From the Liberty Magazine
© September 1939
 |
Charles Towns, owner of Towns
Hospital where Bill Wilson had sobered up, tried to get publicity for
A.A. and finally succeeded. He had known Morris Markey, a well-known
feature writer, for years. Markey was intrigued by what Towns told him
of A.A., and approached Fulton Oursler, then editor of "Liberty," a
popular magazine which had a religious orientation. Oursler saw the
possibilities at once and said "Morris, you've got an assignment. Bring
that story in here, and we will print it in September."
(Oursler later wrote a number of successful books on religion. He became
a good friend of Bill's and served as a trustee of the Alcoholic
Foundation.) In September, when the "Liberty" piece hit
the newsstands, Bill thought it was a bit lurid, and that the title, "Alcoholics
and God," would scare off some prospects. Perhaps it did, but "Liberty" received
800 urgent pleas for help, which were promptly turned over to Bill Wilson who
turned them over to Ruth Hock for a response. "She wrote fine personal letters
to every one of them," wrote Bill, "enclosing a leaflet which described the A.A.
book. The response was wonderful. Several hundred books sold at once at full
retail price of $3.50. Even more importantly, we struck up a correspondence
with alcoholics, their friends, and their families all over the country." |
When Dr. Bob read the story he was elated. "You never saw such an elated person
in your life," said Ernie G. the second (there were two Ernie G's). "“We all
were," said Ernie's wife, Ruth. Anne Smith said "You know, it looks like we
might be getting a little bit respectable."
It was A.A.'s first successful piece of national publicity. The stories in the
Cleveland Plain Dealer followed shortly hereafter.
One result of the article was that A.A. was
started in Philadelphia. George S. of Philadelphia, one of the first "loners"
had sobered up after reading the article. When the issue of Liberty first
arrived, George was in bed drinking whiskey for his depression and taking
laudanum for his colitis. The Markey piece hit George so hard that he went
ex-grog and ex-laudanum instantly. He wrote to New York, his name was given to
Jim Burwell (see "The Vicious Cycle" in the Big Book), who was a traveling
salesman, "and that's how A.A. started in the City of Brotherly Love," wrote
Bill.
Jim and George gathered others to them, and the first A.A. meeting in
Philadelphia was held in George's home.
Chicago also reported getting several new prospects as a result of the "Liberty"
article.
Bill wrote to Dr. Bob "We are growing at an alarming rate, although I have no
further fear of large numbers." A few weeks later he wrote Dr. Bob that "the
press of newcomers and inquiries was so great that we have to swing more to the
take-it-or-leave-it attitude, which, curiously enough, produces better results
than trying to be all things at all times at all places to all men."
Here is the text of a Liberty Magazine
article which appeared in the September 1939 issue. It resulted in increased
growth in AA membership.
Alcoholics
and God
Is there hope for habitual drunkards?
A cure that borders on the miraculous -- and it works!
For twenty-five or thirty cents we buy a glass of fluid which is pleasant to the
taste, and which contains within its small measure a store of warmth and
good-fellowship and stimulation, of release from momentary cares and anxieties.
That would be a drink of whisky, of course -- whisky, which is one of Nature's
most generous gifts to man, and at the same time one of his most elusive
problems. It is a problem because, like many of his greatest benefits, man does
not quite know how to control it. Many experiments have been made, the most
spectacular being the queer nightmare of prohibition, which left such deep scars
upon the morals and the manners of our nation.
Millions of dollars have been spent by philanthropists
and crusaders to spread the doctrine of temperance. In our time the most
responsible of the distillers are urging us to use their wares sensibly, without
excess.
But to a certain limited number of our countrymen neither prohibition nor wise
admonishments have any meaning, because they are helpless when it comes to
obeying them. I speak of the true alcoholics, and before going any further I had
best explain what that term means.
For a medical definition of the term, I quote an eminent doctor who, has spent
twenty-five years treating such people in a highly regarded private hospital:
"We believe . . . that the action of alcohol in chronic alcoholics is a
manifestation of an allergy-that the phenomenon of craving is limited to this
class and never occurs in the average temperate drinker. These allergic types
can never safely use alcohol in any form at all."
They are, he goes on, touched with physical and mental
quirks which prevent them from controlling their own actions. They suffer from
what some doctors call a "compulsion neurosis." They know liquor is bad for them
but periodically, they are driven by a violent and totally uncontrollable desire
for a drink. And after that first drink, the deluge.
Now these people are genuinely sick. The liquor habit with them is not a vice.
It is a specific illness of body and mind, and should be treated as such.
By far the most successful cure is that used by the hospital whose head doctor I
have quoted. There is nothing secret about it. It has the endorsement of the
medical profession. It is, fundamentally, a process of dehydration: of removing
harmful toxins from all parts of the body faster than Nature could accomplish
it. Within five or six days -- two weeks at the maximum -- the patient's body is
utterly free from alcoholic poisons. Which means that the physical craving is
completely cured, because the body cries out for alcohol only when alcohol is
already there. The patient has no feeling of revulsion toward whisky. He simply
is not interested in it. He has recovered. But wait. How permanent is his
recovery?
Our doctor says this: "Though the aggregate of full recoveries through physical
and psychiatric effort its considerable, we doctors must admit that we have made
little impression upon the problem as a whole. For there are many types which do
not respond to the psychological approach."
"I do not believe that true alcoholism is entirely a matter of individual mental
control. I have had many men who had, for example, worked for a period of months
on some business deal which was to be settled on a certain date.... "
For reasons they could not afterward explain, they took
a drink a day or two prior to the date . . . and the important engagement was
not even kept. These men were not drinking to escape. They were drinking to
overcome a craving beyond their mental control.
"The classification of alcoholics is most difficult. There are, of course, the
psychopaths who are emotionally unstable.... They are over remorseful and make
many resolutions -- but never a decision."
"There is the type who is unwilling to admit that he cannot take a drink just
like the rest of the boys. He does tricks with his drinking -- changing his
brand, or drinking only after meals or changing his companions. None of this
helps him strengthen his control and be like other people. Then there are types
entirely normal in every respect except in the effect which alcohol has upon
them . . . "
"All these, and many others, have one symptom in common: They cannot start
drinking without developing the phenomenon of craving.... The only relief we
have to suggest is complete abstinence from alcohol."
"But are these unfortunate people really capable, mentally, of abstaining
completely? Their bodies may be cured of craving. Can their minds be cured? Can
they be rid of the deadly compulsion neurosis?"
Among physicians the general opinion seems to be that chronic alcoholics are
doomed. But wait!
Within the last four years, evidence has appeared which has startled hard-boiled
medical men by proving that the compulsion neurosis can be entirely eliminated.
Perhaps you are one of those cynical people who will turn away when I say that
the root of this new discovery is religion. But be patient for a moment. About
three years ago a man appeared at the hospital in New York of which our doctor
is head physician. It was his third 'cure."
Since his first visit he had lost his job, his friends,
his health, and his self-respect. He was now living on the earnings of his
wife.
He had tried every method he could find to cure his disease: had read all the
great philosophers and psychologists. He had tried religion but he simply could
not accept it. It would not seem real and personal to him.
He went through the cure as usual and came out of it in very low spirits. He was
lying in bed, emptied of vitality and thought, when suddenly, a strange and
totally unexpected thrill went through his body and mind. He called out for the
doctor. When the doctor came in, the man looked up at him and grinned.
"Well, doc," he said, "my troubles are all over. I've got religion."
"Why, you're the last man . . ."
"Sure, I know all that. But I've got it. And I know I'm cured of this drinking
business for good." He talked with great intensity for a while and then said,
"Listen, doc. I've got to see some other patient -- one that is about to be
dismissed."
The doctor demurred. It all sounded a trifle fanatical. But finally he
consented. And thus was born the movement which is now flourishing with almost
sensational success as Alcoholics Anonymous.
Here is how it works:
Every member of the group -- which is to say every person who has been saved --
is under obligation to carry on the work, to save other men.
That, indeed, is a fundamental part of his own mental cure. He gains strength
and confidence by active work with other victims.
He finds his subject among acquaintances, at a "cure" institution or perhaps by
making inquiry of a preacher, a priest, or a doctor. He begins his talk with his
new acquaintance by telling him the true nature of his disease and how remote
are his chances for permanent cure.
When he has convinced the man that he is a true alcoholic and must never drink
again, he continues:
"You had better admit that this thing is beyond your own control. You've tried
to solve it by yourself, and you have failed. All right. Why not put the whole
thing into the hands of Somebody Else?"
Even though the man might be an atheist or agnostic, he will almost always admit
that there is some sort of force operating in the world-some cosmic power
weaving a design. And his new friend will say: "I don't care what you call this
Somebody Else. We call it God. But whatever you want to call it, you had better
put yourself into its hands. Just admit you're licked, and say, `Here I am,
Somebody Else. Take care of this thing for me.'"
The new subject will generally consent to attend one of the weekly meetings of
the movement.
He will find twenty-five or thirty ex-drunks gathered in somebody's home for a
pleasant evening. There are no sermons. The talk is gay or serious as the mood
strikes. The new candidate cannot avoid saying to himself, "These birds are
ex-drunks. And look at them! They must have something. It sounds kind of screwy,
but whatever it is I wish to heaven I could get it too."
One or another of the members keeps working on him from day to day. And
presently the miracle. But let me give you an example: I sat down in a quiet
room with Mr. B., a stockily built man of fifty with a rather stern, intelligent
face.
"I'll tell you what happened a year ago." He said, "I was completely washed up.
Financially I was all right, because my money is in a trust fund. But I was a
drunken bum of the worst sort. My family was almost crazy with my incessant
sprees."
"I took the cure in New York." (At the hospital we have mentioned.)
"When I came out of it, the doctor suggested I go to one of these meetings the
boys were holding. I just laughed. My father was an atheist and had taught me to
be one. But the doctor kept saying it wouldn't do me any harm, and I went."
"I sat around listening to the jabber. It didn't register with me at all. I went
home. But the next week I found myself drawn to the meeting. And again they
worked on me while I shook my head. I said, 'It seems O.K. with you, boys, but I
don't even know your language. Count me out.'"
"Somebody said the Lord's Prayer, and the meeting broke up. I walked three
blocks to the subway station. Just as I was about to go down the stairs-bang!"
He snapped fingers hard. "It happened! I don't like that word miracle, but
that's all I can call it. The lights in the street seemed to flare up. My feet
seemed to leave the pavement. A kind of shiver went over me, and I burst out
crying. "
"I went back to the house where we had met, and rang the bell, and Bill let me
in. We talked until two o'clock in the morning. I haven't touched a drop since,
and I've set four other fellows on the same road."
The doctor, a nonreligious man himself, was at first utterly astonished at the
results that began to appear among his patients. But then he put his knowledge
of psychiatry and psychology to work. These men were experiencing a psychic
change. Their so-called "compulsion neurosis" was being altered -- transferred
from liquor to something else. Their psychological necessity to drink was being
changed to a psychological necessity to rescue their fellow victims from the
plight that made themselves so miserable. It is not a new idea. It is a powerful
and effective working out of an old idea. We all know that the alcoholic has an
urge to share his troubles. Psychoanalysts use this urge. They say to the
alcoholic, in basic terms: "You can't lick this problem yourself. Give me the
problem -- transfer the whole thing to me and let me take the whole
responsibility."
But the psychoanalyst, being of human clay, is not often a big enough man for
that job. The patient simply cannot generate enough confidence in him. But the
patient can have enough confidence in God -- once he has gone through the
mystical experience of recognizing God. And upon that principle the Alcoholic
Foundation rests.
The medical profession, in general, accepts the
principle as sound.
"Alcoholics Anonymous" have consolidated their activities in an organization
called the Alcoholic Foundation. It is a nonprofit-making enterprise. Nobody
connected with it is paid a penny. It is not a crusading movement.
It condemns neither liquor nor the liquor industry. Its
whole concern is with the rescue of allergic alcoholics, the small proportion of
the population who must be cured or perish. It preaches no particular religion
and has no dogma, no rules. Every man conceives God according to his own
lights.
Groups have grown up in other cities. The affairs of the Foundation are managed
by three members of the movement and four prominent business and professional
men, not alcoholics, who volunteered their services.
The Foundation has lately published a book, called "Alcoholics Anonymous." And
if alcoholism is a problem in your family or among your friends, I heartily
recommend that you get hold of a copy. It may very well help you to guide a sick
man -- an allergic alcoholic -- on the way to health and contentment.
THE END
From the Liberty Magazine ©
September 1939
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