Alcoholics Anonymous: Attending an AA Meeting

It was Friday, April 2, 2004. Payday for some. The beginning of a fun weekend for others. For me, 8 PM was a duty I had to perform. I had time to stop for a quick snack before the AA meeting. There is a lull in New York City between the time businesses close, the subways are crowded, and dinner or the theatre begins. I slowly walked to the community center behind the church in Queens. Three other people came to the front door at the same time I did. We nodded, but it was like a secret handshake. No names. No real information. Just that shared knowledge we were there for a healing process that would take the rest of our lives.

As usual, there was a huge coffee urn, with paper cups, plastic spoons, packets of sugar and Equal. Half a dozen people were filling their cups. Not that they were thirsty. Just that they wanted something to hold, some form of comfort that was not alcoholic.

Eight o'clock. A fifty-ish, bulky gray-haired man stood up. He rapped his knuckles on a table in front of the group, which now numbered about thirty. Good evening. My name is Jim. And I'm an alcoholic. On cue, the audience replied "Hi, Jim". He looked around, and began a little preamble to the meeting- to the adherents who were friends of Bill W. "Today is the beginning of the weekend. For some people, it's a time for fun, for a few drinks and laughs. For us, we can have the fun and the laughs. But no drinks." There was appreciative, if a little forced, laughter. "So, grab your coffee, and lend an ear. Who'd like to begin?"

There was a brief pause, and finally a young woman rose and walked to the front of the room. "Hi. My name is Rosemary. And I'm an alcoholic" Everyone greeted her back: "Hi, Rosemary". She told a story of how she had started drinking at age 12, all through school, and how it hurt her in losing several jobs. And how she finally decided "God helps them who helps themselves". Jim, our moderator thoughtfully added, "...and friends of Bill W." I looked around and most in the audience seemed to nod in agreement. There were eight other people who got up to begin with their names and "I'm an alcoholic". Most of their stories were mundane. It was only when most of them recited the number of days, or weeks, that they had been sober, that the audience reacted with applause and even a few whistles.

The uninitiated come to the meeting expecting some sort of grandiose confessions, as if they were seeing a re-run of 'DAYS OF WINE AND ROSES" or 'THE LOST WEEKEND". The speakers were often as ordinary as their talks and they were encouraged principally by the applause they received when mentioning their days of sobriety..

When the meeting ended in about forty-five minutes, some of us gathered at the coffee urn, which served as sort of a conversation magnet. There was Andrew, dressed in what looked like an expensive three-piece suit (a stock broker?). There was Gus, whose biceps flashed a number of tattoos. There was soft-spoken Greta, a middle-aged woman with a European accent. There was Horace, who proudly showed uo a Polaroid of his new grandchild. We all ooh-ed and ahh-ed. I counted only about three or four people who attended who seemed to be under thirty. All of them hurried out quickly, as if they had just come from some clandestine meeting and were afraid someone they knew would spot them and guess why they were there.. But, then I figured they were hurrying home to their children, or a wife waiting for a late dinner in the oven, or a husband concentrating on a TV basketball game.

I left the meeting feeling that maybe those dissenting psychologists were mistaken- that there were people for whom it was a blessing and relief to mingle with people who had the same problems, but who were anonymous enough not to be a burden or bother. I looked around, wondering if all the people I saw and met would stay sober, what the percentage of recividism would be. In my heart I wished them all good luck and God speed. At least someone, or a group of someones, cares enough to DO something about their addiction. Not only were they "friends of Bill W." but in a way they shared an unspoken friendship among each other.