thoughts on vacation...1

While on vacation, I was able to collect thoughts early every morning. I did not go away on vacation from my “program” – from the reality that makes me “me” every day. I honestly desired to pray on a regular basis and so I did. I honestly wanted to continue with whatever it is that I’m doing to stay sober, so I tried to do just that. I honestly wanted to “Let go and Let God”, to live with “Thy will, not mine, be done.” And… I think that I was successful in that endeavor. Following are some of the thoughts and inspirations from my notebook.

August 23,2004 – Monday
As I sit and watch the sun rise over this Northern inlet (Polly and Roger’s back yard), my heart is filled with gratitude and hope. I woke this morning saying, “I have to do this, that, and the other, blah, blah” and then realized that No I don’t – I’m on vacation.

As I sit and write while listening to ‘my’ Canon (and variations), I can’t help but think of the very long journey that brought me here. And I’m not speaking of the series of airports yesterday! So much to cover…so much to say…

The initial reunion with family was pure wonder. I hadn’t seen Katharine for fifteen years or longer. I hadn’t seen Dana and Valerie for maybe ten or twelve years. And of course there is Polly and Roger – not seen, but often heard from, since 1997 when they came to Key Largo to visit me. My, oh my, how we have all changed.

Until just recently my own concept of myself has been of me in perhaps my early thirties or even the late twenties. In some ways, I suppose that that is when this adventure really began. So, of course, everyone else is correspondingly younger as well. Except for Polly and Roger, as they are somehow ageless. Dana (at least in my mind) looks like the stereotype of the academician that he has become. (He would deny this, I’m sure.) Valerie, way too thin, but somehow the understanding, earth mother – old school, yet with new ideas. And then there is Katharine, one of our very first rebels, now recently married. What a joy it was to see and share with her. I neither know nor really care how I physically appeared to others. I am in good health and, even more importantly, in a good spiritual spot right now.

For a part of the day, as we walked to and from and along Wells Beach, Katharine and I talked about why we thought that our families are so ‘screwed up’. I personally think that ‘we’ are the reason.

You see we grew up in tumultuous times. Times that no one was prepared for, - least of all us. Changes came about almost faster than could be handled. Values, morals, technology, and attitudes – almost everything changed, seemingly overnight. Though perhaps longing for “Leave It to Beaver”, we were in reality already laughing at it, making fun of it, by the time we were in our teens. Though we brought upon ourselves a great deal of pain and suffering, I honestly believe that it was our collective parents who suffered the most.




Ha !! This was supposed to be a simple reflection of yesterday’s events; it won’t stay there!

Our parents had gone through WWII, had survived – victorious! It was time now to re-build, - a simpler, kinder world? Oh, yes, the political machines already existed. Big corporations were here and alive. But, somehow, the idea of prosperity was purer for our parents. I’ll try to explore that whole idea at another time – it still needs some thought. I may be completely off the all here. I need to talk, to interview, and to mend and try to heal old wounds.

My own alcoholism, or any of the myriad addictions or ‘isms’ worn by any of my siblings (and my cousins are my siblings, as well), seems to have been a by-product of some things much deeper. The ‘isms’ were a mask and then became a problem by themselves. But that was later.

God! I cannot even begin to articulate some of these emotions right now in any coherent manner. Look at my family, scattered across the country and around the world. Dana is the unwilling, yet very able (and surprised to be in the role) patriarch of our younger generation. Outwardly, perhaps the most successful of the lot of us, Dana, ensconced in the hills of Western Massachusetts, is the closest (physically) to whatever home is or was and has just celebrated 18 years of continuous sobriety! Jeremy is somewhere – perhaps in Virginia – and, we think, a lawyer for the government! Three wives and two or so families later he has perhaps found himself, but we just do not know as there has been no real communication for well over twenty years. Me! Well, we are learning more and more about me today, - ‘hiding’ in Key West, but more of that later.

Katharine is in Colorado teaching dance and yoga, married and seemingly happy with adventure as yet unheard to share. As she was leaving to return to her beloved mountains, she said to me, “ Now it’s your turn to take over and take care of them (her parents).” Perhaps it is. Roger is in West Hollywood, California, studying to be a psychotherapist and is busy dealing with his own issues. He is the long-distance helper and support of Katharine and me. His role and his own pain are not so clearly defined in all of this, but it is there. There is another whole book about Roger and Chris and relationships, successful and not – but that book will have to wait for quite a while… some of the definitions haven’t even been invented yet!

Okay… more perhaps tomorrow or later today. I’m beginning to loose my train of thought here, - or am I just ‘chickening out’? Others are beginning to stir. It’s time to get this day and whatever God brings in it to a start. There are still other siblings, who I barely even know and then there is Eve. Polly is off to meetings and celebrations of the new school year. I will attend an AA meeting in Brunswick and look forward to that. A full day ahead of us today and then off to the Island tomorrow morning.

Love and Peace from Maine today, from Key West in my heart.

the bus

In the summer of 1969, I had an old beat-up VW microbus that was used to transport kids at the day camp where I was the waterfront director. It was a classic blue with the white top (sort of an old, off white). The bus came as part of the job and I was thrilled to have it. I was nineteen years old, I knew everything there was to know about life (and then some) and, now, I had wheels.

Towards the end of that momentous summer, several of the staff people were to go on vacation before starting back to work in the real world. Two guys were going to hike into the Arctic Circle. Two of us were headed for the Florida Keys. One guy was on his way to California and two others were headed off to explore the Mayan Ruins in Mexico. We all coordinated our departures so that we could all get to the airport in Boston at approximately the same time.

It was decided that, since everyone was going to so many diverse adventures, we had to do something spectacular so that the people who were just going home didn’t feel so left out. We gave the kids paintbrushes and what I thought was poster (water-based) paint and set them loose on the VW. The van was covered with pictures of igloos and palm trees, pictures of Mayan Pyramids and Aztec Gods, flowers and slogans. Yes someone of these kids even painted a bird-track on the front of the bus. That was what the “Hawks” of the day called the peace sign.

My goodness!! What a work of art it was. What a good time was had. These kids were incredible and the bus was truly a remarkable sight. I got pulled over by the “Staties” a few times, only for them to be disappointed at not finding any pot in the bus! It was still, after all, the primary transportation to and from the day camp for several of the kids. It certainly was an eye-stopper.

What happened was this. Some of us decided to take in a concert one weekend. It was billed as a weekend of peace, love, happiness and good music. It was in the country. It only cost five bucks to get in. What better way to end the summer before we all went our separate ways. So, we went to Woodstock!! I never returned from Woodstock, but that is a whole different story for another time. It actually took me just over three years to get back... And the bus?? The bus went home without me. I was to see it again several years later and if one looked really closely, one could still see the faintest shadows of that magic paint-job.

vacation...

For the first time in many, many years I am taking a vacation. I'll be flying from Key West to Portland, Maine to spend some quiet time with friends and family not seen in too long. This will be my first trip north of Miami since 1997, when I ventured as far north as Daytona Beach for a Christmas holiday! I've bought long pants and a warm jacket to deal with August nights in Maine.

A good part of the trip will be spent on Haskell's Island, off the coast of Harpswell. It is about one-third the size of Key West and, as I recall there are only five dwellings there. No electricity, water from a well or from the rainbarrel, travel by foot!

There are a couple of seemingly differet ecosperes on Haskells Island. There is a large tidal marsh that nearly bisects the lowest land area. At full moon tides it foes, indeed bisect the place. The island is primarily granite and shale cliffs that jut out of the water. Once above the fens,there are lots of birch trees (which are one of the things that I miss down here in the southern climes). There are also massive old pines and several old oaks. On Great (or Birch) Point there are blueberries and, on the very end, a gazebo like building in which to sit on the rawer days to study the ever changing waters of the Merkaneeg Sound. There are numerous paths and trails for hiking through the spine of the island. On the far-side, Ship's(or Shipwreck)Cove is found. This is on the windward side and there are many stories of shipwrecks here. There is ample jetsom in order to fuel the fantasies. On this side of the island is also "sea urchin pool", a semi-protested tidal pool where the bravest of us children would skinny-dip in the summers of our innocence.

By following the paths, often brushed by giant fiddlehead ferns, one comes across a meadow like area about half-way up to the highest point. There are many different varieties of wildflowers here as well as an old, old stand of rhubarb (which was used for pies long ago). There used to be the remains of an old barn here, but they were difficult to find, even as a child.

Highest Point is perhaps some hundred and something feet above sea level and even as a kid it was an arduous climb. I can remember in 1961 or 1962 climbing with Dad to observe a total eclipse of the sun. From atop, one can see for miles. I think that on an exceptionally clear day, Mt. Washington, the highest peak in New England, can be seen far to the west.

South Point is a rocky, windswept spit that was rarely visited as a child. Though I do remember walks towards the place where we would go through yet another meadow (ancient and not quite overgrown) where rumors and history tells of of cows which used to graze there. South Point itself is typical of the many windswept, rocky points found along the coast of Maine.

So, with a couple of good books, some warmer clothes, and a sense of well-being, I'll be trading for a smaller island for a week. This may be my last trip up North. Life has a way of moving on and, as I grow older, moving on more swiftly. I cannot say at this juncture that I am dissatisfied with all the many turns of events. For, at this time of my life, I am happier than I've been for most of the rest of it. I seemingly have "found myself" - a task that I set out to do nearly forty years ago.

More on that at a different time. Now is the time for more mundane things like laundry and packing, like a doctor's office visit, paperwork and inventories to finish, and a multitude of other silliness that "must" be attended to before I go away...or go home. Life is a miracle and a wonder at every turn and I love it.

Love and Peace from Key West.

the end...and then hope!!

By the time I was sent to Miami, I had begun to develop a belief that God might just have a role in my life. This was difficult to reconcile in that I’d spent most of my adult life ignoring him. Here’s what happened:

I was all set to go to a place called the Village but when I got there, there had been a screw-up in the paperwork and there would be at least a two-week wait to get in. I’m in Miami. I don’t know anyone that I can stay with. I did not know what to do. Stranded. Penniless. The counselor made some frantic calls and was able to get me a bed at a place called Rainbow Ministries.

Rainbow Ministries was to be a six-month program and was located in the Brownsville section of Miami. When they picked me up to get there, I said to myself, “This could be an adventure.” The driver was the largest black man that I have ever seen in my life. There was a strung-out black man in the passenger seat, a mildly retarded Jamaican man and another black guy just in from Cuba were passengers as well. After a long drive to the center, I realized that this was a “home-made” re-hab but would be okay. I would be safe. There were many adventures there but the best part was that I was able to go to school for the first time since 1968. I wanted to learn a little bit about computers. The program found the resources to pay for the classes and the books and I wound up studying to be an Administrative Assistant. I ah also hesitatingly started to say a simple prayer before I went to bed at night.

After a couple of months at school, the director of Rainbow decide that since I was getting so good with computers that I could start making some little bit of money by taking care of the records in the office. Now…here is an example of what the power of drugs and alcohol can do. I found out through the records that the director of the program was embezzling money. As it turned out, he also had a nasty crack-cocaine habit!! When I had to report the money part to the funding agency, they ran a real investigation, found $85,000 missing and promptly shut down the program! The director ran to New York, where he had come from and I don’t know what happened after that. Because I was still in school, I was sent to the Homeless Assistance Center in Miami where I spent two weeks. Because I had come from a ‘treatment center’, they sent me to another one from the HAC. I was sent to a place called Riverside Ministries Outreach.

Riverside was to be the very first recognizable miracle in my present life. By this time, I was praying regularly and making an honest effort to let go. I had four classes left to finish the semester in school, but because of a thirty-day quarantine, it was doubtful as to whether I could attend or not. I told them that I would do whatever they wanted me to, as I was willing to do anything it took to stay sober. They let me finish the one semester and found the funding for me to enroll in the next one. This was a real program and not a homemade re-hab. In addition to school, there were classes and meetings to get to at the center. There were sessions with a counselor. There was a lot of hard work. I was determined to stay sober-no matter what.

One night, while whining to my counselor about something that I can’t even remember, he handed me the last thing in the world that I expected. Being an alcoholic in earlyish recovery, I, of course, was looking for a pat on the head or to be comforted about whatever. Robert handed me The Recovery Bible, with a bookmark placed at the start of the Serenity Prayer Study. This changed my entire life. Right then and there. Forever. I will never forget that night as long as I live. This was the “flash of light”, the epiphany, the Grace of God entering my life. In a flash, I came to understand that if I put God first in everything that I do, then my life becomes limitless. I, through trust and faith, can be anything that I want to be and do anything that I want to.

At the end of that six-month program I had to find meaningful work and a place to live. I do not like Miami at all, so on an impulse I contacted the halfway house (in Key West) that I had been in so many years ago. I was invited back and found a place that had grown considerably from the one house. I came in as a client, willing to do whatever it took. I rejoined my group at the AA Clubhouse. I got involved in service work. I re-established relationships. I could list coincidence after coincidence but it would take too long right now. My prayer life has strengthened. My faith and trust grows daily. I will do anything to stay sober.

After a couple of months, I was made a monitor – sort of like a babysitter at night. A little bit after that, I was offered the job of Program Manager! I am now responsible to keep this phase of the program running! I have enrolled in school to become a Certified Abuse Counselor and will start those classes when I get back from vacation (that’s right- vacation!).
I start each day with prayer followed by a God Morning message to my sponsor (who has shared about that part so much that several other people have asked to be included on my ‘mailing list’). I read the Coffee Pot, and often share something of my day there. I go to the AA clubhouse and make the coffee for the morning meeting. I chair the meeting once a week. I have a large role in the management of the clubhouse. And then there’s the real (paid) job here at the halfway house. I also have time to fit in special projects (like a meditation garden that I built for my good friend, Ronney). My day ends on my knees, often with tears of gratitude running down my cheeks.

Today I am proud of what and who I am. Today I can face the world and know that I don’t have to hide. Today I am sober. Today I have a God who is actively involved in my life – as long as I allow Him to be. Today life is good.

Thanks for allowing me to share. Sorry it’s so long. The consolation is that it could have been much longer. As time goes by, I expect that I’ll fill in some of the details and blank spots – a little bit at a time. I will also try to share the day-to-day adventures of being sober in Key West.

Love and Peace from Key West and from….Chris.

... at last, - the Florida Keys!

Gee whiz! It’s been a few days since I’ve had time to write more than a couple of short letters. Life today, is very good, and now I’ll attempt to tell you how it got that way.

I moved to the Keys, sober and full of hope for the future. I stayed in Key Largo for a few years and went through a variety of jobs. The favorite job was the one where I rented Waverunners out to people at the Marriott. My uniform was a bathing suit. I had been sober for a couple of years at his point but not really working a program. There were many excuses for not going to meetings but the reality was that I thought I just didn’t need them. After three and a half years of sobriety, I decided that it would be okay to stop with the rest of the guys for a couple of beers after work. The first one was free, after all. (It wasn’t til later that I realized that the first free drink actually cost me everything.) This went on okay for a little while but, before you know it, I was drinking at home, I was missing work, I was cutting out of responsibilities and I was drinking around the clock. But it was only beer and I was okay (yeah, right). I was on my way (late) to work one morning when my truck was rammed as I tried to cross the highway. Well, I called the cops to the accident scene. No one was hurt, but my poor old pick-up was not very drivable. The guy really slammed me. I was the one taken to jail for drunk driving!! Eleven o’clock in the morning, I was drunk and didn’t even know it!! I stayed in jail for two weeks and vowed to never drink again. I lost the driver’s license, had to do community service and the whole nine yards- probation for a year. I stayed sober for another couple of years and went to a few meetings but wouldn’t allow anyone to help me, get to know me, or be my sponsor. At this point, I really hated myself and was staying sober just for spite. That doesn’t make any sense but that’s the way it was.

In 1997, even though I wasn’t drinking, things became all too much for me. Life had no meaning. I was gay, alone, not too many friends because I didn’t drink. I lived in a trailer park where I did some lawn mowing in exchange for the rent. On the outside, things looked very good. The bills were paid, the trailer was painted and landscaped, I was working hard and I wasn’t drinking. I tried to get involved in a community Playhouse group, in an effort to meet people and be a part of, but that turned out to be a “let’s go for a cocktail after the rehearsal” group. And after a couple of rehearsals, I joined them for that cocktail. This little binge lasted for two weeks before I was institutionalized. I was at the Guidance Clinic of the Middle Keys for two weeks when they released me to a half-way house in Key West.

This was to be the beginning of a major change in my life. Key West is a magic place. There is no place on this earth quite like it. Key West is the place that I was re-born. No, not as a Christian or anything so dramatic, but as a human being. One of the conditions of the half-way house was that I had to attend at least one AA meeting on a daily basis. “Something happened” and I was determined to get it right this time. I went to meetings and actually met some people. I got a job in a restaurant with the understanding that, if I were to drink, I would not have a job any more! I was hired as the maintenance guy and very quickly became the general manager. I stayed with the house for just over a year and then found a place of my own. There was a wonderful back yard where I could string speakers up in the trees and relax out on the deck. There was always music in the air. Through regular attendance at the Attitude Adjustment AA meeting at 8 am every morning, I met my current sponsor-Charlie. Life continued to be okay. It sure as heck looked good from the outside.

Workdays began to stretch from 8 or 9 hours to 12 or 15 hours. My schedule, due to my “importance”, became very flexible and I allowed my self to flexible myself right out of attending meetings. Of course that turned to a disaster. I was not focused on my recovery. I wasn’t doing any of the right things. I was still alone, still had pretty low self-esteem (pretty dumb, huh? But that’s what was going on.) Despite the fact that I was now a key player at the restaurant, the old “if you drink you don’t have a job” rule still existed.

Ronney and Steve, who were the owners of the restaurant, were heroes of sorts to me. Steve had been sober for eight years at this point and was a great person to work for and with. Ronney did not have a drinking problem. They considered me more as a partner than an employee. They were to become fast friends and remain so to this day. In the autumn of 2001, they went on vacation for a week. Ronney came back. Steve didn’t. He was drunk and she left him behind. I was devastated and before too long I was drunk myself. I managed to drink normally for almost a year. Normally consisted of drinking myself into a blackout every night, ‘sneaking’ a few doubles early in the morning to get the day started again, and then trying not to drink until I got home from work. Of course I lost the job. I also lost contact with my friends from the program, lost contact with my sponsor, lost any self-esteem that I may have gained, closed my bank account, pawned the bicycle and the stereo system, stripped the house of anything of value, sold all of my tools. By this time, I honestly knew that I wasn’t all right. But there was nothing I could do about it, -once again in my life, I COULD NOT STOP DRINKING.

Without going into details, I ‘woke up’ in the hospital on January 1, 2003. The doctor said to me, “ You almost died. You almost killed yourself.” I remember quite clearly saying to the poor man, “Maybe you should have let me.” Today, I thank God that the good doctor sat by my bed for the next two weeks and nursed me to health. I count my sobriety date as January 15, 2003 – the day after he stopped putting drugs in me to keep me stable. I was sent to Miami two weeks later to participate in long-term treatment.

I promise to finish this up later tonight- Right now my emotions are screaming every which way in me. There is so much to say but I don’t want to bore any of you with a longer post than is readable right now. The rest of the story is filled with hope and miracles. Yes, miracles! But I need to take a break for a little bit.

Love and Peace from Key West and from Chris.

...california and beyond

Ahh! Here we go. Of course I had just met the infamous “Moonies”, the Unification Church, followers of the Rev. Sun Myung Moon. I was brought to Boonville, Ca. where they owned a 600-acre ranch and where the lessons in Unification Theology were begun. If anyone is interested I will go into that at a later time. It really has very little to do with my story. What it does have to do with my story is that I had found a place where I could fit in. I didn’t much believe in the specific theology, but the over-all lessons of love, sharing, peace, etc. struck to the very core of my being. The rules of the community that I eventually became a part of the core of were simple:

No sexual relationships (I didn’t have to worry about my sexuality).
No tobacco (I had a little problem with that one in the beginning).
No drugs or alcohol!!!

There was time for prayer and meditation. There was time for work. Twenty acres of the land was vegetable garden, another twenty was an apple orchard. Pigs, ducks, turkeys, & chickens roamed the barnyard freely. Sheep and cattle roamed and grazed the rest of the property. There were five horses for riding to do chores or round-ups or for pure pleasure. In short, I was in heaven and I was at last sober. I became the cook for the community and was one of a core of seven people who lived on the farm permanently. There were fresh vegetables to pick for meals, fresh milk (very early) every morning, fresh eggs – and that core group who came to be fast friends. Until recently, I could honestly say that those were the best years of my life. I could write pages and pages about it but, again, that seems not to be part of this story.

What eventually happened was this. I had been sober since that night in San Francisco in 1978. In the fall of 1984, still at the farm, I developed a severe cold. Without thinking twice about it, I went to my storeroom, got some cough medicine, took two tablespoons of it….and got drunk!! …and loved it. The next weekend, I arranged to stay behind to “take care of the animals” while everyone else went to the city for some meeting or convention or something. I was alone on the farm. After the last vehicle left, I went to the kitchen and retrieved a large glass, filled it with ice cubes, and poured the remainder of the bottle of cough syrup into it. Nearly six years after the last drunk, here I was – back again. Cunning? Baffling? Powerful? You betcha !! That was the beginning of about five years of pure, unmitigated hell for me. The weekly grocery shopping in town came to secretly include two or three bottles of “Mad Dog”. There was also an inventory of various beers and wines (and some hard stuff, too) that people had brought to the farm over the years and had left there. That began to disappear. I was able to carry on this game for about six months and then had to leave the community, as it was obvious even to me that I was out of control. I was devastated.

I made my way back to the Boston area where I spent a few years trying, without much success, to get and stay sober. Somewhere along the way I had become a fairly talented carpenter so in those housing boom days there was no lack of work...or of money. There were plenty of AA meetings and periods of months, even a year and a half at one point, of sobriety. I would become very successful, very sought after for my work, and then, in the end, always very successful in establishing my reputation as a drunk. I wound up in New Hope, Pa., where my (birth) Mom was the part owner of a gay resort. I became the maintenance man and office manager for her and her partner. I was able to drink safely because it was “part of the job”, plus the fact that Mom was (still is) a very functional alcoholic- a quart of Polish Potato Vodka every night, no more, no less. It was from here that I wound up in the hospital with the DT’s for the first of many times. I thought that I was hospitalized for a week. It was actually three weeks and I still don’t remember the first two of them. After that experience (and three months with the Salvation Army plan of re-hab), I made my way back to Massachusetts, sober, but barely. I tied in with old groups and AA friends and stayed sober until the winter of 1990. Hospitalization after hospitalization ad infinitum that winter until I gave up. I just could not do this any more! Unfortunately (?), there wasn’t enough booze ever made for me to drink myself to death, though I gave it a shot. In the end, my psychiatrist suggested Florida, as I seemed to have major problems with winter. So, on my fortieth birthday in February of 1990, sober and with a little bit of hope, I moved to the Florida Keys.

There is not too much more to tell, but there is more. Unfortunately, I have to go to work now and will be there until 11 tonight. The years in Key West have been very good to me. There were also a couple of bad times. really bad. like jail bad. like strapped to a gurney bad. But the good far outweighs all of that.

So now you have most of my experience, the beginnings of some strength and the promise of hope. When I get back to finish this epic, either late tonight or tomorrow, I promise the realization of that strength and hope. God bless you for allowing me to share this with you. You may never know, nor perhaps understand, how badly this needed to be done. I sit here with tears of gratitude streaming down my cheeks. Absolutely. Love and Peace from Key West and from…Chris

...and the saga continues

And then…well, let me tell you about the very first AA meeting. I went in fully expecting to be cured or changed on the very spot. Steps were something one walked up or down. Traditions meant saying Grace at mealtimes (if I ate or remembered to). I knew I had to control my drinking and could not understand why I couldn’t. I’d been able to give all the drugs up, but booze was an entirely different manner. So – I snuck into this AA meeting in the basement of a church in Waltham, Massachusetts. My real hope was that the meeting would be over before the liquor store closed. I did not even attempt to talk to anyone. I made myself as small and as invisible as possible in the corner closest to the door. After suffering through the preamble and the serenity prayer, I was ready to listen to this impossibly old lady who seemed to be getting ready to speak up in the front; she may have been in her mid-thirties, if even that!! She started to speak and told of how, while she was sitting on the toilet that very morning, a blue bird had landed on her windowsill. What a thrill. And she could tell that it was a sign from God! Well, you might imagine that my attitude wanted nothing to do with the #*#@!* bluejay (!) or with the old lady. Nosiree – this wasn’t for me and I was out of there faster than any colored bird could fly. I wasn’t to return for many, many years.

The following years were filled with different jobs and misadventures and a steadily deteriorating relationship with my family. I had only a few friends during this period. I was too busy trying to hide my sexuality (because if anyone found out, they would hate me). I was too busy drinking because, after all, if I was an alcoholic then I might just as well act and drink like one! The primary emotion that I now remember from those years was that I was free to do whatever the hell I wanted to do. Nobody cared enough about me, nobody even really liked me, and so to hell with them all and besides that I liked to be drunk!! (These are past emotions that I’m sharing and in no way reflect the actual reality of the times- other than in my own mind). I always seemed to work at good jobs, as I am not unintelligent. I always managed to drink my way out of these good jobs and not even really care about it. There was always another job to get. There are many “war stories” in this period but I’ll save those for ‘the book’. (this would be the book that my aunt is constantly urging me to write)

On February 7, 1978, I turned 28 years old. Some buddies and I decided to celebrate by going into Boston to have a few drinks at Fanuel Hall Marketplace- a bar called Lily’s. The Blizzard of ’78 struck that night and we wound up stranded at the bar. We were there for three days and the drinks were free for the last two of them. I woke up the next morning in a hotel room, feeling relieved that at least I had sense enough not to drive home the night before…

There was only ‘one’ problem.

The hotel room was not in Boston.

The hotel room was in San Francisco.

It was not the next day. It was a week later.

My VW Bus was in the parking lot of the hotel.



I called one of my friends in Boston and asked what happened. He told me that I’d said that I was sick of winter, sick of Boston in the winter and that I was going to California. “Then, you got into the van and drove off. We thought you were going home. Thank God that you’re okay. We were really worried!”. To this day, I have absolutely no recollection of that drive across the United States!

At that point, I knew that I was in big trouble and that there was nothing I could do about it. I could not stop drinking. I knew that I had to but I could not and that was that. I was frantic. I was depressed. I was lost. I gave up all hope. This drunken alcoholic was going to throw himself in front of a cable car trolley and end it all. (I can almost laugh at that today – cable cars reach a speed of about four miles an hour). What happened instead was this…

What I now recognize as the Grace of God saved my life that day. I was approached by a pretty young lady and invited to dinner! I declined, telling her that I was gay. She told me that that didn’t matter and that there would be a lot of people at her house and I should really try to get there. Somehow, I managed to stay reasonably sober and was able to get to the house that evening- bottle of wine in hand. I was met at the door by some incredibly happy person, made to feel welcome, fed a nice meal, and then sat through a fifteen-minute talk. All of this without a drink! I was invited to vacation on the farm that these people owned a hundred miles north of the City and, having nothing to lose by this, I decided to go. I was to stay there until 1984!

I’m going to break here for a little bit here. The next few years are the one’s that probably saved my life and I want to be fresh when I write of them. I’ll be back later this afternoon. Love and Peace from Key West and from… Chris.

Some history...

Chris' Story...
This may take a couple of postings but we'll see what leads where. I basically shy away from the classic drunk-a-logues and war stories, though of necessity there will be one or two in this story.

I guess that I was "doomed" from the beginning. Family legend has it that my first word was "gin". My grandfather would pick me up when he got home from work and, as he held me in one arm, he would mix a martini with the other. I guess he would describe it as he mixed it, "First, a little bit of giiiiin...".

Growing up in the fifties was not exactly "Leave it to Beaver" but it wasn't so bad either. My Mom and Dad were divorced when she ran to NYC to become an actress and we quickly adapted by joining forces with the family who lived downstairs. There was an extra door cut between the units and all the boys lived upstairs , the girls down. We were seven kids and three adults. It was as traditional as it could be. It was pretty highly structured in order to be manageable. Dinnertime was inviolate and everyone was to be there. Before dinner we would all hold hands and either sing or say "grace". We were all expected to share something from our day while everyone was gathered together. We were also taught 'good manners', for which I am grateful to this day. The neighborhood was an ethnic hodgepodge of second generation immigrants in a western suburb of Boston. There was a ton of kids and we all played together -all year round. I have many happy memories of growing up. The only problem was with me. I was fat (not obese, but fat enough) and was teased mercilessly about that. I was always the last one to be picked for whatever team, for whatever game, or most anything else that was going on. I was not really interested anyhow in things that the other kids were. I was different. I liked to read. I liked to write. All in all, I was fairly introverted; it was much easier to cope that way.

All during my childhood, there was not one drop of alcohol in out home - not even cooking sherry!! As it turned out, the woman who raised us had watched her grandfather and father die of alcohol related causes and vowed never to touch a drop in her life. "Red" Lester is still alive and kickin' at 87 and still an important part of my life. Despite my introverted nature, growing up was pretty good. I was happy with the whole 'family' situation. We were all very close in age and follwed each other through school. Fortunately or not I was the leader and of course the teachers used me a measuring stick for those that followed. Since I was a 'goody-goody', the others had some tough times. This was something that also set me apart and made me feel different from the others. I never got into fights or trouble of any sort. I never lost my temper. I was a patrol-boy, a choir-boy, and a cub scout. As I got older, I became a Sunday school teacher, an Eagle Scout, master councillor in DeMolay, the head of the percussion section in the High School orchestra, and the drum major for the band and the cheerleaders at the football games. I only had a couple of real friends and this story is supposed to be about alcohol so I'll move on.

When my father re-married in 1965 I had to get used to a whole new family. It was also the first (but not the last) time that I ever saw my father drink alcohol. It was a very difficult time for me. I was fifteen and completely lost with all of the changes going on, both in my life and in the world around me. It was also at this time that I realized that I was gay but that wasn't the word that was used then. Looking back, I now see that I actually knew long before that but just didn't understand it. At any rate, the fact that I was a 'little queer' made me all that much more different from everyone else. See -- my thinking was strange even before I picked up the first drink!!

That happened in 1968,when I went out with a couple of guys the night that marks closed for our Senior year. I had 1 1/2 bottles of Lowenbrau Dark and don't remember a thing after that. That was to mark the pattern of my drinking from then on. The summer of Woodstock was an amazing time of my life. I drank freely and experimented with drugs of every variety. I was 19 and the king of my world - and nobody understood me -so I drank til I blacked out, every night. I'm leaving a great deal out here as I try to move on to the actual recognition of my alcoholism. As I recall, I had a major amount of fun in the sixties (which, for me lasted until 1978).

I'm going to cut this off for now. It's the end of summer in 1969, Woodstock is a blurry memory and I'm off to what was to become a three year odyssey of drinking and drugging my way through southern parts of Europe and North Africa. As we said in those days, I was trying to 'find myself',- I was trying to fit in, actually with not much success. Right now, I have to go share my ES&H at a 9:30 meeting at the local hospital. I'll continue here in the next day or so. Love and Peace from Key West and from Chris.