Larry T. from Crescento, CA at Sierra Nevada Roundup September 4th 1999

Good afternoon, everybody. My name is Larry Thomas and I'm an alcoholic.

How you guys doing? Yeah, I don't care.

I want to thank the committee for inviting me out to be with you. It's good to be in a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. And are there any people within their first 30 days? Could you please raise your hands?

All right, There's our cleaning committee. OK,

Welcome. I, I, I'm glad that you're in a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. I, I want to let you know that I'm happy that I'm sober. And I know those two words don't belong in the same room at the same time. Being happy and being sober, it never made sense to me. And come into Alcoholics Anonymous this last time, it didn't bring on a warm glow either. Being happy and being sober. It just didn't go. But I'm happy to tell you that my sponsor tells me that I'm living proof that a man can stay sober for 17 1/2 years

and not amount to a damn thing.

He says I'm not much, but I'm all I think about

and I

thank the committee for having me out here, Eric and John and everybody. And I asked Eric called me up a couple weeks ago and he says,

do you want me to send somebody to, you know, pick you up at at the airport? And I said, sure, yeah. I said, preferably, you know, send me a newcomer, you know. So I got out there and it was pretty early this morning and got off the plane. And I told him make sure that when they hold the sign up to have my name on it, you know what I mean? So I got off the plane and looking around and there's this little gal and she's got a piece of paper and they don't have nothing on it,

you know? And I get up closer than in pencil it has Larry, you know, And I introduced myself and she gave me her name and I said, how long you been sober? She said 64 days. I said, my God, that's fantastic, she says. But I have some other disorders, and I says, does one of them have to do with driving?

I really could care less, you know? Just get me to the damn meeting, you know?

And

you know, we got in the car and I asked her, asked her how she was doing. And Christ, she hasn't stopped since. She just, you know, she's a member of on and on, I think, you know, she just goes on and on, you know,

But I'm glad to be here. You know, I, I got, I got a couple friends here, which is a miracle for me. People used to drive around for miles and find me just to tell me they don't want to see me no more, you know? And I've got some friends up from Sacramento and from LA and Palm Springs.

And it's a, it's a neat thing. I love Alcoholics Anonymous and I love the feeling that I get after I'm here. It's a fight for the first couple hours for me a lot of times, you know? But once I'm here and I'm with you, well, everything seems to take place that's necessary for me.

There was somebody that came up to me before the meeting and they asked me to give him a little story about if you're new, I'm sure you think you're in hell, You know, you're close.

And there was a guy that died and went to hell, and he's wandering around and he's got the long face.

And finally somebody comes up to him. And he says, hey, you know why you so sad? You guys said, well, I'm in hell. And he says, oh, don't worry about it, man. He says, did you ever drink before? And he goes, yeah. And he says, you're going to love it down here on Mondays. We got gin, we got vodka, we got whiskey. And you don't have to worry about getting cirrhosis. Hell, you're dead anyway. The guy goes, yeah, And he says, did you ever do any dope? But he says a little bit. And he says, well, that's the kind of lion that got you down here. He says, you're going to love Tuesdays. They've got heroin, They've got speed, They've got coke, they got weed.

You don't have to worry about overdose. And hell, you're dead anyway. And the guy goes, yeah. And he says, do you like to smoke? And he says, Yep. He says, well, you're going to love Wednesdays. We've got camels, we've got cools, we've got luckies, we've got Virginia Slims. And you don't have to worry about getting cancer. Hell, you're dead anyway. He says, do you like to gamble? And he says, oh, yeah. He says, you're going to love Thursdays. We've got poker, we got pan, we've got the one arm bandits, we got the ponies. And you don't have to worry about going broke. Hell, you're dead anyway. The guy says, are you gay? And he says no. And he says, well, you're going to hate

Fridays, you know,

I guess that could be hell, you know,

So you're not in hell. If you're new, I want to welcome you to Alcoholics Anonymous. And I urge you to get a sponsor, get somebody that's

busy, you know, they're doing things in Alcoholics Anonymous and get some phone numbers and shake some hands and let us know you're new. You know,

I, I've come from a good family. I, you know, I was born in Detroit. I came out here when I was about four years old, and we moved out to

part of Los Angeles over there and brought up in a little foster home. And I had a fantastic mom. My mom was a little Scandinavian lady, and she loved diet pills. My mom was always eating those Dexies and running around the house around midnight, you know. And I caught on at an early age that if I ever wanted any love or affection, I could find my mom out in the garage around 3:00 in the morning, you know, sorting out nuts and bolts all night or something, you know, or rake in the neighbor's yard, you know, just a busy lady, you know. And,

and,

you know, she loved to just, you know, her favorite thing was to needlepoint. My mom was always clicking and clacking all night long, man, just making Afghans, putting them out like a manufacturer, you know, and everything in the house had Afghans, you know, the couches had Afghans, the chairs had Afghans, you know, and there was any live animals, they had a fresh vest on them, you know. And she's out there, you know, and just milling away, you know. And, and she loved to take those Dexies and, and make jigsaw puzzles, these big old 4000 million

jigsaw puzzles, you know, of the Painted Desert or something like that, you know, and she'd go down to save ONS and get that peroxide that smelled like sewer gas, you know, and get her a cart in a Raleigh cigarettes because they had the coupons on the back and she saved the coupons to buy more yarn. It was a hideous cycle She was caught up in, you know,

and come home, you know, and start putting together this puzzle and get that peroxide on her head and get this moo moo that was shiny in all the wrong places, you know, and start putting together this puzzle. And she had a big pair of toenail Clippers, so she'd got a piece that didn't fit well. She snipped that son of a gun right down till it did. You know,

she's got a job to do, you know, and, and I remember taking them one of those things, you know, I'm a kid. I like to get into stuff. And I was about 8 years old, you know, and God, I remember going into my momma's kitchen cabinet, took a couple Dexies and boom, man, I was just gone trying to beat my eyes into the next room, you know, it just buzzing around the house, you know, and helping her, you know, rake the neighbor's lawn, you know, and get that power edger going. And there's nothing but sparks and hair going down the street, you know, and lock myself

up in the room and start putting together the PT109 with a bunch of glue. Take a big bunch of hits off of that thing, you know, and seeing these spots that are black and white and black and white, you know, and that's the sun going up and down all damn day, you know, And come out of there three days later, you know, and there's nothing but just, you know, you've got all that froth on you, you know, and, and she's been up packing lunches, you know, here, you know, you got it, you know, And

God, I loved it, you know, and just a busy lady loved me to death.

And my poor sisters, man, they were always on the run. My mom, yeah, she was just, I don't know what it is, man, but I was in the middle of two sisters and there's something about women. No, I'm not going to get into that. But there's, you know, they,

they women love to pop blackheads. I don't know what that is about that, you know, that, you know, and, and my mom would take those Dexies and just get the sudden urge around 8:00 in the evening to chase my sisters around. And she'd get them down like cattle, you know,

and then pop these blackheads. And then like she caught a prize salmon, she'd say, do you need that? Do you need that? Look at that, you know, And Jesus, my sisters were scared to death. Their face was all riddled, you know, you know, and

just a busy lady. And my mom was a warrior, you know, if she wasn't speeding, she was just dazing out the window, worrying, you know, just dazing out the window. And my dad was a happy drunk. My dad was a just a happy drunk. My my dad may drink and look good. His drinking didn't scare me when he was sober. He scared me, you know, but his drinking, he was a happy sing in The Mills Brothers, Nat King Cole, Bobby Darren drunk man, he just loved to drink. And my dad was a window climber. So my dad was always sneaking in and out of his own damn house.

Was an amazing thing, you know? And I'm wondering, hey, how come the guy don't have keys to his own front door? You know, what's with that? You know, and

being a refinery worker, he's always sneaking in the house, you know, and there's nothing to see Dad, you know, standing up on the old gas meter, peering into my bedroom, you know, and he would sneak in and I would feel that refinery boot on my chest as he's coming in there, you know? And I remember grabbing that thing and saying, hey, Dad, you know, why don't you have mom make you a set of keys? I mean, hell, she's up anyway, you know? I mean,

you know, I can hear the Hoover going now. You know, I just get the get the hell off my chest, you know? And

now my dad was a World War Two vet in the Navy, and his mother died at a very early age. She hung herself in a Detroit jail. She was a drunken whore. His father choked on his own vomit and died in a motel room when he was about 12. And so my dad had the job of bringing up his baby brother. And my dad always reminded me of, you don't know what it's like to be poor. You don't know how good you got it.

When I was your age, we had it tough and I got the message.

I got the message at an early age. Now, it wasn't what my dad was trying to tell me. That was goofy. It was, well, how I heard it. I got to prove to him I can make it with nothing.

I got to prove to him that I can cut it out there too. And that wasn't what was going on with what he was saying at all. But that's how I perceived it, you know. And, but my dad was a happy, happy drunk and my dad spent time with me. My dad wanted me to do well, my dad, he wanted me to be into sports and he would spend time, you know, playing catch with me and playing pepper and stuff like that and learning how to be baseball and talking me into track and stuff like that. And

and, you know, he, he had a lot of attention for the daughters and stuff like that. But

you know, he was an angry man. He was a very hostile man. And back when, when I was a youngster, you did something wrong. You got punished for it. You know, you smoked and you smarted off the mom. Will he take you in the garage? And you know, whoop you, you know, and, and just he, you know, he won't try to teach me right from wrong. You know, I see that now,

but as a young kid I had this thing where I had to be treated special all my life. I've got to be treated special, you know, and I'm the type of guy who does average things expecting standing ovations, you know, I'm the type of guy who goes in and puts 8 hours of work and I think the boss is up in the office going Jesus Christ, ain't that wonderful man? The guy put in eight hours work, didn't he? Wonderful, you know, and they just don't make him like that anymore, you know. And, you know, I, I've got to be treated special just to feel average, you know? And

when you treat me average, I feel like you, you don't like me. And so I'm always growing up and I don't believe people when they tell me the truth and always needing to be treated special, you know? And and I didn't find that at all, you know? And what happens is you grow up and you're always pulling on people's sleeve. Do you love me? Do you really love me? Do you really, really, really love me? You know, Yeah. Get out of here, you know, And then when you do finally

know somebody and corner them and they say, yeah, I love you. You go, Jesus, how could you? You know, how could you love a guy like me, man? Don't tell me you love me, you know, you know, no self worth at all. I've always looked out of a dirty window, man. I've always felt like I've crawled out underneath the Rock, You know, and fighting with this self worth and feeling inadequate, you know,

and at around nine years old, my dad come to my bedroom and he told me that my little baby brother died and I don't remember having any ounce of compassion or Jesus. Let's go see mom and see how she's doing. I did what I did to this very this very day. I went through temper tantrum in a rage in a New York 2nd and I went after the old man with all 6070 lbs shouting at him that you promised me.

You promised me. And my dad was going to be on top of my list when I come to Alcoholics Anonymous and did an inventory because that was the last brick in a wall that I've been building between me and that family. And when I come to Alcoholics Anonymous, I used to hear people and they used to talk about being phonies and how we could fake it out there and always having to be something we're not so they don't get in and find out who we really are. The trouble that I was having was that I couldn't pretend anymore in that old home.

You see, I wasn't having conversations with my dad, I wasn't having conversations with my sisters. I was fighting. I was angry or I was quiet. I didn't know how to have conversations with people in my own family. And I felt guilty about that,

you know, because I could go out and I felt more comfortable underneath the street light at midnight than my own dinner table. And God, I was ashamed about that, you know? And around 11 years old, there was four of us, and we stole a bottle of four rose whiskey and we ran out into the garage. And for the first time in my life, I was able to get something from life that made me feel good because up to that point, everyday living wasn't cutting it. I'm going through the same school and playing in the same little leagues and same neighborhoods, and I'm feeling empty. Average everyday living isn't cutting. I know there's got

something else. Always that restless feeling and irritable and discontent and that constant grinding and anxiety, always wondering what the hell is going on and always doubting and questioning the people around me, you know, and never having that peace that everybody seemed to be getting with everyday living, you know.

And I took a shot of that whiskey and man, it just turned Howdy Doody into James Dean and two drinks and God, I loved it. Now that's the way I'm supposed to be feeling. And I never got that with a home run or getting a good grade or having a none of that every day. I didn't get that feeling, man. And man, it made me feel like for the first time in my life, man, I'm all right. I'm all right. I'm going to be OK here and now. I wasn't going to head out the Skid Row that very next day. But I tell you, that stuff was close by and I knew it. I knew it and it wasn't

hard for me to get because the old man had it planted all around the house. He used to stack his liquor by price. He had the cheap stuff by the garbage disposal and the expensive stuff up there, you know, real high, you know, and you learn to hop up there, you know, and, or crawl down there wherever it is, you know. And there was plenty of stuff in the cupboards to keep me going. And there was plenty of stuff in the garage to keep me going as long as I didn't have to be me because I was scared to death to be me. You know, I was scared to death to be alone with myself in in in the middle of the night because I had a baby brother

that died and I didn't know that my mom, you know, planned for that kid brother. Nobody told me that. What happens when you die? Nobody told me, nobody discussed what happened. All I was all I knew is that little kid got tooken away and I become scared to death of this thing called God, My God. What kind of God is that that creates you and kills you in the middle of the night? Man, I'm going to keep on a lookout for that. And I hadn't had A, and I didn't sleep a night through, you know, I started sneaking out and crawling out the window, the same one that my dad was crawling

in on, you know, every now and then we'd pass each other and he'd ask me how Mom's doing, you know?

You know, I don't know, man. She's out there mowing the lawn right now. You ask her, you know,

scared to death man, to, to, to, to go to sleep, you know, and to this day I have trouble sleeping. Well, I got in here 7:30 this morning, you know, and I wanted to go to sleep. Me and my wife got up at 4. She ran me down to the airport and had trouble with the plane. We finally got in here, you know, and I'm physically beat.

I'm physically beat. I lay my head down. It wants to chat. Yeah, I'm physically beating. My head wants to chat, you know? Hey, how you doing? What's going on? Let's chat. You know, I want to talk about your childhood. No, not just what happened a couple years ago. I want to talk about when you were a baby and bring you right up to date, you know? And Jesus. And it did. And I sat there, you know,

and the thing that frustrated me is I just did that the night before,

you know, and it don't care, man. My, my head is exhaust. I mean, it's just, it's, it's just ongoing, you know, and always afraid to sleep, you know, And I tell you, that's the one thing that I like about getting drunk is I could pass out is I could get some rest. I could shut off that head, you know, and, and I was always close by and I would take it to school and stuff like that. And God, I got into high school and I finally found a group of people that made me feel more part of life than anybody had in my whole life, man.

I finally found a group of people who were excited about life and excited about being together. And there was loyalty and camaraderie. And it was the low riders. And I loved the low riders, man. We used to lower our Chevrolets down to the ground and get our hair a Mile High up, man. Like a Bakersfield tumbleweed, you know? And we drive around and eat those Reds and drink that cheap wine, you know, and listen to The Four Tops and the Temptations and Smokey Robinson. And God, I loved it, man. I was in my plumbing truck a couple weeks ago and The Four Tops came on. I just start sinking in my damn truck.

I loved it. I had a little Mexican girlfriend named Loopy and she curled her hair up real big with a big old beehive, you know. And sometimes those flies are caught in there, you know. And she get her eyelashes up real big, you know, and put her sweaters on and I'd get my hair up real high and my white T-shirt and my black khaki pants that came up to here. I had 6 inch pointed shoes and you could see my hair before me when I turned the damn corner, you know? And man, we'd bounce around all night wondering what the hell you're staring at. What are you looking at? You know,

now I know. You know, I had three guys in the back seat. They look just like me. We look like something out of Disneyland, you know?

And they had names like something out there was Sneaky, Snoopy, Poopy, and Pooch, you know, and all these guys, you know, I got a nickname that I can't stand. My mom and dad, they called me Boober. I don't want to be a boober, all right? I don't want Boober. Is that close to Goober? You know what I mean? I don't want nothing to do with a name like Boober, you know what I mean? I want to be ace. I want to be, you know, Lawrence of Torrance, anything but you know, Buber, you know,

You know, it's just not cool being a boober, you know?

And so we had bounced around and God, I loved it. And I know how goofy I look. Hell, I ran into a kid like that last Christmas. I'm in the Glendale mall and going down the Glendale mall and shopping and stuff and there comes this kid about 18 years old and his head is just shaved bald man, you know, and he's all tatted down. He's got this tank top on, you know, and, and he's got 3 beepers because he's an important kid, you know, and

you know, just got those paper routes moving, you know, and got these big old pants on that you could put about four guys in, you know, and everything. And his face is chained and pierced together. He looks like a damn science project, you know? I mean, I want to squirt him with WD40 just to make sure he don't stick, you know, and

everything's hooked together and, you know, and, and he starts talking to me and there's a ball bearing in his mouth, you know, and I, what the hell is with this man, you know?

I walk by me goes what are you looking at? And I, I said, hell, I don't have a clue

what I'm looking at, you know? You know, Mr. Gadget, you know, what are you, you know,

and I said, my God, you know, but I recognize the attitude, you know, and, and because, you know, just look at all that, don't find out who I really am, you know, and that's the way I was, man. I, Jesus Christ, just look at what is out there. Always portray that image of whatever it is, as long as they don't find out who you are, you know, and who I am is a scared kid

who I am as a kid who don't have the equipment to go out there and be one among many. Because when my head hits that pillow, it's man, I got through another day, you know, I had fun doing it, but you know, I'm scared. I don't want to go do those things and, and, you know, stuff like that. And I tell you, I, I, I bounced around on those cars and I found loyalty and love and everything I ever needed was going to be found in the back seat of a Chevrolet lowered to the ground, you know, and I loved it, man. I remember going into driver's education class and you're usually a sophomore

and they usually got the biggest football player in the world as your coach, you know, and I'm taking summer school because I'm getting kicked out of regular school all the time. And the coaches, all right, Thomas, get into the car. So I get my hair into the car, you know, and he says, go over there in parallel park. So I parallel park and I am just stoned from last night, man. We've been doing wine and weed and Jesus, I've just buzzed, you know. And so the guy tells me the parallel park and I parallel park. And he says, you know, all right, go up to Torrance Blvd. I'm going to buy everybody some Pepsi's. Good coach,

you know, Co opt of Torrance Blvd. and I totally forgot that, you know, 50 minutes before class I took four of what they then call to annuls. And I'd been a good kid. I'd just been drinking and doing a little bit of heroin, minding my own business, you know, and some guy gives me four of these things and Jesus Christ, these are incredible, man. They're half second, all half Amatol. You're knocked out. Telling the truth is what you're doing, you know, and the Al Anon's love it, you know. All right, who's Juanita? You know, I don't know.

I have no idea, you know,

and I took four of those things in Jesus Christ, man. I pull up to the jack-in-the-box and damn, these things nail me, man. I, I start sweating. My, my ears are ringing. I'm getting this hypnotic glow. And I, I look over there and there's about four coaches sitting over there now, you know, I can't talk and he's getting mad. He's saying, go up there and order, you know, and we pull up to this goofy looking puppet and he starts talking to me. And can I have your order, please? And God, you know, I can't talk, you know, and the coaches got an order for Christ sakes, you know, And I pull up again and I pull around

and I hear this big crash and I run over the damn puppet. His head's hanging down like that, you know, and this little boy, can I have your order, please? The kids getting mad now, you know. And I want to talk to the kid, you know, but I want him to come out and be my designated driver, I think, you know. And the cops come and they arrest me and they throw my, you know, hair on top of the car and it shatters every place, you know? And, and I don't drive till I'm thirty. Well, big deal, man. There's nothing like driving shotgun, you know? There's nothing like being on shotgun. Let the other guy drive, man,

and all you have to do is drink and just make that magnificent discovery of seeing yourself in a mirror when you're loaded. Oh, or sober. I mean, you want to capture an alkie's attention, put a mirror in front of them. Jesus Christ, man, I wish that damn screen was over here. Now, you know, why don't I just talk like this, You know? I mean, oh, God damn it. We're so consumed in us, we don't want anybody butting in. You know, that mirror ain't big enough for two people. All right, I've got my hair to do, and I got to get my eyebrows right,

you know? I mean, every time. Yeah. And there's a lot of people that fly here. This was the first time that I flew and I finally surrendered. You know, I'm going to buy those nosehail Clippers. You know, I'm going to get those nose hair Clippers that they're selling. You know, I got to get that, Just get it just right, you know, and,

and that's the way I was bounced around in that car, man, Jesus Christ. I'd take a shot of that wine and my hair would get bigger and my eyes would get bluer, you know, and I'm going, Jesus Christ,

champ, what are you doing in this car? You can do better than this, man. Look at myself in that mirror and my God, you know, you don't need this stuff. You could be an underwear model, you know, you don't wear any, but what the heck, you know, I mean, get out of this car, man. And when I get that loaded, I love to dance, man, love to drink and I love to dance. And you go down to the Revelaire and to the Grand and you hear that music. You go in there and man, and Jesus Christ, there she is, man. She's at the end of the bar and is she looking good? You know, she's got

two eyelashes and they're all miles apart. You know, her hair is knocked over like yours. You know, she's got 15 lbs of puke on her breast and she's foxy, you know, and, and that's the girl for me, you know? You know, and you and I loved it, man. I love, I love that way of life, you know, And around 1969, all my friends are going places. And I thought, well, what am I going to do with my life? And I said, well, maybe I'll go back to Detroit, find my roots. So me and my, my connection, my buddy, we drove off to, you know, to Detroit and we wound up in Phoenix.

And I'm over there off North Central and Buckeye Rd. I'm over there at the Apache Motel, you know, and drinking my Kesslers, you know, and looking down at the Wagon Wheel bar, hoping that thing will open any minute now. You know, you get up at 4:00 to make sure it opens at six, you know, and you, you count, you know, and by this time, every liquor store knows you because when you shuffle in there, they got your stuff in a bag already here, you know, and, and, and they know you're going to come in there with your pennies and everything like that, you know, and, and I'm looking at the Wagon

Bar and this time in my drink. And I'm hoping somebody gets in there before me so I can find out who I'm going to be that day. You see, I'm the type of guy that after two Boilermakers, I start sounding like the guy next to me. I don't know about you, but I hate being me. I can have two Boilermakers and they'll be Ernie from Tennessee sitting next to me. Hi, Larry, how are you? I'm doing fine. Ernie, how are you? You know, two days later, I'll go down to the Plum Rose Bar, start drinking those Boilermakers. And hi, Louie, how are you? I'm very good. How are you? You know

I don't care who I am long as I ain't me. You know, long as I ain't me because I am so

unhappy being me that the longer I drink, the worse it gets and the less I can stand to be sober. Because when I'm sober, it's getting scary. Now I'm not just restless, irritable and discontented. That's what I'm hoping to shoot for when I start drinking. You know what I mean? I'm the type of drunk that alone, I mean, you know, I mean, I, I've got to be left alone. I'm the type of drunk that at at midnight I got to start running the streets because I'm scared that I'm going to be alone in my room

and the medicine chest will be closed and I'll see myself in the mirror. I'm the type of drunk that has to sneak out and sneak sleep in the alleys because I'm afraid to sleep by myself in that little motel room. And even though I got a $30.00 a month room, I got to get out there because I'm afraid to be with me. I'm afraid the way I feel when I'm alone because the nightmares and the and the looks on people's faces and the things that I didn't do that I should have.

God, they haunted me to death, just haunted me, and they were choking me out

and always having this dream of tomorrow, it's going to be different, you know, and never being able to do anything about it, you know. And around 1974, well, I made-up some guys at the Wagon Wheel bar and we start hooking up with each other and I start writing prescriptions. I start writing prescriptions for Secanol and Nembutal and Obitol and you name it all, I wrote it all. And we started making money with that and we started running down to Tucson and selling the paper and selling Social Security cards. And they finally caught up with me. And when you're loaded on barbiturates and whiskey, there's no

freeway chase, that's for sure. You know, it's just a matter of the guy. Yeah, You're not going to see the Channel 7 helicopter hovering over it. It's just a matter of the guy coming into your room going, oh, there's the little son of a gun now, you know, pick you up and shift you out, you know. And after two years, I'm in this institution in southern Arizona, and I come back to California in 1974, and I hook up with this probation officer, and we start taking out abuse and going to counseling. And at this time in my life, I've got to find a window once a month to go in there and see him for an hour and I can't find it.

I got a whole month to find this window of 20 minutes and I can't find it. And all I got to do is go in there with a jar and urinate and tell him everything is wonderful and I can't find it. My biggest job now is to find out what I can stick underneath my fingernails to flick in that thing so it'll neutralize the chest. And I can test and I can't. I can't find that window. And I'm not coming in with drunken behavior. It's that old drunk, that old smell, that no order in your life,

the way we get when we get here, you know, Not a dream in the world.

You know, when we come to Alcoholics Anonymous. And the loneliness that I felt being an alcoholic wasn't that nobody would talk to me. The loneliness that I felt wasn't that I was alone in my room again. Hell, that's when I'm at my best, you know, just keep me there. The loneliness that I was feeling as an alcoholic was that no, who, no matter who, was sitting down in front of me. They don't understand how I feel. They don't understand what's going on with me

because they prove that because they keep telling me that if you don't drink and use, you're going to be all right.

And what happens to me is I don't drink and I don't use and I become increasingly miserable. I drank because of the way that I felt when I was sober. Sobriety drove me to drink time and time and time again. And I couldn't stand the way that I felt was sober. And I've got this conflict that I've got to stay sober and I've got this disease that says you never will, pal, And you're caught in the middle and you just drink to shut that off. Sometimes you just drink because your head's on you like a piston in an engine. It's just as soon as you wake up, you put your little goofy feet on the floor. It's

drink, drink, drink, drink, drinking. Jesus Christ, you know, And I just shut it off and I rundown to Eddie's liquor store and I throwback some Kessler's and hair take that, you know, and it shuts it off for about 10 minutes and then it starts up again, you know, and I go down to that probation officer and he, he starts seeing that some of my drug overdoses have been suicide attempts. And he sends me down to Camarillo where I'm out there for a month to be observed.

And then they they find me in a Little League dugout in El Segundo. It's a Sunday and it's a little afternoon and I'm stone cold sober. And I'm in between a being maniacal and hysterical and I'm stone cold sober. And he sends me to Camarillo for a month to be observed.

And I guess they like what they seen because thirteen months later they kept me out of there, you know, and 13 months later I got my little psychiatrist to see and a little bag of pills to take and it lasted two months. And I'm over there, awful Verrell St. in Los Angeles, I'm getting picked up for being publicly intoxicated, a violation of probation, a public nuisance. So they finally sent me a way to Wayside again. And I'm up there for 60 days. After 60 days, they send a bunch of us down to the South Bay courthouse where I'm going to be sentenced and send off to my institution again. And I'm wondering, and I'm in a little room about the size,

the hospitality room, 4:00 in the afternoon, I'm going, well, I wonder where they're going to send me now. I wonder where I'm going now. And all there's in that little room is me and a Vons bag with all my hopes and dreams in a little bag. And I'm wondering where they're going to send me now. And at 4:00 in the afternoon, a Scottish man with a patch stuck his head in the jail cell. He says, I lad, he says my name is Alex. He says, are you Larry Thomas? And I said, yes, Sir. He says, come with me. You're going to A, A, A, A.

Those are two initials I've never heard before. I've heard of OR and PO, but what's an A, A, you know,

And I'm wondering where this little Scottish pirates going to take me, you know, and I'm ready for a long ride and maybe some lunch, you know, I've got hope, you know, And the guy takes me six blocks away to my first meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. He drives me six blocks and in 15 minutes

this guy was so happy I was going to meet you.

This little fellow was talking you up a storm.

He was your biggest cheerleader, that little guy.

He was so happy that I was going to sit in this room and talk to you people about what's been going on with me.

And he talked thee up a storm. And he said, kid, don't worry about how different you feel. He says the more different you feel, the more qualified you are.

And he took me to this room. And in 1975, I sat in my first meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous, a little club over there in Torrance called the Torrance Lomita Alano Club. And I walked into that room and he introduced me to a lady named Indian Genie. He introduced me to a guy named Captain Bob and Tennessee Bill and Santa Claus Ray and Bicycle Ray and Singing Sam and Serenity Sam and Dancing Pete and Whistling Butt and all these other people, man. I said, my God, I just left a group of people like this, you know,

everybody's got a nickname and a tattoo, you know, and,

and little Moose was from Louisiana, and she comes running down the hall. Ha, honey, my name is Moose, and I'm expecting a miracle. I said, I bet you are Moose. I said, I'm not it, you know. And then this transvestite came out of the room, you know, out of the card room, wherever they hide out, you know, And he starts circling me like a vulture on a Gopher, you know? And, and he finally put his hands on my shoulder and he said, you know, I can't wait to take you to a candlelight meeting.

I said, I don't think so, you know, Not for that first year anyway. You know,

I, I've got my pride, big fella, you know, and I said, my God, if it's AA, I'm not sure I want to dabble in that book, you know, and, and, and if that's the effect of this blue book and these wonderful rooms, I'm not sure I want to mess around with this thing.

And I was immediately different.

And from 1975 to 1982, I came in out of Alcoholics Anonymous on a regular basis. 30 days and get drunk, 60 days and get drunk, 90 days and get drunk. And the longest I could stay sober was six months because I was on heroin. And every time I came back, I wanted not to drink.

And that was the biggest lie that I've ever told myself was that I was coming in and out of Alcoholics Anonymous. I hadn't touched Alcoholics Anonymous as I know it today. All I did is sit in a room and get physically well and mentally ill, you know, And I planted that deadly seed. You see, I'm a something for nothing guy. I'm not used to earning my keep. Give me the dope, I'll pay you later. Give me that half pint, I'll pay you tomorrow. And I come in alcohol, it's Anonymous. And I've got the same attitude.

Give me those goodies. I'll work the steps later. Just give me the stuff now.

I'm the type of guy who never earned his way. I'm always expecting. I don't go out looking for jobs. I look for professions. I'm constantly lying on my application. I'm constantly never going on an even keel to get what's what's to be earned. I don't know about earn in my way here. And I come in Alcoholics Anonymous and you people talk to me about earning your keep here. And I never did that. I never got a sponsor. I never worked these steps. I never did nothing to these rooms. Pick up the ashtrays, set the meetings up and I planted that cancer,