The Edmonton Winter Roundup in Edmonton, Alberta

My name is Rick, and I'm an alcoholic, and I used to drink, eh?

If I never drank, I wouldn't be here.

I'm real proud member to be a member of the Mystic Nights that meet Wednesday nights.

I belong to an amazing group of old farts.

Now I understand the Ku Klux Klan in the southern states is called the Mystic Knights,

and how we ended up with a group with that name I'll never know,

but I refer to what is the old Farts group in fear of that getting around, right?

Anyways, I better start drinking, I guess.

I better tell you who I am. I was born in Ontario, 53 years ago,

into a family with four kids, and I was the third kid.

I had a much older brother, I had a sister who was a bit seven years younger,

and I was seven years younger than her,

and I had a sister that was seven years younger than me.

So my mother had babies for 21 years,

and the joke in my house was, my father got the seven-year itch

and stayed home.

My older sister was severely cerebral palsy,

and she was brain injured from birth.

and this was before health care as we know it today.

Health care started in 1964.

And so my sister was in braces and on drugs

and had to have physiotherapy every night.

And my mother and father always had black eyes

from her spasdic arms and legs shooting out.

And it was a house where there was a huge need

for people to get together.

So I saw things like AA in my youth.

I saw

dances, fundraising dances, I saw the community get together.

And in my house there was lots of drinking.

I come from a background where we're part Irish and part Scottish, which makes sense to me

now.

Part of me is always wanted to get drunk and the other part never wanted to pay.

And we had great parties in that house.

There was lots of dancing and lots of laughter.

And if there was something abnormal about it, I didn't get that.

I didn't get that at all because it was what I knew.

It was my home.

And my father died a drunk.

He died a drunk.

But it was normal.

It was excitement.

It was dancing.

It was people laughing and having fun.

And that's what I associated with drinking.

But there was something wrong with my drinking thing.

The very first time I drank,

there was a bunch of kids from the neighborhood

went camping down at the river,

and before we left, we got a peanut butter jar full of everything.

There was gin, there was vodka, there was rum, there was sherry,

there was anything that leave nose hairs on the pillow, right?

And we got down to the river, and the jar went around once,

and they were all spitting it out.

They're all fools.

Yeah.

And I finished that jar.

So I came home in the back of a police cruiser in someone else's clothes.

And that's not very funny.

And my father made a statement to me then.

He said,

son, if you can't handle that stuff, you leave it alone.

And my keen mind said, I'll try harder.

And I worked, it may not have been my fault, Harold, but I worked real hard on it.

And...

And it started out with me being able to keep from coming out my nose,

and it ended up being me trying very much to keep the lights from going out

and from me doing sad and pathetic things.

I had blackouts right from the beginning, and I never knew,

never knew which night it was going to be.

Was it going to be the night where I'd have four drinks, and I'd grit my teeth,

and put everyone around me through the misery of not drinking anymore,

or were the lights going to go out, and was I going to start dancing on tables?

And I never knew. I just never knew.

And I got in trouble.

I was kind of a clown.

I was the guy that always got caught and got in trouble.

When I was in school, I was the kid at the back of the classroom.

There was always some girl with a bun on her head at the front of the class, and she was the keener.

and I never wanted to be a keener in my life.

You remember that girl who always was pumping her arm

and always wanted to answer all the questions first.

There was one in all of my classes,

and I never wanted to be that person.

I was at the back of it.

I was a clown, always.

Well, I got in trouble, and I lived in a kind of a crazy household.

Because we had cerebral palsy in our house,

there were people always coming and going.

There was,

There was always this activity and excitement, but it was a good home overall.

And I was raised in a home where I never, ever saw my father say anything disparagingly about my mother.

He always treated her with grace and dignity.

He was a drunk, but he never said anything unkind in front of anyone else.

When they're alone, he used to call her that thin-lipped Presbyterian woman, but that was a different thing.

That was the Scottish side, right?

Yeah.

But I was the kind of guy that was, I got real good at drinking,

and I was the guy that drove everyone else home,

because I could hold my liquor better.

I didn't understand that that just meant I had a fatty liver.

In my mind, I thought that that meant I was more of a man.

And one of the greatest horrors in my life is I was very tiny as a child.

I was the kind of kid that would run in and out of a fireplace

without clocking myself on the head.

I was so tiny.

And growing up, I heard cute little Ricky a lot more than I wanted to hear.

I wanted to be Rick, you know, you know.

And in this weak, chin little snot, right?

And I never was. I never was.

And I was never a lover.

I got to get too drunk, too fast.

I was never a fighter.

I had a medical problem in all fairness.

I had no guts.

Do what you want to the girl, but leave me alone.

You know.

I was never a fighter. I never wanted to be that.

I don't like pain.

Line up for that dummy, you know.

But I liked the party.

And I was working at a, or I had to leave school early.

I had a learning disability that wasn't recognized in the late 50s and early 60s.

I was dyslexic severely.

And so I was strapped.

daily and weekly for not performing at the level they figured I should have

performed that because I was always precocious. I always had a smart ass mouth.

I always was one lines and quick lines and right now

and they always expected more out of me and yet I couldn't read.

I think I was 13 before a teacher taught me to close one eye to read

and so I had a real problem with authority.

I'm still Brescel when I walk into schools with my kids

because I had some teachers that just wouldn't give up on me.

Damn them.

And I can honestly say today there's four things that kept me from a university degree.

Those four things were grades 9, 10, 11, and 12.

The first real good chance I had to get away from school,

I was working, I was just 16 years old, and I was working as a dishwasher and a,

and a little restaurant and a short order cook had a stroke.

And they handed me a hamburger turn in an apron and said,

start turning burgers, kid.

And I fell in love with the idea of becoming a chef.

I was going to become a connoisseur, I guess.

But the way I drank, I was a commensure.

I mean, I just didn't fit, right?

But I really liked, I really liked the kitchen,

and I really, I was very much a Hitler-type

guy for running the kitchen, but I really loved it because it was creative.

And I could have fun all day long and kid people and teas.

And I did pretty well at it.

And I started an apprenticeship and I got my chef papers.

I became a Red Seal chef.

I still don't know what the hell that means.

I always had to cook.

And I really loved it. I really loved it.

But I drank. And I always drank.

Drank as much as I could hold.

Control drinking is largely put as much as you can inside you and try and control yourself.

And try not to spill any.

Once you get her in, keep her there.

I was working at a very exclusive country club.

I was the sous chef, and that's the second in command.

And this little brunette started working there.

And she was different.

You know, that Irish eyes are smiling stuff, it really happens, you know?

And I started dating this poor gal.

And I work a split shift, and we go over to my parents' place

and go for a swim in the afternoon and then go back to work in the evening.

And we had a ball.

And I had a honeymoon with booze and dancing and partying.

And for me, booze was sweaty body strashing around on dance floors.

It was excitement.

We had a ball.

And I got...

Just, it was crazy fun we had.

And there came that time.

I got charged with impaired driving again, and I got real scared, so I proposed to her.

No, but it really was a romantic thing.

You know, it really was, because despite being afraid and terrified of where I was headed...

I really wanted to be a whole guy.

I wanted to be, I want to be the guy that sat across from the table

and she'd look over and she'd give you that knowing look.

Guys, you know that look? Yeah, I didn't either for a long time.

She'd look across the table and give that knowing look and go,

that's my guy, you know?

No way. Not for a long time.

I was, I think about it. I mean, that's, we got married,

August 20th, 1977, the exact same day, they were lowering Elvis Presley into the ground.

We got married.

And my wife was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen in my entire life coming up the aisle, all sparkly, Irish-eyed.

And I had no skills for this.

My parents partied and had a good time.

It's not like I had a lot of great examples.

Right.

And so I never forget telling my dad.

I said, I'm going to marry Joanne.

And he said, oh, don't do that to her.

Jesus, kid.

I think it was a common joke in those days.

Oh, leave her alone.

The poor girl's had enough.

But we got married and it started something really awful.

See, just previous to marriage for three years or two years, whatever it was, Joanne

was in nursing school and I was drinking all week.

and some of my heaviest drinking came when she was away in nursing school.

And I go visit her on weekends and I was twitchy.

I had hives. I was in such toxic overload from booze.

And why she didn't see this twitchy hive-colored thing, I don't know.

But we ended up getting married.

And then the shock of marriage was, now I had to be that guy on the other side of the table.

And I was in this horrible thing where I really needed to drink by then.

And fortunately or unfortunately, being a nurse meant she worked shift work.

So she'd go out the front door and I'd go out the back door.

And I'd be hitting the booze and I was very physically allergic.

So when Joanne would come in, it was like formaldehyte coming out of my pores.

Just like urinal soap.

I smelled bad.

So when they say, what an order?

I used to think, what an odor, you know, that was me.

I really was bad shape.

And I used to scold myself.

I was a scalder.

I'd get up in the morning and I have that oily sweat

from drinking the night before.

I don't know if any of you ever had that

where you feel just like itchy and rotten

And I used to scald.

And so I was also, I'd sleep through the alarm two or three times with that 10-minute button.

So get up 20 minutes late, run through a steaming shower, and hit traffic with a red face and wave at everyone with a one finger.

Get out of my way.

I'm going.

And that's how I lived.

And it was upset stomach, sweaty, awful, horrible feelings.

That high voltage electrical wire with no insulation feeling.

Well, that's what booze was like.

And I started getting in trouble in my marriage.

And I started lying.

And I started sneaking.

And I started hiding.

And the problem with lying is, is if you tell one, there's three or four more coming on the tail of that to cover it.

And I would get confused.

And I would make mistakes in my lies.

And Joanne would look at me.

And it was like I had just kicked her new puppy or something.

She'd look at me.

She'd say, I understand you drank.

Why do you have to lie and sneak?

Why do you do that?

And I didn't know.

I didn't know.

See, I always thought the opposite of love was hate.

And I would tell everyone, my wife and I have this love-hate relationship.

It's either making up or having a reason to make up.

And it was such a mood swing between the two of us.

But the truth was, the truth was, the opposite of love is not hate.

It's indifference.

The opposite of love is when you don't care at all.

And I never got to a point that I didn't care what my wife thought of me.

Never.

It bothered me, and I wanted to hide it,

and I wanted to make sure that she didn't see that horrible side of me.

And I was willing to do anything to do that.

And it was years.

I was seven years sober before I understood why I was so sneaky

and why I lied so much.

I didn't want to get caught.

But I was never sorry until I got caught.

because I was so busy planning the next drunk.

I was so busy watching the calendar gets over a while.

You miss things because you don't watch the calendar.

And anyways, we finally got to a point.

I said we better move.

We moved to Vancouver and we lived there for four or five years.

Then we moved here about 25 years ago.

And in between, I'd gone to AA.

I got caught in my lies enough times and I'd done enough stupid things that I had to go to AIA.

And it was, I'll never forget going to the meeting in Vancouver.

We had, Joanne had let me buy a 1956 Ford Fair Lane.

It was going to be my new hobby that was going to keep me from drinking.

And I don't know anything about cars.

So I laid under this thing and drank.

And the bloody windshield wipers didn't work right or anything.

And the night I went to AA, it was raining in Vancouver,

and I went to the Mount Pleasant Group.

It was 16th just off of Main Street.

And I had to turn the wiper thing on this stupid old Ford.

And I got there and I clobbered a curb.

And when I walked up and this guy stuck out his hand, he said,

Hi, I'm Stan. I'm an alcoholic. Welcome.

I thought, what the hell do you want?

Yeah.

And then I went in there and it was one of these church basements that had a window much like this room right here has.

And there were their sweet little blue-haired ladies back there pushing out coffee or that's what my memory tells me it was.

And they pushed out a cup of coffee to me full to the brim.

And the table was five feet into the room with the cream and the sugar on it.

And I looked at that coffee and I was shaking like a dog pooping peach pits.

And so I splashed her all over the floor.

And then he went and found the biggest, fatest, sweatiest guy I could hide behind and sat through that meeting.

And there was an old guy there that had originally been from Edmonton, Earl B.

Earl B. had curly white hair and a big red face, and he laughed out loud.

And he talked, told a story about how when he drank, he used to pour everyone's drinks about two inches and his about four inches.

And I thought, gee, I've done that.

And then he said, and I kept a dirty glass up in the cupboard.

And I thought, that rotten woman of mine called them.

And because I did that.

And he talked about how halfway through the night he'd start to get drunk

and how he'd start pouring everyone else's four inches,

and they'd be spitting them back in the glass,

and I knew she called them then.

And I was very paranoid in those days.

Every time I drove at night, the headlights would be behind me, and I'd think,

What did I do the other night?

The police are following me now if they're going to get me.

And I was so paranoid then.

Anyways, I was in and out of AA for a long time.

I suffered something a lot of you men probably, or some of you may have gone through.

I had premature sobriety.

I wasn't ready. I didn't want it. I did not want to be an alcoholic.

I'd go to A.A.A.A.A.A.A.A.A.A.A.A.A.A.A.

or because I got caught agaigued or whatever.

But I really didn't want to do what you do to stay sober.

Today, since August 8, 1985, my definition of denial is exactly the same as when I got here.

It's when I think I don't have to do what you have to do to stay sober.

I'm in denial.

I have to do the drill. There's no question. But I came back, I moved Joanne here, and I got started going to a meeting. I was going to a meeting. It was called the Youngstown group. It met Monday nights in Edmonton. And I was in and out so many times that old George started putting my sober date pencil. And that's not funny either, you know. And I really wanted to be upset about that.

because every time I came back I was always sorry.

I wasn't willing to do the drill or the work, but I was sorry,

and I was heard about it, but I wasn't willing to do what you do to stay sober.

Finally, I got charged for impaired driving one more time.

I assume I must have been a bit of a blackout because I got to court

fully expecting my lawyer to know what he was doing and to get me off.

And the policeman got up there and he flipped open his little black book.

He said, I pulled Mr. Killen over at so-and-so street and so-and-so Avenue.

He handed me his driver's license, his insurance, rolled up the window and drove away.

You laugh at the wrong parts.

I...

Like, I didn't remember that part, you know.

And my lawyer was supposed to know everything.

And so I looked straight down.

I didn't want to look at him,

because I knew if he was laughing, I was screwed, you know.

And then he went on, the policeman went on to say,

I subsequently pulled Mr. Killin over.

Four blocks later, he jumped from his car

and yelled at me, what the F do you want now?

So I pled guilty.

What do you do?

And I came back home from court.

And as I was pulling up to that house, I didn't want to play the game we'd played so many times before.

Joanne would be hurt and upset, and she wouldn't be able to look at me, let alone talk to me.

And I'd wait for the right time, and I'd push her buttons, so she'd explode emotionally.

She'd be snot and tears and anger, and she'd get all this energy off,

and then I'd offer her alternative.

Just like in the big book where it talks about

limiting the number of drinks, drinking wine only, and all that.

And I would offer Joanne alternatives.

And this day, I couldn't do it.

I had a new plan.

And the plan was, I thought, I'll just come home and say,

I should probably move out.

That'll get her.

She packed.

In less than two hours, I was standing on my front porch,

my cute little bungalow in the West End

with my matching alcoholic luggage,

a pair of green garbage bags.

And the question on my mind was, how did we get here?

This was not the plan.

This was not supposed to go this way.

This was, she was supposed to throw her arms around me and say, you poor guy, you know.

But Joanne had had enough.

And so in defiance, I left that house that day thinking, my problem's in that house.

And I will show her.

And I did.

I got worse.

And, uh...

I borrowed money from my father and from other people.

And in five or six weeks, I dropped 25, 30 pounds.

I'd had a seizure on a sidewalk.

I was really, really physically ill.

I had some sense that I would physically die from alcohol.

I really had a sense that it was going to kill me.

Physically, it was going to take me out of the game.

It wasn't funny at all anymore.

And I could not stop.

I could not stop.

And I went through the treatment center that outside of Edmonton here that's infamous for so many alcoholics in this area.

And I came out with New Hope and I went through ADAC and one of the treats of coming to this do this weekend.

I find out I went through it with someone's mom or couples counseling and it was just kind of nice to see that.

We did all the counseling, we did all of that stuff, and I had two more drunks.

And they were not remarkable drunks.

It was same old, same old.

The lights went out, and I came to.

Absolutely empty and unable to fight anything or anybody.

And I came back to AA one more time.

It was on my 31st birthday.

They said, keep it simple, so I got sober on my birthday.

Don't start any new relationships.

Joan and I were broken up, right?

You know, so...

We started over from grassroots and I started on the steps and I was so full of bull,

so full of crap. I didn't know where the lies started or stopped and the truth began.

Had it not been for strong men in AA, especially my sponsor, Terry C., I don't know what I would have done. I really don't.

There were times that I was in everybody's business at the meetings. I was

going to coffee shops and doing loving appraisals on all the members at the group.

I just had this great spiritual depth, I guess.

But what was really happening was I was coming to a bottom in AA,

where I got to a place where I was willing to do what you were doing.

And what you were doing was simple stuff.

I had joined this group, and they asked me to make coffee.

And I thought, huh, me?

You can't keep me sober.

Why should I?

So I went home and I was in the coffee business that day.

I worked for Maxwell House.

I was the last drip.

But I was absolutely terrified that you wouldn't like my coffee.

Like, I mean, if there is ever a group of people that are more palate fatigued.

So I went out and I bought Colombian coffee beans with money I didn't have and I ground them just right.

And I made the coffee just right, and no one said one word.

The important thing was I came early with the keys, and I opened up that room, and I laid out the literature, and I set up the tables and the chairs.

And I started to live like I believed that AA might work.

And for me, that was the most profound thing that happened was that's... When we talk about...

what it was like and what happened. What happened to me was, I really physically joined AA,

and I started to live like I believed, and I came to believe because I was part of.

And being part of has always been the most important part for me, to just be part of you.

No better, no worse, just part of you. And then I made a horrible mistake. I started talking,

and they'd asked me to speak, and I'd talk, and this poor bugger asked me to be a sponsor.

Oh, God, what do you do with that, eh?

So I tried to look good, and I went out and I got a sponsor,

and I thought, I'll get one that won't work out.

I'll get this guy that looks like, with the big Irish grin on his face

and a brush cut, Terry C., he'll be my sponsor.

He won't work out.

He was my sponsor for 19 years until he had a heart attack.

And the thing was...

This bugger asked me to be a sponsor, and he says, comes to me one night.

On a Monday night, he says, Rick, I think I'm ready to do my step three.

And I said, oh, great, no problem.

I thought, my wife's work on Thursday night.

Come over to the house.

And he'd come over to the house.

And I found where step three is.

In the meantime, it's right after A, B, and C.

The next line says, being convinced, we're now at step three.

I thought, great, I'll start here.

And I studied a bit, and he came over, and we started reading this thing together.

And we got to the top of page 63, and there's a set of promises there

that I make every guy I work with read.

And it talks directly to when do you do your step three, when you're ready.

And then we got on our knees and we did step three, and I set the next trap for myself.

Because by doing that, someone else knew that I'd closed the back door.

And it was just like closing the back door for me.

When I did a step three with another human being, I was trapped in AA.

There was no back door, this God thing had to work or else.

And then there was a real sense that if I didn't get this four and five done,

I wasn't going to be able to stay with you.

I really wasn't going to be able to stay with you.

And I did first step four and it was really a grocery list of things I'd like to see changed.

And then the next time was with a little guidance and a little help.

And there was some marvelous words in the big book that really changed

everything about my sobriety.

And the words went something to the effect.

It was something to do with the grudgelist and it said,

we saw that the world had dominated us based on that ground.

We weren't going to do very well.

And then the marvelous part was we looked again at our list

and we came to see that these people were perhaps spiritually sick.

and that we prayed for them in that way.

And that was the thing that changed step four

from being a grocery list and to be in a spiritual step for me.

Because the minute I started letting those people be human

that had hurt me instead of being bad people,

I was giving them their humanity and I was gaining my own.

And no surprise for me, the next thing that kind of happened was

I didn't feel the need to forgive me again,

that the forgiveness was built into that.

And it really helped me a lot because I was able to be a hell of a lot more honest with my inventory

because I was only dreadfully, boringly human.

And it was a great freedom for me.

And step four wasn't an awful thing.

It was a very freeing thing for me.

And I'd done a step five that was searchless and fear filled previously.

And I had secrets. Damn it.

And I was walking across the parking lot from McDonald's one night, and I said to Terry, I said, you know, I don't think I got all the stuff on my...

You see, yeah, I know.

And I got on a plane that was a Friday night, and I flew into Vancouver.

And I did... I put the secrets down on paper.

And then I went to my old home group.

I was talking about that earlier.

My old home group in Vancouver was the Renfrew group.

And there was an old guy there, and I did...

Went out for coffee.

And...

At the end of coffee, he was just him and me sitting there, and it started.

And I didn't have a choice.

And it all just started bubbling out.

And I did this crap on him, and he looked really bored.

But the sense I got was it could never hurt me again,

that I could tell anyone in bits and pieces, and I wouldn't be alone with it again.

And I would feel good about me because I am dreadfully, boringly average.

I'm garden variety at best.

but alone with it, it seemed a lot bigger.

My secret seemed big.

I tried getting real careful in step six and seven.

That was no fun.

I understand my six and seven today is that I'm willing to let God guide my life,

and that I'm to get on with the business of living.

And when I started to get that,

I started having an adventure with this life and trusting God.

And trusting God is always my problem.

It's always the problem I have.

I seek justice again.

I got sober by seeking mercy.

When I was dropped to my knees and I couldn't fight anything or anybody

and I was willing to accept mercy, I got sober.

But every now and then I think I need justice.

And I was blessed again.

I had strong men in my life that would say things to me like,

Who's not doing it your way today, Rick?

Ha, ha, ha.

Ha.

And somewhere along the way I got the message that they were laughing at me, not with me.

And that it was okay for me to laugh at me because I'm just human.

Step 10 has been a real joy and a real chore.

Step 9 was probably the most humbling things I've done within a couple areas.

Never forget calling up my sister and explained to her.

I was coming back home to London, Ontario, and I wanted to make amends.

And when I saw her, I said, I don't know how to make amends.

I wasn't there for you.

And she looked at me and got all misty-eyed.

And by then she was married and starting to have kids.

And she said, will you be an uncle to my girls?

And I got the sense that she didn't want me to hurt her again.

And she was going to sit back and see if I'd step up.

because I was absent in her growing up.

She was younger than me and didn't know me from Adam.

So come just before Christmas time I would call those little girls

and I'd pretend to be Santa.

And I'd get a little information on the inside

and how they didn't play well together

and I do the deep voice on the phone.

And at the end of those phone calls as they got older they said,

thank you uncle.

And I have a good relationship with my sister today.

I love my sister today. She's an amazing woman.

And it's a different life.

The amend that was the toughest for me was my dad.

My dad died drunk.

And the amend, I was four years sober, and he was dying.

And I didn't know what the amend was going to be.

And I flew into London, Ontario, because we had the money in the time, and I did it.

And I picked up my dad, and I drove him all the way back to Edmonton,

and I fed him little shots of booze every time he started going into the DTs,

and I got him to Edmonton.

But what I did was I shared my story with my dad.

And my dad was not going to get sober, and it became obvious.

But what it did for me was, when I made those amends with my dads,

where I shared with him who I'd been and who I was trying to become today,

he opened up and told me his story.

And my dad had a hell of a life.

Man, I had nothing to complain about.