The Point

By Christine R.

“You aren’t giving up the booze, you are getting your life back.” That’s what “Happy” said to me as I trudged through the door of happy destiny. Happy lived up to her name. She was always irritatingly, inspiringly and invariably happy. A sponsor to many and a warm welcome to newcomers like me.

While at a meeting recently, I shared this little quote. The following morning, a woman with only three days of sobriety revealed how the words saved her from drinking the night before.

Here is her story: “Yesterday was my daughter’s 14th birthday. For dinner, she wanted to go to her favorite Mexican restaurant in San Francisco, on Valencia St. Last night, with the summer evening being soft and fine and COVID standards still in place, everyone was dining outside. Block after block, margaritas were flowing everywhere. Everyone was drinking but me. At first I was upset, angry and envious. How come those people can drink and I can’t? What’s  wrong with me that I can’t have a drink? Then I remembered, ‘I’m not giving up anything. I’m getting my life back.’ It saved me. 

Later on at my daughter’s birthday party, party goers noticed how much better I looked. How much happier and collected I seemed. All because I did not pick up that first drink. All because I saw I was getting my life back.” As the newcomer said those words, I could again see and hear my friend, Happy. More deeply understanding how she acquired her name, listening to this pass-it-on experience, I was Happy. In the chapter Working With Others, our Big Book says we work with other alcoholics … “to live and be happy.” Here was living proof that morning we were alive and happy. 

In our Program, we don’t know which phrase or sentence will sustain us in rough going. Sometimes it’s “Easy does it.” Or “This too shall pass.” Our disease is one of perception. How we view things determines a successful or not so successful outcome. Running out the door without my glasses, I can chide myself and say, “Shoot! I forgot my glasses.” Or I can be uplifted in the memory and say, “Thank God, I remembered my glasses.” Either way, I’m right. I can look at giving up drinking as giving up something. Or I can view it like I’m “getting my life back.”

“A. A. is not for everybody” “A. A. doesn’t work for me.”

When we hear these from someone, how do we react?

By Jamie M.

Once at a meeting I heard a young man talk about having been sent to rehab and returning home to live with his parents. He had been told that the price of free rent—no small thing in the Bay Area—was that he had to attend A.A. meetings. He told his mom, “I can’t be a member of A. A. because the requirement for membership is a desire to stop drinking.” The mom, who I suspect had some Al-anon under her belt, replied, “Then go as a guest!” That got a laugh, of course, because we all knew by the way he told the story he had decided he was a member after all.

How often have we heard people say that “A.A. is not for everybody?” We have encountered folks in meetings, perhaps coming back from a slip, who may have said “A.A. doesn’t work for me.”Well, if you’re reading this it’s pretty likely that you think A.A. is for you and that it works for you. So if you’re like me, you may think “I don’t care if people think A.A. is not for them, because I know it is for me and I also know that it works for me, so what do I care about what those people say?” After all, our Tenth Tradition states that we have no opinion on outside issues, right? And we all know the old saying that the Program isn’t for people who need it, the Program is for those who want it. But if you’re like me, you recognize that you needed the Program long before you decided to want it.

Here’s the wrinkle, though: if I am an active member of Alcoholics Anonymous, then a key part of my own sobriety is working with newcomers—the alcoholic who still suffers. So that means I may meet these statements again and again working with newcomers—or just talking to a stranger at a meeting. When I greet someone at a meeting, they might be a member, a new member or a guest.

Of course, many of us will have our own personal stories about how we dealt with the questions, “Is A.A. for me?” and “Will A.A. work for me?” When we share our personal experience of how we dealt with these issues, we’re generally on solid ground. But how we share can be just as important as what we share. I was captured by Big Book thumpers on first coming to the Program and didn’t know it, of course, until weeks later. I was willing, I was open-minded about whether or not the Program could work for me. Honesty, I’ll admit, came a bit later. So when someone says A.A. is not for them or not for everybody, I mostly just nod and agree. But I also remember that when I first went to those first few meetings, the absence of sales pressure was intriguing to me. In a world where we are under relentless, ubiquitous pressure to take sides, to join, to buy, to advocate for or against causes, the absence of that was a mystery and it felt sort of like when you go to push open a heavy door and it turns to have no weight—I sort of fell in to the Program. Partly because of this, it worked quickly and well for me.

Because I was a bona fide “pink cloud” member, there was a time when I was insufferable and might have sharply asked, “Then why are you here?” if someone expressed doubt about the Program—and perhaps condemned some court-ordered alcoholic to years more of suffering just to avoid self-righteous jerks like me. In some ways, my lack of doubt about whether or not A.A. was for me, or whether or not it would work for me were potential handicaps in working with newcomers—or talking to guests.

With someone who is at a meeting or someone I’ve met socially says, “A.A. doesn’t work for me,” I can take a relaxed approach of asking in all sincerity what the person has done and not done to get and stay sober. I can hope to add helpful suggestions, as well as sharing that I’ve known people to simply go to a lot of meetings and hang out a lot with sober people without getting a sponsor or working Steps. I may not tell them (yet) that people typically end up getting a sponsor and working Steps. If they come around enough, they’ll find out for themselves. If someone is court ordered I’ve told them to get legal counsel and fight the case instead of coming to A.A. When they say they don’t have the money, I agree that going to meetings is definitely cheaper than fighting a court case and sympathize with their plight. Like those who 12th-Stepped me, I can thank the person for allowing me to talk to them and honestly say that it helps me stay sober. When I’m polite and welcoming to our guests they may be intrigued as I was and they may decide they want to be members.

Written by Guru P

Read by Michelle G

A member shares their experience of service in H&I, gratitude for diversity, and being able to keep connected online.

The Bad Days are but Distant Memories

By Rick R.

I am seven years old and every adult in my immediate environment is drinking daily and it is not hard for me to get a taste of beer, if I wanted, but I do not necessarily like the taste, so no problem. I am 10 years old and beer is beginning to taste better but still not my favorite, but a little sip of whiskey now and then tastes okay but it is harder to get the adults to give it up. I am 13 years old and my friend and I talk an old drunk into buying us a few quarts of beer and we commence to get drunk for the first time in our lives and now I know why all those adults drink this stuff every night. I was giddy, sloppy, stupid, sick and eventually unconscious. I woke up the next morning and went off to school with a nasty hangover. I was in the eighth grade at that time. Still, it was no problem.

From that time on my mind was consumed with thoughts of how I was going to repeat that wonderful experience. As I started high-school I worked in a bowling alley from 6:00 p.m. until 10:30 p.m., setting up pins (in the old days) and when we got off, we would go straight to a sleazy bar where we could get someone to buy beer for us. From there, we would go to an abandoned school building and drink till all the beer was gone, get into fist fights with each other, wake up the next morning with black eyes, skinned up knuckles and elbows, go back to school and come up with some ridiculous story about what had happened.

I am 16 years old, and I am allowed to party with the adults and shortly after getting my driver’s license, I am asked to drive someone home and on the return trip, I missed a turn and smashed into a parked car. I continue to drink unabated. I quit school in May of my senior year with almost no resistance, join the navy in August of that same year, get locked up for gang fighting, have my second drunk driving accident when I drive into a gas station and hit a car at the pump.

I continue this kind of behavior for 10 more years and am lucky to have survived after more trips to jail, failed marriage, broken bones, cuts and bruises and broken relations with everyone that means anything to me. I am 28 years old, surrender and show up at A.A. coming out of a blackout. I am greeted on the front lawn of a little yellow house in the suburbs that is being used to hold meetings by three people who welcome this stranger with open arms as though they are expecting me. They began to listen patiently to my tales of woe, nodding as they seem to understand. Their eyes are soft and gentle and I feel their compassion.

At the early age of 28, I believed my life is over, but one of them says “life isn’t passing you by nearly as fast as you think it is.” They say, come inside and have a cup of coffee. They were right: I had a profound change of perception. From that moment on I have never wanted a drink and all those bad days are but a distant memory. My hope is that all who arrive at the doors of A.A. can be accepted with the same love and kindness that I experienced. I have been sober 52 years. I am 80 years old—on my way to 100—and life is good.

By Karen B.

I got sober in the pink room at the Dry Dock on Greenwich St. in San Francisco. If you’ve been, then you know. Just a small pink room that is always there, holding all the secrets of my peers, ready and willing to catch the tears of all those bent, broken and beautiful people. I found it by accident during an appointment with my psychiatrist. I went one day, and kept coming back. Now I’m here with a relapse and nine years of continuous sobriety under my belt. It’s funny how things happen that way, like happy little accidents. “God shots,” as I have come to call them. Moments of puzzle pieces of the universe coming together in the most perfect way at the perfect time. Like the time in that very same pink room when I met my birthday twin. 

If memory serves me correctly, it was a random rainy evening, I was early in sobriety and desperate for relief. My beacon of light, with a meeting at the top of almost every hour, the Dry Dock, summoned to me for yet another speaker discussion. The speaker had a head of fiery red hair and a quirky style that made my heart smile. As she spoke she wove a tale of debauchery and mischief far from my truth, yet each emotion rang true for me. As it often happens, her experience, strength and hope reached into my desperation and helped it dissipate. That urge to self medicate and relieve me of the bondage of self was quelled in our shared experiences.  She spoke of her trials during sobriety and she shared about the gifts and the beauty she found in her every day activities. I felt renewed in my zeal and injected with enthusiasm for one more minute, one more hour, one more day—one day at a time. I was encouraged and rejuvenated. The “can do” attitude was infused into me that night. 

This beautiful woman got sober on July 13, 1984, the very day that I was born into this world. At the time I was too shy to ask for her phone number, but I was eager to let her know that she had been sober for as long as I had been alive. 

Years later, on the very same forum that I found out about The Point, someone asked for everyone’s sobriety date and to my surprise she shared hers in the comments. I reached out to her and reminded her of the day that we met. I thought that she wouldn’t remember me, just a passing moment in a collection of years for her. To my surprise, not only did she remember me, but she even wrote about meeting me in a submission that was published in the Grapevine. 

We’ve become friends on social media and greet each other happy birthday every year. Our paths crossed for a reason and I am so grateful to have her as an example that one day at time has been working for someone for as long as I have been alive. As long as I keep working my program one day at a time, then maybe one day I will be able to meet someone who was born on July 10, 2013—my sobriety date. 

By Dede H

I sit in the sun every morning
Light streams into my forehead
Behind my eyes a radiance
It is energy, love, and peace
I carry this gentle joy with me
Throughout the day I Am
Grateful, mindfully recalling
the exuberance that found me
struggling and in despair
reacting inanely to this world
What is true transformation?
Spiritual understanding anew
of how to live in this world
Without malice nor deviance
but with a love everlasting
and at once fierce—I will know
I am positive and take action
Doing the next right thing
Seeing the world through
my own Higher Power’s eyes

The Central Office Archives Committee and longtime Bay Area member Peter M. compiled a history booklet of our local Central Office which serves San Francisco and Marin counties. It highlights important facts and developments. In celebration of the 75th anniversary of Central Office this year, The Point is featuring the following highlights from the booklet.

As part of the 75th anniversary celebration and to honor Founders’ Day, Central Office is hosting an open house on June 11. Activities include a scavenger hunt, raffle and food. Literature will be discounted. Stop by for a visit, learn more about Central Office and join in the fun. June 11 @ 1-4pm, 1821 Sacramento St., San Francisco.

When Central Office First Opened

A February 1952 issue of A.A. Grapevine focusing on A.A. in San Francisco and Los Angeles describes problems at the Alano Club on Bush St. and that “strains had developed because of the uncomfortable overcrowding of A.A. meetings, drunks, panhandlers, wolves and Red Riding Hoods,” upsetting the meetings.

First Central Office and 1957 Meeting Schedule

Tempers flared and relationships became strained, but finally in January 1947, the first San Francisco Central Office was opened. Correspondence available in the GSO Archives indicates that the first Central Office Secretary (or manager) was a woman, Anne C., but by 1948, Bob G. had become the Secretary. There was a subsequent move to 406 Sutter St. in 1951, and three years later in 1954 to 166 Geary St. where the Central Office remained until 1981. 

The First Newsletter

The first local A.A. newsletter appears to have been created to coincide with Bill W.’s visit of March 1951, and the first issue appeared in January 1951 titled, You Name It. After consideration of various titles including Central Office Reporter, San Francisco A.A. Newsvine, Tangibles & Intangibles, Good News was decided upon for the publication. A.A. member, O.K. P., a career newspaperman, is credited with starting the paper. 

While the Good News has always been associated with the Northern California Council of Alcoholics Anonymous (NCCAA), and is still published by NCCAA, when the Good News started it was published monthly through the San Francisco Central Office and NCCAA used the Central Office as its mailing address. 

O.K. P., the first editor of the Good News, would later serve as Central Office manager and also as a delegate to the General Service Conference.

For many years, the Good News was the best source of local information on Alcoholics Anonymous and included updates on fellowship activities around Northern California from Monterey to Sacramento and Eureka. Still there was always news on the fellowship in San Francisco, including speaker line-ups for Central All-Groups which was a Friday 8:30pm meeting listed as open to the public and frequently included professionals from the community, including lawyers, judges, and doctors working with alcoholics in the community and A.A. members sharing their experience, strength and hope.

While the Good News is still produced, it has eventually come to focus more on the activities of NCCAA, and its three conferences per year throughout Northern California. Central Office developed a Secretary’s Newsletter in the 1960s focusing more specifically on activities concerning the Intergroup Fellowship.

Recollections of a Local Member

“My first memories of Central Office started in December 1968 with my first phone call, a very helpful volunteer tried to convince me to attend a meeting that evening. I declined and asked only for some literature, which arrived the next day! My first service commitment was Literature person which required a trip to Central Office at 166 Geary. What a great experience, a ride up to (I think the 6th floor) in an old-fashioned caged elevator, nervous if it would make it, but it was fun looking through the bars as we passed each floor.

I met all the office staff, Neva, Jen, Harriett, Kay and Paul G., Central Office Secretary. Paul was ever so gracious, invited me into his office, his door was always open to everyone. He was always dressed in a suit and his signature bow tie. I always looked forward to delivering the group contributions, having a chat with Paul and the staff. I would often drop in for a cup of coffee and a little arms-length A.A. fellowship. 

The Central Office later moved to 1046 Irving St. and that was a very nice office, spacious work area for the volunteers and a welcoming atmosphere. Chris W. was the front desk receptionist, Harry R. always sitting in one of the chairs in the reception area, lots of good A.A. Since I was working in the financial district, it was a little more difficult for drop in visits. Bill S. was now the Secretary, then it passed on to Erwin K. and the office moved to Oak and Fell, Market Street area. The eventual move to our present location on Sacramento St., where there is a great staff of volunteers, a renewed lease for the future!” — S.K. 

By Christine R.

For years I kept hidden the very topics we share daily.    A huge surprise to hear the men and women share their experience, strength, and hope on the topics I was sure “would go to the grave with me.” 

With the passing of time and “constant contact with others,” not only was I given answers to my inner dilemmas, I was also shown the way through example.  One such example came when I was newly sober – and not going to meetings.  

I was resentful at my homegroup.  I did not want to do the work.  I could not find a sponsor. (Yeah, right!)  Three years sober but not in recovery.  When one gets into this position, one cannot take a drink, but suicide sure seems like a step up.  Suicidal, resentful, and lonely.  That’s where I was on a Thursday night.

On this particular Thursday night, I was putting up glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling.  For the placement of these stars, I had to turn the lights off and on.  Lights off to see the glowing stars.  Lights on to put them up on the ceiling. Alone in the dark.  Back and forth.  Lights on.  Lights off.  Lights on.  Lights off.  That’s how they found me.

The “They” in this case, was a handsome dentist and two attractive women who came knocking on my door at 9:15 p.m.  The Thursday Night Chip Meeting ended at 9:00 and my visitors came directly from that meeting.  Several people from my home group, worried about my state of mind, decided to mount up a posse.  The dentist I knew.  The two women he brought with him, I did not.  Eager to put on a good face (especially for the handsome doctor), I welcomed them in.

Within a very short period of time, the dentist left.  What?  He left me in the care of the two women. This was a guy who knew how to care for the woman in trouble.  He brought women to help.  A worker among workers. A woman among women.  I did not know how to be a woman among women.  But that night – I learned.

Never had I met these two women.  Yet, they let me drop my “face” and allow the tears to flow. Patiently, they heard my tales of death. My loneliness.  My isolation.  With chamomile tea and their attention, they formed a loving bridge to bring me back to humanity and, again, to a place in the world.  

These women tucked me into my bed. Like angels, they stayed on either side of me until I drifted off to sleep.  Before nodding off, they insisted I meet with them at the 7:00 a.m. Fairfax meeting the following morning.  At 6:30 in the morning, going against morning commuter traffic, a pain in the ass to drive, and I said, “Yes!”  I’d be there.  Who was I to say “no” having loved back to health by two strangers all night long?  

Sure enough.  They were there waiting in the doorway for me.  Later, we went to the  “Coffee Klatch.”  Aptly named for us A.A. folk who gathered immediately after the meeting.

You see, it’s the meeting before the meeting and the meeting after the meeting that encourages the growth and maintenance of the sisterhood/brotherhood I found that night and the following morning.  These women lead by example.  The dentist lead by example.  To this day, when I understand one of us is in trouble, thanks to the lessons from these three, I mount up a posse and head out to help.  If it’s a guy, I call a guy in the program.  Get him to make the calls.  If it’s a woman, I take another woman with me, and we show up.  

Many an AA has told the story of showing up unexpectedly and the amazing grace that occurs when they do.  By working the Steps, attending meetings on a daily basis and by sharing my experience, strength, and hope with another human being, I recall that night.  A night of being rescued from the flickering darkness into unimaginable Light. 

Entirely Ready

by Dee H

When I am a better person I won’t harm myself

Are you ready? I am entirely ready. 

Pride, anger, fear—feelings come up

Self righteousness, sloth, too lazy to clarify

Resentment kicks up the dirty dirt

Defects of character? Yes?

More gently put—homeostatic imbalance

Maudlin guilt is exhausting when you’re sober

Let us change our uncomfortable story 

This too shall pass my dear

A vicious cycle, this wallowing in self-pity

How dare you remove my endearing characteristics! 

Does anyone love me because I am a perfect person? 

You love me in spite of things, don’t you?

Watch me manipulate my way to God

This is a learning disability

Delay is dangerous—perhaps fatal

My body likes what it likes

I now relinquish the need to harm myself

Everything is God’s

I am part of the greater reality

Everything and almost nothing

A tiny dot in the macrocosm

I need not fear loss nor trespass

I belong to God

(I need objective correlatives)

Would my life be easy if I were perfect?

In my disease I am right you are wrong

The tall Redwoods in my yard are beautiful in their imperfection

Not every brown pine cone sprouts seeds

But the trees’ faults will not kill them

They bend toward the light

It is not I who removes my defects

God shows me what they are and removes them 

Recovery is an education—a blueprint to remove suffering 

Quicker amidst this Group Of Drunks

Thanks to my fellow travelers

Our goal is enjoyment in service

I write to experience God’s mercy

It’s a privilege to have this time

Delay is dangerous—perhaps fatal

Would you like to help me write a poem? 

Share your story with me!

What was it like? What happened?

We can shift how we hold things