Joe's story:
The year was 1960, the exact date unknown. Joe sat drinking his beer at the bar in Jimtown Tavern in Evansville, Indiana. Mentally, spiritually, emotionally, and physically he felt terrible—worse than he had ever experienced. He was also very uncomfortable in the bar because he was not a bar drinker. He was a whiskey drinker—straight from the bottle. But he worked every day and was in fact a very successful small contractor. His business had never been better. He built houses doing practically all the work himself—particularly carpenter framing work, and he prided himself in the quality houses he built.
The year was 1960, the exact date unknown. Joe sat drinking his beer at the bar in Jimtown Tavern in Evansville, Indiana. Mentally, spiritually, emotionally, and physically he felt terrible—worse than he had ever experienced. He was also very uncomfortable in the bar because he was not a bar drinker. He was a whiskey drinker—straight from the bottle. But he worked every day and was in fact a very successful small contractor. His business had never been better. He built houses doing practically all the work himself—particularly carpenter framing work, and he prided himself in the quality houses he built.
He had been
a daily whiskey drinker for years. No
matter how hard he tried to quit drinking he always failed. He was married, a father of several children,
a devout Catholic, and he had recently come to the conclusion that his family
would be better off without him. As most
practicing alcoholics, he had no idea he had a progressive, fatal illness. He thought he was just a weak-willed drunk.
The bar was
located at Virginia and Garvin streets.
Just five blocks east on Virginia was a railroad overpass, and the
street past there a Viaduct under the railroad.
The center foundation of the viaduct was solid concrete and separated
the east and west bound lanes of the street.
More than one desperate soul had driven their car at a high rate of
speed into this solid structure ending their lives.
Joe had
decided to do the same. He was sitting
here drinking beer to build up his nerve to accomplish this. He started to get up from the bar stool when
a firm hand was placed on his shoulder and shoved him back down on the
stool. His oldest son was standing
there, and he said, “Dad, the entire family is very concerned about you and
your drinking. We have found a man who
understands your problem and is willing to talk with you. Will you please come, right now, and talk to
him?”
Joe agreed,
and he soon met with Jim T, a recovering alcoholic with many years
sobriety. Joe’s journey on the road to
recovery began—instead of his road to destruction and death.
Joe never
drank again, and when he died in 1991 or 1992, he had 31 or 32 years of
continuous sobriety. His dedication and
service to AA was inspirational. He
founded the “Tri-State Convention” but his biggest gift to AA was the house at
the corner of Columbia and Linwood which he purchased in 1966 and eventually
gave to the Alanon Club.
How many
desperate alcoholics discovered the Road to Recovery at C&L? Many!
Had his son been a few minutes later, where would you and I be today?
Bob M
10-8-67
