Author: Ray Terhorst

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APRIL

Spring is in the air! Plants are showing their new growth, birds are building nests, and all is well with the world. Well, with some at least.

April reminds me of the dreaded Fourth Step. The Step that I would do anything to avoid. I remember going to my sponsor after about a year of sobriety and asking him about my changing behavior. I had faithfully attended and participated in meetings and had been feeling like I was walking about three feet off the ground. Lately, however, I had felt like I was regressing. I was moody and not as happy as I had been the previous few months. I was feeling anxious and irritable. I asked my sponsor, Bob, what was happening. He just grinned and asked, “So, Ray, have you completed that Fourth Step yet?” As he said those words, it became perfectly clear to me that I had neglected a part of my recovery process and was paying the price.

I won’t bore you with the details, but I did complete my Fourth Step. I found that once I started I could not stop once I began. I realized how simple the Fourth Step was. As usual, I had made it more complicated than it was ever meant to be. To my amazement, once I had completed my inventory, the Fifth, Sixth and Seventh Steps just fell into place and were easily completed.

This article is not about working the Steps. It is about gratitude.

This morning, the recent rain showers left the sky blue, the air clean, and the trees, bushes and flowers clean and bright. It was one of those mornings when it was so great to be alive. Just to be part of the morning was a gift.

I was reminded of the gift of my sobriety. I became thankful for Bill W. and Dr. Bob. I am glad there was an Oxford Group. I am thankful for the people and the Steps who brought me to recovery. I will be forever grateful to a God/Higher Power who saw that someone as insignificant as me was loved. I am grateful that in my hour of desperation and loss of hope, God was there to help me pull myself out of the pit. The miracles that followed and continue to occur are accepted gratefully as gifts from God.

I believe that my response to these gifts is gratitude through service. Service to all those who suffer – whatever that suffering may be. Service that is given freely because of what has been given to us.

I know how much so many of you give to others. You serve as an example to me by showing your love, compassion and caring. I see you giving freely of your precious time. I hear you talk of the rewards obtained through service. I feel your love when I walk into a meeting and you are there. I know that the love I feel from you also comes from beyond you and I am truly blessed.

I hope I never take any of you or my gift of sobriety for granted. Let’s celebrate the renewal of Spring.

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FORGIVENESS

Each year the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department has a reunion in Laughlin, Nevada. It is attended by nearly a thousand retirees of which Ray is one. Here is his story in his own words.

There are so many attendees at the reunion, (which lasts for 3 ½ days) that it is impossible to know everyone or to even spend time with everyone I do know. At this reunion each year is John Jones. (Name Changed). John is one of those people that disgusts me and I prefer to never be around. I go out of my way to avoid this person. He is a non-entity to me and I have zero respect for this man.

During my time working detectives on the Sheriff’s Department, John was assigned to work burglaries. John was one of those people who was a “do nothing”. He did not work his cases, we caught him throwing cases into the waste basket and ignoring good leads that would bring a successful conclusion to a case. Things were so bad with John and his behavior so poor that we worked to have John removed from the unit and hopefully terminated from the Department.

My partner went so far as to bring allegations to the attention of the Lieutenant we worked for. He eventually testified against John at a civil service administrative hearing. As a result, John was given a suspension and removed from the unit but not terminated from the Department.

At our annual reunions, just the sight of John sickened me.

When Danielle and I were first married, I invited her to accompany me to the reunion. I was eager for her to meet my old friends and see a part of my life she had not been apart of before. I spent time telling her about the wonderful people I had worked with over my 34 year career and my hopes of her meeting these friends.

The day finally arrived and we traveled from New Mexico to Nevada and on Sunday afternoon we walked into the large room which would accommodate us. We had a marvelous afternoon as I introduced Danielle to old friends and she listened so many of the stories we would recount.

At one point, Danielle excused herself from the table to get some refreshments and as she returned I saw her with John in tow. She was pulling him by his hand towards our table. My heart sunk. What the heck was she doing with him? As she neared the table, she was saying, “look who I found, someone who worked where you worked.” She asked me if I knew him and of course I replied that I did. Danielle was so pleased with herself and happy that to save her from embarrassment I reached out my hand to John and said hello. He sheepishly shook my hand.

I went through the normal pleasantries of how was he doing, where was he living, what was he doing with himself. All the while Danielle was so proud of herself believing she had found one of my old friends.

As we were talking, John asked if he could talk to me privately. We stepped a few feet away from the table and it was then that John explained that he wanted to apologize for his behavior years before. He went on to say that he had been experiencing some personal problems, had developed a drinking problem, had attended a twelve step program and was now dealing with his own alcoholism and with his son’s. He said he had seen my name published in the Star News, a monthly Sheriff’s Department publication that goes out to all current and retired members of the Department. My name is listed as a contact for anyone needed help with alcoholism.

As John spoke, I felt my heart opening. For the first time I saw John as a human being. He was honest, open and forthright about his past. He asked if I could forgive him. As my heart continued to open, I began to feel love for this man and actually had a tear come to my eye.

I remember putting my hand on his shoulder and then on his cheek as I thanked him for talking with me. I even gave him my personal contact information so he could send me his e-mail information and I could put him on the mailing list for the monthly newsletter I write to several hundred cops and firefighters in recovery from alcoholism. We both parted with smiles on our faces.

I often refer to Danielle as an angel sent by God to me. In this case I really did believe that was who she was. She certainly was the catalyst that started this process of forgiveness with John.

As I reveled in the circumstances that had just occurred, I continued to process the events that had transpired. As I reflected on all that had happened, I was reminded that there were certain cases of mine that I had worked where my diligence in solving a case could have been called into question. I had no business continuing to harbor resentments when my house was not always in order.

I will always (and I do mean always) be thankful to God and to his angel Danielle for the precious moments I spent with John. I will treasure them in my heart.

Both Danielle and John have since passed away but their lesson for me is not forgotten.

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DANCING WITH ANGELS

(From March 2002 Peace Officer’s Fellowship Newsletter)

Have you ever danced with an angel? No, I don’t mean your girlfriend, wife or child. I mean, have you ever danced with a real angel?

I was talking with my friend Marilyn yesterday. She is a single mom who successfully raised 4 boys. We spoke of her son who just went into the Navy and how he was adjusting to boot camp. We then spoke of our grandchildren. For those of you who are grandparents, have you noticed what experts we have become on children? We may not have had all the success in the world in raising our own children but we suddenly became experts once we had grandchildren of our own.

I was telling Marilyn about a recent visit to see Jaelyn, my 5 month old granddaughter. I watched Jaelyn as she sat in her swing, content with the world as she sat by herself, smiling and waving her hands. Marilyn said she had similar experiences with her grandchildren and that she loved to watch them dance with the angels.

I have come to believe in angels. Not because of the popularity of TV shows but because AA is such a spiritual program. I believe that I am sober today because my Higher Power and his angels intervened to bring me to sobriety. As I involve myself with alcoholics who are still suffering, I see miracles occur that I cannot explain.

People who I never thought would ever experience sobriety are now my mentors. Those of you who participate in Twelve Step work know what I am speaking about. How many times have you doubted a particular person would ever see sobriety only to see that person excel in the program? I know that when I surrender myself to my Higher Power and remember that I am only the messenger, then I can step back, watch the angels dance and see the miracles unfold.

As I write this message, I think of many of you in the Fellowship who believe in the miracles surrounding sobriety. Each of us has a story to tell about the miracles that happened in our lives to bring us to sobriety. I’d like to think it is because I was allowed to dance with angels.

Thanks for letting me share.

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ELVIS LIVES!

When I met Danielle, my life changed forever. It seems I had finally found what had eluded me for so many years. And with that came a whole new perspective on life.

For one thing singing and dancing had become a part of my life I had not envisioned. Danielle is very musically inclined. She plays both folk and classical guitar, plays a decent piano, and recently completed classes to play the ukulele.

On one of our trips, shortly after getting married, we talked of finding a way to work with people that had been forgotten. Often the elderly lived alone or in an assisted living home. Danielle to them as “the throw away people.” People who were often forgotten by family and friends.

We discussed how we might create a ministry to support these people. An idea began to form as we thought of our love of music and singing. We thought of putting together a performance that would bring some fun and joy to others. Maybe we could put together a show that would include a few familiar hymns along with some contemporary classic songs. We would include some humorous stories along with the cowboy poetry I liked to recite. And that’s how it began.

Our first show was for an old friend, Biddie McMath. I first met Biddie when I was looking for a book her husband had written many years before about the history of the town of Mountainair, New Mexico. I was in the process of moving from Los Angeles to New Mexico and was interested in the local history. Through a bit of investigation I was able to get in touch with Biddie via email and that began a wonderful relationship that has gone on with her and her husband Gorden for many years. She and Gorden were so gracious in sharing their memories and the history of this tiny town of 984 people. Both had been born in the area and each, now in their eighties, had a rich knowledge of the local history. After moving to town, Biddie and I spent many hours discussing her history of the area. Gorden was also very accommodating. He had been the county Sheriff and town Marshall before retiring, so we had that law enforcement background in common. Biddie was in her 80’s and Gorden in his 90’s when I met them. They had been married for who knows how many years and had known each other since childhood.

When Gorden passed away, Biddie moved into an assisted living home. I often visited Biddie and it was during one of these visits that I asked her if she would be open to Danielle and I performing and using her and the other residents as guinea pigs for our performance. They enthusiastically agreed and we had our first performance.We sang our hymns and old time songs and told stories. We sang In the Garden, How Great Thou Art, You are My Sunshine, Puff the Magic Dragon and many more.The residents were invited to sing along and they did so in unrestrained voices. The residents were genuinely pleased and praised our performance. We were even invited back. And that’s how we began.

We also began performing at the Bee Hive, a larger assisted living home in the same vicinity.

W so much enjoyed getting together with these wonderful folks. Friendships were developed as we saw these people often during our regular performances. All of the residents got together in a common area where Danielle played the guitar and we both sang together. Ray recited cowboy poetry and humorous stories. Songs like In the Garden and Puff the Magic Dragon were always among the favorites that we sang. Alvin, one of the residents, enjoyed playing his guitar with us as we sang My Darling Clementine. Sadly, Alvin passed away a short time later but not before we had established a great friendship with him.

Ruby and Mary Ellen were two of our favorite residents. Ruby had lived in Mountainair and was actually one of the reasons we started performing at the Bee Hive. She and Mary Ellen were so full of life. They joked and told stories with us and shared other more personal stories from their past. We were often invited into their rooms to talk before or after our performances.

One day we were returning home from Albuquerque after a day of shopping. As we were driving past the Bee Hive we decided to stop and visit with our friends. We didn’t have our instruments with us and were not going there to perform. It was a chance for us to stop and say howdy.

I was most interested in visiting with my friend, George, a U.S. Air Force retiree. George and I had spoken of his experiences traveling around the world but never really had the time to spend more than a few minutes together. As I sat with George during this visit, Danielle was visiting with a group of ladies. It should have come as no surprise that soon Danielle and this group of ladies were singing some of the songs we regularly performed. As they sang I continued talking with George.

George and I concluded our visit and as I walked over to Danielle and her group, she said, the ladies want us to sing. What? I wasn’t prepared to sing, (I thought). I’m still not sure what caused me to do this, but I stopped dead in my tracks and turned my back to the group. I then put my shirt collar up around my neck and turned around again. In an over exaggeration of Elvis Presley, I began to sing The Battle Hymn of the Republic as I had heard Elvis perform it on a recording. I did my best to sing it in his style of vibrato while swiveling my hips. As I sang, I really accentuated the movement of my hips in an effort to be Elvis. These movements were probably more provocative than planned.

As I was doing this impromptu performance and nearing the finish, Mary Ellen covered her eyes and shouted, “I can’t watch this, I’m Catholic!” Ruby, who was sitting next to her, immediately shouted out, “Do it again, do it again!” The room erupted in a huge belly laugh of uncontrolled laughing.

Well, I’ve performed it again on another occasion and Mary Ellen is fine with it as I have toned it down and now we can laugh about it.

Several of these people have passed on but not before enriching our lives as we never could have imagined.

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MIRACLES? MIRACLES? WHO BELIEVES IN MIRACLES?

The following stories contains a brief description of my life as it lead up to my addiction to alcohol. Two very surprising things happened to me in this period of recovery. Two miracles! See if you can find them.

Our lives are filled with miracles. The way we live our lives may have something to do with how miracles appear. I have often wondered where my life would have led me if I had made different decisions. I do know that I made many mistakes in my life and that without those mistakes I could not be the person I am today. That person is someone I have come to like. But I also know that without my faith in God, I could not have survived the life I had chosen before the miracles began. Here is a bit of my story.

I think this story actually begins way back in 1963. I had just graduated from high school and was looking for a job. I had no plans to go to college as that was not the way things happened in my family. Don’t get me wrong, I had a great family. It’s just that none of them had ever gone to college so why would I be any different?

I have fond memories of sitting around with my best friend Bob, Marv, and Jim, and our dads. This was day when High Fidelity or Hi-Fi was new and every dad I knew wanted his hi-fi set to be the biggest, the best, and most of all, the loudest. Both Bob’s dad and mine built their own Hi-Fi sets. They built their own tuners and assembled their speakers into wooden cabinets. It was during these times when they were working together, that we would find ourselves in the company of our dads.

The conversations often turned to what was going to happen after high school. How would we go about finding jobs? What was involved in seeking employment? How were we to act? My dad was a wholesale milkman, Bob’s dad was an auto mechanic. All of my other friends dads were blue collar workers too. Here is an example of the advice we were given. Go and apply for work at a place of your choice and then go back every day and inquire to job openings. Once they see you are in earnest about wanting to work at their place of business, they will hire you just so you won’t pester them anymore.

I don’t blame them or hold them responsible for not pushing me to go to college. It was their experience they were relying on. I actually don’t think it ever entered their minds. They were a product of their parents and were just paying it forward. My dad went to school through the eighth grade and then went to work to help support his parents and the rest of his family. Why should things be different with me?

I had a bittersweet romance with middle school and high school. Prior to going to public school I had a wonderful six years in a one room schoolhouse that consisted of first through eighth grade. The seventh and eighth grades were eventually dropped and it became a two room schoolhouse with first through third grade in one room and fourth through sixth in the other. I loved school, my teachers, and most of all my friends. Since the school was associated with our church, I saw my friends every day at school as well as at all church events. That’s what made it so difficult to come to that screeching halt caused by graduation from sixth grade and the move to public school. There are other chapters in this book that will explain my love for school.

I was lost in seventh grade. I missed my friends and since I was a bit shy, I found it difficult to make new friends. To make things worse, seventh and eighth grade were just boring. Everything being taught I had already learned in grade school. Oh, did I mention, that my teacher was Mr. Borman, who had also been my dad’s teacher in Everett, Washington and had taught me in Arcadia, California? Not even sure how that happened but I missed my teachers.

I felt out of sorts, did not like going to school, and felt as if I was somehow different from all the other kids. I got into so many fights I cannot remember who I fought with or what the fights were about. . Looking back on it, I guess I was rebellious as a result of the anger I felt being thrown to the lions. I was not prepared for public school, but somehow I managed to make it through middle school and into high school. High school was not much better. My saving grace was that I could read music after taking four years of accordion lessons years before. That meant I could join the band where in my freshman year I learned to play the baritone horn and the next three years I was a part of the Temple City Rams Band. I loved band. I loved being part of the half-time show at football games, going as part of the pep band to away games, marching and competing in parades around Southern California and best of all, I loved our concert season. The concert season allowed us to play classical pieces, complex marches, and some contemporary pieces. I seemed to lose myself in a dream world as I sat and played these musical treasures. Truly, being in the band was the very best part of high school, and in many respects, my salvation.

Following high school in 1963, I took my dad’s advice and applied for a job in the manufacturing plant at Avon Cosmetics. They were an excellent company to work for. Wages, fringe benefits, and bonuses were hard to beat. I filled out my application and submitted it. Then I went back the next day as I had been taught. Mr. Uhl, the Human Resources Representative explained there were no openings. Be patient and they would be in touch. The next day and the next after that I returned only to hear the same old party line. On the fourth or fifth return, Mr. Uhl patiently explained. “Son, we don’t have an opening. We will call you when something comes available.” I responded, “Mr. Uhl, you don’t understand. I intend to make a career out of working for Avon.” Mr. Uhl’s next words were, “Wait here a minute, son!” The rest is history. They found a place for me even though they had no openings and for the next five years I was very happy with my employment.

Then came the turning point in my life! A moment that was to change who I was for the next 20 years.

As mentioned, Avon was a great employer and each year they gave the employees a day off to attend a huge picnic. This was bigger than any picnic I had ever attended. They rented a huge location called the Tiki’s. It was able to accommodate more than a thousand people. There were may different locations throughout the facility to eat a wonderful variety of South Sea cuisine. Liquor poured freely and each employee received two free drink tickets. Even though I was only 17 at the time, my co-workers, now friends, were only too happy to get my drinks for me.

I had never ordered a drink before. I didn’t know the names of drinks or what to order, but I still wanted to look cool. When I was asked what I wanted, I cooly told my friends I would have my usual, Vodka and Seven-Up. Am I cool or what?
This drink was the first hard liquor that ever touched my lips. Growing up I was occasionally allowed a sip of wine at dinner with my parents. Now I had really arrived, I was an adult (I thought) and I had my first real drink. And it was like nothing I ever tasted. Not only was it deliciously sweet, I was suddenly transformed. Just like Cinderella, I became a round peg fitting into a round hole. I was deliriously happy and euphoric. All of my rebellion and anger drifted away. It was the first time since elementary school that I really felt like I fit in. I had come of age, I was morphed from a caterpillar to a butterfly. I was able to fly…and I loved it!

That weekend I spent with three of my new found friends and one who would later become my first wife, Marie. It was the best weekend I had ever experienced. Comradery that I had not experienced before. These new friends who accepted me for who I was. I no longer had to pretend to be someone else. That weekend we went to the beach, played games, and most of all, we never stopped drinking. This was the life for me!

Alcohol became my friend. Fast forward 20 years and alcohol had changed personalities. In 1967, I got tired of working at Avon and went through a series of tests for the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department. I passed all of the tests with flying colors and found myself a Deputy Sheriff.

While I loved alcohol, it had not created problems for me. I was still able to control my drinking and it did not influence my work in law enforcement, at least not in the beginning. It did however create problems in my personal life. I was never home. I was spending every end of my shift in a bar with my peers telling stories about how great we were, the great arrests and adventures we had been involved in, and inflating our ego. Alcohol took over my thinking and without me really knowing it, was beginning to steal my life from me. I found myself soon divorced with two wonderful young children who thanks to my wife’s parents, moved my wife and kids hundreds of miles away to remove them from my influence.

It wasn’t too long before I had remarried and had added two more beautiful children to my life. I was now assigned to detectives. I loved work and I loved it even more that it allowed me to drink on-duty. This was back in the 1970s, the days of the three martini lunch. Drinking was both condoned and encouraged. My bosses sometimes sent me to represent them at a grand opening of a hotel or restaurant where I was encouraged to drink and have a good time. What I didn’t see was the monster alcohol had become. I have read in the book Alcoholics Anonymous, is that alcohol is cunning, baffling, and powerful. By now alcohol completely owned me. I drank while working and I drank at home. I was drinking a quart or more of whiskey a day in an effort to reclaim that euphoric feeling I had with that first drink. It never happened! I was now a slave to my drinking and I had become an angry drunk. I needed to know where my next drink was coming from and what would happen if I did not get it. I was starting to experience delirium tremens in the morning. It was when I started to see things that appeared real but were not there. Creepy crawlies on my body or climbing on the shower wall. I was scared to death and I needed to get to a drink.

All of this story so far is to set the stage for the miracles that follow next. Not just one, but a whole series of events that would change my life forever.

In 1983, my drinking had finally gotten to the point that I had to drink to make it through a day. I was scared of not being able to know where my next drink was coming from and scared of living. One night I took my revolver and sat in my church’s parking lot, place the gun barrel into my mouth, cocked the trigger, but did not have the courage to end my life. I couldn’t even do that right. I became more depressed and drank even more.

Since I was a pretty religious person, attending church twice on Sunday and elected as a Deacon and later an Elder, I knew God would relieve me from my alcoholism if I only prayed and asked Him to help me stop drinking. I prayed and prayed but help did not arrive, so in my delusional state I believed God wanted me to drink. I was the ONE, I was divinely inspired to drink. So I did! It just didn’t work for me and I found myself back in my depressed state.

So, back to the drawing board. It is hard to explain to someone who has never experienced the real need to end one’s life, what that is like. I just wanted to be free from the fear, anger, and depression that went along with my drinking. So I decided I would carefully plan the end to my life.

I picked a date a couple of weeks down the road. My plan was to go home and have dinner with my wife and two kids. Even in the middle of my alcoholism and depression, I found it important to sit down as often as possible for dinner as a family. The only times we missed the opportunity was if the kids had soccer or baseball games or if I was working late. (By this time, I was doing most of my drinking at home in an effort to please my wife and stick to promises made.) Every night following dinner, my wife, Kathy, would telephone one of her girlfriends and talk to them while doing the dishes. This happened every night following dinner and was the perfect time to go into the bedroom and do the deed.

On the appointed date, I came home from work, had a few drinks, sat down to dinner with the family and following dinner left my wife on the phone, doing the dishes, and went into the bedroom. I pulled my two inch revolver out, cocked it and was about to put it into my mouth when my wife came into the bedroom, saw what was happening and screamed. We wrestled over the gun, resulting in my putting it down. Kathy said, “You need help!” I fell down on my knees and in that moment of complete and total surrender, cried out to God for help. I think it is in these moments that God hears us best for following that cry for help, I literally felt like a hand was supporting me and lifting me out of this deep pit of despair.

I made a phone call to my friend and co-worker, Bob, who I knew was a recovering alcoholic and asked for his help. He knew me well and said he was thankful I had come to this realization. He told me if I could just stay sober through the following day, he would take me to a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous the next evening. He even gave me the name of another recovering alcoholic at work who could help me get through the day. I spent the next day in misery but sober. That was March 23, 1983.

As promised Bob took me to my first A.A. meeting and my road to sobriety began, but almost ended before I knew it.

After a couple of weeks, as I learned about Twelve Step recovery work and as I slowly de-toxed from the physical effects of alcohol, I was beginning to feel better. But there was a fly in the ointment I needed to deal with:

For the past several years, I had chartered fishing boats to go deep sea fishing. I would set up about six or seven a year and once a year we would go long-range fishing. Long-range trips were on a boat to Mexico where we would be on the ocean and away from populated landfall for seven or eight days. All of these trips were extremely popular and were often filled within minutes of setting up the charter. It was also a time when my fishing buddies and I could drink to our heart’s content without any nagging or interference from spouses.

We had done a couple of previous trips on a chartered boat but this year we were doing something different. One of the guy’s dad had a house in Cabo San Lucas, Baja, Mexico. This year we would fly to Cabo for a week and arrange for daily fishing trips. This trip had been planned nearly a year in advance during the time I was still drinking. Now I was sober and in charge of the trip and I felt I needed to go even though I knew there would be lots of drinking.

My associates in A.A. told me not to go, that I was setting myself up for a fall, but I dismissed their concerns due to my feeling of responsibility to the trip. I phoned the local office of A.A. and asked if there were A.A. meetings in Cabo San Lucas. The told me that they were only responsible for the local Los Angeles area and had no information on meetings in Mexico. At the A.A. meeting I was regularly attending, a guy had just returned from Cabo and assured me there was no A.A. meetings there. If I took my book of “Alcoholics Anonymous” referred to as the Big Book, I might find some others in recovery and have an impromptu meeting.

In an effort to further insulate myself from the drinking buddies, I invited my minister, Roger and another congregant and friend, Luke. My good friend and neighbor Jim, had four years in recovery, loved to fish, and agreed to go along on the trip. Instead of staying at the house where everyone was staying we made arrangements for the four of us to stay in a suite at a local hotel. I felt pretty safe as off I went!

The town of Cabo San Lucas in 1983 was only a fishing village. Most of the streets were still dirt, there were a couple of older hotels in town and there were a couple of resort hotels being built. In 1983 I could walk around the entire town in 15 minutes or so. There was not even a curio shop in town. Tourists were almost exclusively fishermen.

Everything went well for the first few days. Groups of 3 or 4 would arrange with the local fishermen to charter a boat for the morning. We’d then return around noon, clean our fish, freeze them, clean up and take a little siesta or nap.

We had arrive on a Saturday and it was now Tuesday or Wednesday and I had awakened from my nap to find no one in the room. No worries, I knew they were easily found somewhere in town. I showered and dressed and wandered around looking for them. It was late afternoon around dusk that found me at the house where the others were staying. None of my friends were there so I sat down to see if any of them would show up. The party was in full swing and the booze was flowing freely. I had a couple of my long-time drinking buddies encourage me to have a drink, that I could always go “on the wagon” again when I got home. I could feel myself becoming more and more agitated because I could taste and feel the effects of the whiskey on me. It was about this time that Jim, my recovering friend entered the house. He was carrying a multitude of food containers from the local barbecue in the center of town. This marinated chicken and fish was really greasy and the grease was running down his arms and dripping off his elbows…and he was drunker than a skunk. I learned later that he had met some people on the beach who offered him some Tequila. He gave up his four years of sobriety to take a drink. I was devastated and I literally ran out of the house.

I was scared and I was angry and felt very much alone. As I walked down the dirt street in the darkness, I began shouting out loud to God. I was yelling out profanities and obscenities, blaming God for His failure to keep me from drinking. How could a God who finally allowed me to stop drinking place me in this predicament only to fail again. There are no words to impart to the reader the level of anger and disappointment I was feeling. (I was still to immature to see my own responsibility in any of this. It was easier to blame someone else and in this case it was God.)

Way down the street I saw a neon Pizza sign. It was so out of place in 1983 Cabo San Lucas. Probably the first and only neon sign in town. The thought that popped into my mind was that I could get a beer at a pizza joint. Beer was never my drink of choice but what the heck, I was going to show God. I said the words aloud, “I’ll show you, you son-of-a-bitch, I’m going to have a beer.” As I walked down the street towards the neon sign, I saw a saloon. A genuine old-west style saloon. Swinging doors and all. Well, this was more to my liking. I preferred hard liquor and I figured I could get whiskey or tequila there.

I marched up the steps. (The street was at least 6 feet below the sidewalk.) I pushed those swinging doors open just like John Wayne and walked in. When I was inside I couldn’t see a thing at first. It was the darkest bar I had ever been in. As my eyes adjusted to the light I saw three desks against the far away back wall, each with a lit candle and a person seated behind the desk. Above the three of them was the largest double A I had ever seen. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I scared the hell out of these three men as I shouted at the top of my lungs, “ Is this a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous?”

The man seated in the center spoke hesitatingly in perfect English, “Yes sir, it is. May I help you?” I was beside myself. I could hardly believe or understand what was happening, it was all very surreal at the time. I scared these people as I sounded like an insane person as I shouted the words, “My name is Ray, I’m an alcoholic! I need help!”

The man in the center spoke again inviting me to sit down. He spoke both English and Spanish. The other two on each side of him spoke only Spanish so he was able to interpret. For the first time since stopping drinking and attending A.A. meetings I told my story! In retrospect, I may have been all over the board with my story. I was still so overwhelmed by the love of God. How could anyone love me so much as to show me to an A.A. meeting after all of the terrible things I had said. Well for me it was the beginning of my walk with God. My whole life changed that night.

It turned out that this A.A. meeting was brand new and had been in existence for less than two weeks. A year later I received a written invitation in the mail to come to Cabo San Lucas and celebrate their one year anniversary. I was unable to attend but 33 years later, I did go back to a Cabo San Lucas I hardly recognized due to the extreme growth caused by tourism. I did find the bar again which now was a restaurant and the A.A. meeting had moved on.

I found out later that my minister friend, Roger, was having a drink with the local Priest. I never did determine where Luke was at, and my friend Jim became my best friend, closer than a brother, as he struggled on and off again with his own sobriety.

I never have taken a drink again since that first day following my suicide attempt. As I write these words, I am 39 years sober, just one day at a time. God and A.A. saved my life. The word gratitude does not seem to do justice to the way I feel, but I found out that day, that God is tangible and can be touched. That night, I touched the face of God as he revealed himself to me, maybe for the first time. That was my rainbow, the promise that God made to Noah after the flood, that was God’s promise to me that I was His and I would never have to take another drink!

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THE KISSING ROCKS

I think most of us have a favorite place on earth. Mine is located on the Central Coast of California on the Monterey Peninsula in the small town of Pacific Grove.

Located on the Pacific Ocean it is near the now famous Monterey Aquarium. Monterey Bay is one of the most unique ocean environments. Deep and wide, many species of sea life abound. Some species are not found anywhere else on earth.

Seals and Sea Otters are prolific and can be found wherever you go. Forty or more years ago the otters neared extinction so 100 miles of coastline was set aside as protected habitat and today the otters abound. The Seals have become somewhat of a problem since they have increased in their numbers and are protected by law. But they are fun to see and watch as they play.

As a youngster, my parents took my sister Norma and I to Pacific Grove often. About a 6 to 8 hour drive depending on which way you go. Often we took the now famous Highway One with its spectacular views of the ocean from cliffs high above.

I remember the first time we passed Hearst Castle. I was about 7 or 8 years old and the Castle was still inhabited occasionally by William Randolph Hearst. I could not speak I was so entranced in seeing the castle located high upon a hill. It was so intriguing as I remembered stories of castles we read about in school. I could imagine tapestries, secret hideaways and fireplaces that opened when one found the secret place that opened it into that secret room. Knights and evil sorcerers were having sword fights in my imagination.

Big Sur was another highlight of Highway One. The beauty of the redwoods kissing the bright blue ocean is spectacular.

Those early days in Pacific Grove were usually spent watching the waves hit the rocks, listening to the fog horn which could be heard all over Pacific Grove. Driving the Seventeen Mile Drive and seeing the Lone Cypress and Pebble Beach Golf Course. Point Lobos was another favorite. Enjoying each of these spots always included walking out on the rocks. In many cases we had to dodge the spray from the ocean pounding on the rocks. Sometimes we would park the car along the road in Pacific Grove and walk along the rocky shoreline. Tide pools drew us to them as we were able to see firsthand sea creatures; crabs, small fish, and more. I would put my hands into the cold water and look under rocks and touch some of the flora in the pool. It has always been so special to me to witness nature up close and personal. Otters, Seals, and Whales abounded in the area. My mom collected very tiny pieces of colored glass that had been washed and made smooth by the continual beating on the rocks. She carefully placed them into a small glass container. There were clear pieces, as well as green, blue, and red. We also found some of the most amazing pieces of driftwood that we added to our collection of treasures. On our first trip to Monterey, Norma was four and I was five and we were crawling on the rocks at Lover’s Point when we saw these red crabs. All I remember is that they scared the wits out of Norma and me as we visualized being pinched by their claws.

The wharf in Monterey was not to be missed. Restaurants in those early days featured Abalone Steaks, unknown to other restaurants throughout the United States. The taste is amazing. Back then it was affordable and Abalone could be seen often in the rocks around Pacific Grove. Today the prices are off the charts often going for a hundred dollars a pound.
The wharf also featured sea food markets where my dad would buy a Salmon and have it packed in ice, for our drive home on our last day of our trip. Those markets no longer exist today.

We would often drive an hour north to just north of Santa Cruz to walk through the Henry Cowell Redwoods (Theodore Roosevelt was one of the first to visit). These hundreds of years old redwoods towered high above us, some over 300 feet tall. They were so thick that there were many places the sun could not penetrate. After this visit we would go next door to ride the steam train at Roaring Camp in Felton. This lumber train would go high into the redwoods in open cars so we could view nature in its finest.

The memories I had of Pacific Grove and the surrounding area that I had visited so many times as a kid was my Heaven on Earth.

In 2023 I took Diann to Monterey and Pacific Grove. She immediately fell in love with the area. Her favorite thing to do was to sit and watch the ocean. The shoreline is mostly rocky and when the waves hit the rocks there are some pretty spectacular splashes, some going many feet into the air.

We returned in 2025 we returned. It was a four day road trip from Missouri, but we also had fun as we drove the 1800 miles to get there.

On this trip I introduced Diann to the Kissing Rocks. Two rocks who touched each other and gave the appearance of kissing. Located in an observation point was a bench. It overlooked the rocks and sitting there with Diann was moments of absolute peace and contentment. We often sat in silence for an hour or more. On other occasions we spoke of our life together and how blessed we were to have found each other. In this lifetime I have never experienced such an amazing relationship with such a wonderful partner.’

Now understand, Pacific Grove today is a very desirable tourist location and is often very crowded as it was during our stay. But each time, (and there were several) we stopped to sit on “our bench” it was always available and empty. The Universe seemed to make sure it would remain special to us.

It is difficult to put into words how a relationship can be more perfect. In the time we have been together there have been no fights, no unkind words, no interest in controlling the other. Just peace! A peaceful feeling of unconditional love!The Oneness we experience is something I have looked for all of my life. I learned so much about how I created problems in former relationships. I will try my best not to screw things up this time.

So, my friends, if you should be in Pacific Grove, locate the Kissing Rocks. When you do, we give you permission to sit on our magical bench.

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DRIVING LESSONS, OH MY!

Danielle and her younger sister Debbie, both grew up in South Dakota in Piedmont, a town near Rapid City. Danielle went to high school in the infamous town of Sturgis. Sturgis is better known for its annual motorcycle festival featuring many of the motorcycle groups and some motorcycle gangs. Some displayed their anti-social behavior. Sturgis high school was known as the “Scoopers” allegedly because they could scoop people right off the field. It may have had a more ominous beginning, being as it was a rural livestock area. You decide.

As teenagers, Danielle and Deb lived on a very large ranch consisting of several thousand acres. They had access to pickup trucks, cars, all-terrain vehicles (ATV), and golf carts. They were able to practice their driving skills as they cavorted around their ranch.

One day, Deb asked Danielle if she would give her a driving lesson so she could get her license. She wanted to learn how to drive on the Interstate. Danielle agreed, and was using her 1968 Ford Mustang convertible for the lesson. Danielle said the mustang looked much like any other family car. Right! This family car was candy-apple red with a white racing stripe down the side of the car and a very white interior, and modified exhaust. Certainly this car did not draw much attention.

Deb was driving as they tooled down the Interstate. A four lane highway (two lanes in each direction) with a 75 mile per hour speed limit. As luck would have it they came upon a slower moving Studebaker being driven by an old man in a hat, moving slowly along in the # 1 lane or the lane closest to the center. Deb slowed and asked Danielle if she should pass him on the right. Speaking from experience, Danielle, said it would be best not to pass on the right as sometimes people change lanes suddenly and she didn’t want her car wrecked. She told Deb to be patient and wait for the car to move over.

Deb, always one to follow good advice, immediately swung into the right lane to pass and just as she moved into the right lane,the Studebaker moved into her lane forcing Deb onto the shoulder. Deb immediately sped up and managed to overtake and pass the car on the right shoulder, She was able to get off the shoulder and get back onto the Interstate. Danielle was nervously recovering from the near miss but Deb seemed to be taking it all in stride. As Deb moved back onto the paved road in front of the slower moving car, she calmly asked Danielle, “Is this where I flip him off?”

First and last lesson…Deb passed her driving test with flying colors!

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LISTENING and LOVE

I remember as a youngster being admonished by my parents to listen to what they were saying. Often the reproach for not listening was something like, “You’re not listening to me” or “When are you going to start listening to what I tell you.” Parents for the most part were concerned for our welfare and truthfully I was not listening or more often disregarded what they were saying.

I have many memories of not obeying or listening to my parents efforts to keep me safe. I lived in Arcadia, California. We were only a few miles from the San Gabriel Mountain foothills. My friend Bob and I often packed a lunch and rode our bikes up Santa Anita Avenue to the base of the foothills, a very long and steep climb on a bicycle. We would eat our lunches on a knoll overlooking the valley below. The for the fun part! We coasted down Santa Anita Avenue on our bikes. Bob’s speedometer on his bike would peg out at 50 miles an hour. We did not stop for stop signs, we simply free wheeled down the road until we reached the bottom over a mile from the top.

When my parents overheard Bob and I talking about our adventures, you can imagine their reaction. “Listen to me carefully, don’t you ever do that again!”

Of course we made the trip several times again. Back in those early days of my life, our parents often did not know what or where we were. The wide open spaces that no longer exist called us to many adventures.

On one of these excursions to the foothills, the brakes on my bike went out. I knew this before we began our descent. That did not stop me. I had not used brakes on prior occasions so there was no need to worry.

We began our thrill ride down the hill and as usual were going very fast. As we neared the bottom of the hill I saw a car pulling out from a stop sign and there was no way I was going to avoid it. My heart was pounding and my brain was trying to think of what to do in those split seconds. At the last moment I dove off of my bike into a bank of Ivy. My bicycle continued unmanned down the street. How it avoided the car I do not know, but it did and eventually overturned at the bottom of the hill about a quarter mile away. The Ivy had cushioned my fall and other than a few cuts and bruises, I was okay. It was in that moment that I realized maybe my parents were not as dumb as I thought.

But this is not a good example of listening. Listening was so much more as I learned later in life. It wasn’t about keeping me safe, it was about listening to other people who needed to be heard. I believe some of my past relationships with wives and friends failed because of my inability to listen so that they felt they were heard. I know I didn’t always listen to my children and to acquaintances like I should have. I even attended “active listening” classes and was involved in establishing a peer support program within the Sheriff’s Department I worked for. Active listening was a key part of that curriculum.

I was able to turn my listening skill off and on. If I was in a situation at work where I was working in my peer support capacity, I turned it on and when it was over I pretty much turned it off. As a result I was so into myself that I didn’t pay much attention to those important moments in my relationships.

When I met Diann, we often talked on the phone several times a day. That was in the beginning of our relationship after we first met. We were both hurting. Diann from a lifetime of emotional abuse and me from the loss of my wife Danielle. Maybe for the first time in my life I found out how much I needed to be heard and as a result I really started to listen to Diann. It wasn’t hard, I just applied my active listening skills to my current situation and soon it became second nature.

As our relationship progressed we began a tradition. Each morning, we would sit together and either discuss an issue of interest or more often we read together. Some of the books we read were by some of our favorite authors: Florence Shinn, Dr.Wayne Dyer, Eric Butterworth, Neale Donald Walsh and many more. We usually had two books so that we could read along and highlight or make notes as we read. We would read a chapter or a few pages and then discuss what we had just read. Often our conversations would wander from what we just read but the miracle for me was that I was able to truly listen to what Diann was saying. I often could not believe how wise she was and we learned from each other. Some days the discussion might last only a few minutes but often we talked for more than an hour. As we digested the material we might talk again during the day.

So what does all of this listening have to do with love? As Diann and I sat together and listened to each other, I saw an aura that seemed to surround her. She was exhibiting a glow and she became more beautiful to me. Not only in her face but I was able to see the love coming from her heart. I fell more and more in love with my partner, now my wife.

As time has progressed over these last few years this tradition continues. We meet together each morning, not out of a sense of duty, but because we truly enjoy our times together. In my lifetime I had never felt one with another human being. With Diann the love that exists between us has allowed us to be as one. Finishing each others sentences or knowing what a decision was before it was made has become fun.

I had known in my head what unconditional love was but I had never felt it before. Today and for whatever time I have left on this earth I have found my Heaven, my Nirvana by listening to the love that comes from my partner and soul-mate.

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DROWNED RATS

Have you ever heard an advertisement that really hits home with you and you can imagine how great it will be if you answer the ad? Then to only be disappointed when the ad does not meet your expectations.

I remember trips across country with my parents. My sister Norma and I were somewhere around 9 or 10 years old during our first trip. My parents had good friends in Grand Rapids, Michigan and we would often spend our vacations visiting with them. We were living in Arcadia, California, a suburb of Los Angeles.

This would have been in the mid 1950s and we travelled in our 1951 Nash. It was a 4 door and the car reminded me of an upside down bathtub.

As we travelled Route 66 we would see billboard advertisements for “Trading Posts”. My dad would be enticed by these ads for unusual sights. I remember one billboard advertising baby rattlers. We were excited to see rattlesnakes up close so we stopped and found a enclosure containing baby rattles not rattlesnakes. But my dad was not dissuaded. I believe we stopped at every trading post on Route 66, of which there were many.
How many of you in your cross country drives or while driving through South Dakota remember Wall Drugs. The first billboards started showing up over 100 miles away. Each billboard attempted to entice you to stop. Who could not give in to “Free Ice Water” or the enticement of Wall Drug having everything one would ever need. Each billboard gave more information including the distance one had to travel to arrive.

Fast forward to today. My wife Diann and I are living in Blue Springs, Missouri. That’s about a 20 minute drive east of Kansas City. We see an ad that is about the Amtrak River Runner. It tells us that it is a route from Kansas City to St. Louis, Missouri. The Amtrak train route runs along the Missouri River all the way to St. Louis and back. Based upon the advertisement and our imagining the trip along the river, we booked passage on the Amtrak River Runner.

We boarded the train on the appointed day ready to see the beauty of the Missouri River. The train began its journey and we were awaiting the beauty we expected. Well there was no dome car and the windows on the train were about mid-level on each of the train cars. There were bushes that lined almost the entire route and nothing beyond these bushes could be seen. We eventually reached the Missouri River. The train crossed the river and that was the last we saw of any river.

Upon reaching the St. Louis Union Station it began to rain. Not just a drizzle but a full-out cloud burst. We had no umbrella and as we departed the train had to go some distance to be under any kind of cover. Needless to say, by the time we reached any cover we were totally drenched. We managed to arrange transportation to our hotel but arrived there looking like two drowned rats. But it was fun and that’s what life is all about.

Inspite of the trip not measuring up to the advertisement, Diann and I had a wonderful time together both on the train and for the remainder of our stay and trip back home.

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February 2025

“Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.”I see three parts to this important Step.

  1. To believe
  2. That a Power
  3. Could restore me to sanity

As I started coming out of my alcoholic haze, I pretty much overlooked this important Step. I read it, I understood it, (I thought) and I moved on to the next Step.

I was not interested in believing in anything, especially not a Power greater than me, and I knew for a fact I was insane. It wasn’t until the haze began to clear that I realized my alcoholic condition had rendered me totally insane.

At the time, the only thing I truly believed in was that another drink would keep me sane, The “hair of the dog” was a belief I could take to the bank. Another drink would keep me from going over the edge. My addiction was out of control, I just didn’t know it. Until I did.

Believing in anything except my SELF was foreign to me. I only believed in ME! God and I had been estranged for a very long time. He/She was only out to get me and I wanted nothing to do with God. In retrospect I realize that the idea that there was a God I wanted nothing to do with meant that I did BELIEVE in God.

And what about insanity? I read the definition of sanity this morning. I read, “The ability to think and behave in a normal, rational, manner; sound mental health.” And conversely, the definition of insanity, “The state of being seriously mentally ill; madness.”

Those definitions leave a lot to the imagination. I think most of us in recovery have our own definition of insanity. The insanity temporarily rendered to us by our own alcoholism. When we realized the hold that alcohol had on our lives, our minds, our hearts, our emotions, we were seriously insane. For me, it was about fear and anger. They overpowered my thought processes and reigned over all of my emotions.

A friend to many of us in AA, Janice Rea, who passed away suddenly several years ago used to openly talk about her insanity, inside and out of sobriety. She joked about her insane way of living and yet was an icon of what it was like to live fearlessly. She involved herself in everything and anything that interested her. She had found a new life in AA and she enjoyed living freely with what she referred to as “an insane lifestyle. And those of who knew her gravitated to her and listened to her wisdom. Janice died doing what she loved to do. She fell off a cliff while practicing her search and rescue work. All these years later I still embrace her wisdom and her insanity.

If sanity is what Janice had in sobriety, I want some of it. Finding my physical sobriety, my spiritual sobriety, and my emotional sobriety is the journey I am on. And the journey has been exciting.

As I work this Step, I have found new freedoms. I have found a Higher Power I call God but that God was discovered when I entered the halls of Alcoholics Anonymous. My God is no longer a God who requires dogmatic adherence to certain behaviors or types of worship. My Higher Power is a God of love who accepts me as perfect in spite of my imperfections. My God no longer judges me! And I do my best to stay away from judging others.

I have been re-reading a book I read many years ago entitled, “Conversations with God” by Neale Donald Walsh. I found a few paragraphs that explained who I was and what I was. This is God’s response to a question posed by Walsh:

“I have not said your values are wrong. But neither are they right. They are simply judgment. Assessments. Decisions. For the most part, they are decisions made not by you, but by someone else. Your parents, perhaps. Your religion. Your teachers., historians, politicians.”

“Very few of your value judgments you have incorporated into your truth are judgments, you, yourself, have made based upon your own experience. Yet experience is what you came here for – and out of your experience were you to create yourself. You have created yourself out of the experience of others.”

“If there were such a thing as sin, this would be it: to allow yourself to become what you are because of the experience of others. This is the ‘sin’ you have committed. All of you. You do not await your own experience, you accept the experience of others as gospel (literally), and then, when you encounter the actual experience for the first time, you overlay what you think you already know onto the encounter.”