Magazine

A Wonderful Life

At 74, a California old-timer expresses gratitude for his 53 years in AA

When I was 5, my mother and sister and I moved from Hollywood to Sierra Madre to live with my grandparents. It was 1943. My father had had a mental breakdown and started hiding food in the hills. He walked all the way to Arkansas and ended up in the state mental hospital. Later he became the supervisor of the alcoholism treatment program there before he died of alcoholism. With all the knowledge he had of recovery, he could not take the First Step himself.

Mom was another story. She drank daily at a local bar where she met a cartoonist who later became my stepfather. In 1943 they... Login to read more
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