The old days
Just to make me feel old, the group report editor asked me to write an article about what life was like for a recovered alcoholic before smartphones! First of all, the only phone I had in my shared house was an incoming only landline in the shared kitchen. This meant to call my sponsor I would have to walk to the payphone (about ten minutes) and be organised enough to have the correct change with me. I was on the dole when I very first came in, and the first thing I would do with the cheque was to ask the bank for enough change to enable me to use the payphone for the week. This would include my sponsor and two newcomers.
My sponsor gave me a very precise time to call her, when she would be at home and able to take a call on her landline. I never missed this time because if I did – tough. There was no messaging to explain my excuse. I have memories of walking to the payphone in the pouring rain and snow. The money didn’t last long, so no time to whine on an on about my ‘problem of the day’. I didn’t feel offended if my sponsor interrupted me or put the phone down on me – that’s just how it was when there were no other options!
On one occasion, I was getting very emotional because someone had looked at me funny at the meeting on the previous night. My sponsor told me, “Stop wasting your money, put the phone down and use it to call a newcomer instead!” I had Step One, so I did. The call resulted in me getting on a bus to meet a Fellow for coffee. As I had been taught to do, rather than talk about my issues, I told her how much the Programme had helped me in a couple of weeks. During the conversation, my perspective changed and I came away with completely different attitude. In fact, this was one of those pivotal moments in recovery. I felt bad. My sponsor told me to do something. I didn’t want to do it, but I did it anyway. I felt better. From that point, I knew I could trust my sponsor’s guidance.
Back in the day there was no messaging the GSR to let them know I wasn’t going to be there for service that night. Either I showed up or I didn’t. If I didn’t I was ‘respectfully’ removed from my position and it was given to someone more willing and reliable. Similarly, nowadays a plea for help is often posted on social media. This is great as it reaches lots of people, but I can pretend that I haven’t seen it and think I can leave it someone else.
When a telephone responder rang me, I felt a sense of privilege and responsibility. If I didn’t deal with it, no one would. I had to physically pick up the phone to arrange a Twelve-Step call with the prospect, and physically call around my Fellows to find someone to come with me. I suspect that many new in the Rooms today will never experience knocking on the front door and being invited into some of the most sordid places on earth. No mobiles on us, so no way of calling anyone if things got interesting – which they frequently did. We were on the firing line of life, and God was keeping us unharmed.
Tradition Seven is something else that has morphed over time. Not the principle, but the method. I always had to bring cash to meetings. Nowadays we have so many options, and it’s odd to see the basket be passed down the row with hardly any physical money in it. I often think that I wouldn’t want to be a treasurer nowadays due to all the different methods we have of contributing to Tradition Seven. I also remember the days of having to walk to the venue office and hand deliver a cheque to pay the rent!
It occurred to me as I was writing this, that it was not uncommon every time the clocks changed for members to arrive an hour late or early to meetings. Nowadays, due to smartphones, many people won’t even realise the clocks have changed!
I can’t finish this article without mentioning online meetings. Literally a life-saver, and I can only begin to imagine how we would have got through the pandemic without them. We would have found a way though. After all, our very lives as ex-problem drinkers depend upon our constant thought of others and how we may help meet their needs.
JO, Plymouth