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April 1958

It Happened In the Quiet Room

I AM AN ALCOHOLIC. . . . In the past year I have repeated those words many times, and each time it gets a little easier. Yet I once hated the word "alcoholic" and would rather have died than allow myself to think I could possibly be one. Death was not far away when I was forced to make that very admission with all the humility that a dying alcoholic can muster up.

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