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memory. Their names will be inscribed on Page One of AA's book of first and best friends. One day Dr. Bob said to me. "Don't you think we'd better scare up some drunks to work on?" He phoned the nurse in charge of admissions at Akron City Hospital and told her how he and another drunk from New York had a cure for alcoholism. I saw the old boy blush and look disconcerted. The nurse had commented, "Well, Doctor, you'd better give that cure a good workout on yourself." Nevertheless the admitting nurse produced a customer. A dandy, she said he was. A prominent Akron lawyer, he had lost about everything. He'd been in City Hospital six times in four months. He'd arrived at that very moment; had just knocked down a nurse he'd thought a pink elephant. "Will that one do you?" she inquired. Said Dr. Bob, "Put him in a private room. We'll be down when he's better." Soon Dr. Bob and I saw a sight which tens of thousands of us have since beheld, the sight of the man on the bed who does not yet know he can get well. We explained to the man on the bed the nature of his malady and told him our own stories of drinking and recovery. But the sick one shook his head, "Guess you've been through the mill boys, but you never were half as bad off as I am. For me it's too late. I don't dare go out of here. I'm a man of faith, too; used to be deacon in my church. I've still faith in God but I guess he hasn't got any in me. Alcohol has me, it's no use. Come and see me again, though. I'd like to talk with you more." As we entered his room for our second visit a woman sitting at the foot of his bed was saying, "What has happened to you, husband? You seem so different. I feel so relieved." The new man turned to us. "Here they are," he cried. "They understand. After they left yesterday I couldn't get what they told me out of my mind, I laid awake all night. Then hope came. If they could find release, so might I. I became willing to get honest with myself, to square my wrongdoing, to help other alcoholics. The minute I did this I began to feel different. I knew I was going to be well." Continued the man on the bed, "Now, good wife, please fetch me my clothes. We are going to get up and out of here." Whereupon AA number three arose from his bed, never to drink again. The seed of AA had pushed another tendril up through the new soil. Though we knew it not, it had already flowered. Three of us were gathered together. Akron's Group One was a reality. We three worked with scores of others. Many were called but mighty few chosen; failure was our daily companion. But when I left Akron in September, 1935, two or three more sufferers had apparently linked themselves to us for good. The next two years marked the "flying blind" period of our pioneering time. With the fine instinct of that good physician he was, Dr. Bob continued to medically treat and indoctrinate every new case, first at Akron City hospital then for the dozen years since at famed St. Thomas where thousands passed under his watchful eye and sure AA touch. Though not of his faith, the Staff and Sisters there did prodigies. Theirs is one of the most compelling examples of love and devotion we AAs have ever witnessed. Ask the thousands of AA visitors and patients who really know. Ask them what they think of Sister Ignatia, of St. Thomas. Or of Dr. Bob. But I'm getting ahead of my story. Meanwhile a small group had taken shape in New York. The Akron meeting at T. Henry's home began to have a few Cleveland visitors. At this juncture I spent a week visiting Dr.Bob. We commenced to count noses. Out of hundreds of alcoholics, how many had stuck? How many were sober? And for how long? In that fall of 1937 Bob and I counted forty cases who had significant dry time - maybe sixty years for the whole lot of them! Our eyes glistened. Enough time had elapsed on enough cases to spell out something quite new, perhaps something great indeed. Suddenly the ceiling went up. We no longer flew blind. A beacon had been lighted. God had shown alcoholics how it might be passed from hand to hand. Never shall I forget that great and humbling hour of realization, shared with Dr. Bob. But the new realization faced us with a great problem, a momentous decision. It had taken nearly three years to effect forty recoveries. The United States alone probably had a million alcoholics. How were we to get the story to them? Wouldn't we need paid workers, hospitals of our own, lots of money? Surely we must have some sort of a textbook. Dare we crawl at a snail's pace whilst our story got garbled and mayhap thousands would die? What a poser that was! How we were spared from professionalism, wealth, and extensive property management; how we finally came up with the book "Alcoholics Anonymous" is a story by itself. But in this critical period it was Dr. Bob's prudent counsel which so often restrained us from rash ventures that might have retarded us for years, perhaps ruined us for good. Nor can we ever forget the devotion of Dr. Bob and Jim S. (who passed away last summer) as they gathered stories for the AA Book, three-fifths of them coming from Akron alone. Dr. Bob's special fortitude and wisdom were prime factors in that time so much characterized by doubt, and finally by grave decision. How much we may rejoice that Anne and Dr. Bob both lived to see the lamp lit at Akron carried into every corner of the earth; that they doubtless realized millions might someday pass under the ever-widening arch whose keystone they so gallantly helped carve. Yet, being so humble as they were, I'm sure they never quite guessed what a heritage they left us, nor how beautifully their appointed task had been completed. All they needed to do was finished. It was even reserved for Dr. Bob to see AA come of age as, for the last time, he spoke to 7000 of us at Cleveland, July, 1950. I saw Dr. Bob the Sunday before he died. A bare month previous he had aided me in framing a proposal for the General Service Conference of Alcoholics Anonymous, AA's third legacy. This bequest, in pamphlet form, was actually at the printers when he took his final departure the following Thursday. As his last act and desire respecting AA, this document will be sure to carry a great and special meaning for us all. With no other person have I ever experienced quite the same relation: the finest thing I know how to say is that in all the strenuous time of our association, he and I never had an uncomfortable difference of opinion. His capacity for brotherhood and love was often beyond my ken. For a last word, may I leave with you a moving example of his simplicity and humility. Curiously enough, the story is about a monument - a monument proposed for him. A year ago, when Anne passed away, the thought of an imposing shaft came uppermost in the minds of many. People were insistent that something be done. Hearing rumors of this, Dr. Bob promptly declared against AAs erecting for Anne and himself any tangible memorials or monument. These usual symbols of personal distinction he brushed aside in a single devastating sentence. Said he, "Annie and I plan to be buried just like other folks." At the alcoholic ward in St. Thomas his friends did, however, erect this simple plaque. It reads: IN GRATITUDE THE FRIENDS OF DR. BOB AND ANNE SMITH AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATE THIS MEMORIAL TO THE SISTERS AND STAFF OF ST. THOMAS HOSPITAL AT AKRON, BIRTHPLACE OF ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS, ST. THOMAS HOSPITAL BECAME THE FIRST RELIGIOUS INSTITUTION EVER TO OPEN ITS DOOR TO OUR SOCIETY. MAY THE LOVING DEVOTION OF THOSE WHO LABORED HERE IN OUR PIONEERING TIME BE A BRIGHT AND WONDEROUS EXAMPLE OF GOD'S GRACE EVERLASTINGLY SET BEFORE US ALL.
Grapevine (1951), Part 2 of 3 From: Lash, William (Bill) . . . . . . . . . . . . 2/3/2004 9:53:00 AM
January 1951 AA Grapevine Part 2 of 3
this is the story of Dr. Bob the physician whose 'practice' reached half across the world... Dr. Bob was born August 8, 1879, in St. Johnsbury, Vermont, a typical New England village of some 7000 souls. As the only son of parents prominent in civic and church activities, his early childhood was spent under strict parental guidance. Signs of inner revolt came at an early age. In later years the doctor liked to tell his children, Sue and Robert, of how he was put to bed every evening at five o'clock. He would go quietly enough, a fact which might have led the modern child-psychology-wise parent to suspect the worst, but which seemingly went unnoticed by the young man's parents. As soon as he was reasonably sure that he was considered safely asleep, he would arise, dress and slip quietly downstairs and out the backdoor to join his village gang. So far as is known he was never apprehended while on his nocturnal expeditions. The call of the woodland trail was far more fascinating to young Rob, as his schoolmates called him, than the stuffy schoolhouse to which he was forced to make his reluctant way each morning. His active young mind was more apt to be concentrating upon the best method to trap a bear than on the dull drone of his teacher's voice. He wanted to be free to roam. Rebellion surged within him at the thought of restraint of any sort...study and home-work were "musts"...even the keenness of his youthful mind was not enough to make up for his lack of application to his daily lessons. Serious repercussions often followed which led to accusations of "waywardness" by his parents and his teachers. Though his scholastic neglect may have disgraced him with his elders upon occasion, his schoolmates loved him. Whether it was because his habitual and sometimes adventurous revolts against restraint gave him a glamorous aura or because of the accuracy with which children often sense traits of character obscure to adults, they made him a popular and sought-after member of their class. Freedom from some of the "musts" came with vacations. He was released, then, to wander the hills, hunt, and trap and swim in the sea. Often Rob and his friends went into Canada on hunting trips. On one of these forays into the wilds, hunting was so poor that the boys lived on eels, blueberries and cream of tartar biscuits for three weeks. They did flush a particularly large woodchuck. They stalked him for several hours. Finally they had him within shooting range. After being shot at for sometime, the woodchuck disappeared. This episode later caused Rob's father, the Judge, to remark that the woodchuck probably went in to get out of the noise. The incident of the woodchuck and a tale of a great bear chase cast some shadow of doubt on young Rob's prowess as a hunter and woodsman. Off to the woods one day, went the young hunter and a schoolmate. The boys sauntered along, kicking at stones ... building castles in the air...talking about the things that spirited adolescent males talk about. Suddenly they saw before them a huge bear. The bear, who was probably as astonished as the boys, took to the woods at a gallop. The young hunters were hard at his heels. The day was hot, the brambles thick, courageous daring was at its height...the bear got away. "I don't believe," Dr. Bob used to say, "that we ran as fast as we might have!" In the summers the family often spent some weeks in a cottage by the sea. Here Rob became an expert swimmer. He and his foster sister, Nancy, spent many hours building and sailing their own sailboats. It was here that he saved a young girl from drowning. This event must have left an impression...probably of the advisability for every child to learn to swim at an early age. He taught his own children, Robert R. and Sue, to be expert swimmers at the age of five. The three of them would set out every vacation morning to swim the channel near their cottage. This feat often caused distraught neighbors to call their mother to tell her that her babies had fallen out of a boat in the middle of the channel. While the boy, Rob, was high-spirited, considered rebellious and wayward he was industrious and labored long and hard at anything he wanted to do. He was still very young when it became apparent that he was ambitious as well as willing to work. He wanted, above all else, to become a medical doctor like his maternal grandfather. When he was about nine years old he began to show signs of liking to work, especially out of doors. That summer he was at a neighbor's farm helping the men load hay. Perhaps he was resting, perhaps he was prowling around poking under bushes to see what he could see...he saw a jug...he pulled the cork and sniffed. It was a new odor to this son of strict New England parents. It was an odor that he liked. If the stuff in the jug smelled so good, it should taste good too. And it was good. He liked the taste. He liked the way it made him feel. A little boy; a jug of hooch; the first securely welded link in the chain. By the time he reached his teens, Rob was spending parts of his summers working on a Vermont farm or juggling trays and lugging baggage as a bellhop in an Adirondack summer hotel. His winters were passed trying to avoid the necessity of having to attend high school in order to receive a diploma. It may have been during his high school days that young Rob learned much of what there is to know about a billiard table. Later when his son, Robert, would tease him about this accomplishment as being the product of a mis-spent youth, Dr. Bob would just smile and say nothing. He was a good student in spite of himself and graduated from St. Johnsbury Academy in 1898.
It was at a party given at the Academy that Dr. Bob first met Anne. A student at Wellesley, she was spending a holiday with a college chum. It was a small, reserved girl whom the tall, rangy Rob met that night. With an agile mind to match his own, Anne had a cheerfulness, sweetness and calm that was to remain with her through the years. It was these same qualities that were in the future to endear her to hundreds as Anne, Dr. Bob's wife. After high school at St. Johnsbury Academy came four years of college at Dartmouth. At long last the rebellious young colt was free of his parents' restraining supervision. New experiences were to be explored and enjoyed without having to give an accounting. His first discovery in his search for the facts of life on the campus was that joining the boys for a brew seemed to make up the greater part of after-class recreation. From Dr. Bob's point of view it was the major extra-curricular activity. It had long been evident that whatever Rob did, he did well. He became a leader in the sport. He drank for the sheer fun of it and suffered little or no ill-effects. Fame came to him at Dartmouth - no accolades for scholarship...no letters for athletic prowess...his fame came for a capacity for drinking beer that was matched by few and topped by none...and for what the students called his "patent throat." They would stand in awe watching him consume an entire bottle of beer without any visible muscular movement of swallowing. The prospects of getting drunk in the evening furnished Rob and his cronies with conversations which ran on all day. The pros and cons of whether to get drunk or not to get drunk would invariably drive one of their mild-mannered friends to distraction. He would rise in spluttering protest to say, "Well! If I were going to get drunk, I'd be about it!" As often as not...they were about it. There were times, though, when a change of scenery seemed more to their liking. Like the time Rob and a friend got it into their heads that going to Montpelier, Vermont was a fine idea. Admiral Dewey had just returned from Manila and was to parade through the town. Being in the usual state of financial embarrassment, how to get there caused a fleeting problem, but being convinced that where there was a will, a way would certainly present itself, they hopped a freight. In the morning weary but mightily pleased with themselves, they descended from the boxcar in Montpelier. As they walked up the street toward the parade route they met a fellow Dartmouth student. The boys greeted him with as much dignity as their grimy faces and straw-flecked garments would allow. To their astonishment his "Hello" was most cordial. Wouldn't they like to go to the State House with him? There, from the reviewing stand, the boys viewed the parade with their Dartmouth friend, whose father was the Governor of Vermont. Through the carefree days at college he studied just about as much as he had to, to get by. But he was a good student none-the-less. Here he made friends whom he was to know and to see from time to time through his life ...friends who did not always approve of his drinking prowess, but loved him in spite of it.
His last years at Dartmouth were spent doing exactly what he wanted to do with little thought of the wishes or feelings of others...a state of mind which became more and more predominate as the years passed. Rob graduated in 1902..."summa cum laude" in the eyes of the drinking fraternity. The dean had a somewhat lower estimate. Now that he held a Dartmouth diploma, it seemed advisable that the willful young man settle down to making a living and a solid, secure future for himself. He wasn't ready to settle down to a job. The strong desire to become a medical doctor was still with him. His mother, who had never approved of this career for her son, hadn't altered her views. He went to work. For the next three years his business career was varied, if not successful. The first two years he worked for a large scale company; then he went to Montreal where he labored diligently at selling railway supplies, gas engines of all sorts and many other items of heavy hardware. He left Montreal and went to Boston where he was employed at Filene's. What his duties were there, have never been recorded. All through this three year period he was drinking as much as purse allowed, still without getting into any serious trouble. But he wasn't making any headway either. Whatever his duties at Filene's were, they certainly were not what he wanted to do. He still wanted to be a doctor. It was time he was about it. He quit his job at the store and that Fall entered the University of Michigan as a premedical student. Again he was free of all restraint and doing just as he wanted to do. Earnestly, he got down to serious business... the serious business of drinking as much as he could and still make it to class in the morning. His famous capacity for beer followed him to the Michigan campus. He was elected to membership in the drinking fraternity. Once again he displayed the wonders of his "patent throat" before his gaping brothers. He, who had boasted to his friends..."Never had a hangover in my life...began to have the morning after shakes. Many a morning Dr. Bob went to classes and even though fully prepared, turned away at the door and went back to the fraternity house. So bad were his jitters that he feared he would cause a scene if he should be called on. He went from bad to worse. No longer drinking for the fun of it, his life at Michigan became one long binge after another. In the Spring of his Sophomore year, Dr. Bob made up his mind that he could not complete his course. He packed his grip and headed South. After a month spent on a large farm owned by a friend, the fog began to clear from his brain. As he began to think more clearly he realized that it was very foolish to quit school. He decided to return and continue his work. The faculty had other ideas on the subject. They were, they told him, completely disgusted. It would require no effort at all to get along without his presence on the Michigan campus. After a long argument they allowed him to return to take his exams. He passed them creditably. After many more painful discussions, the faculty also gave him his credits. That Fall he entered Brush University as a Junior. Here his drinking became so much worse that his fraternity brothers felt forced to send for his father. The Judge made the long journey in a vain effort to get him straightened out. After those long disasterous binges when Dr. Bob was forced to face his father he had a deep feeling of guilt. His father always met the situation quietly, "Well, what did this one cost you?" he would ask. Oddly enough this feeling of guilt would come, not because he felt that he had hurt him in any way, but because his father seemed, somehow, to understand. It was this quiet, hopeless understanding that pained him deep inside. He was drinking more and more hard liquor, now, and coming up to his final exams he went on a particularly rough binge. When he went in to the examinations his hand trembled so badly he could not hold a pencil. He was, of course, called before the faculty. Their decision was that if he wished to graduate he must come back for two more quarters, remaining absolutely dry. This he was able to do. The faculty considered his work so creditable he was able to secure a much coveted internship in City Hospital in Akron, Ohio.
The first two years in Akron, as a young intern, were free of trouble. Hard work took the place of hard drinking simply because there wasn't time for both. At one time during his internship he ran the hospital pharmacy by himself. This added to other duties took him all over the hospital...running up and down the stairs because the elevators were too slow...running here, rushing there as if the devil were after him. All this frenzied activity never failed to bring about an explosive, "Now where is that cadaverous young Yankee!" from one of the older doctors who became particularly fond of him. Though the two years as intern at City were hectic, Dr. Bob had time to Yüklə 1,35 Mb. Dostları ilə paylaş:
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