“The
Impact on Early A.A. of the 1939
Liberty Magazine Article”
Ed Mackie, Contributor
The 1939 Liberty Magazine Article
Charles Towns, owner of Towns' Hospital
where Bill Wilson had sobered up,
tried to get publicity for A.A.
and finally succeeded. He had known
Morris Markey, a well-known feature
writer, for years. Markey was intrigued
by what Towns told him of A.A.,
and approached Fulton Oursler, then
editor of "Liberty," a
popular magazine that had a religious
orientation. Oursler saw the possibilities
at once and said, "Morris,
you've got an assignment. Bring
that story in here, and we will
print it in September." (Oursler
later wrote a number of successful
books on religion. He became a good
friend of Bill's and served as a
trustee of the Alcoholic Foundation.)
Liberty Magazine Cover, September
30, 1939In
September 1939, when the "Liberty"
piece hit the newsstands, Bill thought
it was a bit lurid, and that the
title, "Alcoholics and God,"
would scare off some prospects.
Perhaps it did, but "Liberty"
received 800 urgent pleas for help,
which were promptly turned over
to Bill Wilson who turned them over
to Ruth Hock for a response. "She
wrote fine personal letters to every
one of them," wrote Bill, "enclosing
a leaflet which described the A.A.
book. The response was wonderful.
Several hundred books sold at once
at full retail price of $3.50. Even
more importantly, we struck up a
correspondence with alcoholics,
their friends, and their families
all over the country." When
Dr. Bob read the story he was elated.
"You never saw such an elated
person in your life," said
Ernie G. the second (there were
two Ernie G's). "We all were,"
said Ernie's wife, Ruth. Anne smith
said, "You know, it looks like
we might be getting a little bit
respectable." It was AA's first
successful piece of national publicity.
The stories in the Cleveland Plain
Dealer followed shortly thereafter.
One result of the article was that
A.A. was started in Philadelphia.
George S. of Philadelphia, one of
the first "loners" had
sobered up after reading the article.
When the issue of Liberty first
arrived, George was in bed drinking
whiskey for his depression and taking
laudanum for his colitis. The Markey
piece hit George so hard that he
went ex-grog and ex-laudanum instantly.
He wrote to New York, his name was
given to Jim Burwell (see "The
Vicious Cycle" in the Big Book),
who was a traveling salesman, "and
that's how A.A. started in the City
of Brotherly Love," wrote Bill.
Jim and George gathered others to
them, and the first A.A. meeting
in Philadelphia was held in George's
home. Chicago also reported getting
several new prospects as a result
of the "Liberty" article.
Bill wrote to Dr. Bob, "We
are growing at an alarming rate,
although I have no further fear
of large numbers." A few weeks
later he wrote Dr. Bob that "the
press of newcomers and inquiries
was so great that we have to swing
more to the take-it-or-leave-it
attitude, which, curiously enough,
produces better results than trying
to be all things at all times at
all places to all men." (Sources:
Alcoholics Anonymous Comes of Age.
Bill W., by Francis Hartigan. Bill
W., by Robert Thomsen. The Language
of the Heart, Bill W.'s Grapevine
Writings. Dr. Bob and the Good Oldtimers.)
"Alcoholics
and God"
by
Morris Markey
Is there hope for habitual drunkards?
A
cure that borders on the miraculous
-- and it works! For twenty-five
or thirty cents we buy a glass of
fluid which is pleasant to the taste,
and which contains within its small
measure a store of warmth and good-fellowship
and stimulation, of release from
momentary cares and anxieties. That
would be a drink of whisky, of course
-- whisky, which is one of Nature's
most generous gifts to man, and
at the same time one of his most
elusive problems. It is a problem
because, like many of his greatest
benefits, man does not quite know
how to control it. Many experiments
have been made, the most spectacular
being the queer nightmare of prohibition,
which left such deep scars upon
the morals and the manners of our
nation. Millions of dollars have
been spent by philanthropists and
crusaders to spread the doctrine
of temperance. In our time the most
responsible of the distillers are
urging us to use their wares sensibly,
without excess. But to a certain
limited number of our countrymen
neither prohibition nor wise admonishments
have any meaning, because they are
helpless when it comes to obeying
them. I speak of the true alcoholics,
and before going any further I had
best explain what that term means.
For a medical definition of the
term, I quote an eminent doctor
who, has spent twenty-five years
treating such people in a highly
regarded private hospital: "We
believe . . . that the action of
alcohol in chronic alcoholics is
a manifestation of an allergy -
that the phenomenon of craving is
limited to this class and never
occurs in the average temperate
drinker. These allergic types can
never safely use alcohol in any
form at all." They are, he
goes on, touched with physical and
mental quirks that prevent them
from controlling their own actions.
They suffer from what some doctors
call a "compulsion neurosis."
They know liquor is bad for them
but periodically; they are driven
by a violent and totally uncontrollable
desire for a drink. And after that
first drink, the deluge. Now these
people are genuinely sick. The liquor
habit with them is not a vice. It
is a specific illness of body and
mind, and should be treated as such.
By far the most successful cure
is that used by the hospital whose
head doctor I have quoted. There
is nothing secret about it. It has
the endorsement of the medical profession.
It is, fundamentally, a process
of dehydration: of removing harmful
toxins from all parts of the body
faster than Nature could accomplish
it. Within five or six days -- two
weeks at the maximum -- the patient's
body is utterly free from alcoholic
poisons. Which means that the physical
craving is completely cured, because
the body cries out for alcohol only
when alcohol is already there. The
patient has no feeling of revulsion
toward whisky. He simply is not
interested in it. He has recovered.
But wait. How permanent is his recovery?
Our doctor says this: "Though
the aggregate of full recoveries
through physical and psychiatric
effort its considerable, we doctors
must admit that we have made little
impression upon the problem as a
whole. For there are many types
which do not respond to the psychological
approach. "I do not believe
that true alcoholism is entirely
a matter of individual mental control.
I have had many men who had, for
example, worked for a period of
months on some business deal that
was to be settled on a certain date
. . . For reasons they could not
afterward explain, they took a drink
a day or two prior to the date .
. . and the important engagement
was not even kept. These men were
not drinking to escape. They were
drinking to overcome a craving beyond
their mental control. "The
classification of alcoholics is
most difficult. There are, of course,
the psychopaths who are emotionally
unstable . . . They are over remorseful
and make many resolutions -- but
never a decision. "There is
the type who is unwilling to admit
that he cannot take a drink just
like the rest of the boys. He does
tricks with his drinking -- changing
his brand, or drinking only after
meals or changing his companions.
None of this helps him strengthen
his control and be like other people.
Then there are types entirely normal
in every respect except in the effect
which alcohol has upon them . .
. "All these, and many others,
have one symptom in common: They
cannot start drinking without developing
the phenomenon of craving . . .
The only relief we have to suggest
is complete abstinence from alcohol.
"But are these unfortunate
people really capable, mentally,
of abstaining completely? Their
bodies may be cured of craving.
Can their minds be cured? Can they
be rid of the deadly compulsion
neurosis?" Among physicians
the general opinion seems to be
that chronic alcoholics are doomed.
But wait! Within the last four years,
evidence has appeared which has
startled hard-boiled medical men
by proving that the compulsion neurosis
can be entirely eliminated. Perhaps
you are one of those cynical people
who will turn away when I say that
the root of this new discovery is
religion. But be patient for a moment.
About three years ago a man appeared
at the hospital in New York of which
our doctor is head physician. It
was his third "cure."
Since his first visit he had lost
his job, his friends, his health,
and his self-respect. He was now
living on the earnings of his wife.
He had tried every method he could
find to cure his disease: had read
all the great philosophers and psychologists.
He had tried religion but he simply
could not accept it. It would not
seem real and personal to him. He
went through the cure as usual and
came out of it in very low spirits.
He was lying in bed, emptied of
vitality and thought, when suddenly,
a strange and totally unexpected
thrill went through his body and
mind. He called out for the doctor.
When the doctor came in, the man
looked up at him and grinned.
"Well,
doc," he said, "my troubles
are all over. I've got religion."
"Why,
you're the last man . . ."
"Sure,
I know all that. But I've got it.
And I know I'm cured of this drinking
business for good." He talked
with great intensity for a while
and then said, " Listen, doc.
I've got to see some other patient
-- one that is about to be dismissed."
The doctor demurred. It all sounded
a trifle fanatical. But finally
he consented. And thus was born
the movement which is now flourishing
with almost sensational success
as Alcoholics Anonymous." Here
is how it works:
Every
member of the group -- which is
to say every person who has been
saved -- is under obligation to
carry on the work, to save other
men. That, indeed, is a fundamental
part of his own mental cure. He
gains strength and confidence by
active work with other victims.
He finds his subject among acquaintances,
at a "cure" institution
or perhaps by making inquiry of
a preacher, a priest, or a doctor.
He begins his talk with his new
acquaintance by telling him the
true nature of his disease and how
remote are his chances for permanent
cure. When he has convinced the
man that he is a true alcoholic
and must never drink again, he continues:
"You
had better admit that this thing
is beyond your own control. You've
tried to solve it by yourself, and
you have failed. All right. Why
not put the whole thing into the
hands of Somebody Else?" Even
though the man might be an atheist
or agnostic, he will almost always
admit that there is some sort of
force operating in the world-some
cosmic power weaving a design. And
his new friend will say:
"I
don't care what you call this Somebody
Else. We call it God. But whatever
you want to call it, you had better
put yourself into its hands. Just
admit you're licked, and say, `Here
I am, Somebody Else. Take care of
this thing for me.'" The new
subject will generally consent to
attend one of the weekly meetings
of the movement. He will find twenty-five
or thirty ex-drunks gathered in
somebody's home for a pleasant evening.
There are no sermons. The talk is
gay or serious as the mood strikes.
The new candidate cannot avoid saying
to himself, "These birds are
ex-drunks. And look at them! They
must have something. It sounds kind
of screwy, but whatever it is I
wish to heaven I could get it too."
One or another of the members keeps
working on him from day to day.
And presently the miracle. But let
me give you an example: I sat down
in a quiet room with Mr. B., a stockily
built man of fifty with a rather
stern, intelligent face. "I'll
tell you what happened a year ago."
He said, "I was completely
washed up. Financially I was all
right, because my money is in a
trust fund. But I was a drunken
bum of the worst sort. My family
was almost crazy with my incessant
sprees." "I took the cure
in New York." (At the hospital
we have mentioned.) "When I
came out of it, the doctor suggested
I go to one of these meetings the
boys were holding. I just laughed.
My father was an atheist and had
taught me to be one. But the doctor
kept saying it wouldn't do me any
harm, and I went. "I sat around
listening to the jabber. It didn't
register with me at all. I went
home. But the next week I found
myself drawn to the meeting. And
again they worked on me while I
shook my head. I said, 'It seems
O.K. with you; boys, but I don't
even know your language. Count me
out.' "Somebody said the Lord's
Prayer, and the meeting broke up.
I walked three blocks to the subway
station. Just as I was about to
go down the stairs - bang!"
He snapped fingers hard. "It
happened! I don't like that word
miracle, but that's all I can call
it. The lights in the street seemed
to flare up. My feet seemed to leave
the pavement. A kind of shiver went
over me, and I burst out crying.
"I went back to the house where
we had met, and rang the bell, and
Bill let me in. We talked until
two o'clock in the morning. I haven't
touched a drop since, and I've set
four other fellows on the same road."
The doctor, a nonreligious man himself,
was at first utterly astonished
at the results that began to appear
among his patients. But then he
put his knowledge of psychiatry
and psychology to work. These men
were experiencing a psychic change.
Their so-called "compulsion
neurosis" was being altered
-- transferred from liquor to something
else. Their psychological necessity
to drink was being changed to a
psychological necessity to rescue
their fellow victims from the plight
that made themselves so miserable.
It is not a new idea. It is a powerful
and effective working out of an
old idea. We all know that the alcoholic
has an urge to share his troubles.
Psychoanalysts use this urge. They
say to the alcoholic, in basic terms:
"You can't lick this problem
yourself. Give me the problem --
transfer the whole thing to me and
let me take the whole responsibility."
But the psychoanalyst, being of
human clay, is not often a big enough
man for that job. The patient simply
cannot generate enough confidence
in him. But the patient can have
enough confidence in God -- once
he has gone through the mystical
experience of recognizing God. And
upon that principle the Alcoholic
Foundation rests. The medical profession,
in general, accepts the principle
as sound. "Alcoholics Anonymous"
have consolidated their activities
in an organization called the Alcoholic
Foundation. It is a nonprofit-making
enterprise. Nobody connected with
it is paid a penny. It is not a
crusading movement. It condemns
neither liquor nor the liquor industry.
Its whole concern is with the rescue
of allergic alcoholics, the small
proportion of the population who
must be cured or perish. It preaches
no particular religion and has no
dogma, no rules. Every man conceives
God according to his own lights.
Groups have grown up in other cities.
The affairs of the Foundation are
managed by three members of the
movement and four prominent business
and professional men, not alcoholics,
who volunteered their services.
The Foundation has lately published
a book, called Alcoholics Anonymous.
And if alcoholism is a problem in
your family or among your friends,
I heartily recommend that you get
hold of a copy. It may very well
help you to guide a sick man --
an allergic alcoholic -- on the
way to health and contentment.
::
Copyright © Silkworth.net |