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WHY ME?

    In the past one half century, more has been accomplished to recognize, define, and eliminate the stigma associated with alcoholism than has been accomplished previously. Perhaps the basis for this is the partial removal of defining alcoholism by the behavior it produces and the educational materials available to help solve the mystery surrounding alcoholism. It is now recognized as a disease by most health agencies, medical treatment facilities, and therapists who work with the problem. Some resistance still remains among family and law enforcement people regarding alcoholism as other than a behavior problem.

    During the period of my heavy drinking, there were very few treatment facilities and no means of paying for treatment other than by the individual or their family. More likely than not, one was left to their own self-destructive devices.

    I recall being hospitalized for my problem together with the symptoms of malaria which I contracted in the South Pacific. Despite my malaria, the Veterans Administration would not approve my admittance to their hospital because I was classified as a drunk. Frankly, I did not know the meaning of the term, "alcoholic" because in those days you were determined to be a "drunk", "sot", or "dipsomaniac". Few kind words or considerations were directed toward those who drank too much. Even when some compassion was shown toward me in those days, I was skeptical because of the general attitude toward those who were alcoholic.

    Despite the attention given to alcoholism presently, it is still looked upon as a behavior problem by many, especially family members who are constantly exposed to the negative consequences of alcoholic behavior. It is difficult for the family to classify alcoholism as a disease when they are subjected to the financial, physical and social pressures caused by the alcoholic family member.

    Some social drinkers respond to the alcoholic's problem by saying, "Why can't this person drink like I do?". The lack of understanding regarding alcoholism causes a breach between the social drinker and the alcoholic. The complex nature of alcoholism due to the negative genetic, social, physical, and emotional factors, begs for an understanding by those who are free of any drug dependence.

    I am grateful for the increased interest in solving this disease. Extensive research has uncovered some of the secrets associated with it. Despite this, mysteries still remain because of the individuality exhibited by those who become addicted. My response to alcoholism was unique as it is to most other alcoholics. This complicates the recovery process and because the major components of behavior differ, convincing me I was an alcoholic was more difficult. The guilt and lack of feelings of self-worth were barriers to responding in a positive way.

    My family tried to understand the problem but failed to show the empathy and compassion for my predicament. I really resented their attempts to rescue me from this awful dilemma and resisted their efforts to assist me. This further alienated me from them. I loved them but could not feel good about myself. The more I drank, the more acute the problem became.

    I avoided discussions about my drinking. At that time my definition of an alcoholic was "anyone who drank more than I did and that I didn't like." This gave me plenty of latitude to declare myself a social drinker because I would drink with anyone who had money and offered to buy me a drink or two.

    I made excuses for my drinking. Stories were told about how my family abused me and made me an outcast. The truth was they tried every method to get me to stop drinking. Their lack of knowledge about alcoholism and my inability to respond to assistance added to an increased dependence on alcohol.

    A huge amount of remorse was generated due to my antisocial behavior. To be accepted, loved, and wanted were three things which eluded me. Long periods of loneliness and self-pity seemed to fuel the need for more alcohol. Once the drinks began to flow, there was a complete alteration of behavior. I became Commander In Chief. Although I was not physically or emotionally equipped to assume this role, an effort to play the part often ended up with emotional and physical scars. Eventually there was a feeling of being isolated from membership in my family. This caused a void in my life because of my respect for them and the desire to be a part of family functions.

    I constantly searched for answers to this puzzle but without professional help, it was impossible to identify the factors which contributed to this problem. Each time my thoughts would turn toward our family life and the loss of my mother. Also, other were blamed. Little did I think during my childhood that I would eventually become addicted to alcohol and experience twelve years of alcoholic behavior. Because of the negative attitude my father had toward alcohol, it was on my rejection list when I was young. My father developed this contempt toward alcohol because of his father's problem.

    The loss of my mother had a devastating impact on my life and contributed to my emotional unrest. The love and comfort provided by a mother was missing but this void was partially filled by the love and protection of an older sister. Another factor which seemed to enter into the picture was the genetic impact my alcoholic grandfather had on my becoming alcoholic. Alcoholism often skips generations and my father, who had built an aversion to alcohol, preached against it's use.

    Although there was no recall regarding my mother, there is vivid memories of the day she passed away. Her death caused trauma and frustrations and I sensed a loss at that time. Without a mother, a feeling of being different from others existed because they had a mother to love and cherish.

    Envy prevailed toward my friends who had the benefit of a mother's love. One in particular was the focus of my frustrations and at times, I would take advantage of him. Being older than he was caused me to bully him and there were times when he was physically abused by me. I picked a fight with him then I felt guilty because of this mistreatment. His mother was always good to me despite my disputes with him. I spent many a night at their house and she would show me a lot of compassion.

    Many areas of conflict existed which contributed to my alcoholism. The feeling of not belonging to various groups was always in the forefront. My first experiences in school created a sense of rejection by others. Although there was no choice in belonging to some groups, I had a choice of behavior as a member of other groups and at times become disruptive or withdrawn from their activities. The thought that I did not measure up the the standards they set always prevailed. Being a leader was beyond my capabilities because of feelings of personal unworthiness.

    Some people had hobbies and were identified with others who had similar interests. My hobbies were playing baseball and fishing. Size and fear excluded me from becoming a football player. I was never free from the fear of being hurt. Although never a professional baseball player, I was better than average and did everything in my power to draw the praise of my fellow players. A constant need to be praised or rewarded for my efforts motivated me to excel.

    There was no desire to be a boy scout, go to church, nor become involved in groups which evaluated my achievements. Due to the constant fear of rejection or failure, participation in these groups provided no personal reward. Most groups had rules which were either implied or actual. Having developed a negative attitude toward authority, this constituted some barriers to my membership.

    I realized that one has to be loved, be wanted, and have a sense of security. These principles seemed to elude me during the path to maturity. Perhaps just existing would be a better description of my mission in life. There were no goals, no preparation for life's challenges, nor any thought of what the future held for me. Living from day to day, and accepting or rejecting events as they occurred, constituted my motive for existing.

    Seemingly, there was more personal attention given to the negative experiences in my life. The practice obliterated the good things which were part of growing up. I had a tendency to accentuate the negative and eliminate the positive.

    My father, God Bless him, had his hands full raising eight children. My being the youngest caused me to imagine I received less attention than some of the others. Looking back on events that transpired, if this was true, it was certainly unintentional. However, there was never the feeling of being able to communicate with him on matters which disturbed me.

    Prior to the time my dad remarried, we used to go camping at a place back in Ohio called "The Fifth Bridge". This was so named because it was the fifth bridge from the mouth of the Mosquito Creek as it emptied into the Mahoning River. Incidentally, the creek was properly named as the mosquitoes were well represented along its banks. The creek was stagnant until a good rain flushed it out. This provided wonderful breeding grounds for the mosquitoes.

    We went there often in our Model "T" Ford. I can still see dad cranking up the old "Fliver", (there were no self starters in those days) and away we would go. The average speed was about twenty-five milers per hour. It seemed to take an eternity to make the trip of about ten or fifteen miles. Excitement always filled the air as we approached our favorite fishing spot. It seemed that time was wasted putting up our tent and getting the supplies in order. My thoughts were on fishing and catching the big one thus receiving praise from everyone.

    My dad loved to fish and would spend hours in one spot hoping a big one would grab his bait. He seldom put his pole down for fear a big one would take off with it. He always fished with a cane pole, thus it was never called a rod. Rods were for the big time sportsmen. Every time he lost a fish, he claimed that it was the biggest fish he had on for a long time.

    Most of the fish we caught were "bullheads", a member of the catfish family. Every once in a while Dad would put on a soft-shelled crawfish, (we called them crabs) and toss it into the water. Sometimes he would hook a bass and then the fun would begin. This was an earth shaking event and when we came home, I was the "town crier" displaying the catch to the whole neighborhood.

    We also fished for grass pike. These were small pike that stayed in the seaweed, close to the shore. We would walk the banks of the creek and when a pike was spotted, we would dangle the bait in front of it. Most of the time they would charge the bait and we would pull them out of the water. We had a "gunny sack" over our shoulder and the pike we caught were place in the sacks. Many times we would catch thirty or forty fish. They ranged in size from twelve to eighteen inches. Sharp eyes were required to see them in the water, but we became adept at this sport. They were delicious eating fish when fried in deep fat and served on sandwiches.

    During one of our trips we had the tent next to the creek and a cloudburst almost wiped us out. We made a hasty retreat to the car had to go home. This was unusual for dad liked to fish after a storm. He claimed the food washed into the water and the fish were feeding when this occurred. It had some logic as fish always seemed better after a rainstorm.

    These excursions happened after the death of my mother. Dad hired several "live in" housekeepers. Some were very kind and other were crude. I recall one who made me sit under the apple tree in the summer with an overcoat on because I had a cold. I could never determine the logic of this but that was her idea of a remedy. No love was lost when she left.

    Dad remarried when I was eight years old. My whole life changed from that day forward. I never felt close to my stepmother and a stepbrother made my life miserable. I was contemptuous toward him from the beginning. He did everything in his power to create chaos with the family. Sometimes he stayed with his sister and things went back to "almost" normal during his absence.

    He was a hostile person with many personality problems. He took pleasure in mistreating me and we had many fights. Because of his age, I always came out the loser. I resented my father because he would never defend me.

    One Sunday morning the police came to our house. They were looking for my stepbrother. He had stolen the car of our family doctor. In those days the family doctor was looked up to and this act was very embarrassing to the family. Although this was considered grand theft, my stepbrother got off without any jail sentence.

    My stepmother tried to make a life for us. I now appreciate the sacrifices she made and feel badly that I cannot tell her in person. She was a good cook and although we had less than average means in those days, she could make a meal out of just about anything. She tried to provide for us and assumed an awesome responsibility when she married my dad. Perhaps I was unable to appreciate her because I refused to accept her as a replacement for my mother.

    We lived in an older house without modern conveniences. There was no running water and a pump was in the kitchen. Water was drawn from a well on the side of the house. I recall my dad and my older brother digging that well. This was a neighborhood event and when water was "struck" there was some celebrating.

    Often the water would go down the pipe in the kitchen and the pump had to be primed to get the water level to rise. This required pouring water in the top of the pump to form a vacuum and one had to pump real fast for  the pump to begin working. One time the pressure in the pump was very strong and I tried with soapy hands. The pump handle flew out of my grasp and struck me breaking my nose. In those days healing required nature taking its own course in the healing process and doctors were rarely summoned to such a minor event.

    Each time we needed hot water we had to pump a kettle full, heat it on the stove, and pour it into a container we were going to use. To take a bath required several kettles of heated water. Incidentally, the bath tub was a large galvanized round container which was used both for bathing and for washing clothes. I can still hear the kettle whistling when the water reached the boiling point. How I resented those who had running water and bath tubs.

    Saturday's were set aside for bathing. This required the tub be placed in the dining room during the cold weather, right next to the "potbellied" stove. We would sort of rotate while we washed to keep warm.

    Our kitchen stove was a "Kalamazoo Direct to You". This was later replaced by a gas burning nonleaded gas stove that had to be pumped in order for the gas to get to the burners. It is a wonder the stove never exploded.

    Our home lacked indoor facilities and during the winter there was much deliberation before we would venture out into the zero weather. We had no furnace and the stoves would go out during the night and when the subzero hit us, this would cause the inside of the house to become very cold. It was so cold that a glass of water when left in the bedroom over night would freeze solid.

    One Christmas we got a small pool table. it was community property. Ownership didn't mean too much as we took turns playing pool. The table was about four feet long. Sunday mornings were especially interesting as we would stoke up the stove in the living room and spend all morning playing pool. I got to play a lot of games because I became fairly good at playing and the winner always played the next game. This skill carried over to my drinking days and many a drink was won because of my pool shooting. This was the major part of my social life in my adolescent years. Most of the pool playing in the local pool hall consisted of gambling. We played "Nine Ball" and I had my share of winnings.

    Ice skating was very popular in the wintertime. In those days shoe skates were a luxury which we could not afford. We had the kind that clamped on your shoes. The soles of my shoes were so thin they would buckle when pressure was applied to them. My feet often began to hurt as this caused a lump in the soles, but there was no quitting.

    We played hockey and had some very good times on the ice despite the cold weather. It was nice to come home and gather around the potbellied stove to get warm. Dad usually had some popcorn waiting and this would satisfy our hunger till dinner was ready.

    A distasteful task for me was working in the garden. We always had at least one half an acre of garden which required weeding and hoeing. Some of the rows appeared endless and the hot sun beat down on us but it was hoe, hoe, and hoe. To this day working with plants is unpleasant and my wife keeps reminding me this is my responsibility.

    One phase of my life gave me great pleasure. My dad gave me a dog called "Sport" when I was one year old. He was a gentle dog and my constant companion. Also, he was very protective and would attack anyone who threatened me. Sport lived to be sixteen years of age. It was a sad day when he had to be destroyed. His back legs became paralyzed and he could no longer walk without dragging them. The whole neighborhood cried when he was put to rest. In those days most people could not afford a veterinarian so it was up to the family to take care of their sick pet by either drowning or shooting them.

    In the pre television days we sat around and listened to the radio. Some of the programs were: Amos and Andy, Ma Perkins, Jack Benny, The Lone Ranger, and The Shadow. Our eyes were glued to the radio as though it were the present day television. Conversation was taboo when one of dad's or my stepmothers favorite program was being broadcast. Hardly a Sunday went by without hearing the Cadles From Akron. This was a program similar to the present day evangelical television programs. Frankly, I think dad used to send them a dollar or two to support the program.

    The first radio program I recall was the Dempsey-Tunney heavyweight boxing match in 1926. We had a radio with three dials and they all had to be synchronized for good reception. Also, there were about five batteries which took up about half the room. When the batteries went dead, programs were lost as there were no replays in those days.

    Charles A. Lindbergh caused a lot of commotion in those days. He flew across the Atlantic ocean nonstop (obviously) in a single seat plane. This was the first time this feat was accomplished and it was headline news for days. Every time a plan flew over our house, we would all run out and yell, "There goes Lindbergh". One time a plane crashed about five miles from where we lived. Everyone rushed to see if it was Lindbergh. Cars came from miles around to view the wreck and even in those days, the traffic was tied up for hours.

    Dad was a carpenter by trade and did a lot of contracting. I was amazed at his efficiency in selling his product to consumers. Sometimes he would take me with him and I sat in awe while he went through the various building plans he drew for approval. I also went with him at his work site and while he was busy building or supervising the job, I  would carve a boat our of a piece of lumber. While fishing, I would play with the boat and dad would get mad because I was not fishing.

    He finally gave up his trade and started a little grocery delivery route out in the country. He began by selling cheese which he purchased from a cheese factory. He later renovated a panel truck by putting shelves and an ice box in it and stocked it with groceries and meat. There were no regulatory measures in those days to dictate the dispensing of perishables so he was never questioned regarding the sanitary factors in such an endeavor.

    He became known as the "Traveling Grocery Man". Soon he was making a living but decided to open a grocery store next to our house. He had built a small cottage for his mother and father. They had since passed away and the building was vacant. It made an ideal building to house a small grocery store. My two sisters and I worked in the store and all the neighbors bought groceries from us. I was always embarrassed because I thought some of the groceries were overpriced.

    Dad still maintained his country delivery route and we had to manage the store. I employed every conceivable method to avoid working. We were never paid and sometimes put in long hours. This situation never produced a great amount of motivation to become a grocer.

    One day a produce man delivered some vegetables and fruits. Among the items were watermelons. We kept them in our cellar where it was cool. I was carrying one down the steps and it fell out of my hands, splashing all over the floor. All hell broke loose when dad came home and found one watermelon was missing. This constituted a big loss and I was severely punished.

    Among the items carried in the store was candy that had a surprise in each package. These were called, "grab bags" and we would open the bags very carefully and if they were not winners we would reseal them. This sure manifested a lot of guilt feelings.

    We lived in a good neighborhood and during the great depression of the 1930's, work was scarce. Welfare was nonexistent and the families who had no income barely survived. There was a lot of sharing and compassion, especially when sickness or tragedy visited one of the neighbors. Everyone came to the aid of the suffering families with groceries and other assistance.

    Our town was very small with a population of under twenty thousand. Most of those who were gainfully employed worked in industry. The major portion of the economy was dependent on steel mills, too and die plants and many small plants. The onset of the depression had a devastating effect on almost everyone in the town. The mills were operating at a low level during the depression because people did not have the money to purchase the finished products these mills produced.

    President Roosevelt began to assert his power and established some programs to produce employment. Among these was the Works Progress Administration. This program was responsible for repairing roads, buildings and the beautification of forests, parks, etc. Many families were greatly assisted by this program.

    The closing of banks throughout the country during this period in our history caused much suffering. Billions of dollars were lost because of this catastrophic event. Panic was seen everywhere and many people who lost their fortune took their own lives. This was truly a dark spot in our history.

    Just as conditions began to right themselves, there was a big move to get the labor unions recognized in these factories. Many of the companies were victims of long strikes. I recall some of the steel mills voted to continue working. This created a major calamity because pickets would not allow workers to enter or leave the mills. Violence erupted in the plants and those who decided to stay in the mills were branded as "scabs". Their families were threatened with violence.

    The National Guard was called up and they patrolled the streets near the manufacturing plants. Isolated violence occurred and there was a division in the town. Some sided with the strikers and others with the union members. For many months tension existed in the community and close friends became enemies. At my age, I could never understand why friends and relatives became enemies over such issues.

    In addition to the National Guard, aircraft dropped supplies to those who stayed in the mills. Reports that these aircraft were shot at were never confirmed but with this new action, bitterness escalated. Those who stay on and worked during the strike were never accepted by union members once the terms of the union contracts were ratified and they went back to work.

    During the lean years in employment I recall the neighbors getting together and clearing an empty lot and making a baseball field. Everyone including women participated and there were some good players. Our Men's team had all four of my brothers in the lineup, particularly when three of the brother's names began with the letter, "R".

    It is sad that in our present day society, there are few common bonds and we hardly know our next door neighbor. In the old days, care and sharing was the name of the game. It seemed the neighbors lived in the same house forever. I can still remember everyone who lived on the two streets in our rural setting. Only two families had a negative influence in our neighborhood. They were isolated and did not mingle with the rest of us.

    Several of our neighbors were very kind to my family because of the tragic loss of our mother. One person in particular almost acted as my surrogate mother. She always gave me some of her fresh made doughnuts, pies, and other baked goods. I was a guest in her home almost daily.

    One time I knocked on the door and when she opened it I said, "Is your father home?" meaning of course her husband. He jumped from behind the door and uttered some frightening words which scared the daylights out of me. I started to run away but they assured me it was all in jest.

    Many times I went fishing with the husband. I can still hear the swish in the air when he threw his line out. Like dad, he always used a long cane pole and the more limber it was the better it suited him. I looked forward to the lunches he brought with him as they invariably included some of his wife's baked goods.

    Another neighbor went to Canada fishing each year. That was a big event in the neighborhood as he and his wife prepared for the trip. Some of us helped in the preparation, mainly by gathering "night crawlers" each night with flashlights. Upon returning from their trip there was a big fish fry and all the neighbors were invited. The pickerel and muskies caught were delicious and everyone joined in the festivities.

    Each summer we had neighborhood picnics. Some wonderful foods were prepared for this event. I had an addiction to potato salad, a dish we seldom had at home. Upon the introduction of this delicacy to the picnic table, I stuffed myself. My dear sister chastised me for being a "pig".

    These picnics were held close to home in an area called, "The sixty acres", along the banks of the Mosquito Creek. Everyone became involved in the games and a good time was had by all.

    The depression played some cruel tricks on our society and many families went without some of the necessities of life. We were not excluded from this group and during the dead of the winter we had to walk to school in below zero weather. One winter I wore a baseball jersey and no coat most of the year. The memory of that jersey still lingers. The letters, "Kings News Stand" were affixed to the front of it for all to see. This added to my woe's and my inferiority complex was nurtured with these experiences. Today, wearing clothing with sports figures names is a status symbol and many students insist their parents spend excessive amounts of money to buy such clothing. Fights and even deaths have occurred to acquire these status symbols.

    Hearing people make the statement, "The Good Old Days" does not strike a responsive chord with me. Reflections on those lean days, months and years are not conducive to happy memories. I am always on the defense when it came to talking about those disturbing adolescent years.

    During this period of my life, I yearned to be able to discuss things with someone. There was a lack of communications in my family and my problems went unsolved. The loneliness and despair was unexplained. There were no counselors in school and the teachers were paid to teach instead of counseling. Corporal punishment was permitted and I received my share of lashes with a rubber hose.

    I would have given anything to be able to discuss my problems with someone other than the family. Despite the fact that hindsight is always more favorable than the present, someone who would have responded to my needs could have meant the difference between misery and pleasure. This statement may not be valid because of my extensive knowledge of psychological problems now as opposed to the formidable years of emotional development and the mystery surrounding the reasons for my response to external matters. Chapter 2

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