I got sober once in Possum Trot, KY. We had a fellowship meeting in a Baptist Church right in front of Emmett’s tobacco patch. I joined the group there with three others already sober. We were told that we should have a bank account that required two signatures. This required a tax ID number. Nobody in the group knew what that was, so we talked to Emmett. Emmett went off on a story about buying a wife out of a catalog and all he got was a darn old dress. He was sure no help. We talked about it for several days and decided there was no way to share our experience, strength and hope without some money and a bank account, so we decided to start taking turns being the town drunk again.
That was no fun so I moved to Louisville where every broke tobacco farmer goes. That way you move up the chain link a notch. My drinking got much worse so I joined a group down by Mohammed’s father old place. We had a little money and no bank account. We let some crazy drunk be treasurer. Hell, he was out drunk again in no time at all. About twenty members sat down one night and had a long discussion about our situation. It was agreed no way could we share our experience, strength and hope without some money. So we hit the streets on the west end of Louisville with bottles of Kentucky Gentleman and several cases of Sterling Beer.That drunk did not last long so I moved up on the shore in Maine. I work for a funeral home. The owner’s son could drink as much as me. I was back in the program before a cat could lick its ass. This group had money. They could share their experience, strength, and hope. They had a bank account that required two signatures. The rent was never late. Always had coffee and all the trimmings. We actually rented a limousine and went down and carried the message to those folks that had just gotten a DWI. One night back in 1974 we got a call from the police station in Kennebunkport. We went over there and shared our experience, strength and hope with this dude that had just got a DWI. He was really eager to hear a story from a tobacco farmer. We talked a bit then his mother came got him. Boy, oh boy having money sure helped us sharing our message.
The lads drinking at the funeral home got so bad I thought moving out there was a good idea. I moved to Osage TX. I again worked for a funeral home. I got in a group there that had money again a bank account that required two signatures. I think we had a member that done a little financial planning. Things could not have been better. Everybody knew how to carry the message via sharing our experience, strength and hope. Somebody told me the guy I had met at the police station in Kennebunkport had a home nine miles away in Crawford. He had a job out east and did not need us anymore. This is all I know about money.
Author: harold