Aa history Lovers 2004 moderators Nancy Olson and Glenn F. Chesnut page

groups are boss and the board of trustees and the staff at the General Service

Office are supposed to carry out their orders. The board of trustees is made

up of 14 A.A. members and 7 non-alcoholics.

Although alcoholics hold all the top administrative jobs, they never handle

money. A.A.'s financial operation is run by non-alcoholics. The reason is that

Bill Wilson and the early A.A.'s were afraid that if anybody running A.A. fell

off the wagon, that would be bad enough, but if he were handling finances as

well, the results could be disastrous. The philosophy has endured.

The manner in which A.A. directs its collective affairs and sets policy can be

seen most clearly - or in all its democratic confusion - at its yearly General

Service Conference, the closest approximation to a governing body of A.A.

About 135 people attend, including 91 delegates elected at regional A.A.

assemblies in the United States and Canada. Also on hand are the trustees of

the board and representatives of the head-quarter's staff.

The day-to-day business of Alcoholics Anonymous has been carried on since 1970

in a brick building at 468 Park Avenue South, in midtown Manhattan. Whatever

policies are decided at the conference are carried out by the headquarters

staff. Their jobs are divided into specialties such as literature, treatment

centers, prisons, public information and cooperation with professionals -

doctors, counselors, social workers and teachers, for example - in the

alcoholism field. And just in case somebody should become overly fond of a

specialty, all the top staff members, except the general manager and the

Hispanic coordinator, regularly rotate jobs every two years. The same frequent

rotation occurs at every level in A.A. Officers in local groups usually step

down every six months.

The seven nonalcoholic trustees, who are often experts in some profession,

such as medicine, law, banking or social work, serve a special need. Joan K.

Jackson, a sociologist with long experience among alcoholics, explains: "We

can use our full names in public. We are not perceived by outsiders as having

any vested interest. Privately within A.A., our greatest function is as

gadflies and questioners."

What makes A.A. headquarters run is the A.A. World Service publishing empire.

It now brings in $8.8 million annually or 76 per cent of A.A.'s yearly

corporate revenues. It is the cause of some trepidation among those who have

taken what amounts to a vow of poverty. Each year, A.A. distributes 7 million

copies of more than 40 pamphlets (mostly gratis for members), and almost a

million and a half copies of 6 books and two booklets. Seven million copies of

the Big Book (A.A.'s central text, published in 1939, whose formal title is

"Alcoholics Anonymous") have been sold. Last year alone, about a million Big

Books were purchased, virtually all of them at A.A. meetings, alcoholic

rehabilitation centers or through mail orders.

At the time of his death, early in 1971, Bill Wilson was earning about $65,000

a year in royalties from the Big Book and three other books he wrote for A.A.

Last year, his widow, Lois, received $912,000 in royalties. Under the terms of

the agreement Bill concluded with A.A. headquarters in 1963, she was allocated

13.5 per cent of Wilson's royalties. Another 1.5 percent went to his last

mistress, who died a few years after Bill.

There has been almost no negative publicity about Alcoholics Anonymous over

the five decades of its history. Extensive research turns up only a handful of

critical views in the press. Writing in The Nation in 1964, Jerome Ellison

charged that A.A.'s conservative top councils had lost touch with the ever

more diverse rank-and-file. The same year, Arthur H. Cain, a New York

psychologist, in a book and articles for various magazines, called A.A. a

"cult" that enslaved its members to self-righteous sobriety. Bill Wilson's

reaction was typical of the man's tolerance. The co-founder trying to calm the

ensuing fuss at headquarters, said: "In all the years, this is the first

thorough- going criticism our fellowship ever had. So the practicing of

absorbing stuff like that in good humor should be of value." It was the first

public criticism, and it proved to be one of the last.

Privately within A.A., there has been a growing dissatisfaction with

headquarters. Some members say staff members are becoming frozen in

bureaucracy and are overly sensitive to pressure from the most rigid and

narrow-minded members, particularly old-timers, who regard the Big Book and

other authorized literature almost as Holy Writ.

"If anything is going to destroy A.A.," says Dr. John Norris, a nonalcoholic

physician, friend of Bill Wilson's and for many years chairman of A.A.'s board

of trustees, "It will be what I call the 'tradition lawyers.' They find it

easier to live with black and white than they do with gray. These 'bleeding

deacons' * these fundamentalists are afraid of and fight any change."

Source: The New York Times Magazine©, February 21, 1988

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

++++Message 1782. . . . . . . . . . . . Significant May Dates in AA History

From: [e-mail] . . . . . . . . . . . . 5/1/2004 3:25:00 AM

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

May 1

1941 - First Wisconsin AA meeting was held in a Milwaukee hotel.

May 2

1941 - Jacksonville, FL, newspaper reported start of a new AA group.

1941 - First meeting was held in San Bernardino, California.

May 3

1941 - First AA group formed in New Orleans, Louisiana.

1943 - Democrat Chronicle in Rochester, NY, reported first annual AA dinner at

Seneca Hotel with 60 attending.

May 4

1946 - Marty Mann explained Alcoholics Anonymous and the National Committee

for Education on Alcoholism on the "We the People" radio show.

May 5

1940 - Washington, DC, Sunday Star reported formation of first AA group in the

District of Columbia.

May 7

1956 - The first English AA Convention was held in Cheltenham, England.

May 8

1943 - Akron AA group had its 8th anniversary celebration with 500 present and

sober.

1971 - Bill Wilson was buried in private ceremony.

May 10

1946 - Searcy W. had his last drink. (Searcy died September 30, 2003.)

May 11

1935 - From the Mayflower Hotel, Bill Wilson called Walter Tunks who referred

him to Henrietta Seiberling who introduced Bill to Dr. Bob.

May 12

1935 - Mothers' Day - Bill Wilson and Dr. Bob Smith met for the first time in

Akron, Ohio, at the home of Henrietta Seiberling.

May 14

1948 - Long Beach, California. Central Office was opened.

1998 - Sybil C., first woman to enter A.A. west of the Mississippi, died. Her

date of sobriety was March 23, 1941. Her name at the time was Sybil Maxwell,

though she later opened her talks by saying, "My name is Sybil Doris Adams

Stratton Hart Maxwell Willis C., and I'm an alcoholic."

May 15

1961 - Bill Wilson's mother, Emiliy Strobell, died.

May 16

1941 - Ruth Hock learned that Joe W. (credited with coming up with the name

Alcoholics Anonymous) had a "wet brain."

May 17

1942 - The Journal-Herald in Dayton, Ohio, ran a story on A.A. with photos of

members in Halloween masks to protect their anonymity.

May 18

1950 - Dr. Bob told Bill "I reckon we ought to be buried like other folks"

after hearing that local A.A.'s wanted a huge memorial.

May 19

2000 - Dr. Paul Ohliger died at the age of 83. His story, "Doctor, Alcoholic,

Addict," was retitled "Acceptance Was the Answer," in the 4th edition.

May 22

1948 - Atlantic City Group celebrated its second anniversary with Dr. C.

Nelson Davis of St. Luke's Hospital, Philadelphia, and other A.A.s speaking.

May 28

1974 - The first World Service meeting of AA outside of America was held in

London.

May 29

1980 - "Dr. Bob and the Good Oldtimers," AAWS biography of AA co-founder and a

history of early Mid-

west AA, was published.

May 31

1938 - Bill and other AA's began writing the Big Book.

__________

Other May events for which we have no specific date:

1939 - Clarence Snyder told Dr. Bob, his sponsor, he would not be back to the

Oxford Group meetings in Akron and would start an "A.A." meeting in Cleveland.

1942 - Richmond Walker, author of "Twenty-Four Hours a Day," had his last

drink.

1946 - Long Form of Twelve Traditions was published in the AA Grapevine.

1946 - The AA Grapevine announced: "AA has 6,000 members in 180 groups."

1947 - Avalon, California (Catalina Island Group) was formed.

1948 - The AA Grapevine reported $2.00 was sent to the General Service

headquarters of AA in New York, asking for a bottle of Alcoholics Anonymous.

1951 - Al-Anon was founded by Lois Wilson and Anne B.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

++++Message 1783. . . . . . . . . . . . A MINOR HISTORY OF AA IN KANKAKEE,

ILLINOIS

From: kankakeebern . . . . . . . . . . . . 5/2/2004 10:27:00 PM

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

(Kankakee is about 60 miles south of Chicago)

According to an article published in the Kankakee Journal in

December, 1958, A.A. here had endured 10 years in October of 1958. In

1948 a man named Doc Mills went up to Evanston to the Georgian Hotel

to hear Bill W. speak. He wanted to try the program here so he and

three others met at the courthouse the first time. As others joined,

they met once a week at different homes or wherever they could do it.

This first group was listed with G.S.O. in 1949 as the Kankakee Kounty

Kourthouse Group with 5 members. They tried to get churches to meet

in, but the churches would have no part of it. They met at the St.

Rose School in one corner of the gym while the basketball team

practiced at the other end. They met at a roller rink that used to be

where the old Radeke Brewery was. They met in a tavern storeroom on

south Washington. They met at the Salvation Army. They met in DeSelm

at a fellow's house who had a farm spraying business.

Whoever was elected chairman got the Book and coffee pot and was in

charge. It was an honor that they thought that much of you. They

didn't have a lot of meetings but they spent a lot of time with one

another. They were a close knit group. At the time, if one was in

trouble, the other ones were there. By 1950 there were 12 members.

Uncle Billie came in later for a while and he was sober for about a

year, but he went back out. He came back and stayed straight. Uncle

Billie was chairing a meeting at the Salvation Army with four others.

They were paying the Salvation Army five dollars for the meeting.

They passed the basket and there were only four dollars in it. He

said, "Well, we don't have enough." The other members said there would

be if he had put his dollar in. He had forgotten to put his money in.

Uncle Billy kept it going, because he was home during the day.

If they had a Twelfth Step call they ended up over at Uncle Billie's

kitchen with coffee. It grew slowly in the beginning, from six to nine

to 12 members.

Every once in a while they would take a big trip. One time they got

together to go to Indianapolis to hear Father John Doe talk. Three or

four of them would get together and go to Danville or Chicago or

another place for an out-of-town meeting. (This was before the

Interstate Highways we take for granted now.)

It was in 1972 they thought they had enough members to rent space on

Durham St. in Bradley for a meeting place and Alano Club. They ended

up with the space next to it being donated bcause the landlord didn't

have any luck renting it.

The late John Hefner came here from Chicago in 1960 to start an

alcohol rehab unit at Kankakee State Hospital. In 1984 They purchased

a building on East River Street for an Alano Club for meetings. As a

postscript, Doc Mills never did stay sober. Besides Kankakee, Bradley

and DeSelm, there were members from Momence and Bonfield.

(from interviews with Spike V. and John H.)

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

++++Message 1784. . . . . . . . . . . . One Page At A Time (2004)

From: Lash, William (Bill) . . . . . . . . . . . . 5/4/2004 5:25:00 PM

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

One Page At a Time

Susan Cheever's Chilling Glimpse of AA's Tormented 'Saint'

By David Von Drehle

Washington Post Staff Writer

Monday, May 3, 2004; Page C01

During her research for a biography of Alcoholics Anonymous co-founder Bill

Wilson, author Susan Cheever dug through the just-opened archives at Stepping

Stones, Wilson's longtime home outside New York City. Alongside an archivist,

she sifted reams of material that had not been looked at in decades.

One day, the archivist handed her a sheaf of wide, green-lined pages -- hourly

logs kept by the nurses who tended Wilson on his deathbed.

Cheever glanced at them. They seemed mundane.

"Keep reading," the archivist urged her.

Cheever came to the pages covering Christmas 1970. On the eve of the holiday,

Bill Wilson passed a fitful night. A lifelong smoker, he had been fighting

emphysema for years, and now he was losing the battle. Nurse James Dannenberg

was on duty in the last hour before dawn. At 6:10 a.m. on Christmas morning,

according to Dannenberg's notes, the man who sobered up millions "asked for

three shots of whiskey."

He was quite upset when he didn't get them, Cheever writes.

Wilson asked for booze again about a week later, on Jan. 2, 1971.

And on Jan. 8.

And on Jan. 14.

"My blood ran cold," Cheever said recently of the discovery. "I was shocked

and

horrified." With time to ponder, though, she found herself thinking, "Of

course

he wanted a drink. He was the one who talked about sobriety being 'a daily

remission.' I realized that this was a story about the power of alcohol: that

even Bill Wilson, the man who invented sobriety, who had 30-plus years sober,

still wanted a drink."

In the Big Book, as AA's foundation text is known, Wilson recalled the time in

1934 when doctors concluded that he was a hopeless drunk and told his wife

that

there was no cure, apart from the asylum or the grave. "They did not need to

tell me," he added. "I knew, and almost welcomed the idea."

On Jan. 24, 1971, the man known modestly to legions of alcoholics as "Bill W."

was finally cured.

Powerless Over Alcohol

Cheever's discovery, reported in her book "My Name Is Bill," doesn't really

change what little we know about alcoholism, a cruel, confounding and

mysterious

disease. It doesn't really change what we know about Wilson, a rough-hewn and

unorthodox American saint sketched by Cheever in all his chain-smoking,

womanizing, Ouija-board-reading, acid-tripping holiness.

But it might change, at least a bit, the way some of us think about miracles

--

the shelf life of miracles, the limited warranty they carry, and how

high-maintenance they are. Miracles come in Bill Wilson's story, but always

with

strings attached. They are a bequest -- but not like an annuity that pays out

endlessly and effortlessly. More like an old mansion, precious and beautiful,

but demanding endless, unglamorous upkeep.

The miracle of Wilson's sobriety -- and the birth of AA -- arrived like

something out of the Old Testament. It was 1934, late in the year, when the

doctors had given up on Bill. Booze, which once put its arm around his

shoulder,

now had its jaws around his throat. A smart, handsome, charming man, Wilson

had

become the kind of drunk who could set off one morning to play golf and awaken

a

day later outside his house, unsure how he got there, with his head bleeding

mysteriously and his unused clubs still at his side. "The more he decided not

to

drink," Cheever writes, "the more irresistible drink seemed to become."

So for the third time, Wilson checked himself into a private hospital in New

York that specialized in drying out "rum hounds," as he called himself. He

knew

what to expect: doses of barbiturates, assorted bitter herbs, castor oil and

other purgatives, vomiting, tremors and depression. He also knew it probably

would not work, that just about every hard case like him went back to drinking

after being discharged.

The prospect was so dismal that Wilson picked up a few bottles of beer for the

cab ride.

Wilson had a friend named Ebby Thatcher, another alcoholic, who had a friend

named Roland Hazard, yet another drunk, who was wealthy enough to seek help

from

the eminent psychiatrist Carl Jung in Switzerland. When Jung realized how

serious Hazard's drinking problem was, he told his patient that the only hope

was a religious conversion -- in Jung's experience, nothing else worked. The

American psychologist William James had arrived at a similar conclusion,

declaring in "The Varieties of Religious Experience" that "the only cure for

dipsomania is religiomania."

Well, by God, Hazard got religion and sobered up, for a while. He preached

this

approach to Thatcher, and Thatcher in turn proselytized Wilson.

"I was in favor of practically everything he had to say except one thing,"

Wilson later recalled of his conversations with Thatcher. "I was not in favor

of

God."

After a couple of days at Towns Hospital, Bill Wilson was past the d.t.'s and

feeling really low. Science could do nothing for him. He now realized that he

couldn't kick the booze by himself. Yet he was unable to believe in the only

power experts knew of to save a drunk.

Then:

"Like a child crying out in the dark, I said, 'If there is a Father, if there

is

a God, will he show himself?' And the place lit up in a great glare, a

wondrous

white light. Then I began to have images, in the mind's eyes, so to speak, and

one came in which I seemed to see myself standing on a mountain and a great

clean wind was blowing, and this blowing at first went around and then it

seemed

to go through me. And then the ecstasy redoubled and I found myself

exclaiming,

'I am a free man! So this is the God of the preachers!' And little by little

the

ecstasy subsided and I found myself in a new world of consciousness."

Wilson never had another drink.

Carry This Message

Brimming with vision and new consciousness, Wilson blew back into the familiar

world as if everything had changed -- not just for him, but for all of

creation.

He bragged that he was going to save every drunk in the world. He went

scavenging for men to preach to, finding them in missions and hospitals and

jails and among his own drinking buddies. Some of his targets thought he

sounded

an awful lot like the Bible-brandishing temperance ladies he had rebelled

against as a young man. He discovered that many alcoholics were "not in favor

of

God" -- God was an authority figure and drunks don't deal well with authority.

"This doesn't work," he despaired to his wife, Lois. She reminded him that he

was keeping at least one drunk sober -- himself.

But within months, even that project was at risk. Having been blinded like

Saul

on the road to Damascus, he now had his sight back and -- as often happens to

the miraculously enlightened -- was discovering little by little that he was

much the same as before.

Tempted while on a business trip in Akron, Ohio, Wilson fought off the bottle

by

cold-calling churches from the hotel directory in search of a drunk to help.

One

call led him to an alcoholic surgeon named Bob Smith. Initially, Smith

objected

to being saved -- this was after one of those sad-but-hilarious tales that

give

a sort of rosy glow to a truly savage disease: Wilson's first scheduled

encounter with Smith was called off after the doctor staggered home blotto

carrying an enormous potted plant for no discernible reason. He deposited the

non sequitur before his bewildered wife, then passed out.

The next day, when they finally met, Wilson answered Smith's reluctance by

saying that he wasn't there for Smith, he was there for Bill Wilson. This was

a

key insight in the development of AA -- the realization that helping another

drunk is key to staying sober oneself. It reflected Wilson's new humility

about

his wondrous white light and great clean wind. Before, he was trying to work

miracles in the lives of others. Now, he was just trying to maintain the

miracle

in his own.

And it worked. After one relapse, Smith, who had been drinking even longer and

harder than Wilson, got sober. Bill W. and Dr. Bob shared the story of their

recoveries with more drunks in this same spirit. Some of those men and women

got

sober themselves, and reached out to still others. And so on, down through the

years and out around the planet to the largely anonymous millions of today,

who

range from celebrities to legislators to schoolteachers to busboys, from a

former first lady to the businessman striding down the sidewalk to the

desperate

soul working on a second sober sunrise. AA is now so widespread and well known

that creators of the children's movie "Finding Nemo" could playfully include a

12-step meeting for fish-addicted sharks, confident that every parent in the

global reach of Disney would get the joke.

It's impossible to know exactly how many people have tried AA, how many stayed

sober, how many attend meetings and how often. The group is not only

anonymous,

it is non-hierarchical, nondenominational, non-centralized, nonpartisan.

According to the Twelve Traditions that govern AA, there is no requirement for

membership except a desire to stop drinking, and the group endorses no cause

apart from that one. All it takes to convene an AA meeting is two alcoholics

who