Hell's Angel Looks Homeward
From the worst to the best--the hope of service to those who need him
MY FIRST contact with alcohol was at about the age of sixteen, in November 1956, when my younger brother was killed. From that day on, I needed a drink to go on living. I blamed myself for his death. The hurt was deep.
In December 1957, I went into the Army. I soon discovered that beer was sold at the PX, and I started going there every night, not leaving until they closed. Needless to say, I was drunk during most of my basic-training period. My company commander called me into his office and told me, "You are a hard-nosed alcoholic." I laughed at this. (I was only seventeen.) I...
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