Fulton Oursler
July 1944
Down at the bottom of the social scale of AA society are the pariahs, the untouchables, and the outcasts, all underprivileged and all known by one excoriating epithet—relatives.
I am a relative. I know my place. I am not complaining. But I hope no one will mind if I venture the plaintive confession that there are times, oh, many times when I wish I had been an alcoholic. By that I mean that I wish I were an AA. The reason is that I consider the AA people the most charming in the world.
Such is my considered opinion. As a journalist, I have found it my fortune to meet many of the people who are considered charming. I number among my friends stars and lesser lights of stage and cinema; writers are my daily diet; I know the ladies and gentlemen of both political parties; I have been entertained in the White House; I have broken bread with kings and ministers and ambassadors; and I say, after that catalog, that I would prefer an evening with my AA friends to an evening with any person or group of persons I have indicated.
I asked myself why I consider so charming these alcoholic caterpillars who have found their butterfly wings in Alcoholics Anonymous. There are more reasons than one, but I can name a few.
The AA people are what they are, and they were what they were, because they are sensitive, imaginative, possessed of a sense of humor and an awareness of universal truth.
They are sensitive, which means that they are hurt easily, and that helped them become alcoholics. But when they have found their restoration, they are still as sensitive as ever—responsive to beauty and to truth and eager about the intangible glories of life. That makes them charming companions.
They are imaginative, and that helped to make them alcoholics. Some of them drank to flog their imagination on to greater efforts. Others guzzled only to black out unendurable visions that rose in their imaginations. But when they have found their restoration, their imagination is responsive to new incantations, and their talk abounds with color and light, and that makes them charming companions, too.
They are possessed of a sense of humor. Even in their cups, they have been known to say damnably funny things. Often, it was being forced to take seriously the little and mean things of life that made them seek escape in a bottle. But when they have found their restoration, their sense of humor finds a blessed freedom and they are able to reach a godlike state where they can laugh at themselves—the very height of self-conquest. Go to the meetings and listen to the laughter. At what are they laughing? At ghoulish memories over which weaker souls would cringe in useless remorse. And that makes them wonderful people to be with by candlelight.
And they are possessed of a sense of universal truth. That is often a new thing in their hearts. The fact that this at-oneness with God’s universe had never been awakened in them is sometimes the reason they drank. The fact that it was at last awakened is almost always the reason that they were restored to the good and simple ways of life. Stand with them when the meeting is over and listen as they say the Lord’s Prayer!
They have found a Power greater than themselves which they diligently serve. And that gives a charm that never was elsewhere on land and sea; it makes you know that God himself is really charming, because the AA people reflect his mercy and his forgiveness.
THREE
Men and Women Who Share
You and I Need Each Other
May 1977
DEAR JOHN:
I could almost begin this letter “Dear Newcomer.” The only problem with that is, I want you to know how close I feel to you at this moment in our lives. Watching new people grow renews my sobriety, and I hope I never lose interest in the personal joy of sponsorship in the years ahead.
You asked me a question at our meeting last night. You asked why coming close to your first AA anniversary, you felt a bit down and angry. When I asked whether you thought you were getting to enough meetings, you avoided a direct answer. I have seen this before in newer people—the technique of not answering a pertinent question. The other way of avoiding honest answers is to mumble about “being tired” or “busy with work.” Well—all these things may be true, but meetings are how you and I met.
The questions made me reflect on the ways of newcomers and my sponsor relationship with them over the years. God surely knows, I have made mistakes. I have tried not to repeat the same mistake. I have noticed this rebellion against a proper number of meetings in almost all the younger people I have sponsored. In fact, I have observed certain recurring habits with several of them.
I didn’t tell you about this last night. I have my own need to be loved and did not want to bully you. Let me correct this character defect somewhat with this letter. I won’t be likely to rationalize too much in print, because I will not have your searching face smiling at me, asking to be told there is a softer, easier way. If there is one, John, I don’t know it and would not be interested anyway.
My lack of discipline almost killed me before AA. Yours did also; you attempted to snuff out your young life a few short months ago. The discipline of digging into the AA program pays off in peace of mind. Being undisciplined is not cute or clever. Drunks do as they please; sober adults make plans and stick to them. You wouldn’t miss an appointment with a doctor who was going to charge you $150. Why miss your appointments with AA, which are free?
You say you don’t read AA literature but will eventually. When? Don’t wait until you are sober twenty-five years; you need it now. There is material in our books, written in the language of the heart, that you should know. You should be getting the program from every available source, not just from me. If you don’t get it now, you will have to do it later. It may be more expensive later. I should not be your only source of basic AA. After all, I may get drunk.
You say you are not sure you are ready to hold group office, even though they asked you. If the group conscience asked you, they think you are ready, and you are. Maybe they are hinting gently that it is time for you to open up to others more and stop being so self-centered. You have much love to give, John; please don’t hoard it. Some shaky newcomer who desperately needs your strength, hope, and experience is being directed to a meeting tonight by our Higher Power. A meeting you may not be at.
You told me you were very shy when you first tried AA, and AA did not work. I think sometimes shyness, or being introverted, disguises itself after a time as a desire to be super-comfortable. I went to many uncomfortable meetings in the beginning. The discomfort was within me. I am comfortable at all meetings now. This took practice. I broke the ice of shyness, and I resist when it occasionally tries to freeze over again. Isolation is bad for new people, old people, and in-between people if they are alcoholic people.
Isolation sneaks up on us. We can mask it with familiar props that are not in themselves bad. We can isolate ourselves in an attempt to clean up our apartments (and then not do the cleaning); we can isolate ourselves in churches or in sleep; we can use family, sweethearts, compulsive working, television. The list is long. The nicest way to end it is the way you and I do: together. Reach out—people can’t read your mind. Say ouch! Someone hears. Always.
I think you know that alcohol is no answer. You would not have made the attempts to help yourself that you have if you wanted to go on as you were. You would not have given me the marvelous
