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January 1965

On Making Complicated Amends

On a Spanish beach a famous writer was ready to kill

WHEN I sobered up in AA ten years ago, I felt I hadn't any amends to make since I was a lone, unattached drunk. Of course, I had a mother and father, but they were alcoholics, too, and as I hopscotched between construction, carnival and seafaring jobs, I had helped to support them and kept my alcoholic antics away from their doorstep.

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