I Missed Every Gift… Until Sobriety: AA Speaker – Tim H. – Ardmore, OK
AA speaker Tim H. from Kentucky shares how alcoholism took his basketball scholarship, multiple marriages, and family relationships—until he found recovery.
Tim H. from Kentucky got sober on April 12, 1990, after 27 years of drinking cost him a basketball scholarship, three marriages, and the chance to be present for his children’s lives. In this AA speaker meeting from Ardmore, Oklahoma, Tim walks through how alcoholism systematically stripped away everything that mattered to him—his athletic career at St. Louis University, law school opportunities, and relationships—before he finally found the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous at age 47.
This AA speaker meeting features Tim H. sharing his 19-year recovery story, focusing on how alcoholism progressively took away his basketball scholarship, multiple business partnerships, and family relationships. Tim describes the three key symptoms that trapped him in AA: being restless, irritable and discontent; feeling apart from rather than a part of; and progressive patterns of dishonesty. He details his decade-long journey from the outskirts of AA to becoming fully involved in the program through sponsorship, step work, and service.
Episode Summary
Tim H. opens his talk at this men’s conference in Ardmore, Oklahoma, by reflecting on how his world went from incredibly small—growing up Irish Catholic in Kentucky with just three rules (Notre Dame football, Kentucky basketball, straight Democratic ticket)—to getting so isolated by the time he reached AA that he only wanted himself in his life. Now, 19 years sober, his world has expanded beyond anything he could have imagined through the fellowship of Alcoholics Anonymous.
Growing up in a family where drinking was normalized but alcoholism was never named, Tim became the first person in his family to actually identify as an alcoholic. They had “nervous people” and “characters”—like the uncle who shot someone climbing through his window while both were drunk—but never alcoholics. This environment taught Tim’s family to focus on the first few hours of any drinking episode while completely forgetting what happened at the end of the night.
Tim identifies three key symptoms that trapped him in the rooms when he first arrived: being restless, irritable, and discontent; feeling apart from rather than a part of; and progressive patterns of dishonesty. These weren’t just consequences of his drinking—they were lifelong patterns that alcohol temporarily relieved starting when he was 14 years old. He describes being someone who lied when the truth was good enough, inflating every achievement and unable to understand why reality was never sufficient.
The progressive nature of his alcoholism becomes clear through Tim’s college story. As a gifted 6’4″ basketball player, he received a Division I scholarship to St. Louis University—a huge accomplishment for his working-class family. But by his sophomore year, he showed up to games so drunk that teammates had to hide him on the end of the bench. This pattern stemmed from two key factors: his complete ignorance about physical allergy and mental obsession (he’d plan to have “a couple beers” and end up on multi-day blackouts), and what his sponsor later called “an extreme disorder of the ego”—always feeling he wasn’t getting the respect a man of his stature deserved.
When his basketball career ended, Tim faced the Vietnam War draft with lottery number six. His grandiose plan? Take the LSAT, get into law school, graduate, run for Congress, and become President of the United States. After failing the LSAT due to four years of daily drinking, he stopped drinking for five weeks, studied intensively, and was ready for his second chance. The night before the test, he decided to “have a couple beers to relax”—and disappeared on a city bus blackout for a day and a half. Desperate, he paid another student $25 to take the test for him. Ironically, that student scored the highest in the law school’s history.
The story of missing gifts becomes a central theme in Tim’s recovery. His first son was born Christmas morning 1971—God’s gift to him—but Tim was in the hospital bathroom throwing up whiskey instead of the delivery room. This pattern of missing life’s most important moments due to alcohol continued throughout his children’s early years. When he was six months sober, his son told him “I hate you, Dad, because all you think about is you”—a devastating but accurate assessment that motivated Tim’s deeper commitment to the program.
Tim spent the 1980s in what he calls a terrible decade: divorced in 1983, remarried in 1985, divorced in 1987, engaged to two other women, hospitalized in psychiatric facilities three times, lived in 15 different places, went through 14 business partners, lost $250,000, and was living in his parents’ basement. Even when living with his mom and dad, Tim would tell people he was “president of my own company”—technically true but missing crucial context.
His bottom wasn’t dramatic—just an anticlimactic morning in April 1990 when he woke up in someone’s basement, went to his usually busy office, and sat motionless from 8 AM to noon while no phone calls came and no one visited. That’s when he found an AA directory someone had left in his desk drawer two and a half years earlier and attended his first meeting. This experience connects to many AA speaker talks on hitting bottom and early sobriety, where the final moment often lacks the drama we might expect.
Tim spent his first 14 months “dry but not sober”—attending meetings but without a sponsor, home group, or step work. When his first sponsor finally pushed him to take action (“God is love, but love is action”), Tim was assigned to make coffee at what became his home group and began working the steps. This marked his transition from the outskirts of AA to the middle, where he discovered the program’s “greatest secret”—that the people having the most fun are those fully engaged in service and step work.
One of the most powerful stories Tim shares involves Chris, a young man he taught and coached in high school who later became his sponsee. When Chris stopped coming to meetings and started focusing on Big Brothers work instead, Tim gently reminded him that “I need to be around my own kind—drunks like me.” Chris eventually faced a devastating personal crisis when the mother of his child took the baby away out of spite. Two days before St. Patrick’s Day, Chris called in desperation, and Tim offered to meet the next morning to work the Third Step together. That meeting never happened—Tim found Chris dead by suicide, sitting in a lawn chair next to his car with an empty bottle of Jack Daniels and a hose from the exhaust pipe.
Chris’s death became a pivotal moment that drove Tim deeper into the program. As he puts it: “You can make me the deacon of 50 churches, head of the Boy Scouts everywhere, head of the Mother Teresa fan club—but if I forget first and foremost what I am and where I belong, forget about the rest.” This tragedy reinforced his commitment to staying in the middle of AA, regardless of other good works he might do.
Tim’s business recovery illustrates the principle of “doing the stitches and leaving the patterns to God.” When he owed $250,000 and was paralyzed with fear, an old-timer gave him simple daily instructions: be at the office at 8, do sales calls at 9, go to lunch, come back and do paperwork, go home at 4:45, have dinner with family, attend meetings, say prayers, and repeat the next day. Tim followed this routine faithfully for five years while still owing the money, thinking it was pointless. Then a business reporter called wanting to feature his company as one of the area’s fastest-growing businesses. When asked what turned things around, Tim simply described his daily routine—truth that sounded too simple for an article but represented exactly how his recovery worked.
The theme of missed gifts transforms into received gifts through Tim’s family relationships. His Christmas baby son, who told him “I hate you” at six months sober, eventually called eight years later needing help and asking to move back home. The patient rebuilding of their relationship, one day at a time through not drinking and “doing the next right thing,” eventually led to Tim helping his son start a business and becoming a beloved grandfather to his granddaughters.
Tim’s relationship with his “most frequent wife” (they married and divorced three times) also found transformation in sobriety. After years of chaos, they slowly built something they’d never had: friendship. They learned to be co-parents and eventually grandparents together. When they finally remarried, it was based on a completely different foundation than their previous attempts. Tim’s sponsor reminded him that “if our program is about anything, it’s about transformation—we don’t know when it’s going to happen, how it’s going to look, or who’s going to be involved, because God transforms, we don’t.”
Perhaps the most moving part of Tim’s story involves his daughter, who inherited the family disease and ended up on the streets of Los Angeles, weighing less than 100 pounds with her teeth falling out. When she called for help from 2,000 miles away, every instinct told Tim to fly out and rescue her. Instead, drawing on 12 years of sobriety and his experience in AA speaker meetings on sponsorship and carrying the message, he gave her an AA contact name and told her to call. The decision required him to examine his faith in the program: “Is it good enough for her?” Tim knew it was 50/50 whether she’d make the call or he’d bring her home in a box, but he also knew AA was all he had to give—the same thing one guy named Bill gave a guy named Bob. His daughter made the call and celebrated six years sober as of Tim’s talk.
Tim closes with a story that brings everything full circle. During a family ski trip, his four-year-old granddaughter was choking and appeared to be dying. In that crisis moment—with just Tim, his son Terry (the baby he had dropped while drunk), and a three-year-old present—Tim got on his knees and asked God to guide him. Through some combination of prayer and action, he managed to help dislodge the obstruction long enough for EMT to arrive and save her life. Terry, the son he had nearly killed as a baby due to his drinking, later told him: “Dad, the doctors said if you didn’t do what you did, she would have died. I am so glad you’re sober.”
This story exemplifies Tim’s central message: alcoholism systematically took away his ability to be present for life’s most important moments, but recovery through Alcoholics Anonymous has given him the chance to be there—body, mind, and soul—for his family and others. The gifts he missed while drinking have been replaced by gifts he never could have imagined, all available one day at a time through not drinking and working the program in the middle of the fellowship.
Notable Quotes
By the time I got to Alcoholics Anonymous, April 12th of 1990, that small world had gotten so small that it was down to me and if you weren’t me, then I didn’t want you in my life.
You can make me the deacon of 50 churches, head of the Boy Scouts everywhere, head of the Mother Teresa fan club—but if I forget first and foremost what I am and where I belong, forget about the rest.
My job is always going to be to do the stitches and leave the patterns up to God.
You will get credibility back in your life one day at a time by not drinking and doing the next right thing.
Dad, the doctors said if you didn’t do what you did, she would have died. I am so glad you’re sober.
Family & Relationships
Long-Term Sobriety
Sponsorship
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Full Transcript
This transcript was auto-generated and may contain minor errors. For the best experience, listen to the audio above.
My name is Tim Hile and I'm an alcoholic. Since April 12th, 1990, I haven't found it necessary to take a drink of alcohol or other mood-altering substance. And that's been the best thing that's ever happened to me. It's really good to be here.
I want to thank everybody. Bubba, thanks for the introduction. I saw who was hosting me and introducing me. I said, "Well, that's the way it would be. They would give the guy from Kentucky the Bubba to start things off with." Thanks to all of you. And Papa, thanks to you, buddy. I had no idea I drove all the way up here with Larry today. If I had known your birthday, I wouldn't have had you spend so much money on me at breakfast. I am grateful to be here.
I know many of you from different events in Texas, especially the Texas man-to-man at Lake Brownwood. A number of you that I met ten years ago. And somewhere in my story, hopefully I mentioned that ten years ago in 1999, I was nine years sober. My rear end was on fire. I was wondering what sobriety was all about and I ended up in Lake Brownwood and I'll talk about that in a little bit. My life changed. And ever since then, it's been an interesting uphill deal for me. It's so special to be here. I really mean that. I love being at men's conferences. They've been so important in my sobriety, almost over the last nineteen years.
I've never ceased to be amazed. I haven't been doing this as long as Mike and Gary, your other speakers, but I still have to pinch myself sometimes to think I'm here at Ardmore, Oklahoma at Lake Murray. And I think sometimes, how does a guy like me get to a place like that? When I think of how I grew up and where I came from.
I grew up in an Irish Catholic family from Kentucky. My daddy, I was about ten years old one time and he said to me, "Tim, there's only three things you need to know about living out there in the world. Here they are. Football, you pull for Notre Dame. Basketball, you pull for Kentucky. And you vote the straight Democratic ticket. That's it, kid. Now get out there and live."
Now that's a pretty small world to start out in. I think some of you could just change the names and you can relate to that. Because the truth is, by the time I got to Alcoholics Anonymous on April 12th, 1990, that small world had gotten so small that it was down to me. And if you weren't me, then I didn't want you in my life and I wanted to be by myself. And that's where I'd gotten myself on April 12th, 1990.
I just love that because today, when I need to tell you, my world has gotten so big and I've gotten to go so many places as a direct result of being in Alcoholics Anonymous. I just can't imagine it sometimes. Our book says we are people who normally would not mix. I love AA, and I really believe this. I hate to say this in front of a bunch of men, but I really believe someday people will look back on AA as one of the greatest love stories that God ever created. I truly mean that. I think it's one big love story. It has been from the beginning and I'm so grateful to be a part of that.
The people you meet and the people you don't expect to meet. My home group is the Lampin Street Group and it's in the inner city of downtown Louisville. I just happen to end up there because my office is not too far from there. But as a direct result of my home group being down in the inner city, probably about seventy-five percent of the men I sponsor are black men. They're African-American men. It's just kind of where I hang out. And I don't think a whole lot about it. I really don't. It's just kind of where I grew up in AA.
But about two years ago, I was down around there and they changed a one-way street to a two-way street. I'm going down this street one particular morning to turn left on the expressway. Evidently, this guy behind me doesn't know it's not a one-way street any longer. He pops right in the back of me. We're out in the street and it's an elderly black man who hit me and his wife. We're standing out there in the middle of the street waiting for the police to come. Keep in mind I'm about three blocks from my home group.
But we're standing there and all of a sudden here come two guys down the side of the street, both black. They run over to me and say, "Hey Tim, you all right, man? You all right?" I said, "Yeah, guys, go ahead. I'm okay. Go ahead." About that time, here come two other guys, both black. They run over to me. "Tim, you okay? Anything we can do for you, buddy?" I said, "No, man. It's okay." About that time, a car came off the expressway. Five guys in there, all black men. They ran over to me and said, "Tim, are you hurt? Can we take you to the hospital? Anything we can do for you, man?"
I didn't think anything about it. I turned around. That old black man was standing there. He went, "Who are you anyway?" You know what? And I didn't know what to tell this. When I say I'm a drunk, I mean I don't know what to tell you. But that's the type of thing that happens in our world in Alcoholics Anonymous.
Another situation. I'm in Indian country and I was thinking about this. I was asked to go speak at a Cherokee meeting in North Carolina a couple years ago on a Cherokee Indian reservation. I was real new at this and I was still really nervous about it. I get there on the reservation and I'm looking around. I'm the only non-Native American speaker. I'm the only non-Indian. Pretty clear. I don't look like an Indian. I'm a six-foot-four, blue-eyed guy.
I get up there and I'm real nervous. I look down there. There's the chief and there's the shaman guy and all the head guys are sitting down there. Man, I'm real nervous. The next thing I hear myself saying is, "Hey guys, you know what? When I was a kid, when I used to watch those Cowboys and Indians movies, I'd pull for the Indians. That's where it is." I looked at the chief and he started laughing and I started to relax.
But after the meeting, he came up to me and said, "You know, we started to wonder about you, but when you told that lie, we knew you were in the right place." Oh man. So the world in Alcoholics Anonymous is just unexplainable, but it's so beautiful. I can show up here today and feel absolutely one hundred percent right where I need to be. And that's such a special thing.
If you're new, if you're new, stick around and be a part of that. I want to tell you something right off the bat. I know there are some new people here. We can tell. We know who you are. But you know, I want to tell you something before I start. When I was new, what I did when I showed up to Alcoholics Anonymous and I would sit where you're sitting and I'd listen to the speaker, I would listen to what the speaker did that I didn't do. That's what I was really interested in.
I'd come and I'd listen to the speaker. Let's say Gary was speaking and I'd be sitting there thinking, "Well, I did that. I did that. I did that. Uh-uh, did not do that." Next night, next speaker. Did it, I did that, did it, did it, did not do that, did not do that. I was just doing this every meeting.
I was at probably six weeks in AA and a lady of all things is speaking. I'm listening to this woman's story and everything this lady did, I did. I'm listening to her story going, "Man, I did that. I did that. Oh man, I did that too. I did that too. I'm screwed. I did that too." But right at the end of her talk, she said she used to carry a half pint in her bra. I said, "I did not do that."
I remember telling some old guy after the meeting about it and he said, "Sounds like you're getting a little desperate there to me, kid." I said, "What do you mean?" And I said, "You know, because the deal was I was kind of looking for what an alcoholic looked like. And you guys said, 'Well, kind of like you.' I said, 'No, no, you know what I mean. Dirty old man, rain coat.' And you guys said, 'No, we don't know what you mean.'"
And you know what? It was confusing and still confusing. I looked around. I couldn't tell you were an alcoholic by looking at you. The stories were really different. They were all over the board. So I couldn't tell you an alcoholic by looking at you. The stories kind of confused me.
But here's what I want to share with you. I kept coming back and as I listened to your stories, no matter what you did or you didn't do, three things started to jump out at me that trapped me in the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous.
The first thing was that you all were talking about being restless, irritable, and discontent. The second thing you were talking about was being apart from, not a part of. And the third thing you were talking about was progressive patterns of dishonesty in your life.
See, man, when I heard those three things, I was screwed. I was trapped. Because those three things have been part of my life from the get-go. Those three things. I've wrestled with in Alcoholics Anonymous for the last eighteen and a half years.
You know, restless, irritable, and discontent. Our book talks about it. I don't know what it is. Just got it. Wake up with it. I've had it as long as I can ever remember. And what I clearly remember is when I was about fourteen years old, I put alcohol on it. It took it away. I never forgot that.
Sometimes the most powerful thing I hear any of us share is when you say to somebody, "Hey, how's it going?" And he says something like, "Ah, I don't know, Tim. Man, I don't know. I'm not quite centered. Things just can't quite right. Do you know?" And I go, "Yeah, I know. I know what you're talking about. I just never knew what to do with it."
You've heard many people talk about whatever that is, that hole in their soul that the wind blows through. I just know that alcohol very early on worked very well for me with that.
The second thing you all were talking about was being apart from, not a part of. And I really need to say this because the only thing I've really done right is you all told me to stay in the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous.
Because there's a part of me still. I've been doing this for about ten years now. There's still a part of me that shows up to places like this and goes, "Man, what am I doing here? They have no idea who I am. I'm not like them. My God, they'll find out I'm from Kentucky sooner or later." You know, there's always that moment of separation. There's always a part of me that wants to separate from the pack.
I got six little grandbabies and I like to watch old movies with them. One of my favorite movies of all time is E.T. the Extraterrestrial. Remember that movie? When it came out back in the eighties, when it first came out, I was out there. It's about eighty-three, eighty-four and I was rip-roaring drunk one night and I was taking this girl that I think I was engaged to out to see this movie. I'm in the movie about half loaded.
But there's a part in the movie, if you remember it, where E.T., the little Martian guy, gets all green and gray and crinkly. He's drying up. He's dying. He's absolutely dying. But all of a sudden, he looks up in the sky and he goes, "Oh, home. Home. E.T. home." Man, tears just started running down my face.
This girl I was with said, "What is wrong with you?" I said, "I know just how he feels." And you know what? I could tell that same theme in church. Nobody gets it. You tell that in AA? Everybody goes, "Oh yeah, man. I know." Home. Home. You know, I wanted to be there. I didn't know where I was. I was trying to get somewhere, going as fast as I could for many, many years. I wouldn't know when I got there. But I just know I wasn't where I needed to be. Alcohol was a great transformer for me.
And then the third thing I heard you talking about were progressive patterns of dishonesty in your life, man. And when I heard that, that really grabbed me. Because what I realized was I was a guy who lied when the truth was good enough.
I remember even thinking back when I was a kid. I played basketball. I came home and if I scored twenty points, I'd say I scored twenty-four. Got a B on the test, I'd say B-plus. I can remember thinking even as a kid, why do I do that? And here's what I've come to realize. Why wasn't the truth ever good enough for me?
Obviously, when I showed up here, I was about three months sober and I'd gotten back with my family. My thirteen-year-old daughter and I were sitting up watching the Late Show one night. And you know, out of this three months sober, I couldn't sleep. All of a sudden, my daughter says, "Dad, can I order a pizza?" And I said, "Oh, honey, no, don't do that. It's too late. Your mother will go crazy." She said, "Oh, come on. Let me." I said, "All right, go ahead."
So she orders a pizza. One fifteen in the morning, the doorbell rings. It's a pizza, man. Well, my wife comes storming out of the bedroom, starts screaming at my daughter going, "What are you doing getting a pizza at one fifteen in the morning?" My daughter said, "Well, Dad said I could." My wife said, "You say she could?" I said, "No."
And my daughter said, "Dad, you're lying." I said, "I know it. I do it all the time."
I say all that to say this. Restless, irritable, and discontent. Apart from, not a part of. And progressive patterns of dishonesty in my life.
Now, what I know today, which I didn't know when I showed up, is that you guys were going to give me the total package of a solution for what I just described as a spiritual malady.
Restless, irritable, and discontent. You basically said, "You're going to need to find a hookup to the God of your understanding because sometimes that's the only thing that's going to give you the peace you're looking for."
Apart from, not a part of. We give you the fellowship of Alcoholics Anonymous. And all you got to do is drag your raggedy old butt in here and stay a part of it, irregardless of how you feel, think, or believe.
And the last thing, about learning to tell the truth and accept the truth in my life. You gave me the twelve steps. And if you continue to practice these, you'll learn that your truth is always good enough. And if you can learn to live in your truth, then you can stay sober and you can stay alive.
I'm so grateful that I finally came to understand one thing. I have a disease of alcoholism, which is body, mind, and soul. And you guys gave me the total package of the program of Alcoholics Anonymous and the fellowship of Alcoholics Anonymous. And I'm so, so, so grateful for that.
I grew up in an Irish Catholic family. I was the oldest of seven kids. The understanding was if you were going to drink, it was about when and how good were you going to do it. That's just the way it was. And interestingly enough, I mean, we had lots of drinking going on for many generations. Interestingly enough, I was the first alcoholic, I think, as it turned out.
We had two groups of types of people in our family. We had a lot of nervous people and we had characters. You guys have any characters in your family? Man, we had a ton of those guys. I had a bunch of uncles. It would be stuff like my dad would say, "Well, yeah, you remember Uncle Mike got all drunk up and Uncle Tom was climbing through the window and he was drunk too and Uncle Mike woke up and he shot him and everybody laughed and had another drink." And then my dad would say, "Man, he was a character."
I remember being a little kid saying, "Dad, he's a killer. What are you talking about?"
We had lots of characters. We had lots of nervous guys. We didn't have any alcoholics. And I guess what you're understanding is it was everywhere, both sides of my family.
My grandpa, on my mom's side, was a whiskey-drinking man in and out of the VA hospital. A whiskey-drinking drunk. But we never could call him that. I was about ten years old one Thanksgiving. I remember sitting there watching the football game and I looked and here comes Papa coming through the front lawn and I could tell he was all drunk up. But I'm sitting there watching the football game. Papa comes in, falls over the lamp right into my lap.
Of course, my mom comes in, grabs him, takes him back. I heard her screaming at him back there. "Don't you ever come in here like that again." But I remember later on after he was gone, I asked my dad. I said, "Dad, what's the deal with Papa?" My dad said, "Well, Timmy, you know, he was in World War I and when he was over there, he got gassed real bad."
I remember thinking, "Yeah, he got gassed. That old Yellowstone whiskey underneath that table was gassing him." But anyway, what I'm saying is alcoholism. I grew up in an environment where we all had the ability to look at about the first two or three hours of the drinking episode and a total ability to forget what happened at the end of the night. And I guess if you're going to be an alcoholic, that's almost a condition we all have to develop sooner or later. And we certainly did it in my family.
What I would share with you about my drinking from this point forward is that alcohol would start to take from me when I was about seventeen years old, everything that would ever mean anything to me. And I really say that because sometimes as I've gotten older in this whole thing, I look back and I've got grandkids now. I guess we all somewhere in our life have hopes, we have dreams, we have the idea of what life should be for us. And I was like that. I wanted to grow up. I was an athlete. I wanted to be an NBA player. Other than that, I just wanted to have a nice wife, a house, and live the American dream.
I say that because as alcohol came into my life, it quickly prevented any and all of that from ever happening until I got to the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous. And that's why I'm so grateful sometimes to see you young people here. Sometimes it blows me away to see people seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty sitting in the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous because I think, man, my hope for you is that if you can understand what's wrong with you, you won't have to live the tragedy of losing the most important things in your life.
The very first thing for me was I was a good athlete. In Kentucky, if you can shoot a basketball, then that's a good deal. And that's about the only thing I could really do well. I was an all-state basketball player. My name was in the paper a lot. The picture was in the paper a lot. And the only reason I even mention that is it was a big deal to me because it's the only thing I really cared about. It was who I was. It was my whole self-esteem. Because other than that, I was a six-foot-four, goofy, pimply, afraid-of-girls type of guy. On a basketball court, that's where my identity was.
I say that because what happened to me in nineteen sixty-six, I got a scholarship to Division One college, St. Louis University. That's really great. A Catholic college for a Catholic kid. First one in my family to go to school, much less go on a scholarship. Huge deal for me. Huge deal for my whole family. I left there in sixty-six in all my glory.
What I want to share with you is this is the point in time where I can look back and the alcohol and alcoholism start to take from me everything that would ever mean anything to me. I showed up to that university and by the first game of my sophomore year, because you couldn't play as a freshman in those days, I showed up so drunk that the other players had to hide me on the end of the bench so they wouldn't throw me out of school.
And this was Division One. This wasn't YMCA. So this is like playing against Texas or Oklahoma or we played Drake in those days, Wichita State. North Texas State was in our conference back then. And you got a kid just stone drunk on the end of the bench.
When I look back on that particular incident when I got to AA one time and I want to share with you, there were two things that happened that day that really would continue through the rest of my story.
The first thing was this. At seventeen, eighteen years old, I had no clue about a physical allergy or mental obsession. I certainly didn't have any clue about a phenomenon of craving. What happened that particular day of the game, I came out of class and a guy said, "You want to go get a drink?" I said, "Well, yeah." I always said yeah. And I had a mind that said, "All right, we're going to have a couple beers, come back, get a nap, get a shower, go to the game, be a hero." That's what my mind said. I didn't know anything about physical allergy and mental obsession, phenomenon of craving.
The other part of this equation is my sponsor is a guy who talks a lot about this being an extreme disorder of the ego. And I really took that to heart. Because there's a part of me, and it happened this day too, a part of me that no matter what team I'm on or if I'm working with you, especially in relationship, I come to realize sooner or later that I'm not getting the respect that a man of my stature should be getting. I don't know about you guys. In jobs, in relationships, I start to notice for some reason that I'm not getting the respect that a man of my stature should be getting. It's really a problematic thing because as you perceive your stature getting higher, it makes it tougher on the other people that you're around.
That's what happened that day. Two things happened. The coach said the day before who was going to play, who wasn't going to play. I wasn't going to get in. Hurt my feelings. And that whole deal started. When little Timmy's feelings got hurt, he loved to drink.
The second thing was I had no idea that the first drink was a problem for me. So the combination of the two things, I showed up to that game very, very drunk.
Here I am. The most important thing in my life at seventeen years old. You know, the only thing I would have told you that meant anything to me. Alcohol is now moved ahead of it.
There used to be an old guy in our area who used to talk about alcohol being his friend. It was his buddy. He used to throw it in the back seat and they'd drive around and have a great time. Then one day he woke up. He's in the back seat. Alcohol was driving and it was taking him wherever it wanted to go.
At seventeen, eighteen years old, that's where I was. From that point forward, alcohol would start to dictate for me on a daily basis what I did, how I did it, where I did it, and especially where I ended up on any given day.
It also started to necessitate that I had to start compromising the values that my family had given me because they had given me good values. But if you're broke and you need to drink every day, then you need to do what you have to do. So if I had to steal, I stole. I used to take some tests for people because I had some brains. The whole moral fiber of this young guy who had left Louisville in all his glory, but within two years, it was already being deteriorated because of the need to find a way to drink on a daily basis.
I hung around and, as you probably guessed, the basketball came to an abrupt end about the first part of my junior year. And you know what? I really didn't even care too much anymore because the alcohol had become the only thing that I understood was making life viable, that made life okay.
But I hung around there and in nineteen seventy, I had enough credits to graduate. My grades weren't very good. If you go back to nineteen seventy, some of you can. There were only two things you could really do. You could go to work if you could, or you could go to war. And I wasn't too interested in either one. I kind of wanted to keep the party going if I could. That was my idea.
I really say this because as meager as it may seem to you, my life at that time was pretty much in the balance. There were two ways you could get out of the draft. They had a lottery back then. If some of you go back to that point in time, my lottery number was six. So I'm going. But there were two ways at that time you could get a deferment from the draft. You could get married. And I thought, man, that's awful drastic. Or you could go to grad school.
So here I come for the first time, as I remember it, in my adult life, coming up with a plan for Tim's life. And I thought, here's my plan. Now, hang with me here because as insane as this might sound, some of you are going to understand it perfectly.
My thought was this. I'm going to go take the test to get into law school. I'm going to get into law, pass the test, get into law school, graduate from law school, eventually run for Congress, and someday be president of the United States.
Now, here's the deal. As insane as that sounds, that's the way I think. For me, it's a short trip from street drunk to President of the United States.
As you might guess, I went and took the test and having been a daily drinker for the last four years, I got an awful score on the LSAT and the law school turned me down. Now I remember getting that thing in the mail and thinking, what are you going to do now, Tim? Because you're going, buddy. It's Vietnam, Vietnam, Vietnam. You're going to be shooting them up. You better come up with a new plan.
It actually popped into my head. How about this, Tim? Why don't you stop drinking? Why don't you stop drinking because you can pass that test? Stop drinking, study for that test, and pass that test.
So for the next five weeks, I stopped drinking. And it was awful, I'm going to tell you, because I'd pretty much been a daily drinker. I got over the shakes, got a guy to tutor me. We worked every day. I put every ounce of brains and energy that God had given me into studying for this test for the second time.
Five weeks of the best God gave me came down to the day before the second test. I made a slight change to my plan. The test was on a Saturday morning. I came home on Friday afternoon. I said, "All right, here's the new plan. I'm going to go out and get a couple beers so I can relax, come back, get a good night's sleep, get up, take that test, pass that test. Congress. President of the United States." Same plan, one little change.
I went out that Friday afternoon. I didn't get back to that college the following Tuesday. Found out later I rode around St. Louis on a city bus about a day and a half of what I know now today is called a blackout. I had no concept what was going on then.
I can particularly remember the guys before I left that afternoon. They said, "Tim, don't, man, don't do it. You're going to blow it off." I said, "Guys, do I look stupid? I will be back. I will be back in this dormitory by eight o'clock. You can write it down." And you know what? I believed that in my heart. If you had given me a polygraph, I'd have passed it because I didn't know anything, guys, about a physical allergy. I didn't know anything about phenomenon of craving till I walked in the doors of Alcoholics Anonymous.
Crazy thing happens there. This is how my life was starting to go. About three o'clock in the morning, I realized I wasn't going to be taking the test. I went back to the dormitory and I found a real smart guy. He was right down the hall from me. I paid him twenty-five dollars to go take the test for me and I went out and stayed loaded for three and a half days.
So this guy takes the test. About three weeks later, I got the results of the test that the guy took for me. The damn guy got the highest score in the history of the law school.
And of course, crazy as I was, I remember looking at this guy going, "You know what the hell you've done to me now? I gave you responsibility. I gave you responsibility. Now you got me in a jam."
You know, here's what I want to share with you. Here I am, twenty-three years old now, and I'm thinking I better get to them before they get to me. I called the dean of the law school and I said, "Sir, can I come and see you?" And I never forget this because, you know, there are certain moments that stick with you sometimes. And why this one does, I don't know. But I showed up and the dean was sitting there. He never said a word the whole time I was there. He just looked at me and I did what you have to do, right? I started to lie.
I said, "Well, Dean, you're probably wondering about the difference in those two scores. At the last minute I decided I didn't want to be a lawyer. I let some other guy take it. How did he do?" You know, as if I didn't know.
And you know, I knew he knew I was lying. Don't know if you've been there. I was there many times. But what I want to share with you, and I don't know why I remember this one moment, as I turned to leave that dean's office, I knew the truth. But one thing went through my mind was, "Tim, you know what the problem is, man? It's the booze. The booze took the basketball away and the booze took your opportunity to go to law school because you got the brains, damn it, and you know it. It's the alcohol."
I don't know why I remembered that because it did not last long. I walked out of that dean's office that day. There were two guys that I knew. They said, "You won't get a drink?" I said, "Yeah." That was nineteen seventy. And I was off and running. It was going to be twenty years till I got to the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous.
I came back to Louisville in four short years. Here's what happened. Here's this young hero kid that left Louisville. Within four short years, I'm sneaking back into the city. My whole life is a lie. I'm going to come back to Louisville and now I'm going to, as a direct result of alcohol and alcoholism, start my whole life on a dishonest basis because I had to come back and tell everybody I decided I didn't want to be a lawyer.
Thank God for moms. The only person that knew the truth about what happened was my mom till I got to Alcoholics Anonymous.
At twenty-three years old, I'm going to try to build. Our book talks about pitiful, incomprehensible demoralization. I think that comes in many packages and it comes in many forms. I can look back and I wouldn't have told you that then, but at twenty-three years old, I was already there. I was already taking away the moral fiber, the integrity that I had, and I was going to try to make it from there and do the best I could.
Interesting thing. I came back and took the draft physical and I flunked the draft physical on a congenital birth defect. I thought, hell, that would have saved me a lot of trouble.
But when I came back to Louisville, I got into teaching and coaching. I got a job coaching and they made me a basketball coach and the dean of students at this all-boys Catholic high school. That's a bad place to put a drunk as a dean of students because I was in charge of discipline.
I'll tell you this story and I want to tell you why because there are lots of stories from this era of my life.
I'm the dean of students and I'm in charge of all these kids coming in in the morning. This is back in the seventies, right? And all the kids are out in the parking lot hitting a few doobies before they come into school. I'm sitting there this one morning as I was many mornings, like a big old tomato head, you know, just trying to get through that first couple hours, just not one to talk to anybody.
But this particular day, I look up and this kid is standing up over me. He's got that long army jacket on with that long hair we had back in the seventies, man. You could just smell the reefer everywhere and his eyes were all glassed over and he was just kind of floating over my desk like this.
All of a sudden he looked down and said, "Hey, Mr. Hile, you're looking bad, dude."
Oh man. Let me tell you why I tell you that story. That particular story, and there are lots of stories from that era, is that kid that said that to me that day last summer celebrated twenty-six years in Alcoholics Anonymous. He lives down in Deerfield, Florida. He's a multi-millionaire, I swear to God. And he's a great member of AA.
I went down there a couple years ago for a conference and he met me at the plane and he had his kids with him and he ran over. He called me Coach. He said, "Hey, Coach, come here." He said, "Look, I ain't ever told my kids about how I was. I'll make you a deal