In 1978 I got sober. I was a 21 year old female. AA had few women and fewer members under 40. My AA group had a room where on most nights and afternoons all the old men played poker. It was a nickel and dime game. No one got hurt. Sometimes they would let the new guys win.
I was a Friday night player. It started out one night when I was restless and wanted to drink. Jack G. shoved $2.00 in my hand and said, "Why don't you play, it'll keep you out of trouble." So I became a Friday night regular. There was easy conversation and lots of laughter. But mainly I was learning about life and redemption. I was safe and accepted by a diverse group of reformed drunks and rednecks. Even back then I called them my "old men".
They say that when the student is ready the teacher will appear. I was always a slow grower and my teachers were not always too spiritually evolved. Millionares sat with local tradesman in the game where few women ever played. The game started sometime in 1970 and ended in November 2006.
As we played the "old men" told their stories. It always seemed like they were talking to me anyway.When the phone rang someone would fold his hand and take the call. When someone stumbled up the steps late at night, we were there.
Webb was one of the oldest (well into his 70's in 1978). He was painful to watch as he moved around the group straightening pictures and emptying ashtrays. He had been sober for 30 years. If he was around when I got a seat in the game he would push aside his cards and say, "If I want to play with a woman, I'll go home and play with my wife." As he started for the door the guys would laugh, and Norman would usually say something like " Don't ask us to choose" or "Call your wife she may not want to play." After about 6 months I joined the game one night. Webb raised his eyebrows, sighed, and shrugged his shoulders. The silence was broken when he growled "Deal the cards."
Jack G. was a prolific twelve stepper. He only had 2 years sober when I came in. He had been married and divorced from his wife 4 times and married to 2 other women in between. Jack had a gift for reaching the new ones. After a while he took me with him. I can remember at least 5 times when we would bring someone back to Casa and sit with them all night. Jack would carefully measure out shots of whiskey. Medicinal whiskey timed to bring them off the booze without DT's. Jack ended up working for years at the Salvation Army and other jitter joints. He was magic. He could reach people that no one else could touch. He was tireless. He never gave up on anyone. Jack stayed sober and he stayed with his wife. His son served bravely in Iraq. Lately Jack is getting shakey. I called him over Christmas and he was mourning the loss of his youngest brother.
Norman was in poor health, but he had a great attitude. He looked like Santa Claus without a beard. When he laughed his whole body shook. Norman had been in the Navy and he had a lot of tattoos. He and his much younger wife seemed like they were still on a honeymoon. She worked nights and would always call before she left work. He was always gentle and kind, but when he talked to Billie, even on the phone, he was transformed. He usaid things like,"If I died tomorrow I'm still the luckiest man I know." or "Sometimes God smiles on the undeserving.".
Smitty was a veteren of 2 wars. He had been shot down in Viet Nam and for the rest of his life his chest wound never healed. His wife had to apply fresh bandages twice a day. He had been sober for about 20 years when I came in. He and his wife, Rennie (who had about 19 years) were the spiritual center of the group. Rennie was tough talking, but Smitty had no sharp edges. He was smooth, and wise, and he told stories about early AA that made it come alive. He was a brilliant investor and they became millionaires in the stock market after he retired..
Smitty told me that as you grew in sobriety you might not be as aware of the miracles. He said I shouldn't get discouraged because all it meant is that the miracles were happening closer together. "Fill up your bucket," he would smile. "Sometimes if you feel guilty, you are," he would laugh. He had strong opinions about almost everything, but he was one of the least judgemental people I've ever met. Smitty died in the early nineties. His wife passed shortly before he died.
Buddy was a wild man. He was short and wore thick glasses. When he came into the room he had to greet everyone individually. He and Jack were best friends and former drinking buddies. He didn't know how to be serious. Buddy insisted that he could never leave his wife because she shot her first husband. He never wanted to leave her anyway. She was a gracious woman, who often played straight man to Buddy's never ending practical jokes.He told about getting drunk and heading to Mexico, with a woman he'd picked up only to discover he/she was a transvestite. He left his new friend at the border and got sober the next day.
Dan B was a heating and A/C man he had 8 years when I showed up. Dan stopped attending meetings early on. He still smoked dope from time to time (I discovered this later). He was an occasional player. He was a startling handsome man. He filled his life with women and toys (like boats and radio controlled cars and airplanes). He was energetic, almost kinetic. When I had a couple of years we dated for a few months. Dan was 42 and wanted to get married. He asked me to go to the Bahamas with him. I figured there would only be one bed there. As gently as possible I told Dan that I was only 23 and he was too old for me. He took a 19 year old on the trip and they were married within a month. They are still married. I saw Don on his motorcyle last year, he pulled into the service station to say hello.
Charlie B was a short guy. Rennie called him a "little bantam rooster." He was blonde and handsome and had gotten sober in Arizona. He had a great sense of humour, but he played poker to win. Charlie was a personality. Charlie made you feel like you were the only person in the room. He wore cowboy boots and drove a station wagon. One Saturday, Tall Paul called me and told me to come to Casa. When I got there Charlie was laying on the floor under the poker table. All the players were there trying to sober Charlie up. When Charlie got drunk after 6 years some of the guys he sponsered followed him out. None of them made it back. We all loved Charlie, but we couldn't save him. He died drunk in 1983.
Tall Paul was about 6'4" he was a complex and conflicted old man. Paul was in his mid 70's. He always brought me library books that were how to books on writing. He had written scripts for TV. He had several years sober. Tall Paul was a generous, but sad man. He was haunted by his own demons. He had lived through World War II but the guilt of his wartime experiences never left him. Charlie was his friend and sponser. Within 2 weeks after Charlie got drunk Tall Paul relapsed. He started drinking on a Friday night. He died the following Tuesday.
Racecar Jeff had white hair. Looking back I guess he was only about 52 or so. I know that Jeff had 3 or 4 years more sobriety than I did. Anyway he was an Irishman. He was a member of another group, but he always stopped by to play poker We ended up in the same business. At least every 3 or 4 years Jeff would track me down. We never lost touch. In 1996 I hired him for a Sprint project. He did an excellant job. I loved his warmth and his Irish Charm. He also had a temper. Three years ago, he was shot by his own son during a family dispute. The week before we had played together and he was troubled and talked to some of the guys. His family was well known. There were lots of headlines in 2003 when he died.
I twelve stepped Artist Richard with Wayne P. in early 1982. Richard got sober and Wayne became his first sponser. Artist Richard is a bright and funny man. Like I did, he traveled with his work after sobriety. He lived for several years in Hawaii. Richard and I have shared memories. We both knew most of the oldtimers. Richard is retired now. He still does occasional design work. He rebuilt an old van and he takes roadtrips to Mexico, where he explores and paints. He lives in Rockwall and drives into town about once a month to play poker. I've noticed that he doesn't come as much since Racecar Jeff died.
In 2001, I moved back to East Dallas. The poker game had a few new faces. On a good night 6 chairs were filled. Last year they stopped playing. Most of the guys had died or were too shaky to play. The game ended in 2006 when the dwindling group moved to a new location.
Once a month I get together with those that are left. My people and I meet at a family cafe. Most of the people that were sober when I came to the program are gone now. The group moved last year and the game stopped. A couple of the poker players are still alive and not in the best of health. Only a handful are left. Over dinner we laugh about the times we were stopped by the police drunk or we ponder what happened to old friends that disappeared. The people at the table include several that never played poker. They are in large part the "Moms and Dads" that greeted me when I showed up in the program. The ones that are left. Harry, Andy, Jack and Richard are still around.
There were others in the game. Names and faces and voices that I still hear. Teachers that never tried to teach.... Players that never cared if they won...People that loved me back to life just because they were there. Most of them are gone now. I stopped today at the old Casa group to read their names on a handful of birdhouses that Harry mounted on a tree. There names are weathered, but readable. OD, Racecar Jeff, Earl, Donald Lee, each name carefully written in magic marker. The names of the old men who saved my life.
