Permission to place this copyrighted information on the West Baltimore site was specifically granted by the author, Mitchell K.

 You can contact the author direct at how_it_worked@excite.com

HOW IT WORKED

THE STORY OF CLARENCE H. SNYDER

AND THE EARLY DAYS OF ALCOHOLICS

ANONYMOUS IN CLEVELAND, OHIO

BY

MITCHELL K.

ISBN 0-9663282-0-5

© 1991, 1997 Mitchell K.

First published in 1999 by AA Big Book Study Group

how_it_worked@excite.com

USA

Contents

FOREWORD

Despite currently dominant academic fads, history really exists and we can find truth in its study. Where the self-styled "post-moderns" have it right is that the last word is never in. Our finite human minds are incapable of embracing "the whole truth." But we can get closer, we can know more, we can enrich our understanding of any reality, including historical reality.

Mitchell K., when some years ago he shared with me his treasure of mementoes and materials from Clarence Snyder, urged that I also write another book on the history of Alcoholics Anonymous, updating Not-God in light of recent discoveries. I declined, then and now, for it is up to another generation to produce the focused works that may lead another historian eventually to attempt a comprehensive new history of Alcoholics Anonymous, one incorporating the research of Mary Darrah, Robert Fitzgerald, Kathi Flynn, Mel B., Bill White, Maria Swora, and – in a prominent place – Mitchell K.

In this biographical study of Clarence Snyder and especially his role in and understandings of early Alcoholics Anonymous, Mitchell gives us both facts and interpretations – Clarence’s, those of contemporaries and commentators, and of course his own. Some readers, both Mitchell and I hope, will be led by his work to check out some of those facts, in which process they may turn up still more information that will enrich us all.

Others will disagree with some of the interpretations – I know that I do. But that disagreement is a salutary invitation to think about the lifesaving and life-enhancing program and fellowship of Alcoholics Anonymous, which may be one of the best uses of our time available.

Mitchell K. has given us a gift very much like himself: a gem with some rough edges that can challenge our ability to evaluate, but a truly rich jewel well worth our notice and contemplation. This book will not get anyone either drunk or sober, but it will aid the progress toward sobriety of those fortunate enough to be on that wondrous journey.

Whatever leads us towards truth leads us towards its Author. 

Ernie Kurtz

Ann Arbor, Michigan 

February 22, 1998

3

2

  Return to Top

PREFACE by the Author

I staggered into the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous on the evening of May 14, 1975 a broken man. I had been drinking on a daily basis.

I shook, I stank and I weighed almost 300 pounds. The little blue and silver sign with the Circle and Triangle drew me into that church as if it were a magnet.

Thus began my journey into the world of recovery. At 28 years old it appeared that I was the youngest person in the room. I sat down and was immediately surrounded by a couple of older gentlemen who placed their arms around me and held me throughout the meeting. I am not sure about what was said at the podium that night, but I remember the conversations after the meeting had closed.

They told me all I needed to do was, "Don’t Drink and Go To Meetings."

Each and every time I said, "BUT," they told me the only but I had was the one I sat on. They told me to make 90 meetings in 90 days, get a sponsor and that it will get better.

My sobriety date became May 15, 1975, the first full day without a drink. I followed directions, didn’t drink, and went to meetings, got a sponsor who listened to my tales of woe and went to more meetings.

I was no longer drinking but nothing else in my life changed.

Life was still unmanageable for me; I still exhibited almost all the same behaviors as in the past, only this time without the benefit of beverage alcohol. I continued to lie, cheat, steal, lose my temper and worst of all, be unfaithful to my wife. The very same wife who had stood by me throughout my drinking the six years we had been married.

Most of that behavior continued until one evening in 1980. I was attending my then home group, a young people’s meeting, when the walls came crashing in. The speaker that evening began his talk by stating: "I had a bad day at work, came home, slammed the door, yelled at the kids, kicked the dog and almost hit the wife." He continued with, "But I didn’t take a drink!"

Everyone in the small room clapped and told him he was a winner.

Just don’t drink, no matter what." Tears rolled down my cheeks, he was describing my life and everyone affirmed the insanity of it as long as I didn’t drink. There HAD to be more to recovery than that. If all I had to do was not drink and it would get better, why then was my whole life falling apart? I then decided that there were only three choices left; drink, die or find a better way. I wanted to drink every day. I didn’t want to die and I knew of no other way to get better. 

4

I picked up a copy of Alcoholics Anonymous, the Big Book and began to read it.

I discovered the better way within the pages of A.A.’s Basic Text. I read about a program of recovery, much different from the one I had and different from the one I was hearing at the meetings. I wanted what those hundred men and women who had recovered from a seemingly hopeless state of mind and body had discovered. I wanted to be happy, joyous and free!

I then set out upon a spiritual search, reading everything I could on spirituality and religion. I spoke with long-term members of A.A. and members of the clergy from various religions and denominations; no one had the answer I was seeking.

At that time I was a member of A.A.’s Loners Program, meetings by mail. I was corresponding with a long-term member in Elyria, Ohio who was helping me to understand the history of A.A. and what it was that worked so many wonders for the original members. He told me that there was only one surviving member of the original 100 men and women. Roger gave me his address and suggested if I wanted to "get it from the horse’s mouth," that I should write to this man.

I went one step further, I called this man and immediately knew, from the timbre of his voice and the serenity I felt over the phone that I wanted what he had. That man was Clarence H. Snyder, the Home Brewmeister of the Big Book.

Clarence and I spoke on the phone and corresponded throughout that year. I had not asked him to be my sponsor as yet but knew I was going to. How could he be my sponsor? He was living in the State of Florida and I was in New York. I arranged for him and his wife to come to New York to lead a spiritual retreat.

Upon his arrival in New York I immediately knew that this was going to be a turning point in my life. I wanted what he had and during the retreat, asked him to be my sponsor. He did not immediately accept my request. In fact, it took several requests before he felt I was ready.

That weekend, Clarence took me through the Steps, just as he had taken hundreds, if not thousands of others before me. He instructed me and introduced me into the program of Alcoholics Anonymous just as his sponsor, Dr. Bob had done back in 1938. When I got up off of my knees in that hotel room on April 4, 1981, I was a new man.

The old had been washed away and I had been reborn In 1983, Clarence asked me if I would write his biography and the history of A.A. in Cleveland, Ohio. The book, Dr. Bob and the Good

5

Oldtimers had been out for three years but Clarence felt that there was more to the story that needed to be told. He instructed me as to how he wanted the book to be written. He wanted a book that could be read by the average A.A. member, not a tedious scholarly work.

He wanted to impart the flavor of the Big Book. He told me that this was to be a book written about an A.A. member, for A.A. members.

He told me never to apologize for God, the personal God we both had shared together - the God he had introduced me to that evening at the retreat. The God Dr. Bob had introduced him to that day in February 1938 in Akron City Hospital.

Clarence reminded me, and told me never to forget that I was saved not in a church, but in Alcoholics Anonymous and never to mix the two together. He told me that my ministry was to "fix rummies." I was told that if a rummy wanted what I had, I was to tell them about, and introduce them to that Power greater than myself.

The same Power Dr. Bob had introduced him to. The same Great Physician, Dr. Silkworth had told those alcoholics who were declared hopeless could "cure" them. That Power, that Great Physician, was the Christ - Jesus.

Clarence told me that if someone wanted what I had, I could only give away what I had. He told me that I should never force Jesus down someone’s throat and that if they wanted Him, they would have to come willingly of their own accord. He told me that this was to be a book about Alcoholics Anonymous.

I was asked by my sponsor to write this book as a testimony to the hundreds of "founders" of Alcoholics Anonymous. I was told that if the readers of this book wanted the program of recovery that those early members had, they would come willingly, of their own accord.

I promised my sponsor that I would write this book.

I wrote this book not as an author, but as a drunk who made his sponsor a promise to allow the Fellowship of Alcoholics Anonymous the opportunity to understand what it was like during the early years of A.A., the struggles and the triumphs. To give the reader a better understanding of:

HOW IT WORKED

                                                          Mitchell K.

6

Return to Top

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

To my parents, Frances and Louis, thank you both for everything.

Dad, though you are no longer with us, you will live forever in my thoughts. To my children, Marissa and Micah, I love you both with all my heart. May you never have to go through what I went through until I finally got the message of recovery in 1975. To my sister Wendy, her husband Jeffrey and their son Jason, thank you for all your love and support. To Steven, Linda, Jonathan and William Cohen, mere words cannot express my appreciation and love. To Ernest Kurtz, Ph.D., for all your help and guidance as "mentor" on this journey into the world of writing. All the members of the Washingtonville Tuesday Night Recover Or Die Group, the best A.A. Group on the planet.

To Roger Wetz who introduced me to Clarence, that debt cannot ever be repaid. To Dick B. for his assistance in helping edit my manuscript.

To Joan Soveroski Brown, the love of my life and best friend - without you, the stars would be just ordinary lights in the sky.

To the dozens of other "special" people I have met as I "trudged the road," and who have helped me along the way. Some are "civilians," and some are members of A.A. You are all my friends. It would take another book to thank you all and if I have left anyone out please forgive me.

Edward R. A., Liz B., Larry B., Alan Beder, Charlie Bishop, Jr., Mary Darrah, Helen dePrado, Richard Dunn, D.D., Steve and Sue F., Marjorie H., Earl H., Bill Komisar, Gail L., Paul L., Frank Mauser, Merton M., III., Michael O’Hara, Ingrid O., Wally P., Bill Pittman, David Aaron Roth, Grace Snyder (Clarence’s widow went home to be with her beloved Clarence on March 9,1998), Buddy T., Mauri Waldman, Bill White, Dan and Denise Whitmore, Lois Wilson, Sue Smith Windows and Nell Wing.

A further debt of gratitude is owed to all of the archivists, historians, researchers, collectors and members of the Fellowship of Alcoholics Anonymous who hold A.A.’s history dear to their hearts. No acknowledgement would be complete without mentioning some of the other "friends" and "founders" of Alcoholics Anonymous: Frank N.D. Buchman, Ruth Hock, Henry G. Parkhurst, Henrietta Seiberling, Samuel M. Shoemaker, Dr. Robert Holbrook Smith, T. Henry and Clarace Williams and William G. Wilson.

Unless otherwise noted, quotes by Clarence H. Snyder were taken from a series of interviews conducted by the author with Clarence in Casselberry, Florida and New York between April 1982 through Feb-

7

ruary 1984. Other quotes by Clarence H. Snyder are taken from Archival Documents, audio and/or video recorded talks or transcripts of aforementioned talks made by Clarence H. Snyder from 1962-1983.

Other quotes attributed to Clarence H. Snyder are likewise noted as such.

Any quotes by Lois W. were taken from audio taped interviews conducted by the author at her home in Bedford Hills, New York on August 21, 1988. Any quotes by Nell Wing (non-alcoholic) who was Bill W.’s secretary from 1947 until his death in 1971 and A.A.’s first Archivist were taken from a series of taped and telephone interviews conducted from 1988-1992 at her home in New York City or in the A.A. Archives Office in New York City. Quotes By Sue Smith-Windows (Dr. Bob’s daughter) were taken from an interview conducted in October 1988 at her home in Akron, Ohio. Quotes by Mary C. Darrah were taken from conversations either on the telephone or in person in Ohio, West Virginia or Providence, Rhode Island. Other quotes were taken from various audio taped talks and/or transcripts of talks by long-term A.A. members or from original archival materials given to the author by Clarence H. Snyder or as noted below.

The author is indebted to the following archival repositories for their assistance and for allowing him to view archival materials relating to the history of Alcoholics Anonymous:

    The Archives at the New York A.A. World Services Office

    The Archives at the Stepping Stones Foundation in Bedford Hills, N.Y.

    The Rockefeller Archives in Tarrytown, N.Y.

    The Archives at the Cleveland, Ohio A.A. Central Service Office

    The Chester H. Kirk Collection on Alcoholism and Alcoholics

Anonymous housed at the Brown University Center for Alcoholism and Addiction Studies in Providence, Rhode Island

The Providence, Rhode Island Historical Society

    A.A. Archival repositories located in Arizona, Arkansas, Ohio, Oklahoma and West Virginia

Private collections of A.A. memorabilia owned by several A.A. members throughout the United States and Canada.

This book is dedicated to Him who reigns over us all and to the thousands of alcoholics who have recovered, and will recover by His loving mercy.

8

Return to Top

Chapter 1

I Was Born At A Very Early Age

"An individual becomes an alcoholic for three main reasons:

1. As a result of inheritance. He possesses a nervous system which is non-resistant to alcohol. (In no sense is a direct craving transmitted from parent to offspring.)

2. By reason of his early environment. Through the ignorance of his parents or from their own nervous constitution, the alcoholic was either spoiled or neglected. He was not brought up to face the world courageously. He is lacking in self-reliance, no matter how physically brave he may be or how bold he may appear on the surface. Psychologically, he is unable to stand on his own two feet. As a result of this, he unconsciously craves a stimulant-narcotic.

3. Because of the effects of his later environment. That is to say, school, college, economic and social competition, marriage, and, for one generation at least, the World War."1

Cleveland, Ohio, December 26, 1902

It was a cold, gray, winter morning. The forecast had called for snow with brisk west to southwest winds. Christmas had just passed

Grays’ Armory

9

Clarence's parents without much incident. The Salvation Army had just had their annual Christmas dinner at the Grays’ Armory the day earlier.

More than 2,500 of the city’s homeless and destitute were fed what may have been their only hot meal in weeks. The morning paper said there were "Pathetic Scenes Witnessed About Big Tables." The Cleveland Plain Dealer was full of articles concerning suicides, hangings, and deaths. Page one told of a saloon fight that

Clarence's Parents

ended when the proprietor had shot a man to restore order in his establishment. Page Five spoke of "forty cripples at a dance."

Jenny Patterson Snyder, who had been born in St. Clarksville, Ohio, took much pleasure in reading and hearing about other people’s misfortunes.

On this particular day she had plenty to read about as she awaited the birth of her first daughter. Charles Henry and Jenny Snyder had already been blessed with two fine boys - Richard Harvey and Charles William. Jenny was a determined woman. She had made up her mind to have a girl this time. When she made up her mind that if something was going to be done, it had better be done, and her way - or else!

As was the custom in those days, much time and money was being spent getting the layette in readiness for the soon-to-be coming ar-

10

rival. About six weeks prior to this particular day, Jenny had fallen down some stairs in her home and had broken her leg. The fall left her bedridden and in a cumbersome plaster cast.

She was left with plenty of time left on her hands. With those hands she had knitted pink booties, pink dresses, pink hats... Everything was a beautiful shade of pink.

Clarence on bottom step, parents in background

All to be presented upon the arrival of her new baby daughter.

The doctor was hurriedly summoned to 64 Breck Avenue (later called 1280 East 89th Street in Cleveland), the house that Charles had built only a few years earlier. Charles had been born in an old farm house on Route 113 in Amherst Township, four miles west of Elyria, Ohio. He had come from a large family. He had three brothers and four sisters. A couple of years earlier, Charles’ parents had celebrated their sixty-first wedding anniversary which was written up in the society column of the local Elyria newspaper. It appeared that "Mr. and Mrs. Conrad Snyder of South Ridge" really did it up big. Five of their eight children were there with their spouses. Also present were sixteen grandchildren and five great grandchildren. The Newspaper article said, "The table where a seven course dinner was served was beautifully decorated with carnations and ferns. Several musical numbers were rendered."

11

When Jenny gave birth at the Breck Avenue house, it wasn’t too difficult a birth. But when the doctor congratulated the proud parents upon the birth of yet another son, the matter was of great concern to Jenny. As Clarence later stated, "I don’t think that she ever forgave me for that. She never fully recovered." It was on this note that Clarence Henry Snyder was born, the day after Christmas, in the year 1902.

He was the ugly duckling, the scapegoat, the black sheep of the family for the rest of his time at home. His mother had sustained massive disappointment when he was born. He was, however, very close with his brother Richard, who was one and a half years older than Clarence. Clarence and Richard, whom everyone called Dick, were so inseparable that later on, as they were growing up, if someone picked a fight with one brother, they had to contend with the other. The two brothers were a formidable duo. Since they belonged to one of the families of

Clarence in Middle       German descent in an all Irish neighborhood, the brothers stuck up for each other quite often. Just before Clarence’s second birthday, his mother had left him downstairs in front of the Christmas tree as she went about her daily household chores in the upstairs bedrooms. While she cleaned, she would walk over to the top of the staircase and call down to Clarence to see if he was okay and out of trouble. The two older boys had gone out shopping with their father, leaving Clarence and his mother at home as they shopped for their Christmas dinner.

Each time Jenny called out to him, Clarence would laugh and call out to her in baby talk, "boken, boken." This rou- 

12

tine went on for quite some time until Jenny had finished with her cleaning and started back down the stairs to the living room to join her son. When she had reached the bottom steps, she abruptly stopped.

Her mouth dropped open, and she released whatever she was holding in her hands. The load cascaded down the steps with a loud crash, startling Clarence. She appeared to him as if she were frozen, unable to speak or even move. One of the older boys had received as a Christmas gift, a tool box, complete with tools. Clarence had somehow figured out not only how to unwrap this gift, but how to open it as well. He had taken a hammer out of the box and proceeded to demolish every Christmas ornament within his reach. He did this with a glee and purpose that only a two year old could posses.

There was chaos and debris all over the living room. Bits of colored glass, unrecognizable pieces of wood. Many had been parts of family heirlooms. Most of the broken items were irreplaceable, having been passed on from generation to generation. Then, in a blind rage, his mother flew down the stairs, wrenched the hammer from his little hands and, as Clarence recalled with a laugh, "I guess I got boken for that also."

Clarence’s mother had a hairbrush, which consisted of a stone back piece which was covered with carvings of images of little fish.

Clarence recalled "I had imprints of fish all over my bottom and every place else that she wailed me with that thing. I can still remember that hairbrush. It’s etched into my memory like the fish were etched onto my body." Clarence said that much later, when he grew older, "I stole that damn thing and threw it away. It was a means of torture."

Clarence’s father was self employed in the carnival and park entertainment field. He ran concessions and rides at Luna Park in Cleve-

13

land. Clarence and his brothers were never at a loss for a place to go for fun and entertainment. Best of all, as Clarence remembered, they never had to pay either an entrance fee to the park or for any of the rides.

Clarence attended a local kindergarten and first grade. For some unknown reason, ("I still can’t remember why," he related) he skipped the second grade and went directly into the third. He got along with everyone in the school. He made many childhood friends and ran around after school with his brothers playing popular games of the day.

With his extremely bright and logical mind, Clarence did well with all of his studies and in all classroom activities. He was an outgoing, happy, and well adjusted child. Until something happened that

Clarence at age 10

changed his whole school career and life around. Something so devastating to him that it had a profound effect upon the rest of his childhood, adolescent years, and well into young manhood.

The event occurred in September of 1913. Clarence was in the fifth grade. His favorite brother, Dick, contracted a childhood disease, the nature of which Clarence didn’t remember.

This particular childhood disease occurring in an era of inadequate medical care and knowledge - proved fatal.

Clarence fell apart. He was devastated and fell into a tailspin of depression.

He and his inseparable brother were, by a cruel twist of fate, separated. They were separated forever. The funeral on November 3, 1913, was a day of disaster for Clarence. He did not want to attend it. He cried. He screamed. He was depressed, and he refused to say good by to the only person in the world with whom he had felt the most comfortable and best. In one month Clarence would be eleven years old. A time that was supposed to be special in his young

14

Clarence in front row, center

15

life. His brother, his friend, and his confidant would not be there to celebrate or share it with him. He felt that life was almost not even worth living.

His studies went downhill in a rapid and steady spiral. He became withdrawn, extremely depressed, and lost most of his former self image and confidence. A confidence that had been so often bolstered by the closeness and friendship of his older brother.

Clarence’s father tried to comfort and help guide him through this trying time in his young life. But his mother had not overcome her disappointment at Clarence’s not being a daughter. Her not yet being resolved over the death of her son Dick made things worse.  Jenny was not supportive at all. She was lost in her own grief and, as ever, distant towards her unwanted son, Clarence.

As fate would have it, a couple of years after Dick’s death, Clarence’s father was called to go with his concessions.

He traveled constantly around the country. After that, the only contact that Clarence had with his father was by mail. In a letter dated June 17, 1915, and postmarked from Lansing, Michigan, Clarence’s father described what was going on and of the new additions to the amusement park: "We have a lot of shows, an Eli Ferris Wheel, and a 3 abreast merry-go-round."

He also wrote, complaining of something amusement parks always dreaded: "We also have plenty of bad weather. We could not show Monday night here on account of rain, and is raining here now, and don’t think we can show tonight." He continued to write in the letter that he expected to be in Flint, Michigan the following week.

He wrote Clarence: "...Tell your Ma, that I do not want any laundry sent me till next week." Included with the letter to Clarence was a book of passes to the Aikes Amusement Co. This little booklet had been issued by Chas. H. Snyder and signed over to "Clarence & Strand Theatre." The rides that were listed inside carried such names as, "Carry-us-all," "Fifteen-in-one," "Motordome" and "Musical Comedy."

In another letter, this one dated Saturday, September 14, 1918, 4:00 PM, and postmarked Weston, West Virginia, Clarence’s father chastised him for not writing. He wrote, "I sure expected a letter in

The two brothers – Clarence on the left

16

Clarksburg, but got none. If you want to make a good business man of yourself, you must answer letters promptly."

His father always stressed that Clarence should be a good business person and always be the best at whatever he did in life. In another letter dated September 9, 1918, and postmarked Wheeling, West Virginia, Clarence’s father wrote, giving Clarence business directions.

The letter started off, "Well Hello, Mgr. Clarence." It continued, "You can give Ma $26.50, and pay the charges on the canvas and the small register when it comes."

At the age of sixteen Clarence was managing his father’s concessions at Luna Park. This was a formidable responsibility for one so young. His father wrote on the back of the envelope that along with managing the business, Clarence should "pay good attention to school." His father, being a consummate business person, always signed his letters to Clarence, "C.H. Snyder" or, "C.H.S." He never concluded his correspondence with "Your father," or even, "Dad."

There was never any love either expressed or implied. Only business and a request for a "report of what you done etc." But Clarence acquired a drive for pleasing his father an being a "good business man" which lasted throughout his life in all of his dealings. Despite his later drinking, Clarence always drove himself towards perfection in business. A perfection that his father had always demanded of him.

Eventually, even in recovery, perfection permeated Clarence’s thoughts and actions. Clarence had very little tolerance for failure, in himself and in others.

The Cleveland school system had, at that time instituted, Junior High School. Clarence, however after graduating from public school by the "skin of my teeth," went directly from eighth grade into High School. He hadn’t had the opportunity or advantage of taking preparatory courses in advanced math or English. Nor had he been able to learn at the pace of his peers in school. When he did transfer over to Cleveland’s East Side High School, he felt not only at a loss, but very much out of place. He felt as if he didn’t belong there. His self image and confidence had not yet fully recovered enough for him to inform his teachers that he had not gone through Junior High School, had not taken any preparatory courses and felt that he couldn’t keep up with any of the other students in his classes. All this seemed overwhelming to Clarence at the time, and he began to withdraw even further into his own little world. Withdraw so that he could at least begin to feel a little bit comfortable with life itself, no less with school or with those around him.

17

This withdrawal was interpreted by his teachers as a sign of ignorance.

Some took it as rebellion. Many branded him and ridiculed him as a "first class dummy." Some teachers placed a chair in front of the classroom in a conspicuous position and demanded that Clarence sit there. This was done to show other students the results of being rebellious, and it set Clarence up to ridicule. He related, "I wasn’t any great shakes of a student in High School, so I failed almost all of my classes." After three years as a freshman, another devastating event began to develop which, once again, had a profound impact and altered the course of Clarence’s young life.

He was about seventeen years old when his father contracted tuberculosis. This forced his father to quit his traveling and remain at home, something that, for a long time, Clarence had secretly been wishing for. However, not in this way, and not with the fatal results.

Once more in Clarence’s life, due to the lack of knowledge by the medical profession, Clarence watched his father suffer, just as he had done years earlier with his brother. He watched for many months as his father’s health declined. He watched until his father eventually succumbed. When his father did pass on, Clarence was afforded the opportunity to quit school and venture out into the world of full time employment. Clarence saw no promising future in continuing on with his education. With the urgent and overwhelming need to support himself and help with the family expenses, he decided to leave school.

He dropped out and started on his journey into the world of life and adulthood. A journey that fate had assigned to him, not one of his own making or choosing.

Looking back, Clarence remembered that one of the most important events in his High School days was his meeting a young woman and embarking on his first real romance. Clarence was no stranger to the members of the opposite sex. Years later, he remarked, "For some unknown reason I always took a liking to the girls."

He remembered that once, when he was about five years old, he had "eloped" with the little girl from across the street. Clarence and his brothers, Charles and Dick, were going to Luna Park one Sunday evening to go on the rides and play the games at the concessions which their father ran. In accordance with his mother’s custom on Sundays, Clarence was all dressed up in white. A white peanut hat, knee socks, knickers, shirt, and patent leather shoes. On Sundays, he was allowed out in the morning to play in his regular clothing, but by the afternoon he had to return home to bathe and get dressed up in his all white outfit. Then was ordered by his mother to stay spotless and

18

clean until it was time for him to retire to bed for the night. "God forbid that I got one spot on my uniform of the day," he remembered.

If this happened he would have to answer to his mother and her stone backed hair brush, and he dreaded that.

Clarence remembered that, on this one particular evening, Florence Drew, his sweetheart from across the street was going along with the Snyder family to Luna Park. Florence was the daughter of the family butcher. The Drews were long time friends of the Snyders.

After Florence Drew and the Snyders had arrived at the park, gone on some of the rides, played games at the concessions, and eaten lots of cotton candy, Clarence and Florence had disappeared. They vanished from both parental and sibling supervision. They had strolled over to Rockefeller Park to play with a "cute little dog." Until well after dark, they played with and "tormented" this dog, oblivious to the passage of time. Then, they realized it was late and began to make what must have seemed to them the long and scary trek homeward. Home being many blocks away.

By this time Clarence’s parents had sent out search parties. Florence’s parents had called the police. Both sets of parents had scoured the neighborhood and park. All to no avail. Both families were fraught with terror, fearing the fate that their respective children might have suffered.

They were also very angry and discussed among themselves the fate that their wayward children would suffer if and when they finally did arrive home.

Clarence’s white, spotless Sunday outfit had been through the sand and dirt of the park. It was covered with muddy little paw prints and it was, of course, no longer white and spotless.

Clarence managed to find his way home and walked Florence to just outside of her door. However, out of fear for himself, he ran away before Florence knocked. He, himself stayed out even later, knowing the state of disarray that his clothing was in. A state that he said, "was no means in comparison to the mess my mother made of me when I got home." Florence got her spanking from her parents across the street, but it was nowhere like near the beating Clarence suffered that night. The beating was administered by his mother with her stone backed hair brush. That same brush that, once again, as it had so many times before, and had so many times after, etched its impressions of little fish all over Clarence’s body.

Clarence was not at all unfamiliar with work. When he was five, he had a paper route. A few years later, he delivered orders for a local butcher shop (not the one owned by Florence’s parents) on his bicycle.

A bicycle that he had purchased with his own money. Clarence

19

was very industrious and continuously looked for ways to earn money.

Always looking for an angle, he was willing to try anything.

He even worked for a period of time as an usher at the Metropolitan Theatre in downtown Cleveland. This was in the days of the five and ten cent movies. Cliff-Hangers and daily newsreels. Clarence recalled, "The Metropolitan was a high class joint. They had the nerve to charge thirty cents when everybody else was charging a nickel." He had gotten his friend a job there and they both worked for the manager, Bill Friedman at the theater. On many occasions they would sneak their girlfriends in for nothing and then would "schmooze" in the box seats after everyone was seated and the movie had started.

Being industrious, Clarence found out that the Board of Education was paying twenty cents an hour for tutors. Clarence got a job reading school work to a blind boy named Larry. Much of what Clarence had missed in High School, he later learned through this job. He also began taking violin lessons, paying for them with some of the money he had earned on his various and sundry jobs. Clarence became very close to Larry and his family. All remained close for many years to come.

Clarence enjoyed driving cars and did so at every available opportunity.

Larry’s family would let Clarence drive them all over Cleveland and the surrounding areas and it was on one of those outings that another profound event occurred in Clarence’s life which once and forever altered the course of his very existence. On this particular outing, Clarence had his first introduction to "John Barleycorn."

It was at this first introduction that Clarence experienced his first of many, for-years-to-come, drunken episodes. In his youth, Clarence was to have only three such episodes, and each ended with his getting both drunk and into trouble.

On this first occasion, Clarence had driven Larry’s parents and Larry to their family reunion in Toledo, Ohio. There he was offered a drink.

He didn’t like the taste so much, but he did like the effect the drink was having upon him. He then proceeded to get quite drunk rather quickly on all the free flowing booze that was made available. By the time that the party was over, Clarence was unable to find the car that they had arrived in, and was unable to negotiate the long drive back to Cleveland.

This did not at all please Larry’s parents, nor Larry for that matter.

From that day forward, they wouldn’t let Clarence drive them around any longer. Despite the disastrous events of that day, Clarence remained close friends. Much later on, they were even able to laugh about it.

20

The second time that Clarence became involved with alcohol, it was again at a family reunion. This one in Alliance, Ohio. The parents of a young woman Clarence was dating offered to take him to their family reunion. This was as long as he did all the driving. They were a friendly and outgoing family. Clarence enjoyed the company not only of the young woman, but of her parents as well.

When the group arrived at this reunion, there was dancing, party games, home cooked foods, friendly people, and much to Clarence’s delight - plenty of home-made, Dandelion Wine. In fact, an unlimited supply.

Clarence loved to dance and despite the disastrous effects that alcohol had caused him on the previous outing, he tasted the sweet wine. He recognized it seemed to make the dancing more enjoyable.

The more he consumed, the faster he drank, and the more he liked the effect the liquor was having upon his personality. It made him feel more at ease, less self conscious, and eventually, invincible.

He became totally different, and he felt, better person. So much so, that he made a play for his girlfriend’s mother. The mother was flattered and enjoyed the attention being lavished upon her by this young man. However, the attentions didn’t sit too well with the girlfriend, or with her irate father. Needless to say, the ride back to Cleveland was tense and very long. Clarence recalled, "I guess that episode contributed to the ending of that relationship real quick." Clarence chuckled as he related that story. He thought that many of the events of his past, despite some of the pathos, had their humorous side.

Ever since his young childhood, Clarence went to Sunday school.

Not because his parents were religious people. It was a way they kept him out of the house, occupied, and out of trouble. He said he never felt comfortable with any of the other children who had attended this school with him. He stated he felt everyone looked at him as different.

He himself felt inferior to, and different from them. He was sure that the way that his mother had treated him while he was growing up, had a great deal to do with his distorted perceptions at Sunday school.

Clarence decided that since he wasn’t a good student, the other children would have to look at him differently if he could excel in something - anything. He felt he then wouldn’t feel so different and so inferior.

He began to develop a strong and growing interest in sports. He was slow at first, but he began to excel. He rapidly acquired an expertise at the sports he did try, especially those he liked. At first, it was

21

baseball. Then, as the seasons changed, he was on to master basketball.

Later on, he got the opportunity to play semi-professional sports.

That is until his professional career as full-time alcoholic interfered.

Earlier, however, he used sports, and his obvious innate ability at them, to improve his flagging self image and his low self esteem.

He also sought to improve upon his dancing. He felt he was such a "natural dancer," that he took only two lessons at the Zimmermans Dancing School. But he then decided he was wasting both his precious time and hard-earned money. Money he felt could be better spent on women and other "fun" activities.

One early winter day, while practicing basketball for a YMCA Church league, Clarence noticed a very attractive young blond woman on the sidelines. She appeared to be watching him intently. Never one to miss an obvious opportunity, especially when it came to women.

Clarence rushed over to the woman to inquire when he could go out with her on a date. He knew that if he could take her to a dance, he could impress her with his dancing abilities. He was sure he would then be on "home ground." He would feel comfortable and would very much be in charge of the situation. After only five minutes of conversation, the young woman told him that she lived on the south side of Cleveland and she would love to go to a dance with him.

Clarence picked her up to go to the dance and they took the streetcar.

They talked all the way to the dance. Clarence charmed his way into her heart. Always the salesman, he sold himself to this new person.

The two had a lovely evening, dancing, talking, and holding each other tight as they whirled about the dance floor. All was lovely until it was time for Clarence to take the young lady home. Then it turned out to be an exceptional evening.

When they arrived at the girl’s home, she invited Clarence in to spend some more time with her and to talk. In the ensuing conversation, Clarence discovered she was a preacher’s daughter and that she had a genuine interest in sports. This was wonderful. So Clarence had found out how much she loved to dance, that she loved sports, that she enjoyed being held close, and that she laughed at his jokes.

However, when she produced a gallon jug of wine from the cellar, he decided he had found a match made in heaven. Both drank until way after midnight, finishing off the entire jug. Unfortunately for Clarence, the relationship had to end.

In fact it ended before it really had a chance to take blossom. The girl’s father discovered them. Both were extremely drunk, and all the father’s wine was missing. Wine he used in Holy Communion. The father was perturbed, to say the least, and asked Clarence to leave.

22

Never to darken the man’s doorstep again and never to speak with his daughter.

The taste of alcohol wasn’t as important to Clarence as how it made him feel inside. It produced in him a profound personality change that transformed him and made him no longer feel inferior. He no longer felt different. He had used sports to assert himself and to become an equal. Equal to his peers and to others, often playing to the point of exhaustion. But he found that alcohol made him feel more than equal. And he readily asserted himself while under its influence.

This without the strenuous physical labor. He had discovered the easier softer way. This was the beginning of his descent into the spiraling abyss of active alcoholism.

It was at another dance - this one in the month of January - that he met someone who was to become very special in his life. Her name was Dorothy. Clarence swept her off of her feet and danced his way into her heart, and she into his. In about three months they were married.

Clarence had always been reluctant to discuss his first two marriages.  Therefore many of the dates and events are now lost to history.

However, with this, his first marriage- the marriage to Dorothy- does our saga begin.

Return to Top

Chapter 2

"Our stories disclose in a general way,

WHAT WE USED TO BE LIKE..."

"Who hath woe? Who hath sorrow? Who hath contentions? Who hath babbling? Who hath wounds without cause? Who hath redness of eyes?  They that tarry long at the wine; they that go seek mixed wine. Look not then upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth his colour in the cup, when it moveth itself aright. At the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder. Thine eyes shall behold strange women, and thine heart shall utter perverse things. Yea thou shalt be as he that liveth down in the midst of the sea, or as he that liveth upon the top of a mast. They have striken me, shalt thou say and I was not sick; they have beaten me, and I felt it not; When shall I awake? I will seek it yet again."2

Clarence’s marriage to Dorothy cannot be described as idyllic. Even though Clarence had swept her off of her feet, Dorothy, with her close

23

family ties, had "swept" Clarence off on their honeymoon. She swept him off to her sister Virginia’s house in the City of Yonkers, in Westchester County, New York.

Dorothy and her sisters were, to say the least, very close. Clarence complained that they did everything together. He said he didn’t just marry Dorothy. He also had married her entire family. In spite of the fact he constantly complained about them, Clarence recognized that Dorothy and her family had been instrumental in his recovery, and Clarence was always grateful to Dorothy’s "clan."

Clarence became and remained a periodic drunk for a number of years. He and Dorothy moved to 1552 Baltimore Road, in Lindhurst, Ohio, and began to settle down.

They had friends, mostly Dorothy’s. They had a home. Clarence had a good job, working for the Mutual Loan and Guaranty Company in the Discount Department. What happened next seemed to be the next logical move. They decided that it was about time to start a family.

Dorothy became pregnant, and everyone concerned was overjoyed.

The proud father-to-be strutted around, pontificating about his "common sense, sane, domestic life." He strutted around, that is, until Dorothy began complaining of problems associated with early pregnancy.

His "sane, domestic life" started taking on a different, if not ominous, complexion. Dorothy stayed in bed for days on end. She changed her diet, her sleeping patterns, and her room. All to no avail.

Dorothy’s sanity was fading rapidly.

They consulted a local doctor who recommended the use of "Porter Ale." They tried this "cure," borrowing some of that ale from one of their neighbors, an amateur brewmeister. It worked! Clarence consulted with other local brewmeisters as to how he could go about manufacturing this "cure" himself. He bought a six-gallon crock, dozens of bottles, and various and sundry pipes, wires and other apparatus necessary for his construction of his home brewery. He began to put everything together and hoped his life would return to some semblance of sanity.

Sanity was, however, not the end result. He not only manufactured the beer for his wife, he also drank most of it for her as well. He recalled, admiringly, "I made some of the best ale that anyone ever had the pleasure to drink. After about two bottles of that stuff, you would go home and rob your own trunk."

Dorothy, remaining uncomfortable, continued to complain. Clarence increased his production capability. He went out and purchased a few ten-gallon crocks and cases of bottles. These, he felt, would surely return his life to sanity.

24

All of Dorothy’s problems in early pregnancy, as well as her continuing complaining, eventually stopped. But the beer production, and the massive consumption of it, did not. They increased.

The excuses to continue drinking became more prevalent. Parties, card games, and friends, were constantly invited over for coffee and cake, but the events all became beer feasts. Soon Clarence ran out of excuses for drinking, and he just drank. He then discovered that: "a little shot of liquor now and then between the beers had the tendency to put me in a wacky mood much quicker than having to down several quarts of beer to obtain the same results." So, now whiskey became the mainstay, and the beer just helped to wash it all down.

Clarence then became the primary topic of discussion in Dorothy’s family gatherings. There was not much else to talk about concerning the pregnancy. Besides, Clarence’s drinking was a much juicier topic.

Rather than listen to these "busybodies," Clarence began to frequent the local beer joints. This, he said, was: "to quench my ever increasing thirst, and to complain to all who would listen, about my wife and her meddlesome family." Clarence’s increased consumption did not help him to lose his resentments towards those who he perceived were trying to run his life. He did, however, manage to lose his job instead.

It was also about this time that Dorothy gave birth to their son, Charles Richard Snyder. The son was named not only after Clarence’s father, but also for Clarence’s brother, who had died as a child. Their son was rarely called by his first name, but rather, was referred to as "Dick" - the name that everyone had used for Clarence’s brother.

Clarence got another job - this one at the Morris Plan Bank in the Collection Department. The bank was closer to his home than the previous bank; and Clarence now felt he could spend more time with his wife and newborn son.

In actuality however, he began spending more time patronizing the local saloons which dotted the streets on his route home. Four or five shots of whiskey, followed by a few beer chasers at one establishment, were but a beginning. If Dorothy happened to meet him at work, and walked him home, he only stopped at one or two bars, rather than the customary four or five. His lunches became the liquid variety, and the dinners (that he would be invariably late for), became non-existent as Clarence lost his appetite for real food. Dorothy even came to give up cooking, other than for herself and for their son.

By this point Clarence had become a daily drunk. He appeared drunk at his initial interview at the Morris Plan Bank. He remained on that

25

job for three and a half years, all the while in a state of constant intoxication.

Clarence remembered that the only reason he had gotten the Morris Plan job was because of help of a close friend. This friend had worked with Clarence for seven years at Clarence’s previous bank job and was now managing the Finance Department at Morris Plan.

In addition to managing the Finance Department, the friend was also on the Board of Directors. Clarence related, "Joe knew that I was the best man for the job despite my being a drunk." Joe had also conveniently left out of his recommendation to the Morris Plan that hired Clarence, that Clarence had been terminated from his previous bank position for being drunk on the job on a consistent basis. Clarence figured, the Morris Plan had never seen him sober and wouldn’t know the difference. He was, in his own sick way, proud of this kind of alcoholism, even though he did not, at that time, have a name for it.

Clarence opined that he was a "chronic alcoholic, a daily drunk."

This was a diagnosis of dubious value to Clarence. But it was a characteristic that he insisted upon and even took to his grave. Clarence had disdain for the periodic drunk even though at one time in his drinking career, he was one. "Periodics," he said, "are the people that give us drunks a bad name." Periodics, he felt are the type of people who "get a job, get a family, get a nice home, get a couple of nice cars, belong to a couple of clubs, and have a few kids. They also have some bills (dollars) in the bank. And, for no apparent reason, all of a sudden, this turkey gets drunk and down goes everything. Out go the wife and the family, the house, the bank account, the two cars and the furniture.

Everything is gone and he’s flat. Well, what does this monkey do? He goes and gets himself another job; and, what kills me with these fellows, is that they usually get a better one than they had before. This is rather a jealousy on my part. Then they get a new house, two new cars, a new wife, a new family, new bank account, new club, more exclusive this time, and away they go again. The next thing you know, BOOM!

The whole thing goes up. Now, no wonder alcoholics are looked down upon. These kinds of people, you can’t depend upon ‘em." Clarence felt that chronics were dependable daily drunks like himself. He said, "You always knew how they were going to be - DRUNK!"

At Morris Plan, Clarence - in a short period of time - had developed a full time department, with the best finance people and collectors that he could find and train. He was able, with his own system, to recoup thousands upon thousands of dollars for the bank. Eventually, he was promoted and made an officer of the bank.

26

He often came to work in the morning wearing the same clothing he had worn the day before. He vividly remembered that he was "stinking the office up." He would check his paperwork, touch base with his "boys", and then he was off and running. This routine lasted for about three and a half years.

During this time, his drinking had became progressively worse, and it was having a profound physical and emotional effect upon him. He lost a lot of weight and began to forget even the simplest things. At first, he forgot only minor thoughts, but later major ones. Appointments began to be missed, opportunities to recoup the bank’s money and business in general began to slip. Clarence’s "boys" began to take advantage of his loss of memory.

Clarence was forgetting things he had said or done only moments before. He began to have temporary blackouts. Often he would be sitting at his desk and just staring into space. He would be talking with a customer, stop in mid-sentence, and start doing something else, completely unaware of what had previously transpired.

The people in his department talked with him, even attempted to cajole him into quitting or even cutting on his liquor consumption.

All of this failed. He continued to get worse. Morris Plan didn’t want to lose him. He was the best manager they had ever had. But nothing they tried worked. Soon not even Clarence worked.

The Bank Vice President – whom Clarence described as "a strict Lutheran, a fine gentleman, who wouldn’t cause or do anything out of the way" just blew up at Clarence one morning. The bank officer had become so frustrated with trying to help Clarence with his drinking problem that he just gave up. He started jumping up and down and screaming. He told Clarence that he, Clarence was the best in the business, if only he could stop destroying himself. The Vice President pleaded for Clarence to look at what he was doing to his job, his family, his friends and all those who loved and cared about and for him. But all of this was to no avail. Clarence was unwilling – in fact unable - to listen to the voice of reason. He had a bad case of tunnel vision, and all that was in the tunnel was his alcohol.

The Vice President gave Clarence two weeks notice, that he was being terminated. Clarence was even told he didn’t have to report in to work for those two weeks and that the bank would pay him anyway.

Clarence still didn’t listen. He kept coming in to work each and every morning. He was drunk and unable to stop. He was afraid to stay at home and had avoided telling Dorothy he had been dismissed.

Afraid to tell her that this was yet another position that had been taken away from him for being a drunk.

27

The two weeks quickly passed, and the fateful day finally arrived.

The Executive Vice President called Clarence into his office. Clarence related, "He gave me my last hurrah. He told me all that crap that they tell you when you get fired. What a talent you have, much you wasted it. What you could have done in this bank... my future was shot and I’ll never have any now." He gave Clarence his final pay check and told him to go upstairs clean out his desks.

Clarence slowly walked out of the office, his head bowed - once again a failure. He walked up the flight of stairs to what had been his own office. Walked there for the last time, feeling dejected and ashamed. The only thought that ran through his mind concerned how much he wanted - no, needed - a drink.

As he arrived at his office, Clarence opened the door. SURPRISE!

His whole department was there, and so were many of the other bank employees. The office was decorated for a party, and party they did.

Both of his desks were filled with presents and the other desks were covered with bottles of alcohol. Clarence told the author "Now who gets fired for being drunk and has a going away party with presents AND booze? Nobody but some bloody drunk. That doesn’t happen to regular people."

After Clarence left Morris Plan, he had several jobs which scarcely lasted for more than a few weeks each. His last one was for a finance company. He recalled, "I was supposed to dig up new business." He would sneak in every morning before the other employees got there.

Only the switchboard operator would be on duty that early in the morning. He would check his desk for messages and quickly and quietly run out before any of the other workers had a chance to arrive.

The switchboard operator reported to her employers that Clarence had indeed checked in each and every morning. However, after spending three weeks on that job and not producing a single bit of new business, or even servicing any of the old accounts, Clarence was once again fired. Dismissed for drunken behavior and non-productivity.

Clarence was "between jobs" after that for several years. In 1933, he and an old acquaintance discussed going into business together.

Stan Zeimnick wrote Clarence, on September 18, 1933, suggesting their going into the brewing business on a professional level. Stan said his main concern was that, "some, or rather most, beer-place proprietors say that naturally they expect a decided slump in beer sales soon, but that they don’t know much about small towns; they may drink beer in the winter nearly as much. Of course that’s our

28

gamble." This business venture never materialized, and Clarence continued to retain his amateur standing as a home brewmeister and, of course, beer consumer.

He went on interviews, answered advertisements in the help wanted columns, and walked into store fronts to inquire about jobs. He begged his former friends and business associates for jobs. He did everything he could. Everything, that is, except stop drinking. Even Dorothy, who was at that time the manager of the men’s department of a local employment agency, couldn’t do anything for her husband.

He would show up for job interviews drunk, reeking of alcohol, and his appearance was, to say the least, disheveled. Quite often, his reputation as a drunk had preceded him. He had no luck acquiring a position doing anything.

Clarence was often the main topic of discussion at numerous family conclaves. These occurred on a weekly basis, and he was discussed daily over the telephone. Everybody agreed that he was a "great guy" when he was sober. However, he was no longer ever sober.

After one of these weekly meetings, Dorothy’s family finally came up with a last-ditch opportunity for Clarence. It was time, he was told, to sink or swim. Either he worked for Dorothy’s brother, or he would be thrown out on to the street.

Dorothy’s brother owned a tractor-trailer rig. He hauled merchandise over-the-road between Cleveland and New York City with various stops in-between. Clarence was to learn how to drive this tractor-trailer and go into business with his brother-in-law.

The very prospect of this frightened Clarence. The thought of learning how to drive one of those large trucks, with all of that freight looming behind you, was unappealing. What was even less appealing, and was the second most, but more important consideration, was the thought of hard work "which this job reeked of." It didn’t sit right with him. But the thought that frightened Clarence the most, paramount over all of the others - was the thought that his brother-in-law would never allow him to have a drink. Not even a single beer on the hottest of summer days after driving a thousand miles.

This was spelled out in no uncertain terms and in so many different ways, Clarence could not find any excuse or loophole to get around it or out of it: Swim or sink. It was the truck and the open road or the street.

The thought of being on the bum, with winter rapidly approaching, was less appealing than the dismal prospect which now faced him.

Clarence agreed to take the truck job, though rather reluctantly. He

29

did, however, retain a silent reservation that, at the first opportunity that was afforded to him, he would pick up just one drink. Maybe two. Just enough to enable him to feel better but not enough to be noticed by his brother-in-law as being drunk. Clarence thought, in so doing, he wouldn’t risk everything, and being left on the streets, in a strange place, with no money, and in the cold of winter.

A couple of nights later, Clarence and his brother-in-law had begun their trip to New York City via Albany and Buffalo. Clarence didn’t have any clothing to speak of, not even an overcoat. He had sold most of it to purchase alcohol for his last hurrah. Out of necessity, he had packed light. In fact, he had packed all that was left of his clothing in a little duffel bag. He was to sleep, it was decided, in the top back sleeping compartment, the perch of the cab. His brother-in-law was to sleep on the seat itself so that Clarence couldn’t leave the truck without being noticed. Even if the brother-in-law was asleep.

Over the preceding few days, Clarence had managed to save a small amount of change in nickels and dimes. This small hoard, he decided, was to be used in case of emergency. He had surmised that an emergency would indeed eventually arise. He carefully wrapped these few coins in a handkerchief and placed the handkerchief snugly in the bottom of his trouser pocket. He made sure it wouldn’t move at all so the coins wouldn’t make any noise, be noticed and be confiscated.

Clarence had not been able to get away from his brother-in-law for even a single moment. He had not had a drink all day. Before they started the trip, Clarence had consumed all of the alcohol that was hidden in the house, and his bags had been thoroughly searched by Dorothy just prior to his departure. All the bottles that had been stashed were summarily removed and dumped down the kitchen sink in full view of Clarence and Dorothy’s gathered family.

Clarence was in a bad way. Sick, shivering, coughing, and throwing up out of the window of the truck. He was not allowed to leave his brother-in-law’s sight. When they stopped for breakfast, Clarence had no appetite, but had to go into the diner anyway. He sat with his arms folded across his shaking body.

At one point, Clarence became nauseous and bolted for the bathroom, probably due to Clarence’s watching everyone eating and smelling the aroma of the food. His brother-in-law quickly followed him in to the bathroom. Clarence was followed everywhere he went and was watched at all times. His brother-in-law was under very strict and specific orders and knew he would have to answer to the family if anything went wrong.

30

Early in the evening they stopped for the night in Albany, New York. Clarence’s brother-in-law was exhausted from all the driving and from having to watch each and every move that Clarence made. He decided to pull over to the side of the street and catch a few hours of much needed sleep. Clarence saw his awaited opportunity and seized it.

He convinced his brother-in-law that he had never been to Albany and that he wanted to see the Capitol building. He told the brother-in-law that this was something he had always wanted to see. He even offered to take him with him for security. He begged, and he pleaded.

He pointed to the building, which was all lit up in the darkened night sky. His brother-in-law was so exhausted he couldn’t and didn’t have the strength to argue any more with Clarence. He eventually just gave up. He assumed Clarence had no money and therefore couldn’t get into any trouble. He mumbled, "Good-by and don’t come back too late." He then immediately drifted off into a sound sleep.

Clarence did not have any intention of seeing the Capitol. He did however, have what he thought, was a "capital idea." That idea was: As he got out of the view of the truck, he would run as fast as he could to the nearest bar. And this he did.

The first place Clarence came across was a little too rich for his blood. He then ran a few more blocks to a "seedier neighborhood."

He quickly located something more to his stature and position in society, "a dump." He carefully pulled out his handkerchief and untied it slowly, with his now trembling hands, so that none of his "bank" would fall out. He walked into the bar. He said he "plopped all the change on to the bar in one loud clatter and I ordered a drink." He quickly downed that drink and, without waiting, ordered another.

As was Clarence’s good fortune, he met a benefactor. He recalled: "I met an angel, I think he was a fairy, but I’ll call him an angel.

Because he started to ply me with drinks and he was putting them up as fast as I could drink ‘em. This was great. But then things started getting a little stuffy, and I thought it was about time I take my leave.

So I went to the men’s room, locked the door, went out the window, and headed back for the truck. I imagine this guy is still waiting for me there."

Clarence did not run back to the truck. He was unable to. He walked as best he could. By the time he returned to the place where the truck was parked, all of the alcohol he had consumed began to take its effect. He was not in the best control of his body.

While trying to climb back into the truck and into his sleeping perch, he stepped on his brother-in-law’s face. Awakened with a start, smell-

31

ing the stench that emanated from Clarence’s body, and observing him weaving back and forth the brother-in-law put two and two together.

After much loud arguing and having to restrain himself from beating Clarence to a pulp, the brother-in-law explained this was to have been Clarence’s last chance. He told Clarence that as soon as they arrived in New York City, he would have to put Clarence out and leave him there.

"Dumped." Never to return home to Dorothy or Cleveland, for that matter, ever again. Regardless of how much Clarence begged and pleaded, New York City was to be his last stop. Dejected and devoid of all hope, Clarence crawled up into his perch to sleep, wishing that this was all an alcohol-induced nightmare or hallucination.

When they had arrived at the New York waterfront, true to his promise, the brother-in-law dumped Clarence on the docks and warned, "Never dare come back to Cleveland!" Clarence got down on his knees and begged, crying with all of the earnestness at his command.

The words "good riddance" were heard and echoed throughout his head as the big truck released its air brakes. It lumbered away and faded off into the distant unknown and foreign streets. Clarence was left there, on his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks on to the cold and dirty concrete.

There he was, no other clothing than that which was on his back and in the little duffel bag. Winter was rapidly approaching, and he had no money. The only person Clarence knew was his sister-in-law Virginia.

Clarence felt: "She owed me plenty." According to Clarence, due to an indiscretion that her husband had come home early to witness, Virginia had been forced to flee Westchester County and to come and live with Clarence and Dorothy. Clarence, who at that time was still working, paid for all of Virginia’s bills, including one for an operation when she had taken ill. He fed, clothed, and sheltered her. "She owed me plenty, you better believe that," he related.

Clarence began to make his way up to Yonkers, a suburb of New York City. By the time he had gotten there, he remembered that Virginia lived way up on top of a long hill. By this time Clarence was very thirsty. So much so after his long ordeal, that he decided he couldn’t make it up the hill.

He went instead down another hill. Down into what he remembered as an Italian neighborhood. He recalled, "This being bootleg days, all Italians had wine. A lot of them made it. Some of ‘em sold it.

They all drank it. Some of them shared it with their friends. So I went down there and made friends."

32

A few days later, exactly how many he didn’t remember, he finally managed to make it up the hill to Virginia’s home. One of the few things that he remembered about that visit was that he was drunk. He was drunk, as usual, dirty, and probably smelled bad, he thought. He also vaguely remembered that he was rolling around on the floor with Virginia’s two little girls. They were two or three years old at the time.

When Virginia came home, she did not take too kindly to this sight.

She told Clarence, in no uncertain terms, that he had to leave. To insure this, she placed him in the back seat of her car and drove him down to the same waterfront area in New York City from which he had started. Virginia threw him out of the car - rather, dragged him out, just as her brother had done previously. Clarence once again begged and pleaded. He got down on his knees and cried. He reminded Virginia that he had taken her in and that she owed him, at least just this once. But this was all to no avail.

Virginia admonished Clarence, not to return either to her home or back to Cleveland to her sister, Dorothy. This time he was threatened with being arrested if he dared to return. Virginia got back into her car without looking back, slammed the door and drove off.

Once again Clarence was left on the cold, concrete street, tears running down his cheeks. He had never felt so all alone in his life. He had no money, no real clothing to speak of, no friends, no family and no hope. "No nothing." He swore that he would never pick up another drop of alcohol in any way shape or form ever again. This he swore to the heavens above at the top of his lungs. He had to exist, so exist he did as best he knew how.

As was the case in the mid 1930’s, many of the truckers left their rigs on the waterfront beneath the elevated roadway. They spent their nights in cheap rooming houses or hotels to shower and to get some needed sleep. Some of those who parked their trucks were also looking for entertainment. The kind of entertainment that a cab of a tractor-trailer could not accommodate. At least not comfortably.

These men needed someone to watch their trucks. And Clarence used all his best sales techniques to convince them he was indeed their perfect watchman. He did manage to convince quite a few. He was paid fifty cents a night to watch over their trucks. In some, he slept snugly, insulated from the damp and bone chilling cold.

Back in those days, Clarence bought his booze in a wallpaper store for seven cents a pint. He recalled that his "special mix" was comprised of "denatured alcohol, mixed with water and anything else that

33

I could get a hold of to mix it with. It wasn’t the best, but it did the trick. It knocked ya out." For the most part he always had at least two or three pints of that "mix" with him. So much for Clarence’s swearing to the heavens that he would never pick up another drink.

Here he was, dumped on to the docks of New York City. Not once but twice. He had a warm place to sleep and plenty of booze. He was earning fifty cents a day, and, at seven cents a pint, he was saving money.

Being a survivor, he also found clever and devious ways to get clothing to ward off the winter chill and thereby stay "healthy." He also found ways of getting something to eat when he was hungry, which wasn’t very often.

He attended services at the various missions around the city in order to obtain the bare necessities of existence. This being the time of the great depression, there was never any shortage of missions. All he had to do was get there, go inside, get up, and sing.

He couldn’t, however, stand their food. No matter how hungry he had gotten, mission food was something that he had detested. The food was usually overstocks, leftovers, or spoiled goods that were donated by various establishments.

Because of its usually deteriorated condition, the food was always sprayed with and saturated by, "bug juice." Clarence said of this insecticide, "Everything is bug juice. You go in there. They spray you with it, your clothing - they spray everything. Bugs are running every place you look, all over, in and around everything. They seemed to eat that spray. They got fat on it. They thrived off of it, I think."

So, rather than eat mission food, Clarence devised another way to eat for free. Clarence discovered the automat. He related, "The automat was a place with lots of little square windows, walls of ‘em with different foods behind each window. You put in your nickel or dime through this little slot and turned the knob. The window popped open, and you took out your food. One window for soup, one for sandwiches, one for beans etc."

He had observed that almost everyone in New York City was always "on the run." He found out from experience that, if you stood outside of one of the large office buildings at noon "you took your life in your hands." Everyone it seemed, would run out as if in one big "swarm" in order to rush off to lunch. He said, "Some of ‘em had as much as a half hour." They would then "gulp" down their food and run back to work again.

Clarence watched these, as he called them, "idiots" for hours and even days at a time. He found them very amusing to watch. Probably some of those same "idiots" didn’t find his antics so amusing.

34

He watched as they would run into the automat. They wouldn’t even sit down. They stood at a counter or small table. He related, "A little round thing there, there’s three or four of ‘em at a counter."

Clarence watched them eating and talking. Some were reading the newspaper and eating. Sometimes they were doing all of these things at once. "They didn’t even know what they were eating," he said. He then came upon what he thought was an ingenious and foolproof plan - a scheme. He devised a plan to get some of this food to himself for free.

He said this of his plan: "I went out to the curbstone and took out one of my paws, and I rubbed it into the dirt and filth out in this gutter and dirtied this hand up. I came in and stood aside one of these guys and put this hand up in some guys food, Now this takes a little crust to do this; but if you know human nature, you can get away with it.

This guy turns around and sees this, and he wants to belt me. So, I look at him. I’m starving. I have this look on my face. He can’t hit me. He can’t do it. It’s just too much for him. He gets so frustrated that he walks out and leaves that whole damn thing."

Clarence would then gather the food and take it back to the truck in which he was staying at the time. Sometimes this "foolproof" plan didn’t work out so well. Sometimes he would get punched. Sometimes he would get thrown out. More often than not, though, he did get food. Enough to satisfy whatever appetite he did have left.

This went on for some time. He had a place to sleep, food to eat, clothing on his back, and booze to drink. He was still saving money, earning fifty cents a day, and spending seven cents a pint for his "mix."

This all was happening around October or November 1937. Clarence had spent the better part of a year living as a homeless person in New York City. A place that several months earlier, had been both foreign and frightening. This was just another indication to him of his resourcefulness and his instinct for survival in the face of adversity and absolute hopelessness.

However, as all good things must come to an end, Clarence began to develop a homing instinct. He felt that something, he wasn’t sure of what it was, was calling him. Drawing him back to Cleveland, Ohio.

He gathered up his meager belongings, counted the money that he had saved, packed four or five pints of his "mix," and to set out for home.

 He was unsure of what, it anything, awaited him. He did know that he had to go home.

He convinced one of the truckers to give him a lift which took him in the general direction of Ohio. One trucker took him as far as Erie, Pennsylvania. Another took him to the outskirts of Cleveland. He

35

was back in the area where he had been thrown out of his home almost one year earlier.

Back to someone who he thought was still his wife.  Back to his son, and back to Dorothy’s family. He was still unsure why he felt that he had to return, but he did know that he was glad to be back.

He knew his life seemed to be lost and hopeless, and he was unsure about how to regain it. He couldn’t stop drinking. He had tried on numerous occasions with little or no success. He wanted some semblance of sanity back in his life. Yet he didn’t know quite how to go about getting it or even who to ask how to get it.

He was truly lost and he was sure that "home" was where he would find what it was that he so desperately sought. He was in Ohio, home at last.

Return to Top

Chapter 3

"Our stories disclose in a general way, what we

used to be like, WHAT HAPPENED..."

"There have been millions and millions of alcoholics stagger across the face of the earth. They’ve lived and died in alcoholism. They have died, and they have carried down in disgrace, families, friends and associates with them. They have caused carnage in this world, and they have died hopelessly. It’s been a tragedy.

Out of all these millions of people, therefore, why? You tell me why just a few thousand of us have this opportunity. Why are you chosen for this? Why am I chosen for this? Why do I get this chance? Why do you get this chance and thousands and thousands and millions and millions of other people never had this chance and there are probably millions around who never will or never shall? Ask yourself this, sometime. It might put a new value on your membership here. These are things we ought to check ourselves with once and awhile. I think it’s a miracle that any of us are here. ‘Cause no one ever gets here until he’s hopelessly lost.’"

Clarence H. Snyder - Roanoke, Virginia 1963

Chapter 3.1

HOME … for just a brief moment.

"The crowning experience of all, for the homecoming man, is the wonderful feeling that, after all he has suffered, there is nothing he need fear any more - except his God."3

36

UNLESS YOU HAPPEN TO BE AN ACTIVE ALCOHOLIC. AN ACTIVE ALCOHOLIC FEARS EVERYTHING !

With an act of sheer determination, Clarence managed to make it back to his home. He was cold and numb, knee-deep in snow. He charged up to the front porch and looked around. A puzzled expression began to form on his face.

The screen door was still up, as were all of the screens on the windows.

This, he surmised to himself, was the reason that he had been called, summoned in on his homing instinct. His wife needed him.

She couldn’t get along without his help and knowledge. The screens were all the proof that he needed. Everybody, he thought, knew that you don’t keep the summer screens up all winter.

He pounded on the screen door which, much to his dismay, was locked with a hook on the inside. He shouted and continued to pound.

He demanded to be let in. How dare she lock him out of his own home! He had forgotten he was told, in no uncertain terms, that he was forbidden to return there.

Eventually, Dorothy came to see who it was who was making all of this commotion.  Upon seeing Clarence, she did not unlock the door.

Rather, she spoke to him through the door.  She kept the security chain on and opened the door as much as the chain allowed.

Clarence stood straight as he could and endeavored not to show her how cold he actually was. He pointed out to her that people didn’t leave screen doors and windows up all winter long. He told her she needed a man around the house to take care of all these little details.

He tried to utilize all his best sales techniques and ploys, plus good, old fashioned guilt, to convince her to let him inside. After all, he was freezing out there on the front porch. He also thought that if he were able to convince her at least to let him into the house, at least to let him warm up, he could then charm and talk her into letting him stay.

Dorothy was having none of this and would not budge an inch.  She did, however, concede that she needed a man around the house.

Clarence’s hopes began to rise as his chest puffed out and his shoulders drew back. But this hope was deflated instantly when she told him she really didn’t need one that badly. She also said that, even if she did, it certainly wasn’t going to be him.

She did say, however, that she had a counter-offer to make to him.

His hopes once again began to rise. Unbeknown to Clarence, many months earlier - after he had romped on the floor with Virginia’s children - Virginia had found the need to call the family doctor. Her children had become very ill and since the doctors of that day still made house calls, the doctor came to her house.

37

After the doctor had examined the children, he and Virginia began talking.  The conversation included her fears about Clarence. She told this doctor that Clarence was the best brother-in-law possible when he was sober.  She related that, when she had had to go to Ohio to live with her sister, Clarence paid for all of her bills.  These bills included an operation, there when she had taken ill.  She told the doctor she felt that she owed not only Dorothy, but Clarence as well.

The two continued on, discussing the evils of drinking at great length and also "cures" that were available.  Virginia’s doctor did mention one very likely possibility.  If Clarence was really willing to quit drinking for good, he knew of another doctor - this one in Ohio - who had had a great deal of success in working with alcoholics of Clarence’s sort.  Virginia’s doctor related to her the sad story of his own brother-in-law, who had also been a seemingly hopeless alcoholic. He told her that this very same brother-in-law had not had a single drink of alcohol in almost three years.  The doctor’s brother-in-law had relied upon this same treatment that the doctor in Ohio had used so successfully.

As it turned out, Virginia’s doctor was Leonard V. Strong.  Dr. Strong’s alcoholic brother-in-law was William Griffith "Bill" Wilson.

The doctor in Ohio was Dr. Robert Holbrook Smith.

Virginia had written to Dorothy regarding this conversation and had given her sister Dorothy Snyder the name and address of the doctor in Akron.   Virginia’s doctor had given them to her on the off chance that Clarence might someday show up in Cleveland.

Dorothy remembered Dr. Robert Smith’s name and asked Clarence through the slit in the door if he was now ready to stop drinking.

"Yes, yes, " Clarence yelled, willing to say anything that might get him inside the house and into the warmth before he froze to death.

His hopes were once again dashed to the floor, however, Dorothy still refused to open the door, and would not let him inside. She told Clarence that Virginia had written her about this doctor in Akron who "fixes drunks," and that if he really wanted to quit, she would make sure he got to Akron to meet this wonderful man.

Clarence’s mind was working on overtime.  He was in desperate need of a drink.  He was also in desperate need of getting warm.  He figured that if he could just get into Dorothy’s car for the long ride to Akron, he could then convince her to stop at a bar or liquor store and get him just one little drink.  After that accomplished, he knew, his mind would be working better.  Then, with the right fuel, he could convince her to turn the car around. She would then take him back

38

home where they both belonged.  After all, didn’t he once sweep her off of her feet?  He was sure that, with the right words, he could do it again.

Dorothy responded to the idea of getting her car.  She brought their son to a neighbor’s house and she and Clarence proceeded, towards what he thought was going to be Akron.  During the ride, he could not convince her to stop anywhere, nor could he convince her to turn around.  He became crestfallen when she pulled her car into the bus depot in Cleveland.  She took her car keys and asked him to accompany her as she went inside.  She purchased a one way ticket to Akron.

With that ticket, Dorothy handed him a small slip of paper.  On it was the doctor’s name, address and phone numbers: "Dr. Robert Holbrook Smith, 810 Second National Building, Akron, Ohio. Office phone: HEmlock 8523, Residence phone: UNiversity 2436. Hours 2 to 4 PM."

She made sure that Clarence was on the bus when it left so that he could not cash in the ticket for money to buy alcohol.  When the bus left the terminal, Clarence noticed that Dorothy also left.  She followed the bus a few blocks to make sure that Clarence didn’t convince the bus driver to let him off.

On the way to Akron, to while away the time, Clarence read a couple of newspapers he had found on the bus.  The bus was warm, which, to Clarence was a little bit of heaven. Dorothy had given him a sandwich to eat.  He was warm and fed, and the news in the paper was certainly exciting reading.

Chapter 3.2

"The Mad Butcher of Kingsbury Run."

"Yet suicide, quick or slow, a sudden spill or a gradual oozing away through the years, is the price John Barleycorn exacts. No friend of  his ever escapes making the just, due payment."4

"But to the imaginative man, John Barleycorn sends the pitiless, spectral syllogisms of the white logic. He looks upon life and all its affairs with the jaundiced eye of a pessimistic German philosopher. He sees through all illusions. He trans-values all values. God is bad, truth is a cheat, and life is a joke. From his calm-mad heights, with the certitude of a god, he beholds all life as evil."5

39

Clarence had been away from his home for almost a year and had quite a lot of catching up to do with current events.  The headlines in the newspapers told of a series of indictments concerning "Cleveland’s Bad Boys," Donald A. Campbell and John E. McGee.  These two men were the most feared and powerful union bosses in the city.

The indictments were the culmination of months of investigation by the office of the Safety Director of Cleveland.

The Safety Director’s name was Elliot Ness.  The same Elliot Ness of "Chicago Untouchable" fame.  Elliot Ness, the crime fighter who helped destroy Al Capone’s criminal empire, helped in put away the Purple Gang, and cleaned up Chicago.  The newspapers also reported another of Elliot Ness’ famous cases.  A case that fascinated Clarence more than all of the political hoopla.

This was the case of the "Mad Butcher of Kingsbury Run."  Clarence had taken an interest in this case long before he had been "asked" to leave Cleveland.  He remembered that this case, in particular, involved a series of murders which had taken place in the Kingsbury Run area of Cleveland. The area was a vast stretch of land around what was known as the "Roaring Third Precinct", near the Cuyahoga River.

The river divided East and West Cleveland.

These gruesome murders, which began to surface around September 1935, involved the murders and dismemberment of several people.

Most of whose identities were never determined.  The police surmised that the killer would pick up a hobo or prostitute, befriend them, and take them to some unknown place. Police assumed the victims were taken to the killer’s home, fed and then murdered.

These murders, it was also reported, began with decapitation.  This while the helpless victim was still alive.  The killer then would cut the body up into smaller pieces, and these pieces, often minus the head, would turn up in Kingsbury Run, cleaned and drained of all of their blood.  The neatness of the amputations and the precision of the cuts led the police to believe that the murderer was probably a doctor, or at the very least, a person with trained, surgical skills.  The coroner of Cleveland stated that the logical suspect would be a physician "who performs the crime in the fury of a long drinking bout or derangement following the use of drugs."  These "bodies" would turn up approximately every five months.

As Clarence read these accounts on the bus, he saw that the latest body, "Victim #9," had been found sometime in July of that year,

40

1937. It was now December, and Cleveland was about due for another grisly murder.

Clarence was familiar with the "Roaring Third", due to its notorious drinking establishments.  He had often frequented these establishments.

He remembered that when he had seen the hobos and down-and-outers who were forced to live in the shanty towns hidden deep within the run, he had often said to himself, "Before I get as bad as them, I’ll stop drinking."

Clarence drifted off to sleep briefly, remembering the glaring headlines of almost a year earlier. In February 1937, a body had been found washed up on Euclid Beach. It was found by a man from East Cleveland.  He had told police he just happened to be walking by at that time.

Clarence woke up with a start.  What had awakened him so abruptly was that the name of the passerby at Euclid Beach had disturbed him greatly.   Not just disturbed him, but sent shivers of terror up and down his spine and throughout his whole body. He sat up, jumped with a start, and was in a cold sweat. No matter how hard he tried, he could not recall the name of the man who had just sent such utter terror into him.

Clarence finally arrived in Akron. Slowly he got off of the bus.  He had convinced the driver that he was on his way to a doctor and needed some money to get there.  The driver loaned Clarence some money, and Clarence quickly proceeded to the nearest bar to quench his thirst from the long bus ride and to calm his now jittery nerves.

Chapter 3.3

"Meeting the Doctor"

"Some of these human relationships and fallacies that we have been mentioning may seem formidable hurdles to you at the moment. But you will be surprised at how quickly they become insignificant if you stop drinking. "IF you stop drinking... Do you want to stop? Are you completely sincere in your desire to stop once and for all? "Put it another way. Do you finally realize that you have no choice but to stop? Are you convinced that you would rather quit drinking than go on the way you are?"6

When Clarence had run out of the money he borrowed from the bus driver and when there were no free drinks he left the bar. He felt

41

somewhat bolstered by the effects of the alcohol.  He slowly unfolded the piece of paper that Dorothy had given him.  Straining to read in the unfamiliar sunlight, he read the address, 810 Second National Building.  Looking at a clock in a store window, he saw that it was almost twelve noon.  Plenty of time to reach the office by the hours of two to four P.M. He proceeded on to another bar down the street for, maybe, "just one more, or two."

Clarence reached the Second National Building a little before two.

He went upstairs and walked directly to the doctor’s office.  He read the name on the door.  It was painted in black and gold on the glass window.    "Dr. Robert Holbrook Smith, Rectal Surgeon."

Clarence laughed as he thought to himself, "My, that’s a new approach to cure drinking."  He paced the hallway. He hesitated, trying to decide whether to go or stay.  He knew that his problem was most probably located in his head, but he thought that this particular doctor worked on this "cure" a bit lower than that.  He paced for what seemed like hours; but, in all actuality, it was probably just minutes.

Doctor Smith arrived just after the stroke of two P.M.  He shook Clarence’s hand with a firm grip.  That shook Clarence all over.  Dr. Smith said, in a loud, strong, booming voice, with a distinct Vermont accent, "Young feller, you must be Clarence.  You can call me Doc."

Clarence was taken aback. He thought to himself, "How did he know my name?"  He didn’t stop to think that Dorothy probably had called earlier.    Which in fact, she had.  She had called to tell the doctor that her wayward husband might be showing up at his office that day. She had warned the doctor that, if Clarence did indeed show up, he would probably be in a state of intoxication.

The doctor took Clarence through his waiting room and office into another, and smaller room. This room had a table and a couple of chairs in it. Doctor Smith, "Doc," asked for him to sit down.

When they were both seated, Doc proceeded to tell Clarence about the doctor’s own personal story of recovery from alcoholism.  Clarence, still suffering from the lingering effects of his last "just one more," heard something totally different.

It seemed, to Clarence’s alcohol-fogged mind, that the good doctor was telling him all of the events surrounding Clarence’s own sordid existence. "How does this man know all about me," he thought to himself? "   He must have been following me."

Then Clarence remembered the articles about the Mad Butcher.

Panic set in. The sweat began to soak through his pores, and he thought he was about to become the Butcher’s next victim.

42

Robert Smith (not Dr. Bob) points to the place where he found the

murdered body at Euclid Beach, A photo from the Cleveland Plain Dealer

At just about that time, the doctor told Clarence that he wanted to put him away in a hospital so no one could get at him.  The doctor had probably said that to him because he had sensed Clarence’s panic, agitation, and paranoia.  This was, however, at that very time, exactly the wrong thing to say to Clarence.

For at that very moment, the name of the man in Clarence’s dream became very clear.  Clarence suddenly remembered, the name of the man in his dream on the bus - the name that had frightened Clarence so much that it sent waves of terror throughout his whole body.

That man’s name was Robert Smith!  What Clarence couldn’t remember, in his alcohol-induced fog, was that Robert Smith was the name of the person who had found a body and was not himself a suspect.  And he certainly was not the same Robert Smith who was sitting directly in front of him.

The Robert Smith, the Doctor Robert Smith who sat in front of Clarence, sensed that this particular drunk sitting in the chair opposite him was about to jump out of his own skin.  Dr. Smith sensed that Clarence was filled with unspeakable and unknown terror.

"No one could get at me," Dr. Smith had said. That was the problem: Clarence wanted, at that very moment, to be where everyone could get at him. Everyone except for the Mad Butcher.

43

Clarence bolted out of his chair, nearly knocking the doctor over.

He ran through the office, bumping into patients who were waiting in the outer office. He pushed open the door and ran down the stairs and out into what he thought for sure was the safety of the streets.

He didn’t stop until he was far away and hidden in the confines of a darkened tavern.  His thoughts raced through his brain.  They ranged from relief to rage, and everything in between.  Relief that he had gotten away with his very life and rage over his wife, his loving wife, who he now thought was in cahoots with the Mad Doctor.  The same doctor who, he thought, had been about to set him up for a painful and gruesome death.  The rage intensified, as Clarence plied himself with alcohol; and then it subsided as he drifted off into another alcoholic stupor.

Chapter 3.4

"Back To Cleveland"

"...the theoretical importance of the instincts of self-preservation, of self-assertion and of mastery greatly diminishes. They are component instincts whose function is to assure that the organism shall follow its own path to death, and to ward off any possible ways of returning to inorganic existence other than those which are imminent in the organism itself. We have no longer to reckon with the organism’s puzzling determination (so hard to fit into any context) to maintain its own existence in the face of every obstacle. What we are left with is the fact that the organism wishes to die only in its own fashion. Thus these guardians of life, too, were originally the myrmidons of death. Hence arises the paradoxical situation that the living organism struggles most energetically against events (dangers, in fact) which might help it to attain its life’s aim rapidly - by a kind of short-circuit."7

Somehow Clarence found his way back to Cleveland. Not back to his home, but to the East Side.  He was an explorer.  He would go anyplace, a bar room, an abandoned building, a deserted alley.  He would explore and, quite often, discover things that were beneficial to his very existence, his survival.

At this particular point in time he was exploring the basements of bars.  "I got a lot of free booze doing that," he recalled.  There was one bar in particular that was located in East Cleveland that he chose to visit at least twice per week, sometimes more often when other pickings became slim.

44

It was one of the larger establishments, which contained a nice restaurant as well as a bar.  Sometimes food was the focus of his quest, but, more often than not, it was beverage alcohol.

He had found his way into the basement of this particular East Side building through a delivery ramp that was never locked.  Much to his delight, he had discovered a wide array of empty bottles.  Beer bottles, wine bottles, Champaign bottles, whiskey bottles.  Every kind of bottle, in all shapes, sizes and colors imaginable.  Even some that he had never imagined existed.

If they contained at least a drop of their former contents, Clarence didn’t care what the alcohol was, or what it looked like or tasted like. All the bottles had one thing in common, according to Clarence: They all contained at least a couple of drops of that precious elixir that he needed in order to live.

Sometimes he got lucky, and the bottle contained more than a few drops. Sometimes the bottles were almost full. The full bottles contained alcohol that had somehow spoiled, and a customer returned it. Clarence didn’t care. Mixed with the rest of the contents of the other bottles, it all tasted the same.

In the 1930’s, bars were required to dispose of the empty bottles by destroying them. This bar in particular, and many others, got away with leaving the empties intact. Probably by paying authorities to leave the establishment alone.

Clarence developed a twice-weekly ritual of dealing with the bottles.

He had found a large, flat, metal pan with a protective lip, and when he had finished his ritual, he would hide the pan in the dark recesses of an unused corner. Into this pan he would pour the last remaining drops from the bottles. He patiently let each bottle drip slowly into the pan, making sure that he didn’t lose one precious drop.

If only he could have squeezed these bottles to speed up the process, he would have done so.

His pan would fill up with a murky, colored liquid, as he drained the bottles. When the pan was full, he would rapidly drink the mixture and begin the process all over again. "Boy, what a buzz you can get on that stuff," he once commented.

Clarence was "on the bum" for about a month and a half in East Cleveland. Ever wary of the Mad Butcher, and of what were known as the Nickel Plate Railroad Police. These police were, in reality, just a group of "paid goons," as Clarence called them.

Clarence was about six feet tall. He weighed one hundred and thirty pounds, soaking wet in his clothing. And this time in his life, he was

45

relegated to living in hobo shanty towns, under bridges like the Kinsman Road Bridge - which was about two thirds of a mile up from Jackass Hill. Anywhere he could "flop," he would do so.

He could not remember any time in his life that he had felt so alone, so desolate, so afraid and so lost. Not only lost as to where he was at this particular time, but lost as to where he was going in his life. Lost even as where he had come from. He had lost his wife, his home, his son, a lucrative banking career, his health, his clothing, his self-respect, and he often feared even his sanity. Or whatever there was left of it.

Everything that had ever meant anything to Clarence was gone.

Gone except for the ever-present, urgent need, and overwhelming, burning desire for beverage alcohol.  There he was, just thirty-five years old, cold, wet, sick, and - most devastating of all - hopeless.

Two events occurred in the latter part of January, in the year 1937, that would eventually have a profound impact on the remainder of Clarence Snyder’s life.  A life that, unbeknown to him, had already been touched by Divine Providence.

The first event occurred during one of Clarence’s exploratory sojourns, Clarence came across a discarded issue of a recent national magazine.  While he was glancing through this issue, an article immediately caught his eye.  The article appeared graphically to spell out what Clarence felt that he had become, all that he was.

The magazine was the Saturday Evening Post. The issue was January 15, 1937. And the article was titled, "The Unhappy Drinker." It was written by Frances T. Chambers, Jr., as told to Gretta Palmer.

Chambers was a self-professed alcoholic who had been "cured" by Richard R. Peabody, of 224 Commonwealth Avenue, Boston, Mass.

Richard R. Peabody was the author of a book (extremely popular during the early 1930’s), titled "The Common Sense Of Drinking."

A book that many of the founding members of what was to become "Alcoholics Anonymous" had read with great interest.

The Peabody book was an outgrowth of an earlier study titled, "Psychotherapeutic Procedure in the Treatment of Chronic Alcoholism,"

This study had been read before the Harvard Psychological Society and the Boston Society of Psychiatry and Neurology.

 The study was later published as the book, The Common Sense of Drinking.  Coincidentally, after his book was published in 1931, Peabody moved from Boston, Massachusetts, to New York City. He moved to 24 Gramercy Park. Peabody’s home was located in the same neighborhood as Calvary Episcopal Church, where the Rev. Samuel

46

M. Shoemaker was the Rector and was active in the Oxford Group.

The same neighborhood as the Olive Tree Inn where Ebby T. had gone to. This Mission, on East 23rd Street was also where Bill Wilson had "taken the pledge."

In any event, Chambers - the author of the Post article - had worked with alcoholics in his private practice in very much the same manner that Richard R. Peabody had previously worked with Chambers.  According to the article, Chambers took treatment with alcoholics. "Are you ready to stop drinking," he would ask.  "No," the patient often answered - with a dare-to-make-me air.

Chambers related this example: "‘All right,’ I told him. ‘Call me up when you are.’  As I hung up the telephone receiver, I fancied I could hear him pouring himself another drink, but within twenty-four hours he telephoned me to announce that he wanted to stop.  Until that had happened, I could do nothing for him; It is my strong belief that no man was ever helped by being hoisted onto the water wagon by his friends or advisors.  He must climb up of his own free will."

Clarence knew he was indeed unhappy.  He also knew he desperately needed to stop drinking.  He knew that the doctor in Akron was probably his only hope. This in spite of his overwhelming fear that the very same doctor might be the feared Mad Butcher.

Clarence ripped out the Post article and kept it with him at all times.

Whenever he experienced doubts, he re-read it.  Many years later, he mounted the article on pieces of colored paper and wrote beneath it: "My first intimation that alcoholism was a disease - my first ray of hope."

Thinking back on this, Clarence once stated that he felt that the article was a message directly from God to him.  "James Snyder" was the name of the photographer from the New York Times who had taken the photograph at the heading of the Saturday Evening Post article.  Clarence had thought, at the time, that this was proof that the article in the Saturday Evening Post did solidify Clarence’s start towards sobriety.

Interestingly, this very same magazine would publish an article about Alcoholics Anonymous just over four years later, on March 1, 1941.  That article would be the start for many more thousands of alcoholics to begin their journey on the road to sobriety.  That national publicity would catapult Alcoholics Anonymous toward of what it has become today.

However, there were still some reservations about sobriety that were left in Clarence’s alcohol-clouded mind.  Fears and doubts.  Fears about the doctor and who he possibly might be, and doubts concerning the

47

possibility of success.  The kind of success that had eluded him so often in the past and, with each failure, had become even a more remote possibility.  So it took one more event to solidify Clarence’s resolve to quit drinking for good.

That other significant event occurred deep within the woods of Kingsbury Run.  Clarence, after reading the article about the "Unhappy Drinker," had been in constant turmoil over the sorry state of affairs his life had taken.

As he lay on the cold damp ground, in the midst of his so-called peers, "a bunch of bums (he called them)," he glanced around.  He looked at the squalor, the ravaged faces, and the disheveled clothing.

Fear and desolation sank in.  The picture surrounded him on all sides and was even evident within his own body, mind, and spirit.

All in Kingsbury Run were in constant fear and terror of the Mad Butcher, the Railroad Police, and even of each other.  All were mere shadows of their former selves, suffering from loss of the spark of life.  The spark that kept them alive, or at least managing an existence.

They were indeed, the walking dead.  The great unwashed and the great unshaved.  This is what his life had become.  Unless he did something soon, and something drastic, this is where his life, such as it was, would anonymously end.  He would cease to exist with no one to know and no one to care.  His clothing would be removed from his emaciated body, and his remains would be rolled into a ditch or shallow grave for the vermin to feast upon.  Such was to be his legacy.

Clarence vaguely remembered the doctor in Akron somewhere deep within the recesses of his foggy brain.  He remembered that the doctor had talked to him about "fixing drunks" so that they never drank again.  He remembered the glow, and the radiance that the doctor had about him.

He wanted that in and for his life.  He somehow knew the doctor was probably the one man, no matter how afraid of him that he was, that could put some meaning and purpose back into his meager and now meaningless life.

He attempted to stand up. He had a difficult time with this; but after considerable effort, he did manage to stand erect. Well, as erect as a man in his weakened condition could get, or even hope to get.  All it took, he felt, was determination.  He made an attempt to dust off his clothing. The clothing that was so imbedded with dirt and filth that his dusting simply caused a small cloud around himself.  A cloud that, like a magnet, was drawn back to the very same clothing he was trying to clean.  Discouraged, he gave that up shortly and tried to brush

48

back whatever hair was left on his head.  He then made a loud and bold announcement to those of his peers who happened to have been gathered in the vicinity.

"I’m through with this foolishness, I’m going to quit drinking," he said.  After the laughter subsided somewhat, no one responded or even looked up at him.  After all, he was just like them, a hopeless drunk.

He repeated his statement to the gathered masses - even louder this time and with more conviction: "I’m through with this foolishness, I’m going to quit drinking !"  The laughter and derision continued.

Shouts of "sit down and shut up" were heard from the group.

One of the other drunks made an effort to stand.  Clarence remembered him only as a "flannel mouthed Irishman," one of the leaders and a spokesperson of the group.  This man placed his hands on his hips and laughed.  His head was thrown back, mouth wide open, exhibiting a large, almost toothless grin.

"You quit drinking," the Irishman said.  "You’ll never quit drinking.

Look at you.  You don’t have the guts to quit drinking." Clarence took a couple of unsteady steps forward, but not enough to be in direct swinging range of this other person.  He put his hands on his own hips and yelled, "I’m gonna quit drinking!"  The Irishman took a few more steps closer and pushed his face into Clarence’s.  "You’ll NEVER quit drinking!"  Spit was flying out of the Irishman’s mouth.  "You know that to quit takes determination.  To have determination you have to have a chin.  Look at you," he roared.  He continued to laugh; and then said, "You’ve got a chin like Andy Gump.  You’re no damned good!"

The Irishman was no doubt sharing from his own experiences.  He too, had probably quit drinking, with determination and with his large and chiseled chin many times in the past.  Times too numerous to remember, with little or no success.

Clarence then got even closer, and yelled even louder.  He threw caution was thrown to the wind. "I’m gonna quit drinking, I know a doctor in Akron that can fix me," he shouted.  The Irishman yelled back, moving right into Clarence’s face: "No one can fix you!"  Clarence replied, "I’ll show you." The Irishman laughed into his face, and said, "Show me."

The shouting continued for about a half hour.  A small group of the drunks was egging Clarence on and the rest egged on the other man.

Though it probably looked quite pathetic, the scene was probably also quite funny as well.  Two drunken "bums," face-to-face, hands on their respective hips in the midst of a cadre of other "bums."  Dregs of society, surrounded by the squalor that exemplified Kingsbury Run.

49

With the last little bit of pride he was able to muster, Clarence utilized almost all of the strength that was left in his emaciated body.  He wheeled around, luckily without falling, and staggered away.

The sharp and stinging sounds of laughter, jeers of derision, and even some scattered applause were ringing in his ears.  The sounds faded as he picked up his pace.  His head was now held high as he picked up speed, proud of what he thought was his final decision.

Proud, and deathly afraid of the unknown prospect that lay ahead.

The prospect of possibly finding out who Clarence Snyder was without the aid of beverage alcohol.  The prospect, frightening as it was, was that of living life without a drink.

When he got out of the sight of his erstwhile comrades, Clarence started to run.  He ran as fast as he could in his present and weakened condition. It had taken a lot out of him to stand up to that Irishman.

He began to stumble over debris, running as if his life were at stake.

Running, thinking if he stopped, he might change his mind.  Running to something for what seemed the first and only time in his life rather than running away from something.  Somewhere in his consciousness he knew that it felt better to run to, rather than to run from.

The next couple of days were a blur for him.  He continued drinking and running.  Running and drinking.  The drinking was not having the same effect on him that it had in the past.  He continued drinking only because he felt that if he stopped, he would surely die.  For this was the only way he knew how to stay alive.  To stay alive, he had to drink.

He somehow managed to call the doctor seven or eight times during the next few days.  He didn’t remember when or how.  He didn’t even remember speaking with the doctor once.  Doc Smith told him later on that it was at least seven or eight times.

He had gone to a phone and made all of those toll calls while on the run.  He had probably had to break into someone’s home to do this since he had used whatever money he was able to panhandle and find, for alcohol.

During one of the calls, the doctor had told Clarence to meet him at Akron City Hospital the next morning.  Scared as Clarence was, this time there was no turning back. It was a matter of life and death this time. His own!

Clarence managed to scrape together enough money to make the bus fare back to Akron.  He walked to the bus depot.  It took hours.  It was night time.  It was cold and dark, but he had to get there.  He bought his ticket for the bus which was leaving just after dawn.  And he tried not only to stay awake, but also not to cash in the ticket for a

50

drink.  He stood vigilant, awaiting the departure to the unknown.  Scared and alone.

When he arrived in Akron, it was in the middle of a blizzard.  The temperature was sub-zero, and he didn’t have an overcoat.  All that he had was just the mismatched old clothing that had been picked up in various Missions and from those poor unfortunates in the "Run" who had succumbed to the cold and the ravages of their drinking.  He didn’t even have the money for the trolley, and since he couldn’t find anyone in the midst of a blizzard to beg the money from, he "decided" to walk.

He HAD to get "fixed."

"Akron," Clarence once said, "is the city of seven hills, and all of their hills are up.  They don’t have any down hills."  His sense of determination was tremendous.

He put his head down, buttoned up his jacket as best he could, and put up his frayed collar.  There were many times, more often than not, that he felt utterly discouraged.  The hills seemed steeper and longer than he had  ever remembered.  The cold bitter wind was cutting through him like a knife.  The blinding snowstorm battered at his body, often driving him backwards.  Yet he walked on. His mind was set.  His feet, numb from the cold and the frozen snow, were reluctantly placed one in front of the other.  One step at a time.

He often fought the little voice that told him that the warmth of a local bar would bring him relief and that he could continue his journey after one little drink, maybe two.  All he had to do was warm up on the outside as well as on the inside, the voice said; and he could then continue.

His "Andy Gump" chin pressed close to his sunken chest, determined to make it to the hospital.  The hospital where an unknown fate, a "cure" for this devastating, debilitating, drunkenness that had consumed his every thought and every fiber of his being.  No matter what, "I was gonna get fixed," Clarence recalled.

He finally made it to the hospital, numb, exhausted, frozen to the bone.  His clothing was, by now, stuck to his body.  He walked into the lobby of Akron City Hospital, strode up to the reception desk, pounded his fist on the counter, and - while demanding to see Doctor Smith - he passed out.

51

Chapter 3.5

"In the Hospital"

"No person ever really lives until he has found something worth dying for"8

Clarence awakened with a start.  He was disoriented, to say the least.

He was in a strange room with a group of people, all dressed in white uniforms, who were milling around him.  "And for some strange reason, they’re giving me a bath," he quipped in telling the story.

He was then wrapped in a shorty hospital nightgown, a little bit of a thing, with no back to speak of, and just a couple of strings to hold it together. He slowly reached up to his face, unable to make any sudden movements, and discovered that he was clean shaven.  His hair, the little that he still had left, was cut short; and he even smelled clean.

His mouth felt as if someone evil had packed it full of old, musty, cotton balls.  His tongue felt three inches thick, and he noticed that his head was throbbing.  And the throbbing was getting worse as the seconds went by.

The muscles in his body felt as if they were contracting in a rapid succession and in no particular order.  Some muscles he didn’t even know he had were also acting in this manner.  His stomach fluttered as if it were filled with a flock of Canadian geese who were migrating south for the winter.  At times, the geese all changed direction and began to migrate north.  It was at these times that Clarence began to vomit.

His eyes had a difficult time focusing on anything in the room as did his brain.  As he surveyed the terrain, however, there was one thing that his eyes did manage to focus upon.

A bottle of "Rub" on the window sill. Rubbing Alcohol.  "My ace in the hole," he had thought.  He made a mental note.  This note was out of necessity.  A mental note of where the alcohol was, and how to get there.  How many steps were necessary to get there if he were going to need it.

Recalling the experience, Clarence said: "I was always scared of the D.T.s (Delirium Tremens).  I never had ‘em, but I saw some of my buddies who had ‘em.  And I saw people who died with ‘em...  I figured if I started seeing a circus; and if there is no tent, I hear music,

52

and there is no band.  There’s my answer right there.  The bottle of Rub.  People get the D.T.s when they quit drinking.  I was scared to death of ‘em, that’s why I never gave ‘em a chance to set in."  He was probably never sober enough to get the chance.

The knowledge of where the bottle was, how to get there, and how long it probably would take, gave him strength.  It "gave me guts, my ace in the hole, that bottle of Rub," he said.  He knew that he could conquer the world knowing that he was only a few short steps from salvation.  Bolstered by his newfound strength, he wasn’t too concerned when the nurse walked into the room.

Clarence remembered her as a very large woman.  He remembered that her starched, bleached, white uniform seemed to be bursting at the seams. Her hair, kind of salt-and-pepper, was plastered back into a bun that stood out of the back of her skull as if it were a permanent growth.

Her white nurse’s cap was adorned with a couple of medical looking pins; and it looked as if it were tacked to her head.  Steel-rimmed, bifocal glasses, at least a half dozen chins, on some of which were situated little, dark brown moles, with long strands of black hair growing out of them.

She wore no make-up that he could see.  She had short - probably bitten-off nails - white Orthopedic shoes, and stockings with leg hair clearly visible through them.  This vision was Clarence’s angel of mercy as he remembered her.  He, at first, thought that this was the beginnings of the D.T.s, and was ready to bolt from the bed to the Rub on the shelf.  He was ready to bolt, that is, until he saw what she carried in her hands.

In her short stubby fingers, she held a small, white, metal tray.  This tray was the kind you found in older hospitals with the edges chipped off and the black metal underneath showing through.  Spider-web like veins of black and rust existed throughout its surface.

Two glasses sat on top of this tray.  One large, and one small.  The small glass was filled with what looked like about 30-50 mg of some sort of white liquid, similar to watered down milk.  The other glass, an eight ounce drinking glass, he was sure contained "booze."

She walked over to his bed, ever careful not to spill her precious cargo.  With a low, raspy voice, she said, "Mister Snyder." This was the first time in a long time that anyone had called him by his name.

"Mr. Snyder," she said, "I have some medicine here for you.  You drink down this nice medicine here with the milk, and you can follow it up right after with this whisky."  He looked at the two glasses and then back at the nurse.

53

Clarence had heard a lot about that "nice medicine" from his drinking buddies.  It was probably Paraldehyde.  Paraldehyde is a synthetic, non-Barbiturate, sedative-hypnotic, which is now considered to be potentially dangerous.  It has a bitter taste; therefore the need for the milk. It also causes burning in the mucus membranes.  In hypnotic doses, such as the one they attempted to give to Clarence, it can induce sleep in as little as ten minutes; and its effects would usually last from four to ten hours.

Clarence knew what that little glass held.  "That stuff will knock you flatter than a rug, real quick," he thought.  No way was he going to fall for that "nice medicine" line that the nurse was trying to hand him. He wasn’t born yesterday.

He sat up in the bed, put on his most sincere face, looked the nurse right in her eyes, and said, "Lady, I come down here to quit drinking, not to drink.  I’ll thank you to take that stuff away from me."

He later stated that it was probably one of the worst and stupidest moves he had ever made in his life until then.  This was because the nurse did indeed, take the tray away.  He remembered that he "suffered the agonies of the damned." He began to sweat profusely.  He felt as if spiders and other small insects were crawling all over his body and his insides in large numbers.  He shook and convulsed, screamed and cursed.  He threw up until there was nothing left in his system to throw up anymore, and then he continued with the dry heaves.  He held on to the bed railings for dear life, but not once did he make an attempt to get to that "bottle of Rub" on the window sill.

He thought about the Rub, obsessed on it, wondered if it would take away this agony.  But he knew, despite the pain that he was feeling, that if he took even one little sip, his agony would be prolonged.

He knew that his life would probably be over. This, he knew, was his last chance at redemption.

The date he entered Akron City Hospital and refused that one last drink was the tenth of February, 1938. The next day, his first full day free from beverage alcohol, became Clarence Henry Snyder’s sobriety date.

The date that he celebrated for the next forty-six years. February 11, 1938.

54

Chapter 3.6

WHAT HAPPENED

"On Our Knees"

"‘What we want to do is get in touch with Him and turn our lives over to Him. Where should we go to do it? At once the lad replied: ‘There is only one place - on our knees.’ The lad prayed - one of those powerful, simple prayers which are so quickly heard by Him who made the eye and the ear:

OH LORD, MANAGE ME, FOR I CANNOT MANAGE MYSELF.’"9

It was Valentine’s Day in 1938. Clarence was feeling well enough to receive visitors. He had, as he put it, "gotten over a lot of my shakes, gotten them a little under control. I didn’t get over ‘em by a long shot."

He recalled that, beginning with that day, each day, a couple of "the men who preceded me in Akron" came to visit, and each afternoon, Doctor Smith checked in on him.  All of these men, about fifteen in number, who came while Clarence was in the hospital, were in their forty’s to late fifty’s. Clarence was only thirty-five at the time.  These men would sit at his bed side, tell him the sad and sordid stories of their lives, and the depths to which alcohol had taken them.  They told him of their lives as they were living them that day, and then told him that they had the answer to his problem.  They stood up, shook his hand, and wished him well.  They all said they would pray for him.  At that point, they would turn and leave the room.

This went on for almost a week.  Never in Clarence’s life did he have this much attention.  These were people who genuinely seemed to care for him. They wanted nothing in return, other than his continued success and physical well being.

After these visits, each and every afternoon, he would question Doctor Smith, who kept insisting that he just wanted to be called Doc, about what was going on.

Doc was known to have very long and bony fingers, which - Clarence quipped - "probably served him well in his profession."  He would often poke Clarence hard in the chest with them as he spoke to Clarence.

55

During one of these visits Doc said to Clarence, "Young feller," [Doc had a nick name for everyone, Clarence’s happened to be young feller.]

"Young feller, you just listen."  Doc said nothing further about Clarence’s questions until the last day Clarence was to be in the hospital.

It was a Wednesday, and there was a definite chill in the air as Doc sat on the edge of Clarence’s bed.  Clarence was still a little wary of Doc.  Still not sure whether or not he was the Mad Butcher.  Doc stood well over six feet tall; and even though he was seated, he still presented an imposing figure.

Doc was known for his very loud neckties and argyle socks.

Clarence remembered that he also wore a stick pin which had a lion’s head on it.  Clarence also remembered that this particular stick pin had a diamond in it.  A diamond of which Clarence was envious for it spelled success.

After many minutes of strained silence, Doc finally spoke. "Well young feller, what do you think of all this by now?"   Clarence replied, "Well Doc, I think that this is wonderful.  All these fellows coming in to see me.  They don’t know me from a load of hay, and they tell me the story of their lives. They tell me what booze did to them, but I’m puzzled about something."   Doc asked, "What are you puzzled about?"

Clarence replied, "Every one of these men tells me the same thing.

They tell me that they have the answer to my drinking problem; and on that note, they leave.  They don’t tell me anything.  Now, I’m laying around here for about a week, I’m ready to get out of here.  What are you going to do to me?  What’s next?  What’s the answer?  What are these fellows holding from me?  What is this?"

He was not at all ready for the reply that Doc gave him.  Doc looked at Clarence seriously, pondering his next few words.  He folded his massive arms in his lap and said, "Well young feller, we don’t know about you.  You’re pretty young, and we haven’t had any luck with these young fellows. They’re all screwballs."

Clarence was not about to comment that he wasn’t a screwball.

All of the men who had spoken to him were much older.  All seemed pretty responsible and sane.  He looked at Doc imploringly and said, "What do I have to do to be ready?  I weigh one hundred and thirty pounds, I’ve been on the bum for several years, and I’m unemployable.

I have no more home than a rabbit, I have no clothes, I have no money, and I have no prospects.  I have nothing.  It’s the middle of winter, and I’m in a strange town and you people say that I’m not ready yet?  What more do I have to go through?  How many more years of living hell?"

56

Doc looked at Clarence and shook his head up and down. "Okay young feller," he said, "I’ll give you the answer to this."  Doc turned his body on the bed to get closer to Clarence, pointed a long bony finger at him, and asked, "Young feller, do you believe in God?  Not a God, but God!"

Clarence was ready for a medical cure.  He was ready for surgery, any kind of surgery.  Even rectal. After all, he was in a hospital, wasn’t he?  He was ready to sign a pledge, swear off booze, sing for his supper, and stand on his head if need be.  He was, however, definitely not ready for God!

He had already been to the missions when he needed clothing or shelter.  He even sang a little bit.  He had listened to all they had to say about God.  He had "agreed" with them and they gave him what he had needed.  How many times had he turned his life over to Jesus Christ for just a pair of pants, on old and worn overcoat, a pair of shoes?  Most of these items he had sold for alcohol anyway.  He sold them when the need arose, as it always did.

Doc repeated himself.  Louder this time and with a trace of annoyance: "Do you believe in God?"  Clarence tried as hard as he could to evade this question, but one did not evade Doc.  Especially when Doc believed in something this strongly.  Clarence asked, "Well, what does that have to do with it?"  Doc answered, "Young feller, this has everything to do with it.  Do you or do you not believe in God?"

By this time, Doc appeared to Clarence to be getting ready to get up off of the bed and leave the room.  Clarence was afraid that Doc wouldn’t "fix" him unless he went along with this line of questioning.

Yet there were still the vestiges of resistance.  Clarence tried to evade the question once more.  He tried to answer on a more positive, but non-committal note.  He said, "Well, I guess I do."

Doc abruptly stood up, pointed his finger at Clarence, and yelled.

"There’s no guessing about it.  Either you do or you don’t!"  Clarence became increasingly frightened.  He thought that Doc was about to walk out and never tell him the answer to his problem.  The answer that Doc had already given to him, but which Clarence was unable or unwilling to hear.

"Yeah," Clarence replied, resigned to the fact that he really wanted to get well and that Doc wouldn’t help him unless he responded in the affirmative. "I do believe in God," he said.

Doc didn’t sit right back down as Clarence had expected him to do.

Instead he just stood there and stared at him.  This time he really was frightened.  This time Clarence thought that he had "blown my opportunity," as he put it, to rid himself of his drinking problem; and he began to think that he was relegated to a life of misery and despair.

57

Both the fear and the desire must have shown all over his face because Doc eventually said, "That’s fine. Now we can get someplace."

Clarence breathed a sigh of relief.  Once again, however, he was not at all prepared for what was to happen next.

Doc said, "Get down out of that bed."  Clarence was shocked.  He asked, "For what?" Doc replied, "You’re gonna pray."  Clarence pleaded with him, for enough was enough, "I don’t know anything about praying,"  Clarence said. Doc, still as stern as before and not willing to compromise his beliefs, said, "I don’t suppose that you do; but you get down there, and I will pray.  You can repeat it after me, and that will do for this time."

Doc then took Clarence by the hand and "hauled" him off of that "nice warm nest," as Clarence put it, and down to the cold, hard, concrete floor. Clarence, in his shorty hospital nightshirt, tied together in the back by a couple of strings.  Doc, in a suit with a loud colored tie, argyle socks and a diamond stick pin with a lion’s head.

What a sight to behold.  Both men, on their knees, by the side of the hospital bed, in an attitude of prayer.  Doc uttered some sort of a prayer, pausing every few words so that Clarence had the time to repeat them.

Clarence didn’t quite remember the words of the prayer exactly; but he did remember its being something like this: "Jesus! This is Clarence Snyder. He’s a drunk.  Clarence! This is Jesus. Ask Him to come into your life.  Ask Him to remove your drinking problem, and pray that He manage your life because you are unable to manage it yourself."

After they had concluded this simple prayer, they rose from the side of the bed.  Doc shook Clarence’s hand and said to him, "Young feller, you’re gonna be all right."

Clarence sat back down on the side of the bed.  He was sweating profusely.  But he was feeling something strange.  Something he had probably never felt before in his entire life.  He felt absolutely clean.

He also felt relieved of a great burden that had weighed heavily upon him for what had seemed, forever.  He had just prayed that prayer, not like he had done so many times in the past.  Not like he had prayed in Sunday School, in churches and in the missions.  He had prayed this particular prayer like he really meant it - meant every word that had come out of his mouth.  He prayed the prayer directly from the center of his heart and not from a brain befogged from alcohol.  He had prayed that way because he had felt his very life had depended upon each and every word that came out of his mouth.

In all actuality - it did!

58

Chapter 3.7

"At T. Henry and Clarace Williams’ Home"

"You cannot belong to the Oxford Group. It has no membership list, subscriptions, badge, rules, or definite location. It is a name for a group of people who, from every rank, profession, and trade, in many countries, have surrendered their lives to God and who are endeavoring to lead a spiritual quality of life under the guidance of the Holy Spirit."10

That same evening, Doc took Clarence out of the hospital.  Clarence was a new man, dressed in old clothing.  All the clothing he owned was the clothing he wore on his back, his old mission clothes.  No overcoat to protect him from the elements.  A mismatched suit that was way too large for him and that had patches on it of different colored material where it had worn out.  A shirt with a frayed collar and ripped pocket, with a tie that Doc had given him that didn’t seem to match anything except the loudness of its colors.  He wore one black shoe and one brown one with socks that had no toes or heels.

He felt, at the very least, self-conscious.  Doc said it really didn’t matter because where they were going, no one was going to look upon the outside of him.  They wouldn’t be interested in his worldly appearance.  All they would be interested in, Doc continued, was what was on the inside, in his spirit.

They walked outside, not as doctor and patient, but as two drunks.

They got into Doc’s car for the short ride to what Doc had promised him would be a rewarding evening.  Clarence had, through experience, learned not to question Doc.  But just to go along.

They drove to 676 Palisades Drive, in Akron.  It looked like a millionaire’s home to Clarence.  It was, in fact, the home of T. Henry and Clarace Williams. T. Henry and Clarace were prominent members of the Oxford Group in Akron, (see appendix A, "What was the Oxford Group").

When the Oxford Group people had been required, by the high rent, to move from the Mayflower Hotel in Akron, T. Henry and Clarace Williams opened up their home to the group.  The first regular Oxford Group meetings in Akron had been held at the same Mayflower Hotel in which Bill Wilson was staying and from which he supposedly made his phone calls, seeking to help himself by helping another "drunk."  One of those calls was to the Reverend Dr. Walter

59

It was, in fact, the home of T. Henry and Clarace Williams.

photo: August 1998

60

Tunks, an Oxford Group adherent who put him in touch with Henrietta Seiberling, another Oxford Group adherent. Wilson’s conversations with Henrietta had led him to an introduction to Dr. Robert H. Smith.

The ensuing meeting of the two - Bill and Dr. Bob - at Henrietta’s home at the Gate House of the Seiberling Estate was to lead to the founding of was, four years later, to become known as Alcoholics Anonymous.11

Clarence was still very self-conscious. But with Doc’s gentle guidance and insistence, he walked inside. He had not been inside a home like this in many years.

There were oriental rugs on the parquet, wood floors.  Beautiful oil paintings from both European masters and contemporary American artists adorned the walls.  There were shelves on the walls which were lined with miniature figurines and bric-a-brac.

The expensive porcelain figurines and bric-a-brac caught Clarence’s rapt attention.  Still relying on his survival mode thinking patterns, Clarence thought, that if things got too uncomfortable, he could pocket a "few of these trinkets," and sell them for bottles of alcohol.  He stored the location of the most expensive looking figurines in his mind for future reference.  He continued walking further into the house, directly behind Doc.  The further he went into the house, he noticed and stored the location of many more valuables in his mind.  These included, for some unknown reason, a Grand Piano in the corner.  It probably wasn’t the piano that he was after, but the silver picture frames and more expensive bric-a-brac that were on it.

He then started noticing something else.  He noticed all of the women sitting around the house in comfortable chairs.  These, he surmised, were "high class" women.  All were dressed in fancy, expensive Haute Couture.  At least, that is what it looked like to Clarence, who had been on the "bum" and used to mission clothing.

These women were sitting and chatting among themselves and with the other well dressed gentlemen who also abounded.  These men, he surmised, were definitely not "rummies."  They were "Earth people, civilians."

His mind was reeling.  He felt, for a moment, that Doc had taken him to a fancy brothel, a rich people’s house of prostitution.   But, there, sitting in one of those large, overstuffed, Victorian, wing-backed chairs, apart from all the others, talking to a woman that he later found out was Doc’s wife, Anne Smith, was Dorothy.  His own wife!  His heart almost stopped there and then in shock.  He had to hold on to something to steady himself. What he held on to was Doc.

61

It seemed that Doc had telephoned Dorothy to come to Akron for this meeting.  Doc later told Clarence that she was reluctant at first, and had refused to come. Doc also told him later that he had then invited her to come to his home so that Doc and his wife could talk with her about this new "cure," a cure that Doc himself had taken.

This new way of life that was so successful with him and the others to whom he had passed it on.  Men just like Clarence.

Dorothy had still not been convinced.  Not until Doc put Anne on the telephone to talk with her.  Clarence remembered that Anne Smith had a way about her that could charm a troubled spirit like nothing else could.  Later on, after the alcoholics’ membership began to flourish, Anne Smith would meet with the wives at her home and they would have their own sort of fellowship.  Dorothy gave in to Anne and stated that the only reason that she was coming to visit was because of Anne. Not Clarence.

Dorothy drove down to Akron to meet with Doc and Anne.  She found them to be two of the nicest, down-to-earth people she had ever met.  They instilled in her a hope that this new "cure" would work on her husband.  Though she still held on to numerous reservations as far as Clarence was concerned, Dorothy had listened.  She told Anne and Doc about Clarence’s drinking history, about his promises to stop, and about all the fruitless "cures" he had tried over the years.

Doc promised Dorothy he would bring Clarence to a meeting attended by Dorothy only when he felt that Clarence was ready.  She agreed to come when, and if, this event actually occurred.  Doc told her that Clarence would probably be ready the following Wednesday evening.  Dorothy didn’t believe that this would happen but she was curious and wanted to "check out" these other people.  She was also curious to see with her own eyes this "new Clarence" that Doc had told her about.

Dorothy was neither asked to, nor did she make any guarantees that she would take Clarence home with her.  She did, however, agree to be there at the meeting the next Wednesday night.  Dorothy and Anne had hit it off quite well; and, in spite of her reservations about Clarence, Dorothy knew that she did want to continue the dialogue with Anne.

Doc had arranged for one of the other "rummies’" mothers to drive Dorothy to Akron the next week.  This woman was Mrs. T., and she was a lot like Anne Smith. Friendly and with a spirit of serenity and genuine goodness that Dorothy hadn’t seen for years.

Lloyd T. was an early member who had gotten sober in 1937 with Doc’s help and was himself, a frequent visitor to the meetings in Akron.

62

Bill D., Alcoholics Anonymous Number 3

When the book Alcoholics Anonymous was being written, Lloyd was asked to submit his story for inclusion in the book. His story, The Rolling Stone, appeared in all sixteen printings of the First Edition.

On the appointed Wednesday night meeting at the Williams’ home, Clarence just stood there. Dorothy just sat in her chair. Both of them with their mouths dropped open. They were staring at each other in complete shock and disbelief.

Dorothy had been told that Clarence would be there, but he was the last person she ever expected to see. She thought that Doc would never feel Clarence was ready for this meeting. But there Clarence was, and Dorothy did see something very different in Clarence.

Despite Clarence’s obviously disheveled appearance, there seemed to be a newness about him. He stood straight. His blue eyes were clear and sparkling. True, he looked quite emaciated; but at the same time he also looked healthier than Dorothy had seen him in many years. He seemed as healthy as he had been, when he first swept Dorothy off of her feet at that dance, that now seemed so many years ago. Not so much healthy on the outside as he appeared to be healthy on the inside.

Clarence still felt self-conscious.  His clothing, his physical demeanor.  What would Dorothy think?  Now that he really felt he was on the road to recovery, would Dorothy be willing, after all that they had been through, to travel it with him?  Would it be travel or just travail?

Clarence was about as prepared for this encounter as he had been prepared to get down off of that hospital bed on to the cold concrete floor dressed in his shorty night shirt.  About as prepared for this as he had to ask God to manage his life.  He had trusted Doc before.  Why not again? But still …

Just at that moment, Doc grabbed Clarence’s hand and began to introduce him to the other people in the room. "Doc saved me again," Clarence recalled.  Clarence met Anne Smith, Henrietta Seiberling (who had been instrumental in bringing Bill and Doc together), Henrietta D. (the wife of Bill D., whose story, Alcoholics Anonymous Number 3, is in the second and third editions of the A.A. Big Book), and T. Henry and Clarace Williams, whose magnificent house this was.

63

Clarence then began to notice some of the men who had visited him in the hospital, who had given so freely of their time, and who had shared their lives with a complete stranger.  There was Jim S. (whose story, Traveler, Editor, Scholar, was in the First Edition of the Big Book), Bill V.H., (whose story, A Ward of the Probate Court, was in the First Edition), the S. brothers, Paul, (whose story, Truth Freed Me, was in the First Edition), and Dick, (whose story, The Car Smasher was in the First Edition), Lloyd T. (whose mother had driven Dorothy to Akron), Bill D. himself, and quite a few others.

All welcomed him, shaking his hand, and saying that they all genuinely meant what they said.  Clarence rapidly began to feel less ill at ease.  Even Dorothy came up to him, took his hand in hers, and smiled.

It was a smile that Clarence had not seen in years and had thought, prior to this night, he would never see again.

Bill V.H. wanted to speak with Clarence privately.  Clarence reluctantly excused himself, exacting a promise from Dorothy that she would be there when he returned.  He followed Bill in to a side room.

Bill took out his wallet, a worn, leather billfold, stuffed to overflowing with papers and cards.  All of this was held together with a rubber band. Clarence thanked Bill in advance for what he thought was to be money, and waited for a couple of dollars to pass in to his hands.  Instead, to Clarence’s dismay, Bill dumped the billfold’s contents on to a small marble table, atop which was a Tiffany lamp.  Bill began laboriously to sift through all of these papers, stopping once and a while to take a closer look, and examine what was written on them.

At last he found what he was looking for.  He held it up to Clarence as if it were made of a precious material.  He slowly placed the item into Clarence’s outstretched palm.  He placed his other hand over Clarence’s and looked seriously in to his eyes.

He then uttered only three words. Clarence always remembered that scene as if it had happened just the day before.  The three words were, "Read and remember."  Bill turned, picked up the contents of his billfold, and slowly walked away.  Leaving Clarence with this piece of paper in his hand.

Clarence held the card up to read this very important message.  The message contained on this small piece of paper had a great impact on the rest of Clarence’s recovered life.  A recovered life that lasted over forty-six years.

Clarence learned the message.  He memorized it.  He believed in it.

He taught it to everyone who would listen to him.  And, most important of all to Clarence, he lived it.  It was a quote from the King James

64

Version of the Bible. It was quoted from the Book, Second Corinthians, Chapter Five, Verse seventeen: "Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: Old things are passed away; behold, all things are become as new."

Clarence began to cry. He really felt that the old indeed had just passed away, and that all things had become as new.

Chapter 3.8

"The Meeting at T. Henry’s"

"Guests at these House-parties are treated as guests; they meet on an equal social footing, whatever may be their social status elsewhere; gloom is conspicuous by its absence, and there is more laughter at an Oxford Group House-party than at many ordinary social gatherings."12

"Moved by the spirit of anonymity, we try to give up our natural desires for personal distinction as A.A. members both among fellow alcoholics and before the general public."13

"But why shouldn’t we laugh? We had recovered and have been given the power to help others.

"Everybody knows that those in bad health, and those who seldom play, do not laugh much. So let each family play together or separately, as much as their circumstances warrant. We are sure God wants us to be happy, joyous, and free."14

The meeting was about to begin.  Everyone began to take his seat.

Clarence and Dorothy sat next to Lloyd T. and his mother, as was suggested by Doc.  There were about fifty people at the meeting. Alcoholics from Akron, a few from Cleveland, and the balance "just plain old sinners who didn’t drink," as Clarence put it.  The chosen leader for that night was, as Clarence remembered, Paul S. ("Truth freed me" 1st Ed.)

Paul opened the meeting with a prayer for all of those in attendance and for those unfortunates who were still living in sin on the outside.

Paul then read a verse or two out of the King James Version of the Bible.  Clarence remembered that the particular verses, as well as everything at the meeting, had been "gotten from Guidance" before the meeting.

In the Oxford Group, Guidance was by the Holy Spirit and was received through "two-way" prayer.  There was a prayer to God for Guidance and then listening for leading thoughts from God. The per-

65

son who, through "Guidance," was chosen to lead the meeting would pray for God to "Guide" him or her as to what he should read or say at the meeting.  Then there would be "quiet time" spent silently listening for, and then, to God’s response.  The Group would then read from a Bible devotional - usually THE UPPER ROOM. This was a publication of the Methodist Church South out of Nashville, Tennessee.

66

THE UPPER ROOM was, and is, a daily devotional, published as a quarterly every three months and in the 1930’s, it cost five cents per issue.  For each day of the month, there was an inspirational Bible quote, then a verse from the Bible to read, then two or three paragraphs pertaining to this particular Bible verse as it related to what was then, the modern world.  Then there was a prayer and a thought for the day.  THE UPPER ROOM is still published today, and, except for the price per issue, contains essentially the same type of material that it contained from its inception in 1935.

After the group at the Williams’ home completed its prayer, Bible reading, quiet time, and reading from the Bible devotional, the leader would "give witness" (tell about his or her past life and what God had done for him or her).  This witness lasted about twenty to thirty minutes.  Then the leader "giving witness" would open the floor to those in attendance at the meeting.  Those present would raise their hands; the leader would call upon them; and, then, they too would "give witness." But for a shorter period of time as Clarence described it, "They went on and on with all kinds of things.

People jumping up and down and witnessing and

Reprint still available from Methodist Church "The Upper Room" 15

67

one thing or another. Some of ‘em would get pretty emotional and carried away. Crying and all kinds of business going on." Clarence went on to say, "It sure was a sight to see, especially for this rummy. After all, just being on the bum like I was, and a total stranger to all of this mumbo-jumbo stuff."

On Monday nights there was a preparatory meeting, called for all of those who were, according to Clarence, considered "most surrendered."

These were people, Clarence said, who had already made their

68

full surrender according to the tenets of the Oxford Group.  This preparatory meeting involved, among other things, sitting in T. Henry’s living room and praying for "guidance" from God as to who should be the leader for the regular Wednesday night meeting.  There was a "quiet time" of complete silence.  Those assembled would then write down on a piece of paper, the name of a person God had revealed to them in answer to their prayers. Clarence said he had been absolutely amazed to see that, on most of these occasions, a majority of these people, and, sometimes all of them, ended up with the same name on their respective papers.

Clarence said that when a new person was invited to the regular Wednesday meeting, he or she, one at a time, was taken aside, and had the tenets of the Oxford Group explained to him or her.  A major Oxford Group practice involved "Guidance," and, as stated, "Guidance" at meetings took place during mandatory "quiet time."

Clarence told how when Doc explained to him about Guidance that, "The good Lord gave me two ears and one mouth.  That should give me an indication that I should listen twice as much as I should pray."

New people were told they had to read the Bible - The KING JAMES VERSION of the Bible. They were instructed to do this on a daily basis. Clarence said that newcomers were also told to read THE UPPER ROOM daily and to read the SERMON ON THE MOUNT by Emmet Fox.

Clarence said the new people were then instructed on the Four Standards.

These were Biblical principles the Oxford Group people had taken from the teachings of Jesus Christ found in the Bible.  These "Four Standards" were also called the "Four Absolutes" - Absolute Honesty, Unselfishness, Love and Purity.

According to an early A.A. pamphlet still in print and is used in Cleveland, Ohio, the following is stated regarding the Four Absolutes: "… The Twelve Steps represent our philosophy.  The Absolutes represent our objectives in self-help, and the means to attain them.  

HONESTY, being the ceaseless search for truth, is our most difficult and yet most challenging objective.  It is a long road for anyone, but a longer road for us to find the truth.  

PURITY is easy to determine.  We know what is right and wrong. Our problem here is the unrelenting desire to do that which is right.  

UNSELFISHNESS is the stream in which our sober life must flow, the boulevard down which we march triumphantly by the grace of God, ever alert against being side tracked into a dark obscure alley along the way.  Our unselfishness must pen-

69

etrate our whole life, not just as our deeds for others, for the greatest gift we bestow on others is the example of our own life as a whole.

LOVE is the medium, the blood of the good life, which circulates and keeps alive its worth and beauty. It is not only our circulatory system within ourselves, but it is our medium of communication to others."15

Clarence said the early Oxford Group people were told to live by these Absolutes to the best of their ability. They were told to judge their actions and thoughts by first asking themselves four questions:

    1) Is it true or false?

    2) Is it right or wrong?

    3) How will it affect the other fellow?

    4) Is it ugly or beautiful?

These questions can also be found in the pamphlet, The Four Absolutes.

The early meetings ended with "fellowship time," a period of time which was set aside for socializing, exchanging telephone numbers, speaking with newcomers, and making plans.  These plans were for social events, in which all participated, in the regular meeting for the next week.

It was the custom for the older Oxford Group people to participate in the "surrender" of the newer members.  When Clarence had attended weekly meetings for a couple of months, he was taken upstairs to make his surrender.

Doc told him, "Young feller, it’s about time you make your full surrender."  Clarence was still unsure what this meant, but he knew that Doc never steered him wrong and that he had to listen to Doc in order to continue in his new life.  A life now free from alcohol and the resulting misery that had always accompanied his drinking.

At Clarence’s surrender, T. Henry, Doc, and a couple of the other Oxford Group members went into T. Henry’s bedroom.  They all, including Clarence, who by now was used to this kneeling, got down on their knees in an attitude of prayer.  They all placed their hands on Clarence, and then proceeded to pray.

These people introduced Clarence to Jesus as his Lord and Savior.

They explained to Clarence that this was First Century Christianity.

Then they prayed for a healing and removal of Clarence’s sins, especially his alcoholism. When he arose, said Clarence, he once again felt like a new man.

After Clarence’s first Oxford Group meeting, upon leaving the hospital, Doc told Clarence to go back to Cleveland and "fix rummies" as an avocation for the rest of his life.  Doc also told Clarence to make

70

amends to all those he had harmed.  Doc told him the most important things in life were to, "Trust God, clean house and help others."

At first, Clarence didn’t have much luck attracting anybody to this new "cure."  However, he himself stayed sober.  He continued to attend the weekly meetings at T. Henry’s in Akron.  Soon after his later full surrender, Clarence had his first "baby."   He now really had a message to carry.

Chapter 3.9

"The Message Is Brought To Cleveland"

"A traveler once saw an old man planting a carob tree. ‘When will the tree bear fruit’ asked the traveler? ‘Oh, perhaps in seventy years,’ the old man answered. ‘Do you expect to live to eat the fruit of that tree?’

‘No,’ said the old man.

‘But I didn’t find the world desolate when I entered it, and as my fathers planted for me before I was born, so do I plant for those who come

after me.’"16

After Clarence’s first meeting, Dorothy invited Clarence to come home with her.  She was so impressed not only with the meeting, Doc and Anne, and the other Oxford Group members, but also with Clarence.  She felt, within him, a new spirit, a new man.

Clarence went back to Cleveland, as he put it, to "fix rummies as an avocation - for free."  That was his assignment, his ministry.  This way of life had been strongly suggested to him by his Oxford Group sponsor, Doc Smith.  It wasn’t so much a suggestion.  It was an order!

Clarence recalled of these early days: "Now picture this kids.  There was no A.A.’s Big Book, there was no A.A. groups.  There was no nuthin!  I’m alone in Cleveland, Ohio.  Out of a country of a million and a quarter people,... there was no shortage of rummies... I felt that I’d never really be a good member of this bunch of rummies in Akron until I’d sponsored somebody."

Sponsorship then was nothing like sponsorship as it is known as in A.A. today.  Clarence said that in the 1930’s, no one could just walk into the Ohio Oxford Group meeting from off of the streets.  Nor were the meetings advertised in the newspapers for the most part, except for the large house-parties and team meeting rallies.  A person had to be "sponsored" into the meetings, just as was the case for the more select country clubs and what were known as the "father and son"

71

Euclid Avenue, Cleveland

unions. A person would have to be brought in by another Oxford Group adherent. You couldn’t just walk in.

Clarence had little to show anyone other than himself.  There was no A.A.’s Big Book.  There were no A.A. pamphlets, no A.A. history, nor A.A. groups.  There was, of course, Oxford Group’s lecture, but it was not tailored for the alcoholic.  Clarence therefore started out by walking the streets of Cleveland.  He went into places where "rummies" hung out.  He certainly knew many personally.

72

73

Clarence wasn’t afraid he would pick up a drink himself because his, as he put it, his "purpose was right."  He said he could go "into the depths of Hell if my purpose was right."  He went every place that he could think of.  Everyplace where, a few short months before he himself had been.  "I went into the joints and tackled ‘em," he said!  "I walked right in and tackled some rummy and told him he ought to  quit drinking.  He ought to be like me."

Somehow, each and every time he did that, he met with resistance.

Some of it was verbal.  Some of it was physical.  That, however, in no way deterred him from trying to fulfill the directions given to him by his sponsor.  "I talked to hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of assorted rummies, dipsomaniacs, drunks and what have you.  Alcoholics," he said.

Clarence went into saloons, alleys, and abandoned buildings.  He went even so far as to go back to Kingsbury Run and the "Roaring Third." He went to speak to, and with, the Associated Charities, the police, doctors, and the clergy.  At first to no avail.

No avail, that is, until soon after he had made his "full surrender" in T. Henry’s bedroom.  On his knees.

Almost seven months after he had left the hospital, said Clarence, "I trapped my first one.  I got my first baby into the hospital.  I will never forget that experience if I live to be a thousand years old.  Because it did something to me, and for me.  I never figured I’d be a real Indian and win my feathers until I’d sponsored somebody successfully."

The Depression was in full swing.  Many people had lost their homes.

They just vacated them and left the area.  Either that, or they had doubled up with relatives or friends.

There were scores of homeless people, a lot of them, "rummies," as Clarence called to people who were just wandering around.  Many of these homeless people moved into the abandoned buildings, just as they do today.  They went into these buildings to live and to gain some shelter from the elements.  They went to these abandoned places to avoid the eyes and stares of others and the shame associated with their situation in life.   Most of these people were men, but there were also many women who were placed in the same predicament.  They, however, somehow didn’t seem so visible. Many of the women had relatives or social organizations that took them in.  More so, than the men.

Clarence recalled:

"I was way over on Fleet Avenue, in the Polish section over there.  Bohemian section.  I went into one of these houses, and there was

74

probably fifteen or twenty rummies lying around in various conditions.

Some of ‘em were up, and some of ‘em were down.  Some of ‘em were passed out.  Some of ‘em were walking around."

He noticed, as he carefully surveyed the area, a very large man lying on the floor.  The man hadn’t passed out, but he also wasn’t moving.  This man was in a condition known as "alcohol paralysis."

He was able to see and hear everything; yet he just couldn’t move.

"Here was the perfect man for me to speak with," Clarence thought.

He couldn’t get up and leave.  He couldn’t take a swing at Clarence, and he couldn’t really argue back or make too many excuses.  He was the perfect prospect.  A captive audience.

Clarence got down on the floor beside this man and proceeded with his sales pitch.  Through this encounter, Clarence learned that this man’s name was Bill H., and that Bill H. had been an auditor for the Sherwin Williams Paint Company.  Bill told Clarence that he had been employed by Sherwin Williams for many years until the depression came on, and that they had then fired him.  He also told Clarence he hadn’t seen or spoken to his family in years.  This, he said, was because he’d been "on the bum."

Clarence then asked him if he wanted to quit drinking for good.

Tears were coming into Bill’s eyes as he said, "Yes."  This was the first prospect out of the hundreds with Clarence had spoken who had given him even the least bit of encouragement.  Clarence was elated.

Clarence said, "So I asked him the next silly question."  This man had been unemployed for years.  He hadn’t seen or spoken to his family for an equal amount of time.  He was paralyzed, and he was living in an abandoned building during the depression.  I asked him ‘Could you get a hold of any dough?  Fifty bucks?  I’ll get you into a drying out place and get you sobered up.’"

Clarence didn’t have to wait too long for an answer.  From the dejected look on Bill’s face, Clarence knew that he might just as well have asked Bill for fifty thousand dollars.  Clarence too began to feel dejected.  He had finally come across someone who wanted help and was willing to do anything to get it.  Yet Clarence couldn’t do anything to help him.

Just when Clarence was ready to give up and get up off of the floor, a broad smile slowly crept across Bill’s face.  He told Clarence that his elderly, widowed mother, who lived in Madison, Ohio, which was about fifty-five miles east of Cleveland, probably had the money.  Bill said that if Clarence were to go out there and tell the mother that he

75

had found her son, she would give him anything.  "Anything," said Bill, "if she knows that you’re gonna help me."

Clarence jumped up, told the man, who lay paralyzed on the floor, to "stay right there," and ran out. He borrowed a car from one of the other "rummies" in the Oxford Group, and headed out to Madison, Ohio.

The trip took over an hour and a half.  The house where Bill’s mother was supposed to have lived was a farm house about a half mile at the end of a dirt road that branched off from the main road.  Since Clarence had borrowed the car and the road was quite muddy and full of rocks and depressions, Clarence decided to walk.  He thought that it wouldn’t be such a good idea if he got stuck and couldn’t get out.  Off he went down this muddy, dirt road, on foot.

In the not too far distance he heard the distinct sound of gunfire.

"Boom, boom, boom, all over the place," said Clarence.  In all probability, it was the hunting season, and the people with the guns, he surmised, were "probably some of Bill’s pals or relatives.  They’re probably all jug heads, and they’re running around there shooting at everything that moves."

Clarence had to decide quickly whether or not to continue up this road and risk his life and limb, or go back to the safe car and "let the whole thing go down the drain."  He decided to continue on up to the house, ever mindful that the next step he took might be his last.  He prayed, with each and every step that he took, for God to protect him.

After all, wasn’t he on a mission for God?  Wasn’t he doing God’s work?  The least that God could do was allow him to complete the task at hand.

He knocked on the door and waited.  He knocked on the door again.

Eventually, this little, white-haired, old lady appeared at the door.

Looking at him as if to say, "Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

She looked around behind him and, seeing no car, looked him over from head to toe.  She looked down at his muddy shoes and pant’s legs and then back up to his sweaty face.  She had an expression on her face which seemed to say, "You’ve got to be crazy walking in the woods.  Don’t you know that it’s hunting season?"

All of this ran through Clarence’s mind as he started telling her that he had found her long lost son.  He told her he was going to put her son into a hospital to dry him out.  Clarence told her that he, himself was "cured" of this very same terrible disease, and that all he needed from her was fifty dollars to cover the expenses at the hospital.

76

He told her that her son Bill told him she would be willing to give him the money.  He then asked her what she thought of all this?  She stared at him with a totally blank expression on he face.  Oh, no, Clarence thought.  She too was a drunk, and was also in a stupor.

This, as it turned out was not the case.  If only it had been that simple.  In fact, Bill had neglected to tell Clarence one very tiny, minute detail. Bill had forgotten to tell Clarence his mother was Polish, and that she neither spoke nor understood a single word of English.  Somehow, Clarence learned the truth.

Clarence was dumbfounded.  He knew what he thought were two words of Polish.  Roughly translated, they were "Thank you," and "You’re welcome."   Clarence knew, sadly, that he could "thank you" and "you’re welcome" for just so long, and then would run out of conversation.

But along came a seven or eight year old child, who Clarence presumed was the lady’s grandson.  The child spoke broken English that he had learned from going to public school for a couple of years.  He also spoke fluent Polish.  Out of necessity, this child became the interpreter.

Very slowly, the whole story was retold.

The old lady started to cry and began to thank Clarence profusely.  She kissed him, shook his hands, and hugged him.  She chattered away endlessly in her native tongue, leaving Clarence unaware of the meaning of her words.

There were the depression years, and many people didn’t trust the banks too much.  This because many banks had closed and gone out of business.  Many people kept their money at home, close to where they could get to it.  They buried it in their back yards, in tin cans and in mattresses.   Anywhere they thought it would be safe.  Many felt that "no interest" was a lot better than "no money."

The mother excused herself and left the room.  Clarence quipped that she had probably "cut a lump out of the mattress."  When she came back into the kitchen where she had left Clarence with her grandson, the mother extended he trembling hand to Clarence.  In it was a large stack of dollar bills that were tied together with a string.  These were the old style bills, larger than the ones in use today.  She started counting these dollars, in Polish.  She was placing them into Clarence’s hands, one-by-one.

She tried to insist that Clarence take more than the fifty that he had asked for.  This she explained to him, was to cover any other expenses that he might have had to incur and for all of his troubles.

77

Clarence refused to take any more than the amount that he had originally requested.  "Fifty is all I need to get your son into the hospital," he said.  She kept insisting, pleading at times.  She said that he was insulting her and her family honor.  Clarence held steadfast.

He ran down that long road oblivious to the continued sounds of gunfire.  He got into the car and started back to Cleveland.  This trip that had taken him an hour and a half to get there, only took about an hour to get back.  Clarence was flying, in more ways than one.

When he returned to Cleveland, Bill was still lying there.  Just where Clarence had left him just a few hours earlier.  After telling Bill he had seen his mother and that she had given him the money, he went outside to call Doc.

Reaching Doc at his office, Clarence told him that he had gotten his first "baby."  He said he was going to drive him down to Akron and asked if Doc would meet them at the hospital.  He had to repeat the message a few times.  He was talking so fast that Doc had constantly to tell him either to repeat it or to slow down.

When he got off the phone with Doc, Clarence asked some of the other "jug-heads" to help him lift Bill up, and to put him into the back seat of the car.  Away Clarence and Bill went.  Clarence had "arrived."

He was a sponsor.  He had now gotten his "feathers."  Looking back, Clarence remembered that Bill finally came out of the paralysis in the hospital and that they had a very difficult time with him.

Bill found it difficult to "swallow" the spiritual program that was being outlined to him.  Clarence remembered that he and Doc had numerous verbal bouts with Bill.  There was even a point in the treatment where Doc had almost given up on Bill and suggested that Clarence do the same.

Because Bill was Clarence’s first "success," Clarence refused to give up.  He tried even harder.  He eventually convinced Bill to "accept that he needed new management in his life."  He said, "Bill did get on his knees."  Later on in Clarence’s sobriety he didn’t force anyone to accept anything.  He merely told them that they were the ones who had come to him because their lives were "messed up."  He told them that if they "didn’t want what I had, they could go on their merry way and come back, if and when they were ready to go to any lengths to get well.  To recover."

Bill managed to stay dry as Clarence remembered, for about two years.  But, as Clarence put it, due to Bill’s continued stubbornness, Bill began to manage his own life once again.  Each time he did this, it was done with disastrous results.

78

According to archival material relating to the "A.A. Association,"  Bill had to be hospitalized on at least two more occasions.

These records showed that on March 12, 1940, William J. H. owed a hospital balance of $34.07.  In the records for November, 1940, Bill’s balance was "Paid by the A.A. Association."

The "A.A. Association" was a committee that was set up for the purpose of recording hospital bills owed by "prospects" and members.

"Prospects" were people who were prospective members, who had not as yet "taken their Steps."  The A.A. Association committee was comprised of members of the Fellowship who collected money from prospective members, their families, and other members, and turned the money over to the "Approved Hospitals."

The Association often paid the bills of those less fortunate who were unable to do so themselves.  The Association kept an ongoing monthly record of who owed what.  These records often showed that patient - the "prospect" - was "still in house."  What this meant was that the newcomer was still in the hospital when the monthly report came out.

Written in some of these reports were Clarence penciled notation of the amount still owed.  An example of this was; "Charles R. … 3/10/40... still in house."  After that was written an entry of, "$61.28" in pencil.  Some of the other notations contain the name of the sponsor and/or the group into which that the "prospect" went.

This committee was eventually disbanded in the early 1940’s as the A.A. membership increased.  In part, this increase was due to a series of articles published in the Cleveland Plain Dealer in October and November of 1939.  The membership increased even more as a result of A.A.’s first national publicity.  This publicity came from an article in the Saturday Evening Post written by its a staff writer, Jack Alexander.  The Post issue came out on March 1, 1941.

Due to Cleveland’s phenomenal success, a large part of the article covered the experiences of Cleveland members.

After the A.A. Association committee was disbanded, it became the responsibility of A.A. groups and of the "newcomer’s" sponsor to see that his hospital bill was paid.  The "prospect" was constantly "encouraged" until the bill was paid in full. ( See archival section for "Hospital Rules.")

Bill H. eventually "got" the program, and, as Clarence remembered, "stayed sober for the rest of his life."

Return to Top

79

Chapter 3.10

"Cleveland Begins to Come of Age"

"Ideas do have legs, and they travel fast and far, for ‘they need no ships to cross the seas! ‘Indeed they move with such speed that ‘the idea conceived and born by the passion of one heart can shape and change the lives of millions, leading great nations on to destruction or destiny...’"17

80

Soon after Bill H. came into the Oxford Group, Clarence began to experience some success in his life.  Success not only in carrying the message of recovery as an avocation, but success in something equally as important.  Finding employment.

Years back, when Clarence was still in the finance business, he had worked with numerous automobile dealerships.  Many of whom he had helped to stay in business through some the worst years of the Depression.  One of these car dealerships was the E. D. LATIMER & Company. Mr. Latimer had surmised that Clarence had all of the innate qualities for and had what it took to be a super salesperson.

When Clarence approached Mr. Latimer about a position, Latimer hired him on the spot.  Latimer didn’t ask about where Clarence had been working prior to that time, where he had been or what he had been, doing the previous couple of years.

In an amazingly short period of time, and much to Mr. Latimer’s delight, Clarence began bringing in customers faster, and with more success than any of the other salespeople.  Past or present, regardless of experience.  Clarence had taken all of the old sales and service records from his predecessors and organized a massive list of all of the people who hadn’t brought their cars in for service.  Or had never brought them in at all. He also compiled a list of all of the customers, past and present, who were due to purchase a new car.

Utilizing these lists, Clarence routed out his course.  He arranged his schedule around the locations.  He got into his new, demonstrator car and visited each and every one of them personally.  He did this mostly in the evenings to help insure that, not only the customer, but his entire family would be present.

He kept only one evening free.  Wednesday evening was set aside for Clarence’s Oxford Group meetings in Akron.  In the fifteen months during which he attended Wednesday night meetings at T. Henry and Clarace Williams’ home, Clarence may have missed only one or two.

Clarence was very shrewd in his sales practices.  He showed a lot of concern.  Yet he often berated his potential customers.  He usually did this in front of their families where this practice had the most impact.

He scolded these customers, often telling them, "You are not taking care of your investment."

He developed a reputation throughout the greater Cleveland area for really caring for his customers and taking a personal interest in them.  "He," many said, "cared so much that he went personally to visit with them at their homes."  This practice was something unheard of for an automobile salesperson.

81

E.D. LATIMER was touted as being "Ohio’s Largest Ford and Mercury Dealer," and advertised, "You can always do business with ‘LATIMER’."  But personal care had never been Latimer’s strongest selling point.  Never, that is, until Clarence began working there.  People came in droves to see Clarence at the dealership.  Car owners, families, friends, even "rummies."  For Clarence not only sold Fords and Mercury's, he "sold" sobriety and the Oxford Group.  And Mr. Latimer didn’t care what else Clarence sold, as long as Clarence was selling cars in the volume that he did.

He had not one, but two, demonstrator cars at his disposal and in his possession.  One Ford and one Mercury.  This special treatment was unheard of in those days.  Usually even the best salesperson got just one demonstrator car for his personal use.

Clarence often said, "Now kids, think about this.  Think about Divine Providence."  After being "on the bum," with no home, no money to speak of, no job, his marriage down the tubes, Clarence had been introduced to a doctor who later turned out to be one of the founders of A.A.  He had been introduced to this doctor indirectly through another doctor, who not only lived over four hundred miles away, but who "just happened" to be the brother-in-law of the other co-founder to-be of A.A.  The doctor in Akron got him "fixed."  Clarence got his relationship with his wife back and was living back in his home.  He was earning a good salary (twenty dollars a week draw on commission).

Even more important, he had two cars that were always at his disposal.

These cars were used every Wednesday night to ferry alcoholics back and forth to the meetings of the Oxford Group in Akron, Ohio.

"This just doesn’t happen to ordinary people."  As Clarence stated shaking his head as he thought of the incredible events that happened in his life.

Both of Clarence’s cars began rapidly to fill up with "rummies": Clarence, Dorothy, George McD., John D., Lee L., Charlie J., Vaughn P., Clarence W., Bill H., Kay H., Sylvia K., Ed M., Lloyd T., assorted wives, husbands, and other family members.  All drove to Akron on a weekly basis. The "Cleveland Contingent," as they were called, hardly ever missed a Wednesday night meeting.

When they did miss a meeting, it was due to extremely hazardous driving conditions which had been produced by inclement weather.

The Cleveland Contingent stayed home, only after praying and receiving "guidance" about traveling that particular night.

Sylvia K. was one of the "babies" of Clarence and Dorothy. " After living with them for a while, Sylvia returned to her native Chicago,

82

and helped start A.A. there.  Her story, "The Keys Of The Kingdom," is in the Second and Third Edition of the Big Book.

83

Clarence was one of the few people who were instrumental in helping to bring women into A.A.  He argued strongly for their inclusion into the Fellowship when they were often unwelcome.  Many of the older, male members of A.A. felt about women that "they were nothing but trouble.  Even Bill and Bob were scared of ‘em and the trouble they often caused with the old bucks," said Clarence.

Bill V.H., in a letter to Clarence, written January 7, 1951, made reference to the problems with women, even wives.  Bill wrote, "You remember Roland and his good looking wife at King School don’t you?  Don’t get too excited..." King School was the location of the first meeting in Akron that followed the alcoholics break-off from the Oxford Group.  The break occurred after the original book had been published in April of 1939 (according to the United States Copyright Office, the actual publication date was April 10, 1939).

In the late 1930’s, most of the members of the Cleveland Contingent were Irish and belonged to the Roman Catholic Church.  Clarence remembered, they were "getting a hard time of things with the Church."

The problem, as Clarence remembered, was the Church’s concern with the tenets and teachings of the Oxford Group - essentially a Protestant, Evangelical fellowship.

At the early A.A. meetings, leaders read aloud from the King James Version of the Bible.  They "witnessed" and confessed their sins openly, one to another.  Clarence said this did not "sit too well with the Catholic Church."  On numerous occasions, Clarence had to sit down and meet with Roman Catholic alcoholics and the hierarchy of their Church to explain to them that alcoholics were not intentionally violating the Church’s teachings.

He remembered telling Roman Catholic alcoholics and the Church hierarchy that the groups were, instead, helping these members of the Church, who, due to their excessive drinking, had become non-productive members of society.  Outcasts as it were. He remembered explaining that they, the "alcoholic squad" of the Oxford Group, were working with these drunkards and, through this life-changing program, this "First Century Christian Fellowship," were turning them into "good Catholics."  Good Roman Catholic, and productive and income-earning citizens.  He also pointed out that many a marriage was being salvaged, thereby keeping members of the Church from getting divorced and risking excommunication.  "The Church didn’t buy this line, not one bit," said Clarence.

Clarence remembered that the problems with the Church grew in direct proportion to the ever-growing numbers of people in the Ox-

84

ford Group from the Cleveland Contingent.  Clarence often spoke with his "sponsor," Doc, about this increasing dilemma.

According to Clarence, the Roman Catholic members were being warned by their Church not to attend the Oxford Group meetings.  No matter how hard Clarence begged, pleaded, and cajoled church leaders, he could not dissuade them.  The Church officials, as Clarence remembered, were threatening the newly "fixed rummies" with excommunication.  The "rummies" felt this was putting in jeopardy not only their spiritual lives, but also their continued physical well being.

The overwhelming problem as Clarence saw it, was that if the alcoholics left the Oxford Group, they stood a strong chance of returning to their alcoholic drinking.  Then, to eventual insanity or death.  On the other hand, if they stayed with the Oxford Group and maintained their new found sobriety, they would surely be excommunicated from their Church.  Then, they resumed, according to their beliefs, they would lose all hope of ever going to Heaven when they died, or even of having a personal contact with God.  A personal contact, which, the Oxford Group stressed, was their only means of maintaining their sobriety.

The Roman Catholic alcoholics were thus in a double bind.  Stay with the Oxford Group and be denied the Kingdom of Heaven, or leave the group and be denied their new found sobriety.  The sobriety, which, in fact, had returned them to their God after years of alcoholic Hell. No matter which way they turned, Clarence felt, they were lost.

And they turned to Clarence for help.  This placed him in an equally and confusing dilemma.

Doc was very stringent and outspoken in his loyalty to the Oxford Group.  Mostly because the Oxford Group had saved his life, Clarence’s life and the lives of all the other "rummies."  Not to mention the restoration of all to their families, homes, jobs, and to new lives made out of old discards.  Doc felt that since there was nothing else to offer these alcoholics that differed in any way from what they now had in the Oxford Group, he could offer Clarence no solution.  No solution other than to keep talking with the Church officials in an effort to change their minds and hearts.  "Otherwise," Doc told Clarence, "if the Church did not change their minds, the men had but two choices.

Remain with the Oxford Group and probably risk excommunication, or very simply, leave the Church."

Neither of those choices was acceptable to Clarence or to the Roman Catholic members. But Clarence could not offer any alternative

85

choice to them.  He was, himself, in a major bind.  He felt he had to listen to his "sponsor," the man who had saved his life. He also felt that he needed to pray daily, incessantly, for "guidance" concerning what should be done about this problem.

Events in the following months produced what was eventually to be another choice - a choice that Clarence and the Cleveland Contingent had been praying for. A series of events, Divine Providence, that none of them had any idea existed.

The resulting choice produced the beginnings of a program of recovery.

A program that was similar to that of the Oxford Group, yet very different.  An option that would be open to all who still suffered from alcoholism.  A choice that would eventually become known around the world as Alcoholics Anonymous.  A fellowship for, and by, those who had an honest desire to quit drinking.

Return to Top

Chapter 4

THE BOOK

"To show other alcoholics PRECISELY HOW WE HAVE

RECOVERED is the main purpose of this book."18

Chapter 4.1

"Its Beginnings, and the Writing Of"

"In the early days of A.A., the entire fellowship was bound together by a chain of personal relationships - all created on the basis of a common program, a common spirit and a common tradition."19

In 1937, William Griffith "Bill" Wilson traveled throughout the Midwest looking for job prospects.  He stopped off in Akron, Ohio to visit with Doctor Bob and Anne Smith.  Both he and Doc discussed their successes and their many failures.  They reminisced about their first meeting and about trying to find some means to help change their lives.

Two years earlier, in a handwritten letter, dated "May ’35," Bill had written his wife, Lois, "I am writing this in the office of one of my new friends, Dr. Smith.  He had my trouble and is getting to be an ardent Grouper.  I have been to his house for meals, and the rest of his family is as nice as he is."   This letter which was written on Dr. Bob’s

86

office stationary went on to say, " I have witnessed at a number of meetings and have been taken to a number of people.  Dr. Smith is helping me to change a Dr. McK., once the most prominent surgeon in town, who developed into a terrific rake and drunk.  He was rich, lost everything, wife committed suicide, he was ostracized and on the point of suicide himself. His change, if accomplished, would be a most powerful witness to the whole town as his case is so notorious."

This shows Bill D. (Alcoholics Anonymous Number Three) was obviously not the first drunk that they had tried to "fix."  After Bill and Bob "Dr. McK." was the third.  This happened even before they tried to fix another guy, Eddy R. as reported in DR. BOB AND THE GOOD OLDTIMERS.  Eddy would have been AA #3 in June 1935 but he slipped.  He eventually got sober in 1949 at the Youngstown group, Ohio.

The aforementioned letter is presently located at Bill Wilson’s home at Stepping Stones in its Foundation Archives and a copy of it at Cleveland Intergroup archives.  It is believed to be the earliest correspondence known regarding Bill’s association with Dr. Bob.  It was written before Bill had moved in with the Smiths and after their first meeting at Henrietta Seiberling’s home.  Surprisingly the letter —handwritten with pencil— reports an upcoming "audit" in connection with Bill's planned rubber machinery deal.

This contradicts the common story, the deal had already totally failed.  And, as the story goes, Bill was tempted by the bar noise in the Mayflower Hotel, made afterwards his miraculous phone call to Rev. Tunks, was put in touch with Henrietta and finally met Dr. Bob.

The document does not support this story.

After two years of working with "rummies", Bill and Dr. Bob had helped to "fix" and helped about forty seemingly hopeless alcoholics to achieve sobriety.  Almost all these forty members of the yet unnamed society had attained at least two years of solid uninterrupted sobriety.

There were others who had difficulty maintaining a consistent sober status.  Yet, they too continued to attend the Oxford Group meetings on somewhat of a regular basis.

It appeared to Bill and Dr. Bob that they finally had developed a workable solution to the age old problem of alcoholism.  They both felt it would developed into something tremendous if it could be kept in its original form and not diluted or changed by word of mouth as one drunk passed it on to another.

The two founders discussed the possibility of a book which would explain in detail, the life-changing formula that people could follow.

87

The book would contain stories, examples of individuals, hopeless alcoholics, who had attained and continued to maintain their sobriety.

This book, when finished would afford many thousands, if not millions of alcoholics and their families whom Bill, Dr. Bob, and the other early members could not personally contact, the opportunity that the founders had had for a changed life.  The book would also insure, for generations to come, that this new way of life - as outlined in the book - would not become distorted or changed in any way.

Prior to the publication of the book, and while the first chapter was "being dictated," Henry G. P. ("Hank") wrote the "Sales Promotion Possibilities" and "The Market" for the book. Hank pointed out to Bill the following as to market potential:

    1. Over one million alcoholics (Rockefeller Foundation)

    2. At least a million non-alcoholics that have definite alcoholic relatives

    3. Every employer of 100 or more people

    4. Those that take an academic interest

    5. Two hundred & ten thousand ministers

    6. One hundred sixty-nine thousand physicians

    7. The total would be well over three million prospects"

Hank also had proposed an outline for the book, and the outline is located at Stepping Stones Foundation Archives.  Even prior to Hank’s marketing proposal and book outline, Bill had had similar ideas.  With the promotional opportunities which lay before him, Bill’s mind had begun to work overtime.  Not only would there be need for a book to carry the message, there would also be an even greater need for hospitals and even paid missionaries.  Hospitals to house the thousands of new converts and paid missionaries to continue to carry the message and the book around the country.  Eventually around the world.  Bill’s ideas were lofty indeed.

Even though the fledging fellowship had only a small band of forty sober drunks, Bill was thinking in the millions.  Not just in millions of new converts, but in millions of dollars as well.  However, in order to make millions, there would have to be a good deal of money to promote this new idea.

There would have to be campaign to raise funds.  Alcoholism was a plague upon mankind, and the fellowship had found, he felt, the only cure that had worked.  And it had worked, at least for them.

Bill had forgotten about the failures of the Washingtonians and of the Temperance Societies.  He appeared even to have forgotten the new fellowship’s own many failures.  Yet Bill thought that, surely, the

88

well-to-do would donate vast sums of money toward this worthy cause.

Hadn’t some of those same rich people generously supported the founder of the Oxford Group, Dr. Frank N. D. Buchman and donated to other philanthropic causes.  Bill Wilson and Doctor Bob felt that they could wipe out alcoholism with their simple plan.  But Dr. Bob, though enthusiastic about this idea, did not wish to run off and do something rash.

He calmly suggested to Bill that they get the Akron fellowship together and get its opinions.  They could all pray for guidance, and further discuss the idea.  Bill was not too keen on Dr. Bob’s idea for a meeting, because of the strong possibility that Bill would be voted down. Doc insisted.  According to Clarence, Dr. Bob stated that he would not be a part of anything in which the others and God were not involved.

When Doc insisted, he usually got his way.  For Bill knew that the majority of successful members were in Ohio and that they were loyal to Doctor Bob.  The few members in New York could not possibly carry out this plan without the Akron’s help.  Bill acquiesced in Doc’s wishes and called the members of the New York contingent to tell them of the plan.

The New York members apparently were fired up by Bill’s flowery words and promises of fame and fortune.  They told him they would vote on his proposal and get back to Bill within the next day or two.

The Ohio members, on the other hand, who were in the majority, not only in sheer numbers, but in length of continuous sobriety, did not get so fired up.  They held a meeting.  They listened to Bill as he paced the room.  Bill waved his hands, and at times pounded his fist on the table.  The Akronites watched as Bill lit cigarette after cigarette, often letting the ashes drop on his suit.  Bill was an excitable, "nervous man, whose clothing always was full of cigarette ashes.  He spoke loud and was always moving around, raising his voice for emphasis and always wanted to be in the front of things" [Quoted from an interview with Sue Smith-Windows, Dr. Bob’s daughter].

The Akron meeting listened to all that Bill had to say and then listened to the few words that Doc had to say.  Then they decided to have a quiet time and pray for guidance in this matter as they did in all important (and even in unimportant) matters.

The answer that came to them by guidance was almost unanimous, to the man.  And they were against the idea of the hospitals and the paid missionaries.  They were even against the idea of the massive fund-raising effort.  They did however, like the idea of the book, voted

89

to discuss it further, and prayed for more guidance.  They too, like Doc, could not be moved from their position.

The debate raged on.  Bill continued to promote his ideas to the Ohio members, with times of prayer in between.  A final vote was taken upon the urging of Doc.

When the votes were counted up, only the book idea and a proposal for a minimal amount of fund raising, "just to cover expenses" passed.

Clarence remembered being told by Doc, "It was real close, I think that it was passed by only one vote."  Bill then returned to New York to start the book project, as he and Hank thought they were the only ones with enough expertise to do it.  They were also going to try to raise some funds for this venture.

Bill was met at the train station in New York by Hank P., who was waiting - willing and eager to promote this new money-making idea.

Henry G. P. ("Hank") was the first drunk with whom Bill had worked that had stayed sober for any length of time.  When Hank left A.A. at a later point, he had about four years of sobriety.

Bill had first met Hank at Towns Hospital, which was located at 293 Central Park West in New York City.  This was the same hospital at which Bill had several times been a patient.  It was there that Bill later claimed to have had his "White Light" spiritual experience.

Hank was a red-headed dynamo salesman and promoter whose head, like Bill’s was always filled with grandiose ideas, or so Clarence felt.

These ideas had gotten Hank into very high positions in life.  However, because of his excessive drinking, Hank had been fired from a Vice President’s position at Standard Oil of New Jersey.  He then landed in Towns Hospital and was treated for chronic alcoholism.  Prior to going into the Towns, Hank had started a new business venture and opened a small office in New Jersey.

And it was in this small office space on the sixth floor at 17 William Street in Newark, New Jersey, that A.A. had its first office.  And Ruth Hock, Hank’s secretary, eventually became A.A.’s first secretary.

According to Clarence, Ruth was also one of the primary reasons Bill and Hank eventually had a falling out, a few years later. Clarence told the author, "I don’t remember exactly who was hitting on Ruth, but one of these birds had to go, it was a real mess."

Both Clarence and his wife Dorothy became very close with Ruth and, in later years, still remained friendly with her.  Clarence thought that it was probably Hank who was the one who had made romantic advances towards Ruth and that Bill told him not to.  But, as Clarence put it, nobody told Henry G. P. "No" and remained his friend.  And certainly not his business partner.

90

In any event, when Bill returned from Akron in 1937, Hank and Bill compiled a listing of wealthy men who, they thought, would be willing to "pour" money into this noble cause.  They had Ruth write numerous letters, and they personally called upon each and every one of the men on their list. They told each man of the "cure" that they had effected, giving themselves and other sober members as living proof of their success.  After a great deal of effort, letter writing, cajoling, pleading, and "sure-fire" sales ploys, they had been unable to raise a single dollar.  Nor were they able to arouse the slightest interest in the project.

Both men became despondent.  It seemed that their grand scheme had fallen apart.  Bill was prone to depression and, as early as the beginning of May 1935, he wrote Lois "I am sorry I was blue yesterday" [This letter is located at the Stepping Stones Foundation Archives].

There was absolutely no money to publish the book.  Dreams of hospitals and paid missionaries had seemed to vanish, gone up in smoke.  However, Bill and Hank would not give up.  They were driven men, determined to continue on.  Continue against impossible odds to fulfill their dreams.  Doc and the Ohio contingent continued with their prayers and continuously added to the numbers of sober alcoholics in their fellowship.

Bill came up with another idea.  In the fall of 1937, he visited with his brother-in-law, Dr. Leonard V. Strong (Dr. Strong was married to Bill’s sister, Dorothy, was personal physician to the entire Wilson family, and was personal physician to Clarence’s sister-in-law, Virginia.)  Bill told Dr. Strong about the bad luck that both he and Hank were having in raising the necessary funds to bring their project to fruition.  Bill also stated to Dr. Strong that he wished that he (Bill) had entree to John D. Rockefeller, Jr.

John D.

Rockefeller's

House

in Cleveland

91

Bill was sure that if John D. were to take a personal, as well as financial interest in this great humanitarian work, he would invest heavily in it.  Didn’t Mr. Rockefeller fight vigorously for the Constitutional Amendment dealing with Prohibition and hadn’t he given vast sums of money to that cause, Bill asked Strong.

Dr. Strong listened intently to Bill.  He tried to think if he could be of any assistance.  After all, he was Bill’s brother-in-law, and Bill was indeed staying sober due to this new way of life.  A miracle indeed.

Dr. Strong remembered a young woman whom he had dated back in High School.  This woman was a the niece of Willard Richardson’s and Willard Richardson just happened to be head of all of John D. Rockefeller Jr.’s Church charities.  Strong remembered Richardson quite well, and also remembered that Mr. Richardson had solicited contributions from him on several occasions.

Dr. Strong told Bill he would contact Richardson and that he would, in fact, call him on the telephone at his office.  During that phone conversation, Dr. Strong explained to Richardson the work that Bill and the others had been doing and about the great success that they had been having in working with alcoholics.  Strong also pointed out, at Bill’s insistence, the great need for funding and of the lack of success that they were having in securing it.

Willard Richardson became so excited about the idea that he suggested that Bill and Dr. Strong come over the very next day in order further to discuss the group’s ideas and possibilities.  Dr. Strong begged apology that he could not attend, but wrote a letter of introduction for Bill to Mr. Richardson which was dated October 26, 1937.

Bill attended the meeting with Richardson the next day, and after a lengthy conversation, both decided to set up another meeting.  This meeting would be with some of Mr. Rockefeller’s close associates.

Bill felt that he was on his way to the top.

The proposal for this later meeting was outlined in a letter from Mr. Richardson to Dr. Strong, dated November 10, 1937.  This proposal stated that they would meet in "Mr. Rockefeller’s private board room."

Present, for Rockefeller’s staff would be: 1) Richardson, 2) Albert L. Scott, Chairman of the Board of Trustees of the Riverside Church and President of Lockwood-Greene Engineers, Inc., and 3) Frank Amos, an advertising man and close friend of Mr. Rockefeller. [Years later, in Frank Amos’s obituary, he would be lauded as "one of the five men who founded Alcoholics Anonymous."  The obituary pointed out that Amos had been a long term trustee of what was to become

92

the Alcoholic Foundation in 1938.] 4) A. LeRoy Chipman, an associate who looked after many of Rockefeller’s affairs.

To add legitimacy also invited were Dr. Strong and Dr. William D. Silkworth from Towns Hospital, a renowned expert of that day in the field of alcoholism.  Dr. Silkworth would later write "The Doctor’s Opinion" in the A.A.’s Big Book.  Dr. Bob decided to come, as well as Fitzhugh "Fitz" M., who was the son of a minister and a resident of Cumberstone, Maryland.  Fitz’s story "Our Southern Friend" appears in all three editions of the Big Book.  Also invited were other members of both the New York and Akron fellowship.

This meeting, which was held in December of 1937, proved to be one of the turning points for what was eventually to be known as Alcoholics Anonymous.  The alcoholics who were present told their stories about how they were released from alcoholism.  When they were through, Albert Scott, who was chairing the meeting, stood up and excitedly exclaimed, "Why, this is First Century Christianity!

What can we do to help?"

The dollar signs in Bill’s eyes lit up again.  Here were Rockefeller’s staff asking what "they" could do to help.  Bill then began explaining a litany of things the fellowship would need.  Money for paid workers and for chains of nationwide and, eventually, worldwide hospitals.

The hospitals would be strictly for alcoholics.  Then there was the book project and other literature that paid missionaries would be using to help them in carrying the message.  Of course, Bill explained, they would start off modestly; but eventually, vast sums of money would be needed if this were to grow into a much needed world wide movement.

Being the promoter and one of the organizers of the project, Bill explained that the profits from the sales of hundreds and thousands of books would get this movement on its feet.  However, for right now, they needed a vast sum of seed money to start.

As Dr. Silkworth and some of the alcoholics were caught up in the enthusiasm many expressed pretty much the same opinion.  Except, that is, for Doc and most of the Akron contingent present, who kept their reservations to themselves.  They were reserving their right to question Bill’s motives later.

After the alcoholics had their chance to speak, a most important question was asked of them. A question that would save A.A. for many years to come.  A question that would save the alcoholics from themselves.

93

"Won’t money spoil this thing," they were asked?  Bill and many of the other New York members sank down in their chairs.  Dr. Bob felt God’s hand in this reasoning.  The question was repeated, "Won’t money create a professional class that would spoil their success of working man-to-man?   Won’t chains of hospitals, property and prestige be a ‘fatal diversion’?"

It seemed to Bill and the New York alcoholics that all of the complaints and votes expressed in Akron were coming up all over again.  Complaints that began both to haunt and send them into a state of discouragement and despair.  But it was a saving grace that saner and sober non-alcoholic minds prevailed.

Frank Amos left for Akron that next week.  Akron was chosen because it was the most successful in membership numbers and length of continuous sobriety.  It was also the most probable sight for the first, if any, of the alcoholic hospitals.  This due, in part, to the fact that Dr. Bob, the proposed head doctor, lived in Akron.

Amos went over everything two or three times with a fine tooth comb.  He interviewed members of the medical community; families and members of the yet unnamed society; and the clergy, who were involved with them.  Amos attended meetings of the Oxford Group and scouted sights for the proposed hospital.  He came away from the experience sold on the idea.

Amos returned to New York, as excited as Bill had hoped he would be.  In preparing his report, Amos left out no details of what he had seen and found.  In his recommendation to Mr. Rockefeller, he proposed that this new society be given the sum of $50,000 which, in today’s terms, would have been equal to something between $3,000,000 and $5,000,000.  [Weekly income for a simple job was $8 in those years.]  This was indeed something worthwhile.  Something that Mr. Rockefeller would surely be interested in.  It encompassed religion, medicine, reclaimed lives, and families of those who were once thought hopeless.  This society had found a solution and had brought it all together in one package.

John D. Rockefeller Jr. read the report and intently listened to the glowing praises of this new work.  After careful consideration, and taking into account the reasons for the demise of other such previous ventures, Rockefeller flatly turned down the vast money request that Amos had proposed.  Rockefeller stated in all honesty, "I am afraid that money will spoil this thing."  He then outlined his reasons, which were almost identical to the concerns expressed by the Akron

94

members.  Again, thankfully, saner, more sober minds prevailed.  At least for the moment.

It was at this point that Willard Richardson explained to Mr. Rockefeller, the desperate financial predicament that Dr. Bob and Bill were in.  He said that, in order for them to continue with this venture, they would need some money, a stipend as it were.

Rockefeller pondered upon this for a moment and then agreed to place in the treasury of the Riverside Church the sum of $5,000.  This amount was to be held in a special account so that Doc and Bill could draw upon it as they needed money.  Rockefeller warned them, however, that if this new fellowship eventually were to become any sort of success, as he knew that it could be, it must be self-supporting.

Out of that $5,000 that was donated by Mr. Rockefeller, $3,000 immediately went to pay off the mortgage on Doc’s home.  This, it was reasoned, was so that Dr. Bob’s mind would be set at ease since he had thought he wouldn’t be able to provide a home to himself and his family.  It was felt that release from financial insecurities as to his home would enable Dr. Bob to better care for the alcoholics that were placed in his charge.

The remaining balance of $2,000 was earmarked to be parceled out to both Bob and Bill in the amount of $30 per week.  This amount would be used to provide the basic necessities of life for them and for their families so that they could continue working on the restoration of the lives of hopeless alcoholics.  ($30 per week translated into late 1990's economics equals out to approximately $2,500 a week, four times what the average worker of that day earned.)

Even though Rockefeller had agreed to give only $5,000, which gave both Doc and Bill an above average income enabling them to devote more time and effort to the new cause, the rest of the men who were at the meeting felt as if more could be done.  They proposed that more immediate funding could be made available to this cause by establishing a tax free or charitable trust or foundation.  They decided upon this charitable foundation to make funds more attractive to prospective donors and benefactors by enabling them to deduct, as a contribution, any donations or gifts from their personal and/or corporate income taxes.  This idea was enthusiastically received by those in attendance at the meeting. Especially by Bill and the New York contingent.

Through the help and assistance of Frank Amos, a young lawyer by the name of John Wood (at the time a junior partner in one of New

95

York’s better known law firms), was retained to help bring the foundation idea to fruition.

Wood attended all of business meetings and was instrumental in formulating this new foundation.  After much discussion and argument, the fledgling venture was named "The Alcoholic Foundation."

To those gathered at the final vote, the name sounded just as important and prestigious as was the proposed work upon which they were starting.  A trust agreement was drawn up, and a Board of Trustees was appointed.  Once again, only after hours of discussion and argument.

The Board, it was finally decided, was to be comprised of three non alcoholics - Willard Richardson, Frank Amos and Dr. Leonard Strong.

It was also to contain two alcoholic members - Dr. Bob and a New York member, who, at a later date, returned to drinking, and had to be forced to resign.  Therefore, this member shall remain nameless.

The momentous founding of the Alcoholic Foundation took place in May 1938.   Yet, even though there was now a tax free foundation, and through there were extensive efforts by the Board and a professional fund raiser who had donated his services and expertise free of charge, very little, if any new funding was raised.

Sometime in the early spring, (March of 1938), the early members began writing the first draft of what was later to become known as the basic text of the new fellowship. This was the precursor of the book, ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS.

Recently, a twelve-page, handwritten outline and certain suggestions for the book was found in the archives of the Stepping Stones Foundation in Bedford Hills, New York. Written at the bottom of the cover page, in Bill’s writing, were the words, "Hank’s Ideas." The author verified that the outline was written by Hank P.

Hank’s document contained an outline of the work, a listing of twenty-five occupations for the writers of personal stories, "Sales Promotion Possibilities, Suggestions for Chapter 1, Observations," and "Questions and Answers."

The "Questions and Answers" were as follows:

1. The question is often asked- where does the money come from this work?

2. How do I know this will work with me? Why is this method better than any other religious method? (It is not- this is only a step toward

96

Henry G. Parkhurst — He wrote the chapter "To Employers" in the

Big Book and the personal story "The Unbeliever"

97

a religious experience which should be carried forward in Christian fellowship no matter what your church)

3. Will I fail if I cannot keep my conduct up to these highest standards?

4. What happens when an alcoholic has a sexual relapse?

5. There is so much talk about a religious experience- what is it?

On page eight of Hank’s document, in the "Observations" section, there is something of an answer to the "religious" question. Hank wrote:

"One of the most talked about things among us is a religious experience. I believe that this is incomprehensible to most people.

Simple & meaning words to us- but meaningless to most of the people that we are trying to get this over to.- In my mind religious experience- religion- etc.- should not be brought in. We are actually unreligious- but we are trying to be helpful- we have learned to be quiet- to be more truthful- to be more honest- to try to be more unselfish- to make the other fellows troubles- our troubles- and by following four steps we most of us have a religious experience.

The fellowship- the unselfishness- appeals to us.

I wonder if we are off track. A very good merchandising procedure is to find out why people do not buy our products- it is good reasoning to find out WHY- I am fearfully afraid that we are emphasizing religious experience when actually that is something that follows as a result of 1-2-3-4. In my mind the question is not particularly the strength of the experience as much as the improvement over what we were."

Hank, when writing of the "four steps," was probably referring to the Oxford Group’s Four Absolutes of Honesty, Unselfishness, Purity and Love.  Prior to the Steps being written, the early A.A. members used these principles to keep sober, as well as other Oxford Group tenets.

Hank’s ideas as well as those from other members in New York and Akron were guidelines for the writing efforts of AA's founders, who supplied their manuscripts.  In any event Hank’s outline appears to be the earliest known outline for the Big Book’s contents.  Hank wrote of the proposed book that it was "...for promotion of cure and understanding of alcoholism."

As a part of the fund raising for the book, Bill wrote his own story, including a report about Ebby's visit at his kitchen table and many other ideas taken directly from Oxford Group literature.

98

Bill was utilizing the office on 17 William Street in Newark, New Jersey, since Hank’s business was almost defunct.  Bill traveled daily to the office from his home at 182 Clinton Street, in Brooklyn Heights, Brooklyn, New York.  He could write the rough drafts at home, bring them to Newark, and dictated to Ruth Hock what he had written the night before.

The drafts for chapters were circulated in rough and unedited form.

These were sent to prospective donors.  And then Frank Amos came up with another proposal.  This, once again, gave Bill new hope.

It so happened that one of Frank Amos’s close friends was the Religious Editor at Harper’s Publishing.  The editor’s name was Eugene Exman.  Amos thought, Eugene might be interested in publishing a book.

Bill made an appointment and went to see Mr. Exman.  Bill arrived at Exman’s office with the unedited pages in hand (See Appendix "Bill's Original Story" for a one page example).  He spoke to Exman not only of the proposed book, but also of their struggles, failures, and successes.  Bill went on to tell of their great plans and of Mr.

99

Rockefeller’s interest in the venture.  He then handed over the some 1200 lines typewritten by Ruth Hock. Exman was interested, much to Bill’s relief.  Exman asked Bill if the members could finish the book in a similar style and manner, though refined and edited from its rough form.  He also inquired of Bill as to an approximate completion date.  Bill was excited. He answered, "It will probably take nine or ten months."  Exman offered the movement a $1,500 advance on royalties which would be deducted from the account when the book was complete and was selling in the book stores.

Elated both with himself and with his apparent success, Bill went back to the Board of Trustees of the Alcoholic Foundation with the offer and told them of their coming good fortune.  He emphasized the word "fortune."

It was their consensus that this was indeed the correct route to take.

They considered how hard it would be for unknown authors to publish their own book about a "cure" for alcoholism.  Especially one written by people who were neither doctors nor psychologists.  Harper’s was a well known publisher with an excellent reputation and had the means properly to market the book.

But a great deal of resistance developed in the New York A.A. fellowship.  They insisted that the book be kept as a Foundation project, and not involve any outsiders or outside enterprise.

The Board was neither moved nor impressed with these arguments.

But there were two fractions, each unwilling to move from its position on this issue.

Bill was perturbed. He wanted to do what was right for the fellowship and for himself, but he was at a loss to know which course was right.

He wanted to be on the side that was right.

Bill went to his friend and business partner, Hank P., with his dilemma.  Bill felt both he and Hank thought alike, and that he would get from Hank the answer he really wanted to hear.  Further Bill had asked Hank to submit his personal story for inclusion in the book.

This story which would later appear as "The Unbeliever" and was printed in the sixteen printings of the First Edition.  Bill felt Hank would return this favor.

Hank came up with the following reasoning: If Harper’s, a well known publisher, was willing to pay unknown authors an advance of $1,500 on the basis of a rough draft, he and Bill could, on their own, make millions.  Hank was a salesperson of the first order and "sold" Bill on this idea.

100

Yet it was not so much a sales job as it was a reaffirmation of Bill’s own thoughts. Since the Trustees had not as yet been able to raise one cent, and the prospects of their doing so seemed bleak, Hank suggested to Bill that they bypass the Foundation.  He proposed to Bill that they put the book on a business basis and not a fellowship basis and that they form a stock company to raise the much needed capital, publish the book themselves, and make payment to Harper’s from revenues from the sale of books.

Bill went back to Harper’s on his own, without informing the Board of Trustees.  He spoke once again with Eugene Exman.  He explained what he and Hank had discussed and asked for Exman’s personal and business opinion.  Bill was prepared for an argument and had formulated in his own mind, sure fire responses that he had rehearsed with Hank in order to bring Exman around to his point of view.

Much to Bill’s surprise and consternation, Exman agreed fully with him.  Exman explained that, contrary to his company’s financial interest, he too felt the book should be published, BUT fully controlled by the Alcoholic Foundation.

Bill left the office feeling he had to convert the Foundation to his way of thinking.  However, when he did meet with the Trustees in executive session, they did not feel as he had thought they would.  But it was too late.  Despite their objections, Bill’s mind was made up.

The die was cast.

He had made his decision to bypass Harper's and the Foundation.

Bill thought he could draw on the experience of the Oxford Group and on Hank's business expertise.  Both Bill and Hank were fueled with high hopes and dreams of success.  More importantly, to Hank at least, money.  Hank had already started out on his well-planned and formulated sales campaign.  He cornered every A.A. member that he could find.  He spoke to everyone he knew.  He utilized every sales ploy in the book and probably even some that to this day have yet to be written.

Hank was the ultimate high pressure salesperson.  So much so that Bill had to go around after him to smooth ruffled feathers, anger, and hurt feelings.  This not to mention soothing the suspicions that were beginning to arise concerning the motives of Bill and Hank in all this promotion business.

The early members had firmly believed, recovery work was to be their life’s avocation - for free.  "No pay for soul-surgery" was an Oxford Group idea.  To reclaim lives and "fix rummies" without

101

thought of reward was their tradition.  Yet Hank was stressing the millions of dollars to be earned - a dream also shared by Bill.

Yet in only a few short weeks, the members of the New York contingent gave their consent.  But it was only lukewarm, and given with reservations.  Bill discounted the lukewarm response and reservations preferring to claim their unanimous consent.

Dr. Bob eventually became sold on the idea and became convinced that he too should give his approval.  He gave his approval and consent, but he stipulated that this should not be made known to the Akron fellowship.  At least, not until the proposal had the full approval and consent of the Board of Trustees of the Alcoholic Foundation.  And finally, after much pressure, the Board reluctantly let them go ahead with the proposed plan.

Bill and Hank began formulating a prospectus that would, hopefully, convince the alcoholics who were just beginning to see tangible results from their sobriety.  Bill and Hank hoped to get them to part with money.  Money which would go toward a company that had yet to publish, and yet to sell a single book.

Bill and Hank investigated cost factors, production, publicity, and distribution.  Hank wrote, in his outline for the book, that the title page should read:

Alcoholics Anonymous

Published by

Alcoholics Anonymous, Inc.

A Non Profit Organization* for the promotion of cure and

understanding of alcoholism.

He went on to suggest the following publicity:

"Newspapers - When book is nearly ready to leave the presses a short mat article should be sent out to the 12,285 newspapers in the U.S.  This article would briefly cover the work as it has gone to date.  Case histories would be covered. - It possibly would be a brief case history of the work and announcement of the book.  At least four news bulletins should be published at weekly intervals, ahead of the book."

_______________________

* different from the Prospectus for the "One Hundred Men Corporation", where profits would go to the shareholders.

102

Bill found a printer who had been highly recommended to him.  He and Hank went to Cornwall, New York, in Orange County, to see Edward Blackwell. Blackwell was the President of Cornwall Press.

The company was, according to Bill, "one of the largest printers in the United States."

While at Cornwall, Bill and Hank found the book would probably be about four hundred pages when finished, and would cost about thirty-five cents per copy to print.  It was to have a retail selling price of three dollars and fifty cents, and a wholesale price of two dollars and fifty cents.  Hank pointed out that the balance would be all profit.

The two left Cornwall secure in the knowledge that they would be reaping millions of dollars.

Hank's outline and included a chart which showed the estimated profits that would be realized from projected sales, respectively, of 100,000, 500,000 and even on 1,000,000 books.  The Prospectus talks about 15,000 to 500,000 copies. (See page 126)

The Trustees were strenuously objecting to the plan and stipulated that they would only tolerate the plan when and if royalties were paid to the Foundation.  Bill readily agreed to this stipulation.  He knew he would own at least one-third of the shares and, according to his agreement with the Foundation, would thus receive one-third of any profits.  He surmised the profits from his 200 expected shares would be much greater than what could be received from any other payment.

The Trustees then reluctantly agreed to tolerate and accept the royalties, knowing that it would probably happen even without their consent.  They felt that by agreeing, they would have some sort of hold on Bill and Hank and retain some checks and balances.

There remained only two more minor details to be worked out.  The first concerned the fact that there was no publishing company incorporated.  The second was that, without incorporation, they could not sell stock and without stock, there would be no capital to move onward.

Hank immediately solved these problems.  None of the previously suggested names were eventually used.  Someone came up with "WORKS PUBLISHING".  There are at least three explanations as to the origin of the name that they chose.  The first is that one of the favorite Bible quotes in early A.A. was from the Book of James.  It was "Faith Without Works Is Dead."  The second is that this first book was to be the first of many "works" by the new publishing company.

The third is that when the members of the group were questioned as to why this "cure" had worked when all others had failed, they simply

103

replied - "It Works."  In any event, the name "Works Publishing Company" was adopted.

According to "official" AA history books Hank went to a local stationery store and purchased a pad of blank stock certificates.  He had Ruth Hock type across the top of each certificate - "WORKS PUBLISHING COMPANY, par value $25.00."  At the bottom of each certificate was typed, Henry G. P., President.

When Bill saw these certificates and read them, he was, to say the least, not to enthusiastic about Hank’s being President of the company.

Especially when Bill himself wanted the honor.  He was also quite annoyed at the obvious irregularity of Hank’s doing all of this on his own, without consulting either Bill or the Trustees.  According to Clarence, Bill was probably more concerned with his own feelings rather than with any irregularities or with the consultation of the Trustees.  Hank finally convinced Bill that there was no time to waste and persuaded him, "why be concerned with the small details?"

There was one minor detail they had somehow managed to overlook.

It turned out to be not so minor.  That detail was that, despite all of their combined super sales efforts, they were unable to sell even one of the six hundred shares of Works Publishing, Inc. stock.

Not to be discouraged, Hank convinced Bill that they should go up to the offices of the READERS DIGEST in Pleasantville, New York to try and sell that magazine on the idea of printing a piece about the alcoholic society and about the forthcoming book.  He and Bill believed that if READERS DIGEST could be convinced and indeed did print an article, the ensuing publicity would sell the book by "the car loads" and that this surge in sales would really convince "those tightwad drunks," as Hank described them.

Bill and Hank secured an appointment and went to Pleasantville to meet with Kenneth Payne, managing editor of the READERS DIGEST.

They outlined their intentions for the book, for publicity, and for the new society.  They dropped the names of Mr. Rockefeller and of the others who were Trustees of the Alcoholic Foundation.

Payne was interested.  He assured them the DIGEST would print such a piece when the book was ready for publication.  He then told them he would, however, have to meet with and get the approval of other editors and of the staff before he could finalize any agreement with them.

Armed with this new possibility for favorable publicity from a national publication, Bill and Hank hurried back to New York City

104

and began, once again, to sell their stock idea.  Many of the once reluctant members began to sign up.

Many couldn’t afford the full twenty-five dollars.  So shares were sold on the installment plan:  Five dollars a month for five months.

The Trustees pitched in as well.  They were caught up in the new enthusiasm as were other friends of the movement.

Ruth then sent off copies of what she had typed to Doc in Akron.

Bill also brought these copies to the weekly meetings of alcoholics who by that time were meeting in Bill’s home.  These same alcoholics had been asked to leave the Oxford Group meeting at Calvary Church in Manhattan.

Clarence remembered that they would "red pencil, blue pencil and any other kind of pencil" these drafts out in Ohio and then send the suggested corrections back to "Bill and the boys in New York."  On the whole, the Ohio crowd approved of what was being written.  Most of the drafts stressed the "spiritual side" of the teachings and principles of recovery.  And Ohio had always held to the spiritual foundations of the program.  This spiritual philosophy is still very much in evidence at many Cleveland meetings today.

A.A.’s new histories record that the New York "rummies", on the other hand, really tried to rip the book apart.  They gave Bill a hard time with what he had written.  The New Yorkers did not at all agree with the Ohio suggestions, continued to try to downplay the spiritual, and attempted to stress the "psychological and medical aspect of the illness."

In Irving Harris’s book about the Reverend Samuel Shoemaker20 , the pastor of Calvary Church and the "leader" of the Oxford Group movement in New York City, the ideology of the medical and psychological aspect was inspired by Dr. Silkworth.  Harris says in that book, Silkworth told Bill:

You’re preaching at these fellows Bill, although no one ever preached at you.  Turn your strategy around.  Remember, Professor James insisted in that, ‘deflation at great depth’ is the foundation of most spiritual experiences like your own.  Give your new contacts the medical business - and hard.  Describe the obsession that condemns men to drink and the physical sensibility or allergy of the body that makes this type go mad or die if they keep on drinking.

He referred to William James’s book, The Varieties of Religious Experience: a Study in Human Nature21 , taken from a series of lectures by James on "Natural Religion Delivered at Edinburgh in 1901-1902."

105

Bill Wilson often stated that he had been an agnostic.  And the New York group were stressing the medical and psychological aspects of recovery rather than the spiritual.  But Bill did have his own private opinions in these matters.  Thus he later wrote to an A.A. member in Richmond, Virginia in a letter dated October 30, 1940, "I am always glad to say privately that some of the Oxford Group presentation and emphasis upon the Christian message saved my life."  This same "Christian message" showed in the success that Ohio members were having.  The more secular medical and psychological message resulted in greater failure and relapse into drinking within the New York membership.

After writing the first four chapters which were sent back and forth from Akron to New York, they realized it was time to write about how the actual "program of recovery from alcoholism" really worked.  There was enough background and "window dressing" in the earlier chapters, they felt.  They needed at that point to get to a description of an actual "program of recovery." Something that had eluded them thus far in their writings.

The book had been going slow, what with all the re-writes.  Several of the subscribers, people who had purchased stocks were discouraged by the lack of progress and began to slack off in their payments.  The New Yorkers wanted to see more tangible results.  They wanted the book to be finished and their investment realized.

Bill was of near exhaustion due to the constant bickering and controversy.

He stated that, "On many a day I felt like throwing the book out the window."  But the book had to be finished if all of his dreams were to come true.

One of the legends as to how the Twelve Steps of recovery were written is as follows: Bill was lying on his bed at Clinton Street one evening. He was exhausted, discouraged and at wits end.  He had a pencil in his hand and a legal pad on his lap.  Nothing was coming to mind.  He had reached a total impasse. He prayed for guidance, as had been the Oxford Group custom. Then, with pencil in hand, he began to write. He put down on paper what he felt were the basic principles which comprised the procedures that at the time were being utilized.

Bill felt that the alcoholics would find certain "loopholes" within his summary of original six "steps" the alcoholic squadron of the Oxford Group had been using.  He wanted to make sure that there was nothing that a "rummy" could slip through and use as an excuse.

When he finally put his pencil down, there were Twelve Steps.  Bill felt he had found the perfect formula.  He had relied upon God’s

106

guidance.  He also felt secure in the knowledge that just as Jesus had Twelve Apostles who went forth to carry the Gospel (or Truth), this new, as yet unnamed fellowship, had Twelve Steps to help alcoholics recover and go forth to carry their "Truth." This truth was RECOVERY.

Recovery for the alcoholic who still suffered.

Bill no longer felt dejected.  He felt renewed.  Even when, in that same evening he was visited by two "rummies," who objected to the steps as Bill had written them.  They loudly complained about the frequent use of the word "God" and of having to get on one’s knees in the Seventh Step.  Bill did not care.  The Steps were to stand as they were.

But then Bill showed the Twelve Steps to the members of the New York contingent.  Strong fights and heated discussions ensued.  Some suggested "throwing the whole thing out."  Some felt that there wasn’t enough God mentioned.  The latter, however, were in the minority in New York.

Fitz M. "insisted that the book should express Christian doctrines and use Biblical terms and expressions."  Bill’s opinion was now wavering back and forth.

Hank P., an agnostic like Bill, had realized God played an important part in his own recovery from alcohol but wanted to use a "soft sell on this God stuff."  But he did insist, "Not too much."

The person most vocally and most vehemently opposed to any sort of mention of God in any way was Jimmy B.  Jimmy was a strident atheist.  He wanted any and all references to God removed.  Not only from the Steps, but also from all of the earlier chapters of the Big Book.  And he was insisting that God would not be mentioned in any of the later chapters as well.  According to Clarence, "Jimmy remained steadfast, throughout his life, and ‘preached’ his particular brand of A.A. wherever he went. New York, Pennsylvania and later, California."

However, though Jimmy never believed in God, he did later recognize that others did and that they too could be successful with their recovery by doing so.  In a letter to Clarence and Dorothy Snyder, written soon after the SATURDAY EVENING POST article came out in March of 1941, Jimmy said he had just moved to Landsdowne, Pennsylvania near Philadelphia.  He had "moved down on a new job two weeks ago," he said. And as soon as he had moved there, he started an A.A. group and began to carry his message of recovery.

"Last week we had three at the meeting, and this week we have seven alkies.  Several of them have been sober for a number of months on a spiritual basis and I do feel we have a swell nucleus started and

107

they all want to go to work."  In 1947, Jimmy wrote a privately mimeographed history of Alcoholics Anonymous entitled, THE EVOLUTION OF ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS.  This "history," though it contains inaccuracies, was the first historical piece that had been written about A.A.

Jimmy and his other atheist compatriots, along with the agnostic Hank, swayed the majority to their side. Bill had to give in. But not fully. Bill agreed to certain changes.  He called them "concessions to those of no or little faith."  These "concessions" consisted of including the phrase "as we understood Him" in the Third Step.  Another was the eventual removal of the phrase "on our knees" from the Seventh Step.  "On our knees" was in the pre-publication "multilith", or manuscript copy, of the Big Book which was sent out to early members and prospective purchasers of the book.  But when the first printing of the Big Book came out, "on our knees" had been removed.

There were many other changes made to "tone down" the wording of the book. (Compare the original section of Chapter Five, "HOW IT WORKS," with the prepublication multilith copy in appendix B and The Evolution of the Twelve Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous).

The Ohio membership was opposed to any changes in the drafts of the book.  They had achieved great success using the original message.

Their numbers were growing; and the members who were staying sober, were staying sober with little or no cases of relapse into active alcoholism.

Two years after the publication of the book, Clarence made a survey of all of the members in Cleveland.  He concluded that, by keeping most of the "old program," including the Four Absolutes and the Bible, ninety-three percent of those surveyed had maintained uninterrupted sobriety.  Clarence opined that even with New York’s "moral psychology" approach to recovery "had nowhere near our recovery rate."

He stated, in later years, "They (New York) keep making all of these changes, watering this thing down so much that one day it will be so watered down that it will just flush down the drain."

He also said, when he was asked why he was so outspoken in his stance for maintaining his program of recovery exactly as it was handed down to him by his sponsor, Dr. Bob, "If you don’t stand for something in this life, you’re liable to fall for anything!"

Hank P. once told Clarence that it was he, Hank, not Bill, who wrote the Chapter, "To The Employers."  Hank told Clarence he "got no credit for it, not one damn mention from Bill."  Reportedly Bill wrote the Chapter "To Wives."  It is said Bill had once offered to have Anne

108

Smith, Doc’s wife, to write the chapter, but Anne didn’t want to do so.  Clarence said she knew that Bill had not made the same offer to his own wife and Anne did not want to hurt Lois’s feelings.  Lois had been angered by the offer to Anne and was deeply hurt.  Lois once said she had held a resentment over that for many years after the book had come out.  She later wrote a small four page pamphlet entitled "ONE WIFE’S STORY’ which described her life with Bill.  She stated, "Groups of the families of A.A.’s have sprung up all over the country with a three-fold purpose.  First to give cooperation and understanding to the A.A. at home.  Second, to live by the Twelve Steps ourselves in order to grow spiritually along with our A.A..  Third, to welcome and give comfort to the families of new A.A.’s."

This pamphlet was produced before the name Al-Anon was in existence.  Lois inscribed to the author on his copy of the pamphlet, "This was one of the very early pamphlets."  When Al-Anon finally did arrive, Lois, one of the Co-Founders of Al-Anon, learned to "detach with love" regarding to her long-standing resentment toward Bill over the chapter, "To Wives."

While the "Program" portion of the book was being written, the New York and Akron members were submitting their personal stories of recovery.  In New York, Bill and Hank edited the stories submitted by the New York contingent.  Many of them objected to how their stories were being totally changed by this editing. In the Archives of the Stepping Stones Foundation. in Bedford Hills, New York, there are several of these handwritten and edited stories which were submitted for the book.

In Akron, Jim S., who was an Akron newspaper reporter and early member, interviewed and helped write and edit all of the stories that came from the Akron area and eventually, all the New York stories a s well.  Much of this writing took place around the kitchen table in Dr. Bob’s home.

Jim S. was one of the men who had visited with Clarence in Akron City Hospital and had told Clarence his own recovery from alcoholism.

Clarence had been asked by Doc to submit his story and, as he went over it with Jim, explained to Jim that he was having problems with his wife.  Clarence and Jim tried to slant Clarence’s story to appease Dorothy and, by doing so, brought the two closer together.  Both Jim and Doc did not like this way of appeasing Dorothy and they admonished Clarence for his impure motives.  Despite this, Clarence’s "slanted" story was published "as is."

The Big Book was almost ready for publication.  But there was one little problem.  The book did not as yet have a name.  Nor did this new

109

fellowship of nameless drunks.  Everyone was asked to submit names for the book.  More than one hundred titles were actually considered.

The following were some:

1) "The James Gang," taken from the General Epistle of James in the Bible, on which some of the recovery program was based.

2) "The Empty Glass," "The Dry Life," or "The Dry Way".

3) "The Way Out," the latter was abandoned after an extensive search was conducted in the Library of Congress which showed that there were already twelve other "The Way Out" books in publication. The members decided that it would be too unlucky to be number thirteen.  Bill had even proposed calling the book and naming the fellowship, "The B.W. Movement," naming it after himself.  This particular title did not meet with much approval from the Akron group who were fiercely loyal to Dr. Bob.  About that story it says in AA Comes of Age pg 165

"I began to forget that this was everybody's book and that I had been mostly the umpire of the discussions that had created it.  In one dark moment I even considered calling the book 'The B. W. Movement.'  I whispered these ideas to a few friends and promptly got slapped down.  Then I saw the temptation for what it was, a shameless piece of egotism."

Another popular title that was proposed was "One Hundred Men."   This was popular due to the fact it showed the obvious success of the movement and also that one hundred was a nice round figure.  Actually there were - at that point - only some forty sober members, between Akron and New York, with the vast majority being in Ohio.  However forty men didn’t seem as persuasive as one hundred.

As to the number "100", the meetings then were open not only to the alcoholics, but also to their families as well.  The wives and the one or two husbands of the women members, were added to the number forty and amounted it to around a hundred people who were attending meetings.

There was one hitch to this title.  The hitch came from one of the women members.  Florence R., who was the only woman member in New York, objected strenuously.  Her story was submitted and printed in the pre-publication multilith edition and she did not want to be "one of the boys."  In the multilith edition, her story was printed with a typographical error.  The title was "A Feminine Victory." The error was corrected in the First Edition, and the title of the story became "A Feminine Victory" in all sixteen printings of the First Edition.

Florence, unfortunately, did not maintain her sobriety on a constant basis; and it was reported that she had committed suicide in

110

Washington, D.C. during an alcoholic depression.  Her story was taken out when the Second Edition was printed in 1955.

In deference to Florence, they agreed that the title should not be "One Hundred Men".  They did, however, continue to describe the book, on its title page, as "The Story of How More Than One Hundred Men Have Recovered From Alcoholism."  This angered Florence very much. By the time the second printing of the First Edition came out in March 1941, the title page had been changed to Thousands of Men and Women."

The origin of the actual Big Book name, Alcoholics Anonymous, will probably forever remain unknown.  Some have said it came from someone’s describing the movement as a bunch of "anonymous alcoholics" who meet for their recovery; others said, "We were nameless drunks at a meeting."  The most accepted version is that of a writer from NEW YORKER Magazine by the name of Joe W., who apparently coined the phrase.  But Joe remained sober only periodically and, according to Clarence, never really "got the program."

The name Alcoholics Anonymous was definitely in use however by the late summer of 1938.  At that point, the name was mainly used in connection with the title of the book and, only to a smaller extent, as the name of the fledgling fellowship.  Meetings, both in New York and in Akron, were not as yet being called Alcoholics Anonymous meetings.  They were still, in actuality, Oxford Group meetings.  The Akron groups were still officially Oxford Group meetings; and the New Yorkers who, Clarence felt, had been asked to leave the Oxford Group meetings earlier, still had no other name for their gatherings.  As Clarence once stated, the New York contingent had been asked to leave the Oxford Group because the "drunks and pickpockets" were no longer welcomed.  This, he stated, was due to the large number of members who showed up drunk at meetings and from those members who picked the pockets of the well-to-do Oxford Group members who were also in attendance.

By the end of January 1939, the Big Book manuscript was ready for publication.  Not all of the stories were completed or submitted as yet.  However, twenty-one of them were finished.  Four hundred copies were multilithed - an early form of mimeographing - and were spiral bound.  They were packed to be shipped from Newark, New Jersey, the location of the office on William Street.

There was one other error which may or may not have been typographical.

It even appeared on the title page. The book was called "ALCOHOLIC’S ANONYMOUS" with an apostrophe in the word, Alcoholic’s.  It is not found on all copies.

111

Several copies were sent out to members, doctors, clergy and other friends of the movement for their comments, criticism and evaluation.

The balance of the copies were sold to people who had ordered the book before its final printing.  There was no notice of copyright nor notice of the multilith beeing a review or loan copy.  Since the multilithed manuscript was published, sold and distributed to the public without these notices, according to the Copyright Act of 1909, it and all subsequent printings were forever in the public domain.

These original manuscripts are very rare today; and less than 50 are probably still in existence.  Many are in deteriorated condition.  Photostatted copies are available to interested parties at the Archives at the General Service Office of Alcoholics Anonymous in New York City for $12.

The multilithed, pre-publication copy contained the original "explanatory" chapters, including the chapter entitled "The Doctor’s Opinion", which was written by Dr. Silkworth of Towns Hospital in New York City.  Dr. Silkworth did not have his name printed in the book until the Second Edition, which came out in 1955.

This multilithed manuscript contained twenty-one personal stories.

Eight were those of New York members - seven men and one woman.

Thirteen stories were those of Akron members or people who were attending the meetings in Akron.  Twelve of those stories were written by men; and one was submitted by a couple. "MY WIFE AND I."  It was written by Maybell and Tom L.

One of the stories was written by a man who lived in Grosse Pointe, Michigan.  At the time the book was being written, he was living with Dr. Bob and Anne Smith.  He had been sent down to Akron by the Michigan Oxford Group for help because there were "no drunks" in the Michigan group at that time.  This man was Archibald "Arch" T.  He later returned to Michigan and started A.A. in Detroit. Archie’s story was printed in the First Edition as "THE FEARFUL ONE" and was changed to "THE MAN WHO MASTERED FEAR" in the Second and Third Editions.

Another story, by a man who was attending the Akron meetings, was the "HOME BREWMEISTER."  This man was Clarence H. Snyder; and his story appears in all three editions of the A.A.’s Big Book.

Of these twenty-one stories in the Manuscript edition, all save one made the first printing of the First Edition.  The one was "ACE FULL SEVEN- ELEVEN."  Its writer was a member of the Akron group, whose name Clarence did not remember and of whose name the A.A. Archives in New York have no record.  This member did not like the changes that were being made in the book.  He also, as Clarence

112

remembered, did not trust Bill Wilson.  He felt Bill "was making money on the deal."

Clarence stated this man also did not like the promotion angle that was being presented.  The man asked that his story be removed from the final printing.  It therefore never appeared in the First Edition copy.

His was the only story that talked about the addiction of Pathological (compulsive) Gambling, as well as that of alcoholism.  His story ended with the line "His will must be my bet- there’s no other way!"  Clarence remembered that this man never returned either to gambling or to drinking.  A.A. Archives does not release the names of any of the writers of the stories in the A.A.’s Big Book, and all of the names mentioned in this book were made available to the author by Clarence Snyder.

When the Big Book was ready for its final publication date, ten new stories were added.  Four came from New York members, four from Akron and one from Cleveland.  The Cleveland story was "THE ROLLING STONE" by Lloyd T.  Lloyd got sober in February 1937 and stayed with the Oxford Group in Akron when the Cleveland group broke off.  However, he too eventually came into A.A. and stayed sober.

There was one story that was supposed to have been written by a man from California.  This story, "THE LONE ENDEAVOR," was written by a man named Pat C.  According to the story printed in the book, he had gotten a copy of the multilith and got sober through it alone, without any personal contact.  He then wrote to the Newark office, and they answered him, asking for permission to print his letter in the book.  Permission was granted by return mail.

In Jim B.’s EVOLUTION OF ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS, Jim B. related this story and added, "Our New York groups were so impressed by his recovery that we passed the hat and sent for him to come East as an example.  This he did, but when the boys met him at the bus station the delusion faded, for he arrived stone drunk and as far as I knew, never came out of it."  Other sources have it, that he came out and stayed out after this event.

There was one Al-Anon type story that was included in the ten new ones.  Its title was "AN ALCOHOLIC’S WIFE," by Marie B. Marie B. was the wife of Walter B., whose story, "THE BACK SLIDER" also appears in the book.

We call this an Al-Anon story, probably the first on record, because Mary B. herself was not an alcoholic.  In her story she wrote, "Since giving my husband’s problem to God, I have found a peace and happiness. I knew that when I try to take care of the problems of my husband I am a stumbling block as my husband has to take his problems to God the same as I do."

113

Meetings in the early days were somewhat different from those held today.  There were really no "closed" meetings.  That is, meetings open only those with, or those who think that they have a problem with alcohol.  Meetings in the early days were open to alcoholics and their families.

Henrietta D. (wife of Bill D., whose story "ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS NUMBER THREE" appears in the Second and Third edition of the Big Book) wrote a letter describing her early experiences at the meetings in Ohio.  In it, she also described her first meeting with Anne Smith on Friday, June 28, 1935. The letter reads:

On Friday night, when I went to the house on Ardmore Avenue, I met the most thoughtful, understanding person I have ever known.

After talking with her for a while, I addressed her as Mrs. Smith; and she said, "Anne to you my dear."  She wanted to remove all barriers.

She wanted God to have full credit for this wonderful thing that had happened to her.  Bill W. was there at this time.  After they talked with me for awhile, Anne asked if I would like to "go all the way with God,"  I told her I would.  She, Anne, said we should kneel, which we all did, and told me to surrender myself to God and ask Him if he had a plan for me to reveal it to me...  She taught me to surrender my husband to God and not to try to tell him how to stay sober, as I tried that and failed.  Anne taught me to love everyone, she said, "Ask yourself, what is wrong with me today, if I don’t love you?"  She said, "The love of God is triangular, it must flow God through me, through you and back to God."

The author has wondered if this triangular description could be one of the reasons that the triangle and circle was the symbols and registered trademarks of A.A. A.A.’s had the triangle within the circle, and Al-Anon (still) has the circle within the triangle.

Henrietta D. continued, in her letter to describe what was probably the first Al-Anon meeting in the world.  She wrote: "In the early part of 1936, Anne organized a ‘Woman’s Group’ for wives of alcoholics, whereby in her loving way, she tried to teach us patience, love and unselfishness.  Anne made it very plain to me from the beginning, that she wanted no credit for herself..."

Anne explained to Henrietta that there was only one purpose for the wives and for the alcoholics.  It was to "know and follow God’s plan."  After meeting with Anne, Henrietta described a phenomenon often experienced by others who had met with Dr. Bob.  She wrote: "I was completely sold on A.A."

In reviewing Henrietta D.’s account, the author is reminded of Anne Smith’s remarks in her Spiritual Workbook:

114

"1. A general experience of God is the first essential, the beginning.

We can’t give away what we haven’t got. We must have a genuine contact with God in our present experience. Not an experience of the past, but an experience in the present — actually genuine.

2. When we have that, witnessing to it is natural, just as we want to share a beautiful sunset. We must be in such close touch with God that the whole sharing is guided. The person with a genuine experience of God with no technique will make fewer mistakes than one with lots of technique, and no sense of God. Under guidance, you are almost a spectator of what is happening. Your sharing is not strained, it is not tense."

Anne was living "witness" to what living these precepts could produce in a person. Early A.A. accounts often record that everyone who came into contact with her could feel the presence of God and the peace and serenity that Anne possessed.

Two stories which appeared in both the multilith and the First Edition where those of Richard "Dick" S. (whose story is "THE CAR SMASHER") and Paul S., (whose story is "TRUTH FREED ME!").

Ironically, Paul and not Dick eventually died as a result of an automobile accident on September 19, 1953. However, both brothers remained completely sober until their respective deaths.

Dick S., whose story,

THE CAR SMASHER

was in the First Edition

115

116

117

118

119

120

121

122

123

124

125

126

127

"WORKS PUBLISHING COMPANY, par value $25.00."

This is a 1940 version of the certificates.

128

129

This ends the review of the writing of the book. All that then remained was to get the finalized and approved version of the book to Cornwall, New York. Hank, Ruth Hock, Dorothy Snyder (Clarence's wife) and Bill went together to a hotel in Cornwall.  There they checked and corrected the galleys and got the book printed.

But there remained another detail.  How were they going to pay the Cornwall Press the money necessary to print their book?

Hank, Ruth and Bill were utilizing the office on

17 William Street in Newark, New Jersey

130

Chapter 4.2

THE BOOK

"Publication"

"PRELUDE -

Take, Oh take the gift I bring!

Not the blushing rose of spring,

Not a gem from India’s cave,

Not the coral of the wave -

 

Not a wreath to deck thy brow,

Not a ring to bind thy vow, -

Brighter is the gift I bring, -

Friendship’s pearly offering.

 

Take the BOOK! Oh, may it be

Treasured long and near by thee!

Keep, oh keep the gift I bring, -

Love and friendship’s offering!"22

Ed Blackwell of The Cornwall Press told both Bill and Hank that he could not go ahead with the book printing until and unless they came up with some money.  At least enough to cover the cost of the paper.  Both men pleaded with Blackwell.  Both had come this far.

Could he not do them a favor for this worthwhile cause, they asked?

They tried many sales ploys, and even dropped the name of Mr. Rockefeller.  But Blackwell was not about to print the book on credit.

He held fast to his requirement for payment up front.  Bill and Hank drove back down to New York, disappointed once again.  Disappointed but not undaunted.

131

Sales of shares of Works Publishing, Inc. were progressing very slowly.  According to a printed financial statement that was issued in June 1940, there were at that time six hundred and sixty shares sold.

Four hundred and five of them were owned by the Alcoholic Foundation.  Forty-four individuals had subscribed to, and purchased one hundred and seventy-four shares.  Five individuals received eighty one shares given to them for "services rendered."

At twenty-five dollars par share, the total share offering should have produced $16,500.  But, as of June 30, 1940, only $4,450 had been received.

By the time the book was being printed, less than six hundred and sixty shares had been sold.  The multilith printing had cost one hundred and sixty-five dollars to print.  And this was for four hundred copies.

By June 1940, the Cornwall Press had been paid two thousand four hundred fourteen dollars and seventy-one cents.  (This included the printing plates which had been valued at $825.)  All of this outlay of money; but not a single book had been ordered.

Bill Wilson had loaned the movement one hundred dollars.  Charles B. Towns of Towns Hospital loaned the Foundation two thousand, five hundred and thirty-nine dollars.  A Mr. William Cochran loaned another one thousand dollars.

Cochran, of the Cochran Art School of Washington, D.C., had been persuaded to loan the Foundation $1,000 at the insistence of Agnes M.  Agnes was the administrator of Cochran’s school and was the sister of Fitz M. whom Bill had helped sober up in New York.  Agnes had been so grateful for her brother’s rebirth that she did all that she could do to help.

Bill and finally the Foundation finally did manage to raise the necessary funds to cover the initial printing costs.  Bill, Hank, Dorothy Snyder (Clarence’s wife, who at that time was visiting with her sister in Yonkers, NY) and Ruth Hock went to Cornwall, New York to oversee the printing of the book.  This was the first of many trips made to the little hamlet of Cornwall before the final galleys for the book were approved as ready.

The paper had been ordered.  The book was to be printed in the thickest, cheapest paper possible.  Bill, Hank, Dorothy and Ruth wanted to have the book appear much larger than its approximate four hundred pages.  They wanted potential purchasers to believe they were getting something substantial for their money.

The Big Book’s girth was expanded even greater by having the printer print each page with unusually large margins surrounding the

132

text.  This promised a very large and heavy volume.  Thus, the book come to be known as the "Big Book."

The book’s binding was red in color.  Blackwell had an overage of red and explained to Bill and Hank that he would give them a special deal on this material.  Ever cost conscious, Bill and Hank accepted.  In fact, they even felt the color red would make the book more attractive and marketable.  Red stood for royalty, so they thought.

The first printing was the only one on which a red binding was used.  All the other bindings, except for that used with the fourth printing were in various shades of blue.  The fourth printing, due to another overstock of binding material and thus, lower cost, was bound in blue as well as in green.

There was a typographical error in the first printing; despite all efforts to an even-free volume.  On page 234, the second and third line from the bottom was printed twice.  This error was removed from subsequent editions.

A New York City based artist and member of the Fellowship, Ray C., was asked to design the Dust Jacket.  He submitted a few different ideas for consideration.  These included one which was blue and in an Art Deco motif, and another which was red, yellow and black with a minimum of white.  The latter had the words Alcoholics Anonymous printed across the top in large white script.

Hank and Bill chose the red, yellow and black mock-up and the jacket became known as the "Circus" jacket due to its loud and circus style colors. Bill and Hank felt this dust jacket stood out and was eye catching.  The unused blue jacket is still located at the Archives at the Stepping Stones Foundation.

133

Ray C.’s story, "AN ARTISTS CONCEPT" appeared only in the first sixteen printings of the First Edition.  His story was preceded with a quote.  "There is a principle which is a bar against all information, which is proof against all arguments and which can not fail to keep a man in everlasting ignorance - that principle is contempt prior to investigation."  It says there it was from Herbert Spencer, though nobody has yet to find this quote in any of Mr. Spencer’s works.

And though Ray’s story was removed from the Second edition, the "Spencer quote" was retained.  And it can now be found at the end of Appendix II, ("Spiritual Experience") in the Big Book at page 570.

The alcoholics were ready to go.  They had a book that told of their experiences.  They had a program of recovery that was outlined within the pages of the book.  And they were conducting meetings of the alcoholic squadron of the Oxford Group.  But even though there was an Alcoholic Foundation and references had been made in correspondence to "we of Alcoholics Anonymous," the alcoholics meetings were not yet actually called those of "Alcoholics Anonymous" or "A.A. meetings."  But the gatherings were being held in both Brooklyn, New York and Akron, Ohio.

Bill and Hank had sent out four hundred copies of the multilith (which promised a book to follow when it was finally published).

They sent letters and post cards to doctors, clergy and others.  They sat back and waited for their Post Office to deliver sacks of mail containing thousands of orders for their books.  And with the thousands of orders, they also expected thousands of dollars which would accompany them.

They waited and waited.  Each day they called the Post Office, asking where the responses were.  They were often told that none had arrived.

Four thousand seven hundred and thirty books had been printed.  Yet as of June 30, 1940, only two thousand, four hundred and five had been sold.  They recorded "163 books outstanding against accounts receivable," and they recorded that two hundred seventy-nine books had been distributed free of charge.

In other words, from the publication of the first printing in April 1939 through June 30, 1940, a period of fourteen months, Bill and Hank still had one thousand eight hundred and eighty-three copies unsold.

Bill and Hank were once again dejected. Cartons upon cartons of books remained in stock in Cornwall, New York. Ed Blackwell would only release books that had already been paid for. Thus, unless the

134

Foundation sold some from their stocks, they couldn’t sell the remaining volumes in Cornwall.  "You’ve got to have money to make money," they must have thought.

By this time, the New York contingent was having major doubts they would even get back their hard earned investment.  They also began to doubt Bill.

In Akron, Doc was also feeling heat from Ohio members who had invested.  Though these people were still attending the Oxford Group meetings at T. Henry and Clarace Williams’ home, they had hoped on something more when the book came out.  They weren’t sure what that something was; but it would come, they believed.

Unbeknown to all something was about to happen. Something that would change the course of the history of the yet unnamed fellowship.

That something would come the very next month.

Chapter 4.3

THE BOOK

"The Break From The Oxford Group

"He who would accomplish little must sacrifice little; he who would achieve much must sacrifice much; he who would attain highly must sacrifice greatly."23

"The dreamers are the saviours of the world."24

By April of 1939, the Cleveland contingent had grown to eleven and then fourteen "rummies" and also included some of their spouses.

All traveled back and forth to the T. Henry and Clarace Williams’ home at Akron every Wednesday night.

Unlike New York which had only one Roman Catholic member, the majority of Cleveland contingent was Roman Catholic.  And it was said the Catholic Church did not want its members participating in open confession.  Clarence remembered that these Catholic members had been warned against confessing their sins, "One to another" without a confession to a priest.  Clarence was told by these alcoholics that they were about to be excommunicated from their Roman Catholic Church if they continued to attend Oxford Group meetings.

135

In her book, Sister Ignatia: Angel of Alcoholics Anonymous, Mary C. Darrah wrote the following as to how these men were discouraged from attending the Oxford Group meetings:

"They returned home and told their parish priest that they had finally found the answer to their drinking problems at a meeting in Akron.  But when the priest learned of the Alcoholic Squadron’s alignment with the Oxford Group, he forbade the men to return because of the group’s suspected Protestant overtones." (p. 31)

Each Wednesday, on the way back from the Akron meetings the "boys" would stop off for ice cream or coffee.  They would engage in a critique of that night’s meeting and what had transpired there.  They expressed to Clarence, with growing concern that they may not be able to continue with going to the meetings due to their Church’s objections.  And they also feared that without the fellowship afforded to them at the weekly meetings, they might resume their drinking.

Probably sooner than later.

This problem caused on-going discussion between Clarence and Doc.  Clarence was insisting something had to be done.  Doc, however, did not wish to be disrespectful to the very Oxford Group people who had saved his life and stated that nothing at all could, or would be done.

At around this same time, Clarence had arranged for Albert R. "Abby" G. to be placed in Akron City Hospital for his alcoholism.

Because Clarence had to go to work the next day and couldn’t take the day off, he asked Bill Wilson if Bill could drive Abby down from Cleveland to meet Doc at the hospital.  As Clarence remembered it, Bill and Dorothy (Clarence’s wife) "packed Abby into a car and hauled him off to meet Doc in Akron."

Consistent with the newly established custom in those early days, when a "rummy" was in the hospital, the members of the group not only visited with the patient, they also visited with his spouse and family members.  They took the family member to the Oxford Group meeting in Akron while the alcoholic was still in the hospital.

One particular night, during Abby’s hospitalization, as Clarence remembered it, Clarence was visiting with Grace G., Abby’s wife.

Clarence told Grace he was about to lose all of the Catholic members because they could no longer attend the Oxford Group meetings.

Clarence told her their parish priest forbade it.

Clarence said to Grace: "Now that we’ve got this book here, the Twelve Steps and the Four Absolutes, there was no need to go to the Oxford Group any longer." But the problem was, Clarence told Grace,

136

that Doc refused to leave the Oxford Group and Clarence was in a dilemma about disobeying his sponsor.

Clarence added that many of the early members didn’t have jobs or were just beginning to pay off old drinking-induced debts.  They couldn’t afford to rent any hall or room in Cleveland in which to hold their own and separate meetings.  Grace looked at him with a shocked expression on her face.  She told Clarence that the Cleveland Group could meet at Abby and Grace’s house, free of charge, for as long as they wanted to.

Abby was a prominent Patent Attorney in Cleveland.  He represented people who held patents; and he held the rights to numerous patents himself.  The G.’s had a very large house; and, ever since their children moved out, the house had seemed empty to them.  They would both enjoy having the people around and it would be good to hear the sounds of laughter within its walls once again, Grace told Clarence.

She also said that many meetings in their home would be a good way to help insure that her alcoholic husband would remain sober.

Grace G. was beginning to set the stage for a new meeting in Cleveland even while Abby was still "fogged up" and in the hospital.

Clarence, through what he felt was an act of Divine intervention, had just found a home for his "boys."

Abby’s story ("HE THOUGHT HE COULD DRINK LIKE A GENTLEMAN"), appears in the Second and Third Edition of the Big Book, and Abby recalled, in that story, some of his memories concerning Clarence.  He felt Clarence was "touched."  He also wrote he had felt that way because Clarence was always chasing him around the place to "fix" him.  Clarence often related the story of how Abby was to come into what was to be A.A.

Clarence’s sister-in-law, Thalia, a local beautician, was the wife of the man who had thrown Clarence out on the docks in New York.

Grace G. was one of Thalia’s best clients.  One day, Grace appeared to "fall apart" in the beauty shop.  In the midst of the hysterics, Grace told Thalia about Abby’s drinking and about how it was driving them further apart.  Grace told Thalia that Abby’s being constantly drunk was going to drive her crazy.  Grace continued telling Thalia that Abby’s drinking was also hurting his law practice.  Grace said th