Who Do You Think You Are?

I WILL never forget a pigeon named Karl. A buddy of mine, Mac, and I had received a call through a physician friend of AA. We were put on the trail of this character who, we were told, wanted to sign himself into a big state hospital which had an alcoholic rehabilitation program. We found the man all right, at the home of his ex-wife. He was well dressed and well spoken. And, unknown to us, he was on the outside of a fifth of vodka. He told us he had had one or two. We mentally allowed him six or eight. But not a whole fifth. On our way to the hospital (some eighty miles from where we picked him up) he began to shake and begged us to pull up at an oasis so he could have a double shot. I whispered to Mac, "If we get him in a saloon we may never get him out. Let's pick up a pint and let him nibble until we get him out there."