The Back-Slider
Personal Stories From The First Edition
WHEN I was graduated from high-school the World War was on in full blast.
I was too young for the army but old enough to man a machine for the
production of the means of wholesale destruction. I became a machine-hand
at high wages. Machinery appealed to me anyway, because I had always
wanted to be a mechanical engineer. Keen to learn as many different
operations as possible, I insisted on being transferred from one
operation to another until I had a good practical knowledge of all
machines in a standard machine shop. With that equipment I was ready to
travel for broader experience and in seven years had worked in the
leading industrial centers in the eastern states, supplementing my shop
work with night classes in marine engineering.
I had the good times of the period but confined my drinking to weekends,
with an occasional party after work in the evenings. But I was unsettled
and dissatisfied, and in a sense disgusted with going from job to job and
achieving nothing more than a weekly pay envelope. I wasn't particularly
interested in making a lot of money, but I wanted to be comfortable and
independent as soon as possible.
So I married at that time, and for a while it seemed that I had found the
solution to my urge for moving around. Most people settle down when they
marry and I thought I'd have the same experience, that my wife and I
would chose a place where we could establish a home and bring up a
family. I had the dream of wearing carpet slippers in a life of
comparative ease by the time I was forty. It didn't work out that way.
After the newness of being married had worn off a little the old wander
business got me again.
In 1924 1 brought my wife to a growing city in the middle west where work
was always plentiful. I had been in and out of it several times before
and I could always get a job in the engineering department of its largest
industrial plant. I early acquired the spirit of the organization which
had a real reputation for constructive education of its workers. It
encouraged ambition and aided latent talent 'to develop. I was keen about
my work and strove always to place myself in line for promotion. I had a
thorough knowledge of the mechanical needs of the plant and when I was
offered a job in the purchasing department's mechanical section I took it.
We were now resident in sort of a workers' paradise, a beautifully
landscaped district where employees were encouraged to buy homes from the
company. We had a boy about two years after I started with the company
and with his advent I began to take marriage seriously. My boy was going
to have the best I could give him. He would never have to work through
the years as I had done. We had a very nice circle of acquaintance where
we lived, nice neighbors and my colleagues in the engineering department
and later in purchasing were good people, many of them bent on getting
ahead and enjoying the good things of life while they climbed. We had
nice parties with very little drinking, just enough to give a little
Saturday night glow to things-never enough to get beyond control.
Fateful and fatal came the month of October in the year 1929. Work slowed
down. Reassuring statements from financial leaders maintained our
confidence that industry would soon be on an even keel again. But the
boat kept rocking. In our organization, as in many others, the purchasing
department found its work lessened by executive order. Personnel was cut
down. Those who were left went around working furiously at whatever there
was to do, looking furtively at each other wondering who would be next to
go. I wondered if the long hours of overtime with no pay would be
recognized in the cutting down program. I lay awake lots of nights just
like any other man who sees what he has built up threatened with
destruction.
I was laid off. I took it hard for I had been doing a good job and I
thought as a man often will, that it might have been somebody else who
should get the axe. Yet there was a sense of relief. It had happened. And
partly through resentment and partly from a sense of freedom I went out
and got pretty well intoxicated. I stayed drunk for three days, something
very unusual for me, who had very seldom lost a day's work from drinking.
My experience soon helped me to a fairly important job in the engineering
department of another company. My work took me out of town quite a bit,
never at any great distance from home, but frequently overnight.
Sometimes I wouldn't have to report at the office for a week, but I was
always in touch by phone. In a way I was practically my own boss and
being away from office discipline I was an easy victim to temptation. And
temptation certainly existed. I had a wide acquaintance among the vendors
to our company who liked me and were very friendly. At first I turned
down the countless offers I had to take a drink, but it wasn't long
before I was taking plenty.
I'd get back into town after a trip, pretty well organized from my day's
imbibing. It was only a step from this daily drinking to successive bouts
with absence from my route. I would phone and my chief couldn't tell from
my voice whether I had been drinking or not, but gradually learned of my
escapades and warned me of the consequences to myself and my job. Finally
when my lapses impaired my efficiency and some pressure was brought to
bear on the chief, he let me go. That was in 1932.
I found myself back exactly where I had started when I came to town. I
was still a good mechanic and could always get a job as an hourly rated
machine operator. This seemed to be the only thing which offered and once
more I discarded the white collar for the overalls and canvas gloves. I
had spent more than half a dozen good years and had got exactly nowhere,
so I did my first really serious drinking. I was good for at least ten
days or two weeks off every two months I worked, getting drunk and then
half-heartedly sobering up. This went on for almost three years. My wife
did the best she could to help me at first, but eventually lost patience
and gave up trying to do anything with me at all. I was thrown into one
hospital after another, got sobered up, discharged, and ready for another
bout. What money I had saved dwindled and I turned everything I had into
cash to keep on drinking.
In one hospital, a Catholic Institution, one of the sisters had talked
religion to me and had brought a priest in to see me. Both were sorry for
me and assured me that I would find relief in Mother Church. I wanted
none of it. "If I couldn't stop drinking of my own free will, I was
certainly not going to drag God into it," I thought.
During another hospital stay a minister whom I liked and respected came
to see me. To me, he was just another non-alcoholic who was unable, even
by the added benefit and authority of the cloth, to do anything for an
alcoholic.
I sat down one day to figure things out. I was no good to myself, my
wife, or my growing boy. My drinking had even affected him; he was a
nervous, irritable child, getting along badly at school, making poor
grades because the father he knew was a sot and an unpredictable one. My
insurance was sufficient to take care of my wife and child for a fresh
start by themselves and I decided that I'd simply move out of the world
for good. I took a killing dose of bichloride of mercury.
They rushed me to the hospital. The emergency physicians applied the
immediate remedies but shook their heads. There wasn't a chance, they
said. And for days it was touch and go. One day the chief resident
physician came in on his daily rounds. He had often seen me there before
for alcoholism.
Standing at my bedside he showed more than professional interest, tried
to buoy me up with the desire to live. He asked me if I would really like
to quit drinking and have another try at living. One clings to life no
matter how miserable. I told him I would and that I would try again. He
said he was going to send another doctor to see me, to help me.
This doctor came and sat beside my bed. He tried to cheer me up about my
future, pointed out I was still a young man with the world to lick and
insisted that I could do it if I really wanted to stop drinking. Without
telling me what it was, he said he had an answer to my problem and
condition that really worked. Then he told me very simply the story of
his own life, a life of generous tippling after professional hours for
more than three decades until he had lost almost everything a man can
lose, and how he had found and applied the remedy with complete success.
He felt sure I could do the same. Day after day he called on me in the
hospital and spent hours talking to me.
He simply asked me to make a practical application of beliefs I already
held theoretically but had forgotten all my life. I believed in a God who
ruled the universe. The doctor submitted to me the idea of God as a
father who would not willingly let any of his children perish and
suggested that most, if not all of our troubles, come from being
completely out of touch with the idea of God, with God Himself. All my
life, he said, I had been doing things of' my own human will as opposed
to God's will and that the only certain way for me to stop drinking was
to submit my will to God and let Him handle my difficulties.
I had never looked on my situation in that way, had always felt myself
very remote indeed from a Supreme Being. "Doc," as I shall call him
hereinafter, was pretty positive that God's law was the Law of Love and
that all my resentful feelings which I had fed and cultivated with liquor
were the result of either conscious or unconscious, it didn't matter
which, disobedience to that law. Was I willing to submit my will? I said
I would try to do so. While I was still at the hospital his visits were
supplemented by visits from a young fellow who had been a heavy drinker
for years but had run into "Doc" and had tried his remedy.
At that time, the ex-problem drinkers in this town, who have now grown to
considerable proportions, numbered only Doc and two other fellows. To
help themselves and compare notes they met once a week in a private house
and talked things over. As soon as I came from the hospital I went with
them. The meeting was without formality. Taking love as the basic command
I discovered that my faithful attempt to practice a law of love led me to
clear myself of certain dishonesties.
I went back to my job. New men came and we were glad to visit them. I
found that new friends helped me to keep straight and the sight of every
new alcoholic in the hospital was a real object lesson to me. I could see
in them myself as I had been, something I had never been able to picture
before.
Now I come to the hard part of my story. It would be great to say I
progressed to a point of splendid fulfillment, but it wouldn't be true.
My later experience points a moral derived from a hard and bitter lesson.
I went along peacefully for two years after God had helped me quit
drinking. And then something happened. I was enjoying the friendship of
understanding fellows and getting along quite well in my work and in my
small social circle. I had largely won back the respect of my former
friends and the confidence of my employer. I was feeling fine-too fine.
Gradually I began to take the plan I was trying to follow apart. After
all, I asked myself, did I really have to follow any plan at all to stay
sober? Here I was, dry for two years and getting along all right. It
wouldn't hurt if I just carried on and missed a meeting or two. If not
present in the flesh I'd be there in spirit, I said in excuse, for I felt
a little bit guilty about staying away.
And I began to neglect my daily communication with God. Nothing
happened-not immediately at any rate. Then came the thought that I could
stand on my own feet now. When that thought came to mind-that God might
have been all very well for the early days or months of my sobriety but I
didn't need Him now-I was a gone coon. I got clear away from the life I
had been attempting to lead. I was in real danger. It was just a step
from that kind of thinking to the idea that my two years training in
total abstinence was just what I needed to be able to handle a glass of
beer. I began to taste. I became fatalistic about things and soon was
drinking deliberately knowing I'd get drunk, stay drunk, and what would
inevitably happen.
My friends came to my aid. They tried to help me, but I didn't want help.
I was ashamed and preferred not to see them come around. And they knew
that as long as I didn't want to quit, as long as I preferred my own will
instead of God's will, the remedy simply could not be applied. It is a
striking thought that God never forces anyone to do His will, that His
help is ever available but has to be sought in all earnestness and
humility.
This condition lasted for months, during which time I had voluntarily
entered a private institution to get straightened out. On the last
occasion when I came out of the fog, I asked God to help me again.
Shamefaced as I was, I went back to the fellowship. They made me welcome,
offered me collectively and individually all the help I might need. They
treated me as though nothing had happened. And I feel that it is the most
telling tribute to the efficacy of this remedy that during my period of
relapse I still knew this remedy would work with me if I would let it,
but I was too stubborn to admit it.
That was long ago. Depend upon it I stay mighty close to what has proven
to be good for me. I don't dare risk getting very far away. And I have
found that in simple faith I get results by placing my life in God's
hands every day, by asking Him to keep me a sober man for 24 hours, and
trying to do His will. He has never let me down yet.
Next, Home Brewmeister
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