so well. So what we would do to work the steps is get together and I'd tell him