Duffy's Tavern

It was the late forties. I was in terrible shape and had been drunk for weeks. I was in a semi-blackout, and usually came to in joints with sawdust floors. My father knew a man who had been a notorious drunk and was now clean, and my father asked him to help me. The man, Roy, drove me to New York City, and checked me into Knickerbocker Hospital. The charge was eighty-five dollars, and I didn't have a dime, so Roy footed the bill. I was so sick, they were reluctant to take me in that night, but the next morning they did.