Walking with Bill & Lois

In the summer of 1989, I stepped foot into my first meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. Beaten up by an invisible foe and encouraged by a few state officials, I walked into a basement auditorium of a church unsure of what to expect. I was 10 minutes late, which was perfect. Everyone was seated with their backs to me and no one accosted me at the door.



Shades with lettering on them hung from the stage curtains, but I was too far back to make sense of them except for a three-letter word that kept recurring. It spelled trouble for me. 



Fortunately, or unfortunately, sobriety would elude me for the next two years. Not quite ready to make peace with the God of my youth, I bounced in and out of various rooms managing a month here, two months there. New sobriety dates came and went with barely a recognition. 



Then in the winter of 1991, I amassed an unprecedented six months before venturing out for a one last hurrah with an old running buddy (now long deceased). With my ego hanging by a thread, I admitted once and for all that alcohol had me in a sort of checkmate, a game I knew I could never win. In a moment of capitulation, I ended my endless fight, hoping peace would somehow find its way into my soul. And purely by the grace of a loving and patient God, it did. The next evening, I crawled back, feeling very broken, into the same room, half expecting a smothering of “you poor thing” or “come here, let me give you a hug,” but got neither. Yet this time something different was stirring in me.



Grooves in the pavement from where my heels had previously dug in deep still existed outside those doors, but it was of no use. I was caught in the marvelous power of attraction of AA. Thus began a 21-year span of unbroken sobriety and what was to become some of the happiest years of my life. I got involved, found a sponsor who took me through the Steps and didn’t bother to ask if I wanted a commitment—I got volunteered. Willingness would come later, I was told. 



I became willing, but only to a degree, opting to keep one foot out yet appearing to be all in. For this I would ultimately pay a heavy price. I eventually came to the conclusion that no harm would come if I skipped one meeting, but in short order one became two, two became three and soon AA faded into the past. 



After 21 years it all came to an inauspicious end, as drinking once again became plausible. Eventually, I slid right back into King Alcohol’s mad realm, only this time much worse. Nearly two and a half years passed and if it weren’t for the wisdom and kindness of another state official, I might still be out there. Again in August of 2013, I returned to the rooms soaked in fear. I spent the next two years more or less stuck in neutral, mostly procrastinating over the Fourth Step. It is then that I believe God stepped in and said, “Enough is enough!” Here is how “what seemed at first a flimsy reed, has proved to be the loving and powerful hand of God.”



At the time I was living in New York and I was working in a company with over 30 electrical estimators. One day, on a November afternoon, quite randomly, a call came to our offices from a place called Stepping Stones in Katonah, New York. It’s the historic home of AA cofounder Bill W. and his wife Lois. They wanted some proposals, including one for a generator. As the reader may suspect, the call naturally came to me. I had learned of the existence of Stepping Stones and its close proximity to my home before, but visiting the grounds had never crossed my mind. 



Several days later as prearranged, I drove up to Stepping Stones. I was excited, but resolved not to tell the director anything about my membership in AA. Yet within minutes of existing my vehicle I found myself telling her essentially my whole life story. The saint that she is, she listened patiently.



We talked as we walked the grounds and I realized that as much as this place needed my help, I needed its help far worse. 



As we stepped into that beautiful Dutch Colonial Revival that is the main house, something unexplainable came over me. Maybe it was the significance of the history within those walls. I wasn’t sure, but whatever is was, it reached in and I felt a kinship with the house, as if I belonged to it and it belonged to me. Goosebumps lit up my flesh. In the basement as I studied the electrical system further, the director told me the story of when Bill and Lois first moved in, and of Lois’s impending trip to South America on a steamer and how Bill was alone in the house those first few weeks. I began to feel a very rich sense of gratitude for all that had been sacrificed and endured by those two people which allowed me to stand there now, a sober man. 



The director and I said our goodbyes and I left the grounds that day a man in spiritual transition. As I drove back to the office, I wondered what had just happened. Whatever it was, I wanted more of it. I wrote the proposal, sent it to the director and decided to await the results.



It should not come as any surprise that my company won the bid, and several weeks later, I accompanied our crew back to begin the work. The director asked that I stay with the crew to ensure that their actions did not detract from the historical significance, and I obliged. The entire 8.2 acres now took on a sort of hallowed ground significance, and I was one of its newest sworn protectors. 



I learned from the staff of tours conducted six days a week and of the volunteers who acted as tour guides to guests from all over the world. I also learned that more hands were needed to round out the monthly schedule. Could I possibly aspire to be one of those guides? 



I went home and ordered a biography of Bill W., which wet my thirst for more information of this unique man. Emboldened with this knowledge, I expressed an interest in becoming a guide and asked what it would entail. I was told to show up the following Saturday to shadow one of the guides.