Permission to place this copyrighted information on the West Baltimore site was specifically granted by the author, Mitchell K.

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HOW IT WORKED

THE STORY OF CLARENCE H. SNYDER

AND THE EARLY DAYS OF ALCOHOLICS

ANONYMOUS IN CLEVELAND, OHIO

BY

MITCHELL K.

ISBN 0-9663282-0-5

© 1991, 1997 Mitchell K.

First published in 1999 by AA Big Book Study Group

how_it_worked@excite.com

USA

Contents

FOREWORD

Despite currently dominant academic fads, history really exists and we can find truth in its study. Where the self-styled "post-moderns" have it right is that the last word is never in. Our finite human minds are incapable of embracing "the whole truth." But we can get closer, we can know more, we can enrich our understanding of any reality, including historical reality.

Mitchell K., when some years ago he shared with me his treasure of mementoes and materials from Clarence Snyder, urged that I also write another book on the history of Alcoholics Anonymous, updating Not-God in light of recent discoveries. I declined, then and now, for it is up to another generation to produce the focused works that may lead another historian eventually to attempt a comprehensive new history of Alcoholics Anonymous, one incorporating the research of Mary Darrah, Robert Fitzgerald, Kathi Flynn, Mel B., Bill White, Maria Swora, and – in a prominent place – Mitchell K.

In this biographical study of Clarence Snyder and especially his role in and understandings of early Alcoholics Anonymous, Mitchell gives us both facts and interpretations – Clarence’s, those of contemporaries and commentators, and of course his own. Some readers, both Mitchell and I hope, will be led by his work to check out some of those facts, in which process they may turn up still more information that will enrich us all.

Others will disagree with some of the interpretations – I know that I do. But that disagreement is a salutary invitation to think about the lifesaving and life-enhancing program and fellowship of Alcoholics Anonymous, which may be one of the best uses of our time available.

Mitchell K. has given us a gift very much like himself: a gem with some rough edges that can challenge our ability to evaluate, but a truly rich jewel well worth our notice and contemplation. This book will not get anyone either drunk or sober, but it will aid the progress toward sobriety of those fortunate enough to be on that wondrous journey.

Whatever leads us towards truth leads us towards its Author. 

Ernie Kurtz

Ann Arbor, Michigan 

February 22, 1998

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PREFACE by the Author

I staggered into the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous on the evening of May 14, 1975 a broken man. I had been drinking on a daily basis.

I shook, I stank and I weighed almost 300 pounds. The little blue and silver sign with the Circle and Triangle drew me into that church as if it were a magnet.

Thus began my journey into the world of recovery. At 28 years old it appeared that I was the youngest person in the room. I sat down and was immediately surrounded by a couple of older gentlemen who placed their arms around me and held me throughout the meeting. I am not sure about what was said at the podium that night, but I remember the conversations after the meeting had closed.

They told me all I needed to do was, "Don’t Drink and Go To Meetings."

Each and every time I said, "BUT," they told me the only but I had was the one I sat on. They told me to make 90 meetings in 90 days, get a sponsor and that it will get better.

My sobriety date became May 15, 1975, the first full day without a drink. I followed directions, didn’t drink, and went to meetings, got a sponsor who listened to my tales of woe and went to more meetings.

I was no longer drinking but nothing else in my life changed.

Life was still unmanageable for me; I still exhibited almost all the same behaviors as in the past, only this time without the benefit of beverage alcohol. I continued to lie, cheat, steal, lose my temper and worst of all, be unfaithful to my wife. The very same wife who had stood by me throughout my drinking the six years we had been married.

Most of that behavior continued until one evening in 1980. I was attending my then home group, a young people’s meeting, when the walls came crashing in. The speaker that evening began his talk by stating: "I had a bad day at work, came home, slammed the door, yelled at the kids, kicked the dog and almost hit the wife." He continued with, "But I didn’t take a drink!"

Everyone in the small room clapped and told him he was a winner.

Just don’t drink, no matter what." Tears rolled down my cheeks, he was describing my life and everyone affirmed the insanity of it as long as I didn’t drink. There HAD to be more to recovery than that. If all I had to do was not drink and it would get better, why then was my whole life falling apart? I then decided that there were only three choices left; drink, die or find a better way. I wanted to drink every day. I didn’t want to die and I knew of no other way to get better. 

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I picked up a copy of Alcoholics Anonymous, the Big Book and began to read it.

I discovered the better way within the pages of A.A.’s Basic Text. I read about a program of recovery, much different from the one I had and different from the one I was hearing at the meetings. I wanted what those hundred men and women who had recovered from a seemingly hopeless state of mind and body had discovered. I wanted to be happy, joyous and free!

I then set out upon a spiritual search, reading everything I could on spirituality and religion. I spoke with long-term members of A.A. and members of the clergy from various religions and denominations; no one had the answer I was seeking.

At that time I was a member of A.A.’s Loners Program, meetings by mail. I was corresponding with a long-term member in Elyria, Ohio who was helping me to understand the history of A.A. and what it was that worked so many wonders for the original members. He told me that there was only one surviving member of the original 100 men and women. Roger gave me his address and suggested if I wanted to "get it from the horse’s mouth," that I should write to this man.

I went one step further, I called this man and immediately knew, from the timbre of his voice and the serenity I felt over the phone that I wanted what he had. That man was Clarence H. Snyder, the Home Brewmeister of the Big Book.

Clarence and I spoke on the phone and corresponded throughout that year. I had not asked him to be my sponsor as yet but knew I was going to. How could he be my sponsor? He was living in the State of Florida and I was in New York. I arranged for him and his wife to come to New York to lead a spiritual retreat.

Upon his arrival in New York I immediately knew that this was going to be a turning point in my life. I wanted what he had and during the retreat, asked him to be my sponsor. He did not immediately accept my request. In fact, it took several requests before he felt I was ready.

That weekend, Clarence took me through the Steps, just as he had taken hundreds, if not thousands of others before me. He instructed me and introduced me into the program of Alcoholics Anonymous just as his sponsor, Dr. Bob had done back in 1938. When I got up off of my knees in that hotel room on April 4, 1981, I was a new man.

The old had been washed away and I had been reborn In 1983, Clarence asked me if I would write his biography and the history of A.A. in Cleveland, Ohio. The book, Dr. Bob and the Good

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Oldtimers had been out for three years but Clarence felt that there was more to the story that needed to be told. He instructed me as to how he wanted the book to be written. He wanted a book that could be read by the average A.A. member, not a tedious scholarly work.

He wanted to impart the flavor of the Big Book. He told me that this was to be a book written about an A.A. member, for A.A. members.

He told me never to apologize for God, the personal God we both had shared together - the God he had introduced me to that evening at the retreat. The God Dr. Bob had introduced him to that day in February 1938 in Akron City Hospital.

Clarence reminded me, and told me never to forget that I was saved not in a church, but in Alcoholics Anonymous and never to mix the two together. He told me that my ministry was to "fix rummies." I was told that if a rummy wanted what I had, I was to tell them about, and introduce them to that Power greater than myself.

The same Power Dr. Bob had introduced him to. The same Great Physician, Dr. Silkworth had told those alcoholics who were declared hopeless could "cure" them. That Power, that Great Physician, was the Christ - Jesus.

Clarence told me that if someone wanted what I had, I could only give away what I had. He told me that I should never force Jesus down someone’s throat and that if they wanted Him, they would have to come willingly of their own accord. He told me that this was to be a book about Alcoholics Anonymous.

I was asked by my sponsor to write this book as a testimony to the hundreds of "founders" of Alcoholics Anonymous. I was told that if the readers of this book wanted the program of recovery that those early members had, they would come willingly, of their own accord.

I promised my sponsor that I would write this book.

I wrote this book not as an author, but as a drunk who made his sponsor a promise to allow the Fellowship of Alcoholics Anonymous the opportunity to understand what it was like during the early years of A.A., the struggles and the triumphs. To give the reader a better understanding of:

HOW IT WORKED

                                                          Mitchell K.

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

To my parents, Frances and Louis, thank you both for everything.

Dad, though you are no longer with us, you will live forever in my thoughts. To my children, Marissa and Micah, I love you both with all my heart. May you never have to go through what I went through until I finally got the message of recovery in 1975. To my sister Wendy, her husband Jeffrey and their son Jason, thank you for all your love and support. To Steven, Linda, Jonathan and William Cohen, mere words cannot express my appreciation and love. To Ernest Kurtz, Ph.D., for all your help and guidance as "mentor" on this journey into the world of writing. All the members of the Washingtonville Tuesday Night Recover Or Die Group, the best A.A. Group on the planet.

To Roger Wetz who introduced me to Clarence, that debt cannot ever be repaid. To Dick B. for his assistance in helping edit my manuscript.

To Joan Soveroski Brown, the love of my life and best friend - without you, the stars would be just ordinary lights in the sky.

To the dozens of other "special" people I have met as I "trudged the road," and who have helped me along the way. Some are "civilians," and some are members of A.A. You are all my friends. It would take another book to thank you all and if I have left anyone out please forgive me.

Edward R. A., Liz B., Larry B., Alan Beder, Charlie Bishop, Jr., Mary Darrah, Helen dePrado, Richard Dunn, D.D., Steve and Sue F., Marjorie H., Earl H., Bill Komisar, Gail L., Paul L., Frank Mauser, Merton M., III., Michael O’Hara, Ingrid O., Wally P., Bill Pittman, David Aaron Roth, Grace Snyder (Clarence’s widow went home to be with her beloved Clarence on March 9,1998), Buddy T., Mauri Waldman, Bill White, Dan and Denise Whitmore, Lois Wilson, Sue Smith Windows and Nell Wing.

A further debt of gratitude is owed to all of the archivists, historians, researchers, collectors and members of the Fellowship of Alcoholics Anonymous who hold A.A.’s history dear to their hearts. No acknowledgement would be complete without mentioning some of the other "friends" and "founders" of Alcoholics Anonymous: Frank N.D. Buchman, Ruth Hock, Henry G. Parkhurst, Henrietta Seiberling, Samuel M. Shoemaker, Dr. Robert Holbrook Smith, T. Henry and Clarace Williams and William G. Wilson.

Unless otherwise noted, quotes by Clarence H. Snyder were taken from a series of interviews conducted by the author with Clarence in Casselberry, Florida and New York between April 1982 through Feb-

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ruary 1984. Other quotes by Clarence H. Snyder are taken from Archival Documents, audio and/or video recorded talks or transcripts of aforementioned talks made by Clarence H. Snyder from 1962-1983.

Other quotes attributed to Clarence H. Snyder are likewise noted as such.

Any quotes by Lois W. were taken from audio taped interviews conducted by the author at her home in Bedford Hills, New York on August 21, 1988. Any quotes by Nell Wing (non-alcoholic) who was Bill W.’s secretary from 1947 until his death in 1971 and A.A.’s first Archivist were taken from a series of taped and telephone interviews conducted from 1988-1992 at her home in New York City or in the A.A. Archives Office in New York City. Quotes By Sue Smith-Windows (Dr. Bob’s daughter) were taken from an interview conducted in October 1988 at her home in Akron, Ohio. Quotes by Mary C. Darrah were taken from conversations either on the telephone or in person in Ohio, West Virginia or Providence, Rhode Island. Other quotes were taken from various audio taped talks and/or transcripts of talks by long-term A.A. members or from original archival materials given to the author by Clarence H. Snyder or as noted below.

The author is indebted to the following archival repositories for their assistance and for allowing him to view archival materials relating to the history of Alcoholics Anonymous:

    The Archives at the New York A.A. World Services Office

    The Archives at the Stepping Stones Foundation in Bedford Hills, N.Y.

    The Rockefeller Archives in Tarrytown, N.Y.

    The Archives at the Cleveland, Ohio A.A. Central Service Office

    The Chester H. Kirk Collection on Alcoholism and Alcoholics

Anonymous housed at the Brown University Center for Alcoholism and Addiction Studies in Providence, Rhode Island

The Providence, Rhode Island Historical Society

    A.A. Archival repositories located in Arizona, Arkansas, Ohio, Oklahoma and West Virginia

Private collections of A.A. memorabilia owned by several A.A. members throughout the United States and Canada.

This book is dedicated to Him who reigns over us all and to the thousands of alcoholics who have recovered, and will recover by His loving mercy.

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Chapter 1

I Was Born At A Very Early Age

"An individual becomes an alcoholic for three main reasons:

1. As a result of inheritance. He possesses a nervous system which is non-resistant to alcohol. (In no sense is a direct craving transmitted from parent to offspring.)

2. By reason of his early environment. Through the ignorance of his parents or from their own nervous constitution, the alcoholic was either spoiled or neglected. He was not brought up to face the world courageously. He is lacking in self-reliance, no matter how physically brave he may be or how bold he may appear on the surface. Psychologically, he is unable to stand on his own two feet. As a result of this, he unconsciously craves a stimulant-narcotic.

3. Because of the effects of his later environment. That is to say, school, college, economic and social competition, marriage, and, for one generation at least, the World War."1

Cleveland, Ohio, December 26, 1902

It was a cold, gray, winter morning. The forecast had called for snow with brisk west to southwest winds. Christmas had just passed

Grays’ Armory

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Clarence's parents without much incident. The Salvation Army had just had their annual Christmas dinner at the Grays’ Armory the day earlier.

More than 2,500 of the city’s homeless and destitute were fed what may have been their only hot meal in weeks. The morning paper said there were "Pathetic Scenes Witnessed About Big Tables." The Cleveland Plain Dealer was full of articles concerning suicides, hangings, and deaths. Page one told of a saloon fight that

Clarence's Parents

ended when the proprietor had shot a man to restore order in his establishment. Page Five spoke of "forty cripples at a dance."

Jenny Patterson Snyder, who had been born in St. Clarksville, Ohio, took much pleasure in reading and hearing about other people’s misfortunes.

On this particular day she had plenty to read about as she awaited the birth of her first daughter. Charles Henry and Jenny Snyder had already been blessed with two fine boys - Richard Harvey and Charles William. Jenny was a determined woman. She had made up her mind to have a girl this time. When she made up her mind that if something was going to be done, it had better be done, and her way - or else!

As was the custom in those days, much time and money was being spent getting the layette in readiness for the soon-to-be coming ar-

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rival. About six weeks prior to this particular day, Jenny had fallen down some stairs in her home and had broken her leg. The fall left her bedridden and in a cumbersome plaster cast.

She was left with plenty of time left on her hands. With those hands she had knitted pink booties, pink dresses, pink hats... Everything was a beautiful shade of pink.

Clarence on bottom step, parents in background

All to be presented upon the arrival of her new baby daughter.

The doctor was hurriedly summoned to 64 Breck Avenue (later called 1280 East 89th Street in Cleveland), the house that Charles had built only a few years earlier. Charles had been born in an old farm house on Route 113 in Amherst Township, four miles west of Elyria, Ohio. He had come from a large family. He had three brothers and four sisters. A couple of years earlier, Charles’ parents had celebrated their sixty-first wedding anniversary which was written up in the society column of the local Elyria newspaper. It appeared that "Mr. and Mrs. Conrad Snyder of South Ridge" really did it up big. Five of their eight children were there with their spouses. Also present were sixteen grandchildren and five great grandchildren. The Newspaper article said, "The table where a seven course dinner was served was beautifully decorated with carnations and ferns. Several musical numbers were rendered."

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When Jenny gave birth at the Breck Avenue house, it wasn’t too difficult a birth. But when the doctor congratulated the proud parents upon the birth of yet another son, the matter was of great concern to Jenny. As Clarence later stated, "I don’t think that she ever forgave me for that. She never fully recovered." It was on this note that Clarence Henry Snyder was born, the day after Christmas, in the year 1902.

He was the ugly duckling, the scapegoat, the black sheep of the family for the rest of his time at home. His mother had sustained massive disappointment when he was born. He was, however, very close with his brother Richard, who was one and a half years older than Clarence. Clarence and Richard, whom everyone called Dick, were so inseparable that later on, as they were growing up, if someone picked a fight with one brother, they had to contend with the other. The two brothers were a formidable duo. Since they belonged to one of the families of

Clarence in Middle       German descent in an all Irish neighborhood, the brothers stuck up for each other quite often. Just before Clarence’s second birthday, his mother had left him downstairs in front of the Christmas tree as she went about her daily household chores in the upstairs bedrooms. While she cleaned, she would walk over to the top of the staircase and call down to Clarence to see if he was okay and out of trouble. The two older boys had gone out shopping with their father, leaving Clarence and his mother at home as they shopped for their Christmas dinner.

Each time Jenny called out to him, Clarence would laugh and call out to her in baby talk, "boken, boken." This rou- 

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tine went on for quite some time until Jenny had finished with her cleaning and started back down the stairs to the living room to join her son. When she had reached the bottom steps, she abruptly stopped.

Her mouth dropped open, and she released whatever she was holding in her hands. The load cascaded down the steps with a loud crash, startling Clarence. She appeared to him as if she were frozen, unable to speak or even move. One of the older boys had received as a Christmas gift, a tool box, complete with tools. Clarence had somehow figured out not only how to unwrap this gift, but how to open it as well. He had taken a hammer out of the box and proceeded to demolish every Christmas ornament within his reach. He did this with a glee and purpose that only a two year old could posses.

There was chaos and debris all over the living room. Bits of colored glass, unrecognizable pieces of wood. Many had been parts of family heirlooms. Most of the broken items were irreplaceable, having been passed on from generation to generation. Then, in a blind rage, his mother flew down the stairs, wrenched the hammer from his little hands and, as Clarence recalled with a laugh, "I guess I got boken for that also."

Clarence’s mother had a hairbrush, which consisted of a stone back piece which was covered with carvings of images of little fish.

Clarence recalled "I had imprints of fish all over my bottom and every place else that she wailed me with that thing. I can still remember that hairbrush. It’s etched into my memory like the fish were etched onto my body." Clarence said that much later, when he grew older, "I stole that damn thing and threw it away. It was a means of torture."

Clarence’s father was self employed in the carnival and park entertainment field. He ran concessions and rides at Luna Park in Cleve-

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land. Clarence and his brothers were never at a loss for a place to go for fun and entertainment. Best of all, as Clarence remembered, they never had to pay either an entrance fee to the park or for any of the rides.

Clarence attended a local kindergarten and first grade. For some unknown reason, ("I still can’t remember why," he related) he skipped the second grade and went directly into the third. He got along with everyone in the school. He made many childhood friends and ran around after school with his brothers playing popular games of the day.

With his extremely bright and logical mind, Clarence did well with all of his studies and in all classroom activities. He was an outgoing, happy, and well adjusted child. Until something happened that

Clarence at age 10

changed his whole school career and life around. Something so devastating to him that it had a profound effect upon the rest of his childhood, adolescent years, and well into young manhood.

The event occurred in September of 1913. Clarence was in the fifth grade. His favorite brother, Dick, contracted a childhood disease, the nature of which Clarence didn’t remember.

This particular childhood disease occurring in an era of inadequate medical care and knowledge - proved fatal.

Clarence fell apart. He was devastated and fell into a tailspin of depression.

He and his inseparable brother were, by a cruel twist of fate, separated. They were separated forever. The funeral on November 3, 1913, was a day of disaster for Clarence. He did not want to attend it. He cried. He screamed. He was depressed, and he refused to say good by to the only person in the world with whom he had felt the most comfortable and best. In one month Clarence would be eleven years old. A time that was supposed to be special in his young

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Clarence in front row, center

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life. His brother, his friend, and his confidant would not be there to celebrate or share it with him. He felt that life was almost not even worth living.

His studies went downhill in a rapid and steady spiral. He became withdrawn, extremely depressed, and lost most of his former self image and confidence. A confidence that had been so often bolstered by the closeness and friendship of his older brother.

Clarence’s father tried to comfort and help guide him through this trying time in his young life. But his mother had not overcome her disappointment at Clarence’s not being a daughter. Her not yet being resolved over the death of her son Dick made things worse.  Jenny was not supportive at all. She was lost in her own grief and, as ever, distant towards her unwanted son, Clarence.

As fate would have it, a couple of years after Dick’s death, Clarence’s father was called to go with his concessions.

He traveled constantly around the country. After that, the only contact that Clarence had with his father was by mail. In a letter dated June 17, 1915, and postmarked from Lansing, Michigan, Clarence’s father described what was going on and of the new additions to the amusement park: "We have a lot of shows, an Eli Ferris Wheel, and a 3 abreast merry-go-round."

He also wrote, complaining of something amusement parks always dreaded: "We also have plenty of bad weather. We could not show Monday night here on account of rain, and is raining here now, and don’t think we can show tonight." He continued to write in the letter that he expected to be in Flint, Michigan the following week.

He wrote Clarence: "...Tell your Ma, that I do not want any laundry sent me till next week." Included with the letter to Clarence was a book of passes to the Aikes Amusement Co. This little booklet had been issued by Chas. H. Snyder and signed over to "Clarence & Strand Theatre." The rides that were listed inside carried such names as, "Carry-us-all," "Fifteen-in-one," "Motordome" and "Musical Comedy."

In another letter, this one dated Saturday, September 14, 1918, 4:00 PM, and postmarked Weston, West Virginia, Clarence’s father chastised him for not writing. He wrote, "I sure expected a letter in

The two brothers – Clarence on the left

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Clarksburg, but got none. If you want to make a good business man of yourself, you must answer letters promptly."

His father always stressed that Clarence should be a good business person and always be the best at whatever he did in life. In another letter dated September 9, 1918, and postmarked Wheeling, West Virginia, Clarence’s father wrote, giving Clarence business directions.

The letter started off, "Well Hello, Mgr. Clarence." It continued, "You can give Ma $26.50, and pay the charges on the canvas and the small register when it comes."

At the age of sixteen Clarence was managing his father’s concessions at Luna Park. This was a formidable responsibility for one so young. His father wrote on the back of the envelope that along with managing the business, Clarence should "pay good attention to school." His father, being a consummate business person, always signed his letters to Clarence, "C.H. Snyder" or, "C.H.S." He never concluded his correspondence with "Your father," or even, "Dad."

There was never any love either expressed or implied. Only business and a request for a "report of what you done etc." But Clarence acquired a drive for pleasing his father an being a "good business man" which lasted throughout his life in all of his dealings. Despite his later drinking, Clarence always drove himself towards perfection in business. A perfection that his father had always demanded of him.

Eventually, even in recovery, perfection permeated Clarence’s thoughts and actions. Clarence had very little tolerance for failure, in himself and in others.

The Cleveland school system had, at that time instituted, Junior High School. Clarence, however after graduating from public school by the "skin of my teeth," went directly from eighth grade into High School. He hadn’t had the opportunity or advantage of taking preparatory courses in advanced math or English. Nor had he been able to learn at the pace of his peers in school. When he did transfer over to Cleveland’s East Side High School, he felt not only at a loss, but very much out of place. He felt as if he didn’t belong there. His self image and confidence had not yet fully recovered enough for him to inform his teachers that he had not gone through Junior High School, had not taken any preparatory courses and felt that he couldn’t keep up with any of the other students in his classes. All this seemed overwhelming to Clarence at the time, and he began to withdraw even further into his own little world. Withdraw so that he could at least begin to feel a little bit comfortable with life itself, no less with school or with those around him.

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This withdrawal was interpreted by his teachers as a sign of ignorance.

Some took it as rebellion. Many branded him and ridiculed him as a "first class dummy." Some teachers placed a chair in front of the classroom in a conspicuous position and demanded that Clarence sit there. This was done to show other students the results of being rebellious, and it set Clarence up to ridicule. He related, "I wasn’t any great shakes of a student in High School, so I failed almost all of my classes." After three years as a freshman, another devastating event began to develop which, once again, had a profound impact and altered the course of Clarence’s young life.

He was about seventeen years old when his father contracted tuberculosis. This forced his father to quit his traveling and remain at home, something that, for a long time, Clarence had secretly been wishing for. However, not in this way, and not with the fatal results.

Once more in Clarence’s life, due to the lack of knowledge by the medical profession, Clarence watched his father suffer, just as he had done years earlier with his brother. He watched for many months as his father’s health declined. He watched until his father eventually succumbed. When his father did pass on, Clarence was afforded the opportunity to quit school and venture out into the world of full time employment. Clarence saw no promising future in continuing on with his education. With the urgent and overwhelming need to support himself and help with the family expenses, he decided to leave school.

He dropped out and started on his journey into the world of life and adulthood. A journey that fate had assigned to him, not one of his own making or choosing.

Looking back, Clarence remembered that one of the most important events in his High School days was his meeting a young woman and embarking on his first real romance. Clarence was no stranger to the members of the opposite sex. Years later, he remarked, "For some unknown reason I always took a liking to the girls."

He remembered that once, when he was about five years old, he had "eloped" with the little girl from across the street. Clarence and his brothers, Charles and Dick, were going to Luna Park one Sunday evening to go on the rides and play the games at the concessions which their father ran. In accordance with his mother’s custom on Sundays, Clarence was all dressed up in white. A white peanut hat, knee socks, knickers, shirt, and patent leather shoes. On Sundays, he was allowed out in the morning to play in his regular clothing, but by the afternoon he had to return home to bathe and get dressed up in his all white outfit. Then was ordered by his mother to stay spotless and

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clean until it was time for him to retire to bed for the night. "God forbid that I got one spot on my uniform of the day," he remembered.

If this happened he would have to answer to his mother and her stone backed hair brush, and he dreaded that.

Clarence remembered that, on this one particular evening, Florence Drew, his sweetheart from across the street was going along with the Snyder family to Luna Park. Florence was the daughter of the family butcher. The Drews were long time friends of the Snyders.

After Florence Drew and the Snyders had arrived at the park, gone on some of the rides, played games at the concessions, and eaten lots of cotton candy, Clarence and Florence had disappeared. They vanished from both parental and sibling supervision. They had strolled over to Rockefeller Park to play with a "cute little dog." Until well after dark, they played with and "tormented" this dog, oblivious to the passage of time. Then, they realized it was late and began to make what must have seemed to them the long and scary trek homeward. Home being many blocks away.

By this time Clarence’s parents had sent out search parties. Florence’s parents had called the police. Both sets of parents had scoured the neighborhood and park. All to no avail. Both families were fraught with terror, fearing the fate that their respective children might have suffered.

They were also very angry and discussed among themselves the fate that their wayward children would suffer if and when they finally did arrive home.

Clarence’s white, spotless Sunday outfit had been through the sand and dirt of the park. It was covered with muddy little paw prints and it was, of course, no longer white and spotless.

Clarence managed to find his way home and walked Florence to just outside of her door. However, out of fear for himself, he ran away before Florence knocked. He, himself stayed out even later, knowing the state of disarray that his clothing was in. A state that he said, "was no means in comparison to the mess my mother made of me when I got home." Florence got her spanking from her parents across the street, but it was nowhere like near the beating Clarence suffered that night. The beating was administered by his mother with her stone backed hair brush. That same brush that, once again, as it had so many times before, and had so many times after, etched its impressions of little fish all over Clarence’s body.

Clarence was not at all unfamiliar with work. When he was five, he had a paper route. A few years later, he delivered orders for a local butcher shop (not the one owned by Florence’s parents) on his bicycle.

A bicycle that he had purchased with his own money. Clarence

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was very industrious and continuously looked for ways to earn money.

Always looking for an angle, he was willing to try anything.

He even worked for a period of time as an usher at the Metropolitan Theatre in downtown Cleveland. This was in the days of the five and ten cent movies. Cliff-Hangers and daily newsreels. Clarence recalled, "The Metropolitan was a high class joint. They had the nerve to charge thirty cents when everybody else was charging a nickel." He had gotten his friend a job there and they both worked for the manager, Bill Friedman at the theater. On many occasions they would sneak their girlfriends in for nothing and then would "schmooze" in the box seats after everyone was seated and the movie had started.

Being industrious, Clarence found out that the Board of Education was paying twenty cents an hour for tutors. Clarence got a job reading school work to a blind boy named Larry. Much of what Clarence had missed in High School, he later learned through this job. He also began taking violin lessons, paying for them with some of the money he had earned on his various and sundry jobs. Clarence became very close to Larry and his family. All remained close for many years to come.

Clarence enjoyed driving cars and did so at every available opportunity.

Larry’s family would let Clarence drive them all over Cleveland and the surrounding areas and it was on one of those outings that another profound event occurred in Clarence’s life which once and forever altered the course of his very existence. On this particular outing, Clarence had his first introduction to "John Barleycorn."

It was at this first introduction that Clarence experienced his first of many, for-years-to-come, drunken episodes. In his youth, Clarence was to have only three such episodes, and each ended with his getting both drunk and into trouble.

On this first occasion, Clarence had driven Larry’s parents and Larry to their family reunion in Toledo, Ohio. There he was offered a drink.

He didn’t like the taste so much, but he did like the effect the drink was having upon him. He then proceeded to get quite drunk rather quickly on all the free flowing booze that was made available. By the time that the party was over, Clarence was unable to find the car that they had arrived in, and was unable to negotiate the long drive back to Cleveland.

This did not at all please Larry’s parents, nor Larry for that matter.

From that day forward, they wouldn’t let Clarence drive them around any longer. Despite the disastrous events of that day, Clarence remained close friends. Much later on, they were even able to laugh about it.

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The second time that Clarence became involved with alcohol, it was again at a family reunion. This one in Alliance, Ohio. The parents of a young woman Clarence was dating offered to take him to their family reunion. This was as long as he did all the driving. They were a friendly and outgoing family. Clarence enjoyed the company not only of the young woman, but of her parents as well.

When the group arrived at this reunion, there was dancing, party games, home cooked foods, friendly people, and much to Clarence’s delight - plenty of home-made, Dandelion Wine. In fact, an unlimited supply.

Clarence loved to dance and despite the disastrous effects that alcohol had caused him on the previous outing, he tasted the sweet wine. He recognized it seemed to make the dancing more enjoyable.

The more he consumed, the faster he drank, and the more he liked the effect the liquor was having upon his personality. It made him feel more at ease, less self conscious, and eventually, invincible.

He became totally different, and he felt, better person. So much so, that he made a play for his girlfriend’s mother. The mother was flattered and enjoyed the attention being lavished upon her by this young man. However, the attentions didn’t sit too well with the girlfriend, or with her irate father. Needless to say, the ride back to Cleveland was tense and very long. Clarence recalled, "I guess that episode contributed to the ending of that relationship real quick." Clarence chuckled as he related that story. He thought that many of the events of his past, despite some of the pathos, had their humorous side.

Ever since his young childhood, Clarence went to Sunday school.

Not because his parents were religious people. It was a way they kept him out of the house, occupied, and out of trouble. He said he never felt comfortable with any of the other children who had attended this school with him. He stated he felt everyone looked at him as different.

He himself felt inferior to, and different from them. He was sure that the way that his mother had treated him while he was growing up, had a great deal to do with his distorted perceptions at Sunday school.

Clarence decided that since he wasn’t a good student, the other children would have to look at him differently if he could excel in something - anything. He felt he then wouldn’t feel so different and so inferior.

He began to develop a strong and growing interest in sports. He was slow at first, but he began to excel. He rapidly acquired an expertise at the sports he did try, especially those he liked. At first, it was

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baseball. Then, as the seasons changed, he was on to master basketball.

Later on, he got the opportunity to play semi-professional sports.

That is until his professional career as full-time alcoholic interfered.

Earlier, however, he used sports, and his obvious innate ability at them, to improve his flagging self image and his low self esteem.

He also sought to improve upon his dancing. He felt he was such a "natural dancer," that he took only two lessons at the Zimmermans Dancing School. But he then decided he was wasting both his precious time and hard-earned money. Money he felt could be better spent on women and other "fun" activities.

One early winter day, while practicing basketball for a YMCA Church league, Clarence noticed a very attractive young blond woman on the sidelines. She appeared to be watching him intently. Never one to miss an obvious opportunity, especially when it came to women.

Clarence rushed over to the woman to inquire when he could go out with her on a date. He knew that if he could take her to a dance, he could impress her with his dancing abilities. He was sure he would then be on "home ground." He would feel comfortable and would very much be in charge of the situation. After only five minutes of conversation, the young woman told him that she lived on the south side of Cleveland and she would love to go to a dance with him.

Clarence picked her up to go to the dance and they took the streetcar.

They talked all the way to the dance. Clarence charmed his way into her heart. Always the salesman, he sold himself to this new person.

The two had a lovely evening, dancing, talking, and holding each other tight as they whirled about the dance floor. All was lovely until it was time for Clarence to take the young lady home. Then it turned out to be an exceptional evening.

When they arrived at the girl’s home, she invited Clarence in to spend some more time with her and to talk. In the ensuing conversation, Clarence discovered she was a preacher’s daughter and that she had a genuine interest in sports. This was wonderful. So Clarence had found out how much she loved to dance, that she loved sports, that she enjoyed being held close, and that she laughed at his jokes.

However, when she produced a gallon jug of wine from the cellar, he decided he had found a match made in heaven. Both drank until way after midnight, finishing off the entire jug. Unfortunately for Clarence, the relationship had to end.

In fact it ended before it really had a chance to take blossom. The girl’s father discovered them. Both were extremely drunk, and all the father’s wine was missing. Wine he used in Holy Communion. The father was perturbed, to say the least, and asked Clarence to leave.

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Never to darken the man’s doorstep again and never to speak with his daughter.

The taste of alcohol wasn’t as important to Clarence as how it made him feel inside. It produced in him a profound personality change that transformed him and made him no longer feel inferior. He no longer felt different. He had used sports to assert himself and to become an equal. Equal to his peers and to others, often playing to the point of exhaustion. But he found that alcohol made him feel more than equal. And he readily asserted himself while under its influence.

This without the strenuous physical labor. He had discovered the easier softer way. This was the beginning of his descent into the spiraling abyss of active alcoholism.

It was at another dance - this one in the month of January - that he met someone who was to become very special in his life. Her name was Dorothy. Clarence swept her off of her feet and danced his way into her heart, and she into his. In about three months they were married.

Clarence had always been reluctant to discuss his first two marriages.  Therefore many of the dates and events are now lost to history.

However, with this, his first marriage- the marriage to Dorothy- does our saga begin.

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Chapter 2

"Our stories disclose in a general way,

WHAT WE USED TO BE LIKE..."

"Who hath woe? Who hath sorrow? Who hath contentions? Who hath babbling? Who hath wounds without cause? Who hath redness of eyes?  They that tarry long at the wine; they that go seek mixed wine. Look not then upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth his colour in the cup, when it moveth itself aright. At the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder. Thine eyes shall behold strange women, and thine heart shall utter perverse things. Yea thou shalt be as he that liveth down in the midst of the sea, or as he that liveth upon the top of a mast. They have striken me, shalt thou say and I was not sick; they have beaten me, and I felt it not; When shall I awake? I will seek it yet again."2

Clarence’s marriage to Dorothy cannot be described as idyllic. Even though Clarence had swept her off of her feet, Dorothy, with her close

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family ties, had "swept" Clarence off on their honeymoon. She swept him off to her sister Virginia’s house in the City of Yonkers, in Westchester County, New York.

Dorothy and her sisters were, to say the least, very close. Clarence complained that they did everything together. He said he didn’t just marry Dorothy. He also had married her entire family. In spite of the fact he constantly complained about them, Clarence recognized that Dorothy and her family had been instrumental in his recovery, and Clarence was always grateful to Dorothy’s "clan."

Clarence became and remained a periodic drunk for a number of years. He and Dorothy moved to 1552 Baltimore Road, in Lindhurst, Ohio, and began to settle down.

They had friends, mostly Dorothy’s. They had a home. Clarence had a good job, working for the Mutual Loan and Guaranty Company in the Discount Department. What happened next seemed to be the next logical move. They decided that it was about time to start a family.

Dorothy became pregnant, and everyone concerned was overjoyed.

The proud father-to-be strutted around, pontificating about his "common sense, sane, domestic life." He strutted around, that is, until Dorothy began complaining of problems associated with early pregnancy.

His "sane, domestic life" started taking on a different, if not ominous, complexion. Dorothy stayed in bed for days on end. She changed her diet, her sleeping patterns, and her room. All to no avail.

Dorothy’s sanity was fading rapidly.

They consulted a local doctor who recommended the use of "Porter Ale." They tried this "cure," borrowing some of that ale from one of their neighbors, an amateur brewmeister. It worked! Clarence consulted with other local brewmeisters as to how he could go about manufacturing this "cure" himself. He bought a six-gallon crock, dozens of bottles, and various and sundry pipes, wires and other apparatus necessary for his construction of his home brewery. He began to put everything together and hoped his life would return to some semblance of sanity.

Sanity was, however, not the end result. He not only manufactured the beer for his wife, he also drank most of it for her as well. He recalled, admiringly, "I made some of the best ale that anyone ever had the pleasure to drink. After about two bottles of that stuff, you would go home and rob your own trunk."

Dorothy, remaining uncomfortable, continued to complain. Clarence increased his production capability. He went out and purchased a few ten-gallon crocks and cases of bottles. These, he felt, would surely return his life to sanity.

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All of Dorothy’s problems in early pregnancy, as well as her continuing complaining, eventually stopped. But the beer production, and the massive consumption of it, did not. They increased.

The excuses to continue drinking became more prevalent. Parties, card games, and friends, were constantly invited over for coffee and cake, but the events all became beer feasts. Soon Clarence ran out of excuses for drinking, and he just drank. He then discovered that: "a little shot of liquor now and then between the beers had the tendency to put me in a wacky mood much quicker than having to down several quarts of beer to obtain the same results." So, now whiskey became the mainstay, and the beer just helped to wash it all down.

Clarence then became the primary topic of discussion in Dorothy’s family gatherings. There was not much else to talk about concerning the pregnancy. Besides, Clarence’s drinking was a much juicier topic.

Rather than listen to these "busybodies," Clarence began to frequent the local beer joints. This, he said, was: "to quench my ever increasing thirst, and to complain to all who would listen, about my wife and her meddlesome family." Clarence’s increased consumption did not help him to lose his resentments towards those who he perceived were trying to run his life. He did, however, manage to lose his job instead.

It was also about this time that Dorothy gave birth to their son, Charles Richard Snyder. The son was named not only after Clarence’s father, but also for Clarence’s brother, who had died as a child. Their son was rarely called by his first name, but rather, was referred to as "Dick" - the name that everyone had used for Clarence’s brother.

Clarence got another job - this one at the Morris Plan Bank in the Collection Department. The bank was closer to his home than the previous bank; and Clarence now felt he could spend more time with his wife and newborn son.

In actuality however, he began spending more time patronizing the local saloons which dotted the streets on his route home. Four or five shots of whiskey, followed by a few beer chasers at one establishment, were but a beginning. If Dorothy happened to meet him at work, and walked him home, he only stopped at one or two bars, rather than the customary four or five. His lunches became the liquid variety, and the dinners (that he would be invariably late for), became non-existent as Clarence lost his appetite for real food. Dorothy even came to give up cooking, other than for herself and for their son.

By this point Clarence had become a daily drunk. He appeared drunk at his initial interview at the Morris Plan Bank. He remained on that

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job for three and a half years, all the while in a state of constant intoxication.

Clarence remembered that the only reason he had gotten the Morris Plan job was because of help of a close friend. This friend had worked with Clarence for seven years at Clarence’s previous bank job and was now managing the Finance Department at Morris Plan.

In addition to managing the Finance Department, the friend was also on the Board of Directors. Clarence related, "Joe knew that I was the best man for the job despite my being a drunk." Joe had also conveniently left out of his recommendation to the Morris Plan that hired Clarence, that Clarence had been terminated from his previous bank position for being drunk on the job on a consistent basis. Clarence figured, the Morris Plan had never seen him sober and wouldn’t know the difference. He was, in his own sick way, proud of this kind of alcoholism, even though he did not, at that time, have a name for it.

Clarence opined that he was a "chronic alcoholic, a daily drunk."

This was a diagnosis of dubious value to Clarence. But it was a characteristic that he insisted upon and even took to his grave. Clarence had disdain for the periodic drunk even though at one time in his drinking career, he was one. "Periodics," he said, "are the people that give us drunks a bad name." Periodics, he felt are the type of people who "get a job, get a family, get a nice home, get a couple of nice cars, belong to a couple of clubs, and have a few kids. They also have some bills (dollars) in the bank. And, for no apparent reason, all of a sudden, this turkey gets drunk and down goes everything. Out go the wife and the family, the house, the bank account, the two cars and the furniture.

Everything is gone and he’s flat. Well, what does this monkey do? He goes and gets himself another job; and, what kills me with these fellows, is that they usually get a better one than they had before. This is rather a jealousy on my part. Then they get a new house, two new cars, a new wife, a new family, new bank account, new club, more exclusive this time, and away they go again. The next thing you know, BOOM!

The whole thing goes up. Now, no wonder alcoholics are looked down upon. These kinds of people, you can’t depend upon ‘em." Clarence felt that chronics were dependable daily drunks like himself. He said, "You always knew how they were going to be - DRUNK!"

At Morris Plan, Clarence - in a short period of time - had developed a full time department, with the best finance people and collectors that he could find and train. He was able, with his own system, to recoup thousands upon thousands of dollars for the bank. Eventually, he was promoted and made an officer of the bank.

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He often came to work in the morning wearing the same clothing he had worn the day before. He vividly remembered that he was "stinking the office up." He would check his paperwork, touch base with his "boys", and then he was off and running. This routine lasted for about three and a half years.

During this time, his drinking had became progressively worse, and it was having a profound physical and emotional effect upon him. He lost a lot of weight and began to forget even the simplest things. At first, he forgot only minor thoughts, but later major ones. Appointments began to be missed, opportunities to recoup the bank’s money and business in general began to slip. Clarence’s "boys" began to take advantage of his loss of memory.

Clarence was forgetting things he had said or done only moments before. He began to have temporary blackouts. Often he would be sitting at his desk and just staring into space. He would be talking with a customer, stop in mid-sentence, and start doing something else, completely unaware of what had previously transpired.

The people in his department talked with him, even attempted to cajole him into quitting or even cutting on his liquor consumption.

All of this failed. He continued to get worse. Morris Plan didn’t want to lose him. He was the best manager they had ever had. But nothing they tried worked. Soon not even Clarence worked.

The Bank Vice President – whom Clarence described as "a strict Lutheran, a fine gentleman, who wouldn’t cause or do anything out of the way" just blew up at Clarence one morning. The bank officer had become so frustrated with trying to help Clarence with his drinking problem that he just gave up. He started jumping up and down and screaming. He told Clarence that he, Clarence was the best in the business, if only he could stop destroying himself. The Vice President pleaded for Clarence to look at what he was doing to his job, his family, his friends and all those who loved and cared about and for him. But all of this was to no avail. Clarence was unwilling – in fact unable - to listen to the voice of reason. He had a bad case of tunnel vision, and all that was in the tunnel was his alcohol.

The Vice President gave Clarence two weeks notice, that he was being terminated. Clarence was even told he didn’t have to report in to work for those two weeks and that the bank would pay him anyway.

Clarence still didn’t listen. He kept coming in to work each and every morning. He was drunk and unable to stop. He was afraid to stay at home and had avoided telling Dorothy he had been dismissed.

Afraid to tell her that this was yet another position that had been taken away from him for being a drunk.

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The two weeks quickly passed, and the fateful day finally arrived.

The Executive Vice President called Clarence into his office. Clarence related, "He gave me my last hurrah. He told me all that crap that they tell you when you get fired. What a talent you have, much you wasted it. What you could have done in this bank... my future was shot and I’ll never have any now." He gave Clarence his final pay check and told him to go upstairs clean out his desks.

Clarence slowly walked out of the office, his head bowed - once again a failure. He walked up the flight of stairs to what had been his own office. Walked there for the last time, feeling dejected and ashamed. The only thought that ran through his mind concerned how much he wanted - no, needed - a drink.

As he arrived at his office, Clarence opened the door. SURPRISE!

His whole department was there, and so were many of the other bank employees. The office was decorated for a party, and party they did.

Both of his desks were filled with presents and the other desks were covered with bottles of alcohol. Clarence told the author "Now who gets fired for being drunk and has a going away party with presents AND booze? Nobody but some bloody drunk. That doesn’t happen to regular people."

After Clarence left Morris Plan, he had several jobs which scarcely lasted for more than a few weeks each. His last one was for a finance company. He recalled, "I was supposed to dig up new business." He would sneak in every morning before the other employees got there.

Only the switchboard operator would be on duty that early in the morning. He would check his desk for messages and quickly and quietly run out before any of the other workers had a chance to arrive.

The switchboard operator reported to her employers that Clarence had indeed checked in each and every morning. However, after spending three weeks on that job and not producing a single bit of new business, or even servicing any of the old accounts, Clarence was once again fired. Dismissed for drunken behavior and non-productivity.

Clarence was "between jobs" after that for several years. In 1933, he and an old acquaintance discussed going into business together.

Stan Zeimnick wrote Clarence, on September 18, 1933, suggesting their going into the brewing business on a professional level. Stan said his main concern was that, "some, or rather most, beer-place proprietors say that naturally they expect a decided slump in beer sales soon, but that they don’t know much about small towns; they may drink beer in the winter nearly as much. Of course that’s our

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gamble." This business venture never materialized, and Clarence continued to retain his amateur standing as a home brewmeister and, of course, beer consumer.

He went on interviews, answered advertisements in the help wanted columns, and walked into store fronts to inquire about jobs. He begged his former friends and business associates for jobs. He did everything he could. Everything, that is, except stop drinking. Even Dorothy, who was at that time the manager of the men’s department of a local employment agency, couldn’t do anything for her husband.

He would show up for job interviews drunk, reeking of alcohol, and his appearance was, to say the least, disheveled. Quite often, his reputation as a drunk had preceded him. He had no luck acquiring a position doing anything.

Clarence was often the main topic of discussion at numerous family conclaves. These occurred on a weekly basis, and he was discussed daily over the telephone. Everybody agreed that he was a "great guy" when he was sober. However, he was no longer ever sober.

After one of these weekly meetings, Dorothy’s family finally came up with a last-ditch opportunity for Clarence. It was time, he was told, to sink or swim. Either he worked for Dorothy’s brother, or he would be thrown out on to the street.

Dorothy’s brother owned a tractor-trailer rig. He hauled merchandise over-the-road between Cleveland and New York City with various stops in-between. Clarence was to learn how to drive this tractor-trailer and go into business with his brother-in-law.

The very prospect of this frightened Clarence. The thought of learning how to drive one of those large trucks, with all of that freight looming behind you, was unappealing. What was even less appealing, and was the second most, but more important consideration, was the thought of hard work "which this job reeked of." It didn’t sit right with him. But the thought that frightened Clarence the most, paramount over all of the others - was the thought that his brother-in-law would never allow him to have a drink. Not even a single beer on the hottest of summer days after driving a thousand miles.

This was spelled out in no uncertain terms and in so many different ways, Clarence could not find any excuse or loophole to get around it or out of it: Swim or sink. It was the truck and the open road or the street.

The thought of being on the bum, with winter rapidly approaching, was less appealing than the dismal prospect which now faced him.

Clarence agreed to take the truck job, though rather reluctantly. He

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did, however, retain a silent reservation that, at the first opportunity that was afforded to him, he would pick up just one drink. Maybe two. Just enough to enable him to feel better but not enough to be noticed by his brother-in-law as being drunk. Clarence thought, in so doing, he wouldn’t risk everything, and being left on the streets, in a strange place, with no money, and in the cold of winter.

A couple of nights later, Clarence and his brother-in-law had begun their trip to New York City via Albany and Buffalo. Clarence didn’t have any clothing to speak of, not even an overcoat. He had sold most of it to purchase alcohol for his last hurrah. Out of necessity, he had packed light. In fact, he had packed all that was left of his clothing in a little duffel bag. He was to sleep, it was decided, in the top back sleeping compartment, the perch of the cab. His brother-in-law was to sleep on the seat itself so that Clarence couldn’t leave the truck without being noticed. Even if the brother-in-law was asleep.

Over the preceding few days, Clarence had managed to save a small amount of change in nickels and dimes. This small hoard, he decided, was to be used in case of emergency. He had surmised that an emergency would indeed eventually arise. He carefully wrapped these few coins in a handkerchief and placed the handkerchief snugly in the bottom of his trouser pocket. He made sure it wouldn’t move at all so the coins wouldn’t make any noise, be noticed and be confiscated.

Clarence had not been able to get away from his brother-in-law for even a single moment. He had not had a drink all day. Before they started the trip, Clarence had consumed all of the alcohol that was hidden in the house, and his bags had been thoroughly searched by Dorothy just prior to his departure. All the bottles that had been stashed were summarily removed and dumped down the kitchen sink in full view of Clarence and Dorothy’s gathered family.

Clarence was in a bad way. Sick, shivering, coughing, and throwing up out of the window of the truck. He was not allowed to leave his brother-in-law’s sight. When they stopped for breakfast, Clarence had no appetite, but had to go into the diner anyway. He sat with his arms folded across his shaking body.

At one point, Clarence became nauseous and bolted for the bathroom, probably due to Clarence’s watching everyone eating and smelling the aroma of the food. His brother-in-law quickly followed him in to the bathroom. Clarence was followed everywhere he went and was watched at all times. His brother-in-law was under very strict and specific orders and knew he would have to answer to the family if anything went wrong.

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Early in the evening they stopped for the night in Albany, New York. Clarence’s brother-in-law was exhausted from all the driving and from having to watch each and every move that Clarence made. He decided to pull over to the side of the street and catch a few hours of much needed sleep. Clarence saw his awaited opportunity and seized it.

He convinced his brother-in-law that he had never been to Albany and that he wanted to see the Capitol building. He told the brother-in-law that this was something he had always wanted to see. He even offered to take him with him for security. He begged, and he pleaded.

He pointed to the building, which was all lit up in the darkened night sky. His brother-in-law was so exhausted he couldn’t and didn’t have the strength to argue any more with Clarence. He eventually just gave up. He assumed Clarence had no money and therefore couldn’t get into any trouble. He mumbled, "Good-by and don’t come back too late." He then immediately drifted off into a sound sleep.

Clarence did not have any intention of seeing the Capitol. He did however, have what he thought, was a "capital idea." That idea was: As he got out of the view of the truck, he would run as fast as he could to the nearest bar. And this he did.

The first place Clarence came across was a little too rich for his blood. He then ran a few more blocks to a "seedier neighborhood."

He quickly located something more to his stature and position in society, "a dump." He carefully pulled out his handkerchief and untied it slowly, with his now trembling hands, so that none of his "bank" would fall out. He walked into the bar. He said he "plopped all the change on to the bar in one loud clatter and I ordered a drink." He quickly downed that drink and, without waiting, ordered another.

As was Clarence’s good fortune, he met a benefactor. He recalled: "I met an angel, I think he was a fairy, but I’ll call him an angel.

Because he started to ply me with drinks and he was putting them up as fast as I could drink ‘em. This was great. But then things started getting a little stuffy, and I thought it was about time I take my leave.

So I went to the men’s room, locked the door, went out the window, and headed back for the truck. I imagine this guy is still waiting for me there."

Clarence did not run back to the truck. He was unable to. He walked as best he could. By the time he returned to the place where the truck was parked, all of the alcohol he had consumed began to take its effect. He was not in the best control of his body.

While trying to climb back into the truck and into his sleeping perch, he stepped on his brother-in-law’s face. Awakened with a start, smell-

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ing the stench that emanated from Clarence’s body, and observing him weaving back and forth the brother-in-law put two and two together.

After much loud arguing and having to restrain himself from beating Clarence to a pulp, the brother-in-law explained this was to have been Clarence’s last chance. He told Clarence that as soon as they arrived in New York City, he would have to put Clarence out and leave him there.

"Dumped." Never to return home to Dorothy or Cleveland, for that matter, ever again. Regardless of how much Clarence begged and pleaded, New York City was to be his last stop. Dejected and devoid of all hope, Clarence crawled up into his perch to sleep, wishing that this was all an alcohol-induced nightmare or hallucination.

When they had arrived at the New York waterfront, true to his promise, the brother-in-law dumped Clarence on the docks and warned, "Never dare come back to Cleveland!" Clarence got down on his knees and begged, crying with all of the earnestness at his command.

The words "good riddance" were heard and echoed throughout his head as the big truck released its air brakes. It lumbered away and faded off into the distant unknown and foreign streets. Clarence was left there, on his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks on to the cold and dirty concrete.