Chapter 12

THE TURNING POINT

Dejected, depressed, beat, and just plan down,

were words that described my mental state, at the time, of my as of to date, last drunk. It took place in the first part of 1984.

The employment opportunity that I thought Sol could help me with, turned out to be non-existent. My girl friend had lost interest in me. I was broken and without many prospects for the future.

I pulled this last drunk with the help of my old drinking buddy. He had been my father in law, during my ten and one half year marriage, to his daughter, " Sandy. " His name is Ed.

After the marriage had ended back in 1974, Ed and I had choose to remain the best of buddies. After all why should a little thing like a marriage, louse up the friendship of good drinking buddies. For Years Ed and I had knocked around the country in my little Cessna 172 airplane. We had much fun. The Florida trip alone, would have provided material for an interesting book, had Ed, or I either one, thought to take notes. We were too busy drinking on that one, and it's a wonder that either of us remember it at all today.

On the day that the last drunk occurred,

we left Abilene, with a case of beer positioned handily between us in an old beat up pick up camper. After driving about 25 miles out side of Abilene, Ed pulled over to the side of the road and explained that it was my turn to drive. He explained that he was feeling a little drunk. It was probably due to something that he didn't eat, and because Ed had been washing what he didn't eat, down with beer ever sense about 10:00 that morning. He had been doing this as we were getting ready to take the trip.

Ed was a private investigator. One of the best that I know despite his drinking. Despite the amount he consumed, he always seemed almost operational.

On this trip we had a mission. Ed had been paid to find a run away husband for a loving wife. She wanted to woo him back home.

I was three beers into this noble quest,

when I blacked out. When I woke up the next day, it seemed like someone had drunk all our beer. It was gone. There was no recollecting past the third beer for me. What had gone on? The whole evening was blank. It was about 10:30 or 11:00 the next day and I do not remember any of the happenings of the previous day past the third beer. Casually I questioned Ed, about what had gone on trying not to let him know that I had experienced a complete blackout. It became plan to me that I had not exhibited any unusual conduct during this time. From all indications I had driven well, and conducted myself like a gentleman. All had gone well.

At a gas station somewhere at the southwest edge of Austin, I had simply got out of the drivers seat while Ed was inside paying for the gas. I then climbed up into the back camper and went to sleep. Ed had figured that I had just got sleepy and took over the driving. No problem, just no memory. That morning the hang over was worse than I had ever experienced. Something was different about this drunk that I couldn't quite put my finger on it. I don't know if it was the magnitude of the hangover headache, the depression, or what, but I had definitely hit a new low.

In times past I had experienced the," never again feeling,

" just to do a repeat performance, after the initial recovery. This time was different, not that it dawned on me what was going on at the time. It was to take two more days for Ed and I to finish our work in Austin. Some how the hang over and the depression didn't subside.

When I drove back into the drive-way, in front of Sol's house, after the trip, I was so out of it even yet, I forgot that there was a camper on the back of the pick up, and tried to drive into the low overhead garage. Some how it didn't seem to fit. Lucky I was going slow. The garage and camper only incurred minimal damage. Embarrassed and depressed I climbed out of the truck and bid Ed good-bye. I was somewhat puzzled about my inability to function. This inability was still in effect a couple of days later.

Never in my life have I felt so low.

There where problems with my girl friend, my finances, my prospects for a future, my mother, you name it. If you had these problems, you would have drink and drugged too! The weather was full of gloom. It was freezing cold and snowy. If my memory serves me right , it was about the 14th of January when the full impact of everything was taking its final toll. At 1:00 that day I had called my mother, who I've only agreed with, on anything, about a half dozen times in my life. This call was to inform her that I had decided to go back to Austin to continue my life in a tent. At the time I was living at Sols house, on Litle lake, in Abilene.

My mother had two houses. One she lived in and one she rented out. There was adequate income for her even without this rent money, but I wouldn't have chosen to live with her, even if she had offered. At birth one or the other of us must have taken something wrong, and we have fussed every sense. How, do you plan to get back to Austin, she asked, in what seemed to me like a haughty, insulting, tone of voice. " I am going to hitchhike," I answered. You are not stupid enough to hitch hike in 18 degree whether she returned in a rather disgusted manner. " I'll beg your pardon, I plan to hitch hike, " I answered, " and I am too that stupid I insisted." With that I hung up the phone and began to pack.

It was both a woeful and sad note that I wrote my girlfriend,

who I was too depressed to see even before I left out. The exact content of the letter, I don't remember, but the feeling, was one of remorse. Everything had turned to shit. I also sealed an envelop meant to be read by Sol and Patsy, after I was down the road a distance. I sealed these letters in their appropriate envelops, and promptly left after putting them where they would be read.

I trudged through the snow, toward the road to Austin Texas. In my hands, I carried two suite cases, over my shoulders were two shoulder bags. They were heavy. On my person I was wearing four coats, and three pairs of pants.

At first rides came fast but short. It seemed like that every one of them that picked me up took me but a short distance, but they each offered me a cold beer. I was impressed by their wiliness to share, and I didn't want to hurt anyone feelings by turning down such hospitality. About 5 or 6 short rides and tall beers later, I had landed at a spot just on the Austin side of the little town of " Rising Star. "

Some how I had managed to be put out about amile from town, just about the time the sun was going down. As the temperature waned, the sun slid past the horizon, and the beer started to ware thin. Soon I was faced with what seemed like the very real prospect of freezing to death.

Foresight had completely failed me.

I didn't even think to bring matches. If I had of thought about matches, they would have probably got wet.If only I had a way to build a fire, I thought. There were plenty of fence post, and if I got arrested for burning them maybe the jail would be warm. Surely I will get another ride before morning, I hoped. Slowly I came to the acceptance of the fact that I was done for. This was it, the final one. Despite how many cloths I was wearing, it wasn't enough. I was freezing to death beside the road. If someone didn't stop, soon, I would be dead by morning.

At this point I got angry.

" So," I thought, " this is gods idea of a joke." I've lived for 45 years, and I about to die a pointless death, by freezing in this Fucking ditch. How Fucking pointless! Now the awe and complexity of existence, and gods creation, didn't impress me much at that time. I was going to be dead in a short while, and none of it seemed to matter.

There was so much that then didn't seem important. Never mind that I had once owned my business, flew my plane, made good money, etc. The fact was that my life had come to the point where I was now a bum that deserved nothing better than to freeze to death in a ditch. Never mind because I had a good mind, geared to advertising and money making. Any previous success I may have experienced during my previous 10 and one half year marriage, I was going to freeze shortly. I would be found with about $1.58 in my pocket, in the morning.

" Quite frankly God," I thought, " I don't think much of this."

Nothing seems to make much sense. Why did I bother to live at all? What is the purpose of anything? God, " I prayed angrily you would have done better to have left all this on the drawing board!" I shouted this irreverent prayer to god and added, " Don't you see, I am going to freeze to death out here and my life means nothing. No one cares, If you are going to do something God, you better do it now, you big phoney! If you intended for any of this to make any sense, you have failed, I shouted, to God. Why did you let me live this long, if my life isn't going to mean anything? What do you want from me anyway?

I placed my suite cases flat on the ground, and my shoulder bags. My shoulder bags served as a pillow. The other shoulder bag served to extend out to keep my feet off the ground. If I am going to freeze to death, I might as well do it as comfortably as possible, I reasoned. I laid down and waited for the end. It seemed like it would take for ever. I waited and waited. In the morning I was still waiting when the sun rose, and shown hazily in the overcast morning sky. A miracle had occurred. Somehow I had not frozen to death. There was no real reason that I shouldn't have done so. It was surely no fault of my that I hadn't done so. I had completely resigned myself to the acceptance of that fate. Some how I had made it through the bitter night.

With the new day traffic started to stir.

Before to long I got a ride. Still, as was the day before, the rides were short, and slow about coming. It was about 9:00 the next evening when my last ride let me off on the north side of Austin. I was on loop 1. I walked toward Anderson Mill road. As I walked, I though of a lady friend that lived on the other side of Austin. She would likely let me spend the night. I badly needed my rest, not to mention that by now I was dirty, stinking, and needed to clean up a bit. Food wouldn't hurt anything. To do any of this I had to get to the south side of Austin, where she lived, from the far north side, where I was.

As I trudged along thinking, I noticed that it seemed a bit warmer here in Austin than it had been in Abilene. This was a plus. Still I didn't relish the thought of having to spend the night outside even in Austin. It was wet and muddy though it wasn't snowy like it had been in Abilene. My body had stood just about all the exposure that a body can and still survive. I stopped at a connivance store and spent part of my $1.58 on a phone call to Marge. She graciously invited me over to her place. The big problem now was to get across town. I was so close to a warm bed now, but so far, I pondered.

It would have been a tough trip, even if I had of been feeling good when I left. With the lingering effects of the hangover from the blackout drunk that had taken place a short time before, still in effect, I was almost beyond going. I was really beat.

Turning down Anderson Mill road toward Burnett, I crossed the street and was moving closer south toward a vacant lot. On the other side of the street I noticed a young man with blond colored hair approaching me from in front, going the opposite direction that I was going. He was wearing a letter jacket, with a big letter," C " on it. As this Man walked toward me, for some reason I thought, this guy is going to bum me for money. Why I thought this, I don't know. That wasn't the case at all.

He kept his eyes in contact with mine and advanced toward me. Just as I was in ear shot of him he surprised me by asking me," What do you need?" What I strange question to be coming out of a man that I thought was going to bum me for something. It wasn't that the guy looked liked someone that would bum anyone, it is just the thought that went through my head at the time. For a moment his question threw me completely off guard, and my mind went racing. What didn't I need now? It would be good to have my Airplane back, My home, my dogs, my wife, or some girl friends. Money, Job, car, what didn't I need? Just then I realized that I was spacing out at this guys' strange question.

better get back to reality,

I just in case there was something that this guy had that I could get from him. It didn't much matter what it was, I thought, whatever this guy was willing to give, I needed it. I snapped out of my momentary trance, that had been induced by the young mans strange question. I thought what could I get? , How about a ride across town, I said? It is Sunday, he replied. The buses do not run this late, out here. I think I know how you might get to the place you need to go. How? I ask. Go, he continued, " down this street, about two blocks. Off to your right you will see some cars parked around a building. This is a club that alcoholics go to that are trying to stay sober. There will be someone there that will take you were you need to go.

As the man turned, and started to walk away, I was staring fascinated, at his face. It seemed that somewhere in the back of my mind I had seen him somewhere before. Something seemed so familiar about this man. I could not quite put my finger on it. Who was he, anyway? What had caused him to ask me that question? Don't I know you, I ask? He turned again, toward me, and sternly replied," No!" You do not know me from Adam! With that he turned back toward the direction he had been headed, and faded into the night.

Strange, I thought, as I walked on intending to follow this strangers advice. I lacked a better idea of how to get across town than the one that had just been offered. Little did I know that where I thought I was going wasn't where I was going.

When I got to the club, that the young man had told me about, I peered through the window at all the people inside. the building.These were alcoholics? They all looked so clean and groomed,

I thought. They are not over dressed, but clean looking. Most of the people that had wandered into my hobo camp calming to be alcoholics never looked that good.

As I stood there looking through the window, my mind flashed back to the hobo camp that I had once set up near a similar club. I had named it, " Alcoholics Unanimous," because everyone that lived in the camp was devoted to the practice of active alcoholism. No one was allowed in the camp that did not drink or drug. We just didn't trust anyone that wouldn't let their hair down and get drunk with us. Non drinkers and non druggie were considered weird. They might be some kind of Narcs, or something, if you know what I mean.

I surmised that the suit cases and the travel bags that I was toting, might look somewhat out of place, here, not to mention how I looked. I knew that after all that I had just been through, that I must look like warmed over death. Still I lacked choice. I thought, if I want to get across town, I can't be intimidated into not asking for help, by being afraid of how I looked. After all, I thought, I had been kicked out of better places, so why worry about it?

Before I entered, I stashed the bags by the front door,

hoping that they would be safe. I had my most valuable items on me, namely my coats. After all I thought, they had obviously saved my life. Though I had been convinced that I was going to freeze to death, hadn't they kept me at least barley alive?

Quietly I slipped in the door. I took a seat toward the back of the room, hoping not to be noticed. At least, I thought it wouldn't be good till I'd had time to look the joint over. I just wanted to find out what was going on, first, so I wouldn't do anything out of place, and blow my chances of getting a ride across town.

The meeting was in progress.

There seemed a rather interesting procedure going on. The meeting had kind of format to it. There was a person up at the front of the room that was obviously moderating what was going on. First one, then another would raise their hands, to be called on to talk. If no one raised their hands the chair person would ramble for a while. He would then appoint someone to say something, whether they had their hand up or not. When people were called on, they would identify themselves and then the whole group in a rather friendly sort of way, would say, " Hi! Who ever "repeating their name that they had just introduced themselves. I noticed that they also would say, after they said their names, that they were an alcoholic or an addict. Then they would talk about the program, and how it had affected their lives.

Sometimes they would just bitch and moan about whatever was bothering them at the time. Their old lady left them, or the couldn't find a job. The mother in law had just come to visit. Then they would add, none of this was serious enough to drink over. Then someone would commit on what someone else had said. They kept mentioning something about, " the steps,"and working the steps. Funny I thought, I didn't notice any steps when I walked through the door. What are they talkingabout?

My mind flashed back to the many times that I had sat outside the meeting rooms of the club

that my ,"Alcoholics Unanimous," Hobo camp had been located near, and remembered the conversations that I had with these people. They would look at me and ask me questions like, Fred, don't you think your life is a little unmanageable? No, I would reply, what would ever make a person ask a silly question like that. It was true that I was having to live somewhat different from the way I had ever been accustom to. Most people seem to live in houses, take regular baths, have jobs, and raise kids.

How dull, I thought. They are enslaved to a 40 year montage, and a job that they have to show up for every day despite how they feel. If they don't someone will repossess the house, the car, and the wife and kids will leave with a traveling salesman, or your best friend. At least I am not that kind of chump. I had learned my lesson. The government wouldn't bug me in my hobo camp, and no woman would fool with any man not willing to be a part of the enslavement seen.

I continued to sit through the meeting while thinking my thoughts. I was remembering how that upon the occasions when I had talked one on one with the people that gathered at the other meeting place, near my camp.They would talk about the kind of partying that I was accustom to on a regular bases. Then they would say that they didn't do that any more. I wondered why they spent so much time talking about the kind of things they used to do, and I was still doing.

They seemed like they enjoyed remembering all this.

Then they would just laugh and say that they didn't do that anymore, or that they had lost their ability to drink and drug. They would talk about being in jail, throwing up, waking up in strange places, with strange people in bed with them, wondering how they got there. To bad, I would think, that they can't have all this fun anymore. This meeting that I was sitting at seemed like a good idea. It gives a person a chance to sort out their thoughts, some what. It was almost enough to make me wish that I was an alcoholic, I thought. After all, for alcoholics, there seemed so much help at meetings like this. If you were like me, I pondered, a non alcoholic, and just down on your luck, what could you do? Who could you turn to for help?

After the meeting I walked up to a total stranger and ask them if they might help me.

I explained that I was trying to get across town. I had meet a stranger earlier that had mentioned that someone here might be able to help me get where I needed to be. I hastened to explain also, where I was trying to get to was out on Congress St. in the south part of Austin. The first person that I talked to wasn't going my directions but he said that he thought he knew someone that was going out to the part of town that I needed to be in. Then he introduced me to Steve.

Steve looked at me, with my two day growth of beard, and my dirty cloths, and aromatic aroma, and ask the obvious question. Is a ride across town all you need, are do you have a drinking problem? I'm just trying to get across town, I said," drinking has never been much of a problem for me, I confessed. Oh, is that so? Well, I am not quite ready to leave yet, but I'll take you where you need to go, when I am ready.

I sighed a sigh of relieve, and thanked him. At last I am going to get my much needed rest. Steve bought me a cup of coffee and then invited me to visit with him. We where sitting on a large comfortable couch, back in one of the back rooms of the club. I took my coffee black, and followed him back to the couch room and flopped on it wearily.

Steve began to ask me some questions.

Where had I come from? How long had I been on the road? Had I ever drank myself into a blackout? And so on. Funny you should ask me about that last question, I admitted. I'm really just begging to come out of a hang-over that resulted from a black out drunk that happened just a few days ago. It was the worst black out and hang over that I have ever had. This, I confided quite honestly. I don't think that nearly freezing to death, on the road to get here helped the way that I feel much either.

I've only had about 4 or 5 beers today, I volunteered. They were given to me by people that picked me up on the way. I guess they thought that I looked like I needed them, I don't have the money to buy any booze right now. I've been sort of down on my luck, but I've got some really great ideas, if I can just get into a position to do them again. I'm excellent in advertising ideas and publicity.

All I have to do is somehow get back into business again, and I know how to make money. Do you know that the black out drunk you just described, is a symptom of alcoholism, he asked? You think I'm an alcoholic? I came back. I couldn't really say. Let me tell you some things that happened to me that made me finely come to the conclusion that I was an alcoholic. With that he started to share story after story that I identified with all to well. If I had to remember any one of them right now, I couldn't tell you one. I just remember the feeling, of relating to someone. I related so well that as we talked, I felt like he might have some missing cells that belong to my brain in his head.

It was an uncanny experience. The results, of the conversation were that I finely realized the truth of the matter. My life was so fucked up because I was an alcoholic. I didn't just drink because my life was fucked up. It was amazing to me. In one conversation with this man, I went from saying, I've only had 4 or 5 beers today, to saying," Hi I'm Fred, and I am an addict and alcoholic."

More important, it wasn't a game just to get a ride across town.

Steve had told me up front that he would take me any where I needed to go. This was real. It was the first step in a long journey. On January 16th of 1984, I was to spend my first day sober, in a program for recovering alcoholics. It is the same program that has of this date, kept me sober for over 6 years. I never made it to the ladies' house. Instead Steve took me to where I needed to go. That was the 24 hour club. It was before they had the, " no sleeping," rules that they have there now. For 2 days I hung around there until someone suggested that I go get some treatment at an, in house program called R. E. A. P.. These initials stood for Re educate and placement. It was sponsored by Texas Rehab, and I could go there and stay for a while free.

As I stated before the January of 84 was a cold one.

I was totally unprepared for it. I sure don't want to forget that winter, because I don't want to have ever to sober up again. It is said in the circles that I travel in, that if an alcoholic forgets his last drunk, chances are, it isn't his last.

Who was that mysterious blond haired man,

with the letter jacket on. He had appeared and directed me toward the alcoholism program. I wonder if he knew that this conversation with him, marked the turning point of my life. He said there will be sober drunks that will take you where you need to go. He didn't lie. He didn't say that they would take me where I thought that I wanted to go.

I have often wondered about the identity of that man. I would like to thank him. I may never get that chance, but I can direct others to where they need to go. If reading this has made you think that maybe you may have a problem, let me assure you that there is help. All you have to do is be willing to accept it. I have learned that my program that I follow for my alcoholism isn't for everybody who needs it, it is only for those who want it.

No one can decide for anyone else whether they are an alcoholic or not.

You may not want the title of alcoholic. Your family, may not like you saying to people that you are an alcoholic. All I can advise you is, that if you see something that walks like a duck, talks like a duck, and acts like a duck, it probably is a duck. Similarly, if you think like an alcoholic, act like one, and drink like one, why not own it?

Before anyone can make a journey to anywhere else, you must first know where you are.

Here the journey starts when you know what you are. Across the nation today there are clubs and meeting places for addicts and alcoholics. One only has to look in the yellow pages to find help. Don't worry if you can't afford it. Don't worry if you don't have time for it, if you really have a problem you have little chose, but to get the help that you need.

I want to live. To live, I as an alcoholic must want a program that will help me value sober living. Sobriety has taken on a new meaning for me in the last 6 years. I used to be, that any time that I hadn't taken drink or a drug in the last few hours, I could consider myself sober. Not so today. I understand that sobriety is an ongoing process, that continues to progress the longer I stay dry. Being dry doesn't necessarily mean that I am sober. It just means that I haven't polluted my system with booze or dope. To be happy joyous and free, while I am dry it is necessary for me to have a program of spirituality. This replaces the spirits that I use to use.

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