Circe Revisited |
June 1958 Vol. 15 No. 1 |
YOU GET A LITTLE SCARED about going abroad because the last time you were there every experience, good or bad, had a bottle behind it. There were enough of the "good" experiences so that thinking about them becomes very dangerous for an alcoholic, and alcoholic is precisely what I am.
I've been a recovered alcoholic for a few years now, but not enough to keep thoughts of champagne, port, Chateau Neuf du Pape and Montrechet out of my mind--and of how they used to be as necessary to European meals as butter is to a stack of pancakes. I started to think about this subject three months before leaving home, and even brought it up casually in a closed meeting. The group not only gave it a full airing but gave me a flock of useful suggestions. I left with lots of armor.
Fortunately I was able to visit the General Service Office in New York--and one of the services had to do with members like me who were about to take the trans-Atlantic treatment. They bundled up the AA world Directory and a flock of pamphlets, talked with encouragement and a sense of adventure, and made me feel generally warm and comfortable about the whole business. We went over my itinerary and there was either a loner or a group at every stop--just waiting for me to show up. What a magnificent way to travel, incurable disease or not!
The first meal on the ship was the only rough moment going over. The table had the mood of a "Forty and Eight" contingent on their way to Armentiers, and everybody loaded up. Or almost everybody. I felt in my pocket for my Steps and Traditions wallet card. That was enough. With six-gun in hand, Bat Masterson never felt safer. . . .the first round belonged to AA, the gals at 141 East 44th, and my group back home. The rest was easy sailing. The food tasted better than when I remembered it last, and I guess I was the only guy on the ship who didn't have to hide or write a note of apology the morning after the Captain's dinner.
First stop--Mallorca. A North Hollywood AA was in residence there, doing some movie scripts. Though his wife is a non-alcoholic, I knew we had a group. My job there took five months and there never was a time when AA wasn't just around the corner.
On my way to Paris I had dinner with an American loner in Madrid. . .it was such a wonderful evening I wished I could stay longer.
A lot of things still put the whisperings in my ears, and Paris is one of them. . .so I arranged to land at Orly a few hours before the meeting at the American Church on the Quai D'Orsay. I checked into my hotel, trying not to look at the crowded sidewalk cafes or to smell and hear the seduction that only a Paris evening in June can have. I made it to the Quai D'Orsay and was literally received by sixteen pairs of welcoming arms. It was a magnificent meeting and a superb evening and it ended at two in the morning in a Left Bank bistro famous for its American coffee. There's nothing casual about AA in Paris. These good people know so well that our disease is both incurable and fatal and though the discussions are fundamental and penetrating, all the gaiety which French charm and American humor can combine has found a home on the second floor of an American parish house on the Quai D'Orsay.
By now, six months had gone their way and though AA was always at hand, a strong consistent dose, maybe about three weeks' worth, was just what the sponsor ordered. Fortunately my next stop was London and the length of stay just three weeks. There's a meeting or two every night in London, and after the first one, I knew I was home.
English AA is strictly by the book. They put you to shame with their full understanding and knowledge of the Big Book and its everlasting wonders. They have infinite patience, they're loaded with humility (which they wear just right), and they're as fundamental as granite. (A purely personal observation: they have progressed much further than their humility would permit them to believe. We got into Jack Alexander's story after one meeting, and most of them felt an English version would find AA unprepared there. I found this hard to believe. Every member seemed to be a leader with enough fundamentals to start a new group on twenty-four hours' notice and the stamina to direct it into growth. Then, too, there were four occasions to tell as many non-alcoholic Englishmen that I was an alcoholic and a member of AA. They were a barrister, a museum curator, a barman, and a taxi driver. In each case, my disclosure was greeted with immediate recognition, a valid interest, and a flood of questions. Even though they may have had no Jack Alexander, no Yale studies on alcoholism, no National Council on Alcoholism, the word had certainly circulated--England knows there is a place called AA.
It is quite impossible to describe the genuine warmth with which the English greet Americans. Whatever humility my sponsor was able to knock into me flew out the window the first evening! London is but a few hours from most anywhere in Europe and if you are ever face-to-face with a drink, climb on board a plane and head for a British meeting. They'll not only give you a grand time, but they'll also kick your drinking thoughts into oblivion and load you with enough ammunition to support a six-month expedition to the Crimea.
My last AA visit in Europe was Brussels. There's a valiant Belgian gal there who speaks English and who at the moment [but see p. 57 for later news--ED.] is going it pretty much alone. There is, though, a little AA history in those parts so that a small shove in the right direction would get things nicely underway. It seems a French translation of the Big Book is the answer, not only for Belgium but especially for France, Switzerland, and wherever French is spoken which is pretty close to being most everywhere in Europe. One hitch is publication financing, and though we know that these things work out in time, I got to thinking about my group's annual debate about the size of the contribution to the General Service Office and how maybe ten cents extra per member throughout the land would help solve this problem overnight. . . . Our General Service Office in New York deals in mass Twelfth Step work, and I know at long last how small and lean my own annual two-dollar contribution is.
Meanwhile, our Brussels friend and member is holding the line with inordinate courage and with consummate faith in her future and in the future of her countrymen who still suffer. Yet she is only one of the 379 loners throughout the world who seek to strengthen their own sobriety through Twelfth Step work. When Twelfth Step opportunities are hard to come by, their miracles seem more evident and therefore more precious.
My sponsor has to take the bows for my "safe home" because it was he who drummed in the need for daily work and daily prayer. As I said, I was running a little scared, so this daily stint I did without fail. And it worked in so many ways. It made me realize, too, how at home I had come to depend upon my group and the comparative lavishness of AA in my community. My Sunday punch overseas was daily meditation and I made a decision not to drop it when I was once again safely back home. There are no atheists among the loners of the world and now I know why.
