as the organizer and leader of our group was affectionately called. His own story goes back to September 1950, when, at the age of 39, he stood before his commander in Panama a broken man mentally, physically and spiritually. He had been broken in rank all the way down to private. He was being handed dishonorable discharge papers as a chronic alcoholic, unfit for military service.
In his own words, Foster K. says, “I went back in memory at that very moment to my first tour of duty in Panama. When the Army transport docked at Pier 17 in Cristobal in December 1929, I looked out at a new world and dreamed of my future in the service. I was going to make something of myself. I wanted to complete my education and try for West Point. I fell in love with the service that morning. Everything—the officers in their white uniforms and their ladies wearing floral-patterned dresses and large straw hats, the Army band playing, troops marching off the transport—made me make this resolution.” Then he came to himself to hear his commander say, “Just because you have failed in the service and must leave it doesn’t mean that you should give up. You can still make a man of yourself. But you must get help for your drinking problem.”
Foster K. doesn’t know what prompted his reply. Perhaps it was the same locale 21 years later, and the realization that he had miserably failed his original resolution made there. But he said it: “Sir, I’ll never take another drink as long as I live!” He believes it was not his doing. He was in no state to impress his Colonel with good intentions. He had said a silent prayer and believed it answered there in that office. His last request was that a member of AA meet him at the gate. The Colonel was impressed. He tore up the papers, restored Foster K. to duty, and arranged for his family to join him there.
Six years later, the old Sarge wrote a letter to the Colonel to let him know that he had remained sober—a day at a time—and informed him that in October 1956 he had received his certificate for permanent master sergeant. I saw the Colonel’s answer to that letter: “I cannot overstate my pleasure upon learning of your success. ... One of the most difficult problems a commander faces is that of making decisions which may have a permanent impact upon a man’s career. … I am proud to have had a small part in helping you change your approach to life, and I wish you every continued success.”
M/Sgt. Foster K. and S/Sgt. Sandy Z. and two members from a civilian group met in the chaplain’s office in February 1956 to organize the base group. From that small beginning the organization grew. Visits were made to commanders and first sergeants to explain the program. A favorable reaction on the part of many who earnestly wanted to help their men with this problem added impetus. The growth was materially aided also by a discerning base commander who let his policy be known through his staff that “no stigma whatsoever will be placed upon any airman or officer who seeks help through the group.”
It wasn’t long until the base began to take notice through the change taking place in the new members. Jim W., Ken S., Phil W., Gene R., Russell N., Aubry C., and many others had a testimony to give to others in their outfits as to what AA was doing for them. The first annual meeting brought an attendance of 150 from the base group and well-wishers, and from the neighboring civilian groups who wanted to lend their support to the program on base. After getting started in their own group, military members found it easier and helpful to attend meetings off base. By this time, many had spoken before civilian groups along the Florida coast and some had attended the state convention. In the struggle with the same problem, a genuine link had come between the military and these civilians from all walks of life.
I could not begin to tell the story of all who gained sobriety and regained self-respect and the esteem of the service. Perhaps the best way to show my conviction that AA is the best avenue to help a man whose basic problem is alcohol is to tell of two among those I have helped to find their solution in AA. (The most satisfying commendation I have ever received came from a leader of our group who spoke of me once as “the silent partner.”)
With the telling of these brief histories, I hope my conviction will be evident that this is not only tremendously worth the chaplain’s time but worth the time and effort of the military service as well. It costs thousands of dollars to recruit and train a replacement for the alcoholic who gets kicked out. It costs a great deal to rehabilitate a prisoner who has broken the law or violated the military code of justice. There is a huge investment to restore to duty the injured and ill. It costs only a few cups of coffee and time spent at meetings to reclaim a man whose sickness is alcohol. True, not all can be reclaimed, and some who start out on the program fail. But to make the program available on the installation, even closer than an off-base telephone number, is to point the way to possible retention of good men whose only failing is the bottle.
Like the old Sarge himself, Andy was on his way out when he came to my office on the fourth of April 1957. Here is the picture: Take an airman with almost 18 years’ service, 13 as master sergeant, married, with four children. Now reduce him to basic airman, add a couple of court-martials, and tell him if he gets drunk again he will be discharged under other than honorable conditions. Give him an alcoholic wife, bad checks out against him, and heavy indebtedness. Put him on K.P. sick with a hangover, broke, disgusted with himself, and almost ready to give up. He comes rather reluctantly into the chaplain’s office—almost as if this is the last straw.
You can imagine that it would take a lot of convincing to get him to see that it is possible for him to do something about his plight. He still doesn’t admit he is an alcoholic, but he finally agrees to give it a try. It takes almost as much convincing for his commander to give him the chance. Finally, it is agreed. Andy and his wife go to the AA meeting on base. They keep going. They go to meetings in two communities as many as four times in one week. He begins to straighten up. Much of the credit goes to his wife, Lucile, who believes in the program and encourages him to continue.
Finally, after several weeks, he gets enough courage to speak at a meeting. For a rough-and-ready, hard-fighting, hard-drinking, six-foot Texan to get up and say, “My name is Andy, and I am an alcoholic,” and to admit that he is powerless over alcohol and would go to any lengths to overcome it, is almost a miracle. From then on Andy was a talked-about airman. From April to November his progress was marked from disgrace to airman-of-the-month and rewarded with stripes from basic airman to staff sergeant. I was present when the squadron promotion board skipped airman first class to make him a noncommissioned officer again.
The other member for whom it meant holding back other than honorable discharge papers introduced himself at meetings by saying, “My name is Eric K. I am an alcoholic and an Eskimo.” Shy, confused, lost in a society he had only recently joined, Eric K. had found sociability in drinking. From high school in Alaska into the Air Force and what was “foreign service” for him down in Florida, Eric had drifted into more and more drinking. He was a risk down on the line, of possible danger not only to himself but to a crew taking off in an aircraft which might have a maintenance error under the wrench-wielding of one so undependable.
Eric K. justified the 90-day extension period granted him to prove himself by staying sober. Word of his AA activity was reported weekly to his commander. He was put back with his maintenance crew. He began to attend church regularly under the emphasis of AA upon spiritual help. The group helped him to overcome his shyness and the feeling of being an outsider in the realization that this had been a basic factor in his drinking. Eric K. is an accepted military serviceman today.
To recognize an alcoholic is not very difficult for most chaplains. The pattern has been pretty well established. If the chaplain can help a man to face the facts and admit that outside help is necessary, he will lead the man to the only hope there is.
The little group in this account was disbanded when the base closed. But it is now worldwide in its outreach. Sandy Z. went to a Midwestern base to continue his activities. Ken S. and his wife started a group in France, where the last report tells of nine airmen joining AA through their efforts. Andy has helped six men to find sobriety in the Philippines. The old Sarge retired from military service with honors and continues his work through community groups. The story of these and others may never end. But they are remaining sober—24 hours at a time. We ought to think soberly about making this help available to others.
Spencer D. McQueen