Tradition 1: The Head Drunk

I had my last drink in the fall of 1960, when I arrived disheveled on the doorstep of what was to become my first home group. It was national election time and one member of the group, a woman named Margaret, was politically minded and wore a lapel button with the picture of her favored candidate. She wore it everywhere, including the coffee shop after the meeting. But she never wore it at the meeting. I used to see her take it off at the door.