August 1945
Jim sank into a comfortable chair at the Club House. He had come all the way over, across town, to eat lunch here because he knew, instinctively, that today he needed to be surrounded by A.A. and the gang, but, now that he was here, he wondered why he had come. He was too hot and tired to climb the stairs to the cafeteria, or was that just an excuse because he didn’t want to face the gang–the bright cheerful gang–my pals!–phewie! !
“What the hell is wrong with me, anyway? What got me into this lousy mood? Probably Clara’s fault and that cup of muddy slop she handed me for breakfast. A man has a right to a decent cup of coffee before he goes out into that hell-hole that’s New York in July to make money so she can buy decent coffee! If she knew how to make it! ! Then to top everything off–the stinking assignment the boss handed me this morning. . . .”
He didn’t hear Bill Bentley come into the room until Bill’s booming voice broke into little bright shafts of irritating noise against his ear drums.
“Why the dumps, old man?” was what Bill had said. “Did somebody steal your paper dolls or did the boss say no vacation?”
Jim felt an unreasonable wave of resentment rising up in his throat. He wished Bill would take himself, his revolting good health and his hearty smile out of the room–out of his life–out–to hell. He couldn’t show his emotions, though. That’d be fatal. One inkling of his true feelings exposed and the grapevine would start working. Before the day was over the boys downstairs in the game-room would be making book–“Too bad about old Jim”–“Off the beam badly–and after four years, too”–“It won’t be long now–Jim’s doing drinkin’ thinkin‘. . . .” He could just hear them, the so-and-so’s–just waiting to pounce on a guy–and a drink was the farthest thing from his mind–or was it? Holy jumpin’ Jehosephat, not that!
“I’m all right, Bill,” he managed with a grin that was meant to be bright, but missed. “It’s this damned heat, I guess, and I’m sort of tired–up all night with that new guy on 86th Street–lousy Park Avenue bum–and the boss handed me a job this morning that’s a killer.”
“No wonder you’re down. About time you got away on a vacation, isn’t it?”
“Vacation!” groaned Jim. “Oh sure! I’m scheduled for one next week, but I’ll be so dogged tired by then that I’ll probably spend it in bed. How the devil can you go on a vacation when you haven’t the guts left to stand in line for a ticket for Hoboken and you’re so rotten filthy tired that you don’t care if you go to the sea shore or Timbucktoo–and you have ten yapping new drunks, in diapers, who’ll get plastered the minute your back is turned?”
He groaned inwardly. “Why must I bellyache when it’s just the thing I wasn’t going to do?”
“Wait a minute, fellow,” said Bill gently. “I know just how you feel. You’re a remarkably reasonable facsimile of Bill Bentley, just two short weeks ago, and look at the darned thing now.”
“O.K.,” snapped Jim. “So you had the brown-whimpers for a day or two, but I don’t notice any tell-tale grey on your spirit now.”
“Certainly not, I took a vacation.”
“Fine,” Jim jeered, “You must have had at least enough steam to plan it and get started. I haven’t.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Janet planned it and under difficulties, too. I bucked her at every turn–didn’t want to go–didn’t have the energy–didn’t have the money for what I thought I wanted, if I wanted anything, which was doubtful–and besides, I couldn’t leave my dear sweet little drunken prospects whose sobriety depended on the pearls of wisdom that fell only from Bill Bentley’s lips.”
“How’d Janet make you go?” he asked with a flutter of interest.
“Well, first she reasoned, but I was beyond reasoning. So then, she nagged and I got stubborn and resentful. Finally, she shut up, wrote around to different spots that were within our reach, bought tickets (out of her own savings), packed up and then told me what she had done. Said I could go or stay or go to hell, but she was going to have a vacation and it’d take a bigger man than me to stop her. If I wanted to go along I could ride with her to the station or meet her at Grand Central. And, believe it or not, I didn’t know what I’d do until about an hour before train time. I wouldn’t speak to her in the taxi–barked at the red caps–sat on the train in stony silence to 125th Street, but, as we were pulling out of Greater New York, something seemed to be lifted off my shoulders. A weight was removed. I looked at Janet and smiled and than we both started giggling like a couple of school kids and we haven’t stopped since. Great things, vacations. Even a vacation from A.A. is good, sometimes.”
“Wait a minute, Bill, that’s rebel talk. Say it in a whisper or the bright-boys will say you’re getting high. Between you and me, though, how’d it go, a vacation from A.A.?”
“That’s the damnest thing,” said Bill thoughtfully. “We got to this place in Connecticut; a quiet little country hotel on the water, with a reasonable tariff and filled with nice, normal people with no apparent problems. Zowie! What a relief! For three days I wallowed in it. Swam, ate, slept and relaxed and then, about the fourth day, I felt restless, but Janet had thought of that, too. ‘How about taking in a meeting in New Haven, tonight?’, she threw out. I caught the ball with a yip of glee. It was just what I wanted and didn’t know it. Wise gal, Janet! Well sir, I ran into old friends and made new ones that night and, bless Jonathan, if I didn’t find some within walking distance of where we were staying. From then on, we had gatherings. I took in Hartford, Waterbury, Bridgeport and all of the other meetings within a reasonable radius and it was an experience to hear the same old 12 Steps dressed up in new words. I soaked it up as though I’d never heard A.A. before and the funny thing is, they thought I was an oracle because my dope was imported! Strange how it works out. Yeah, I had a vacation from A.A., for about three days out of the fourteen. Actually, though, it was just as much a vacation to get a fresh view-point as if I had been isolated. Of course, the barnacled beach and the balmy zcphers helped. They gave me the relaxation and the sense of being removed from my own personal problems. I needed that, but a friendly bunch of rummies were necessary to complete the picture.”
“You’ve aroused a flicker of interest, pal, in this care-worn breast of mine. I’m off to tell Clara to give Janet a ring and take a lesson in how to be smart, then, you and I are going upstairs to satisfy a stirring inner-man I thought was down for the count. But first, answer just one more question: what did you do with the torn, tattered and drunken ewe-lambs that you left to fend for themselves?”
“That’s the best of all. Of course I didn’t quite forget them. Before I left I called a few of the boys and asked them to keep a weather-eye out and give a word of encouragement here and there and, was my ego blasted when I got back to find them all more or less hale and hearty, in various stages of recovery and without my expert care! The only trouble waiting for me was a couple of old timers, like us, who waited too long for that vacation in the country and wound up taking it at one of the bigger and better homes for inebriates–but enough of this. Let’s to the telephone and then to the groceries. That reminds me. One of the first things I heard when I came into this grand and glorious association for alcoholics was: ‘Don’t ever let yourself get too hungry and don’t get too tired.’ In either condition you’re a push-over for John Barleycorn.”
Copyright © The AA Grapevine, Inc.
Peace of Mind