January 2015
The Long Journey Home
A WWII vet with 60 years sober shares tales of rough seas and calm waters
My story begins on a very cold and snowy day on a farm in Idaho about 1932. I must have been 7 or 8 years old when my dad gave me a “hot toddy”—made out of hot water, honey and whisky—because I had a bad cold. As I sipped it, a wonderful warm glow came over me. So began my love affair with alcohol. From then on, I never passed up a drink, until my last one in 1954.
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