In 1970 I was on a job interview with my wife in a small Ohio town about thirty miles west of Akron.
After a long day of interviewing and house hunting we felt we needed
some spiritual refreshment.
“Let’s find a meeting; must be one around
here somewhere.”
We drove to the local police station. I went
in and asked,
“Where can
I find an AA meeting or do you have a number I can call?
The desk sergeant gave me a once over.
“We have a
number for a local AA member.”
I called.
“You’ll
have to go down to a little burg about ten miles out in the country if
you
want one tonight.”
I paused, so he asked the obvious.
“New in
town, don’t know how to find Fredericksburg,
do you?”
He gave me directions and cautioned, “be careful, bad fog
setting in.”
Leaving the main highway the narrow single lane country road
wound itself up, down and around the rolling hillside. With every mile the fog
got thicker. About half way there the visibility was limited to a few hundred
feet.
With my eyes glued to the windshield I did a double take as
I caught the flicker of a bobbing red light coming up fast in front of us. I
hit the brakes, regained my composure then cautiously passed the horse and
buggy muttering, “What the hell is that doing out here in this fog.” In the
buggy sat a bearded old man in black hat and coat with reins in hand.
As we crested the last of the hills and began our decent into
the little valley we were treated with a sight out of the past. Under the fog lay
the lights of a tiny “Norman Rockwell” village. Only the white church steeple faded out of
sight into the fog.
Another surprise met us as we pulled into the church’s
parking lot. The lot was wall-to-wall horses and black buggies. Shaking off my
disbelief I turned to my wife and said.
“This must be the place; we were
told to look for the little white church and this is the only one around. Lights
are on in the basement.”
As we started down the storm-cellar stairway to the basement
we were greeted by a wizardly old man in a black suit grinning from ear to ear.
“Welcome friend.
If you’re looking for an AA meeting, you’ve come to the right
place,
my name is Mose.”
“Hi, I’m
Jim and this is my wife, Cynthia.
”
We followed him down into the meeting hall filled with more
black-suited men wearing denim shirts, no buttons and suspenders. My wife was quickly
escorted to a room off the main meeting room by a couple of modestly dressed long
skirted women for an Alanon meeting.
The meeting was ready to start. It was a typical Ohio AA meeting; a lead
meeting with a twenty minute speaker followed by a “pop-up” comment session for
the balance of the hour. As the speaker and the “pop-ups” continued I became
aware of numerous references to a fellow member named William.
Curious, I asked Mose.
“I presume William isn’t here
tonight but I sure would like to meet him. It sounds
like he has a lot of wisdom and good sobriety.”.
With that Mose jumped out of his seat giddy with laughter,
pointed to me and addressed the group.
“Our new friend
James here doesn’t know who William is”.
With that the whole room exploded into laughter. At once it
dawned on me.
William… William..! They mean Bill, Bill W.
Amazing, here I am , , in a little burg out
in the boonies, in the middle of Ohio in the middle of a fog, in a story book
church with story book little men in black suits, their wives in long dresses while
their horses hitched to buggies await them attending a meeting frequented by
one of the founders of AA.
WOW. PRICELESS. Isn’t GOD great.
For anyone, especially Bill W, (William) wanting to be simply
Bill W. alcoholic, the meeting out in this small village in the countryside
amongst the Amish was ideal. In this
“little burg” with these men one could find one of the backbone of our program; the simple, honest “principles before personalities” fellowship of
AA.
Jim M.
Jim M.
