(part 177) THE APARTMENT

I will continue to say this as I write these things, because I feel I must. I am not promoting any book, religion, or way of life. I am discussing, in public, what it was I did in 1976 as I learned about my own sobriety.

I was living at the Clare Foundation in Santa Monica, and was unemployed, although I did do odd jobs for money. I was newly sober and embarking on a journey, and that for me was an extremely positive outlook.

I was learning to trust in a God, as I understood or didn't understand him. I had two books, Alcoholics Anonymous and Science Of Mind, that helped to guide me in the right direction, and I'd acquired a used motorcycle for transportation.

Somewhere during this time, a friend of mine in AA announced that he and his girl friend were going to be married in Australia, where she was originally from.

The reason this is important, is that with this announcement came the offer to me of her apartment in Venice Beach, which was paid for for the next 6 months. I could live there rent free for that amount of time.

I couldn't believe it--from a halfway house to a rent-free beach front apartment, out of nowhere. This of course convinced me that what I was believing in was working, and that I should pursue it even more vigorously.

I accepted their offer, and within a short time, moved myself into the apartment. I remember standing on the balcony looking out across the sand to the ocean and thinking, "Wow, this has got to be impossible." One day I was in Clare Foundation and the next I was here.

I set out immediately hand printing signs in red ink and taping them on the walls. They said things like, "God supplies me with everything I need," "I have an endless supply of money," and things like that. They were called affirmations.

Everyday, I would stand in the living room and read them and listen to my mind say "You don't really believe this shit do you?" I would make myself stand there reading them out loud until I actually started to believe what I was reading.

Day after day, and week after week, I would affirm what I wanted to believe in. During this period, I borrowed a tape recorder after having a long talk with God about what I was supposed to be doing with my life.

While in Clare Foundation I had to re-teach myself to play guitar and sing sober, which I couldn't do initially. When I got to the new apartment, I had to have a long talk with God about my music, and whether I was supposed to use it for a specific purpose.

I announced to God that I was going to write and record songs in that apartment, and see where it would lead. Unsure if I was really doing God's will, and not just pursuing my own interests, I set out on this endeavor of writing and recording my songs.

Each day I'd get up and get some coffee and read the signs, until I felt I was on the right track. I'd get out my guitar, notebook, and pen, and start working on the next song, or finishing one I'd already started.

I said things like "I don't know for sure if this is what I'm supposed to do, but I'm going to do it, and believe that it's what you want me to do, God." With that, I'd start working for hours trying to convince myself I was on the right path.

In AA, I met a girl who was sober about the same amount of time that I was, and we became seriously involved. At first I'd ride my motorcycle to her apartment, but after awhile she wanted to see where I lived.

The first time she saw my place, she asked if I was rich, because the apartment was on the beach and must cost a lot. I said "No!" and then proceeded to tell her about Science Of Mind and how I got the place as a gift from God.

This interested her to no end and she began asking questions about how it all worked as she eyed the hand written signs on my walls.

I explained the purpose of the signs, and told her I was trying to get myself to believe what was written on them, and how hard it was to overcome my old attitude of negativity, which she acknowledged having problems with as well.

While she was there I turned on the tape recorder and played some of the songs I'd written. She got very excited when she heard my music and said I should do it professionally, which I admitted I had once done. "Well you ought to do it again," she said, "this is really good."

I thanked her for her opinion and said I was just going to keep writing and recording, and see where it would lead, since I had the apartment and the tape recorder.

She told me her parents were coming to visit her from New Jersey and that she wanted to bring them by to meet me and let them hear my work. Hearing that made me nervous, and I said, "I don't know, I haven't had very good luck with girl's parents in the past."

She laughed and said, "Don't worry, my dad is on the program too, and my mom's in Alanon." She smiled, as if saying that had fixed the problem.

(part 176) SCIENCE OF MIND AND ITS EFFECT ON ME

In 1976 my life was a disaster. My actions had led me to Alcoholics Anonymous and to the growing understanding that change was inevitable, or else.

I was living in a halfway house and attended AA meetings daily. I studied the book continuously, and constantly reminded myself to turn problems over to the care of a God, as I didn't understand him at the time.

While working in the office of Clare Foundation, answering the telephone one weekend, I came across a book called Science Of Mind, written by Ernest Holmes.

Basically it was about the Spiritual, or Universal Law of Cause and Effect, and how that law works. In an oversimplification of the subject, it basically stated that, what one tends to focus on or think about begins to take shape overtime in real terms. Thinking, the cause; tangible results, the effect.

The book said that this process took place whether we were aware of it or not, so it would make sense, it said, to focus on what you wanted in your life as opposed to thinking about things you didn't want, negative view or positive view of your own ongoing circumstances.

Again, in an oversimplification of the text, I, for some reason, found this belief to be easily acceptable and the basis of a new adventure, which I was eager to embark on.

For several hours that day I read various chapters of the book, and when I put it down, had the sense that I'd discovered magic. It seemed as simple as deciding what you wanted your life to be like, and then holding that picture in your mind until it became a reality.

This was to be done no matter what the current circumstances of your life were like. This kind of clarity, if adhered to, would then automatically begin to take form in the physical world around you.

Back then I was broke and lived in a halfway house, so I immediately began seeing myself as not broke and living somewhere I liked, as well as staying clean and sober.

I focused on that picture as best I could, and whenever my mind would start to doubt it, I'd fight to reaffirm the chosen version of what I wanted, disregarding the current conditions of my life.

This was not a passing fancy of mine. Over the next few months I delved deeper and deeper into the book and constantly sought more clarity and focus on my goals.

The more concretely I could see the image, the more power the image had in making itself a reality. Now for clarification! I am not promoting the book Science Of Mind. I am telling you what I did in 1976.

The basic theory of the book is taken from sayings, such as, "It is done unto you as you believe," and "As a man thinketh so is he," and others like that. It is a theory of cause and effect as it relates to man's ability to think consciously and create what he thinks about.

I decided I could think myself into a new life. This was in fact what I'd done as a teenager in the 50's and 60's. I'd seen myself as a recording artist long before it happened, but none the less this was what I had done, so it made perfect sense to me to reengage the theory in 1976.

I had dreamed, or thought my way into the reality I wanted to live in, and away from that which I wanted to leave decades before. The book simply served to reinforce my own experience and explain the mechanics of it.

You have to remember that I was about five or six months sober at the time, and still in need of a lot of work on myself in dealing with my past.

Having said that, this new book and my simple understanding of its central point was another powerful tool in my thinking. My expectations for positive change gathered momentum almost immediately.

There were many I found in AA that knew of Science Of Mind, but I felt, because of my own experience, I had an edge in understanding that it actually worked.

During a twelve step call I made on a man who was nearly dead from alcoholism, and who died 3 days after I got him into a hospital, I concluded that I was actually living in the most concrete kind of second chance that I could have possibly hoped for.

It was made crystal clear to me, through that experience, that "There but for the grace of God go I," was the literal truth in my life. I had a miraculous opportunity waiting ahead of me if I would but accept it--not just think about it off and on, but accept it into my life as reality.

I was alive and sober, while the man I twelve stepped was not. I didn't know why I'd been spared or why he hadn't. This difference between him and me was etched into my psyche forever back then, and I knew I had to take advantage of what he hadn't found and that I was becoming aware of.

I carried him in my arms from his apartment, and he was covered with his own urine and feces. I will never forget his eyes as they stared into mine, or the fact that I was sober and he was not.

We were together at that moment, while separated by a thin line of life and death.

(part 175) SPEAKING ONLY FOR MYSELF

I want to make perfectly clear that I am not promoting sobriety, AA, the book Alcoholics Anonymous, or any other 12 step program, even though I am writing about them. What I say here is merely a factual account of what happened to me in 1976.

I am not promoting God or suggesting that anyone believe or disbelieve in God. I do not know what any other person should do or believe. Each person has to decide that for him or herself. What I believed and hoped for in 1976 has little to do with what I believe now.

What I did then was what I believed was right for me. The struggle I faced was based squarely on my need to acquire a new philosophy for living, so I wouldn't die or end up in prison. How I was then has nothing to do with anyone other than me.

Again, I am reporting facts not solutions. The fact that something phenomenal occurred preventing me from taking another drink, even though I wanted to and tried to, was at the center of what followed, which was some sort of transformation in my personal life.

If you understand what I was like at that time because you have kept up with the story, then you may grasp how significant this was.

The dynamics of change cannot be relegated to any easy answer, or explanation, simply by deciding such a thing after the fact. The truth is, I still don't know what happened other than it happened, and that what followed was tangible change.

To say it was God or something of a "spiritual nature" may be tempting to some, but would also close all other doors of inquiry as to what else it may have been.

The possibility that human beings possess qualities that at some point come into play in times of crisis, is another slant on the same subject.

Faced with destruction, an individual may, for whatever reason, make a decision to prevent their own demise. The point is, it may be impossible to determine exactly what the cause of such an effect was. What is determinable, is the effect.

I'm not trying to split hairs here as much as I am trying not to paint myself into a corner by simply saying it was an act of God or any other specific. It is not specific. It is open to interpretation and that is where it needs to stay, open to any and all interpretations and possibilities.

You may think that I'm making more out of this than is necessary, but the fact is that it altered my life absolutely, so it dominates, on a stand alone basis, all that transpired in my life after it occurred.

It was and still is the bedrock on which I built everything else. In writing these things I encountered great difficulty in trying to say what I mean as opposed to just vaguely stating, in a round about way, that this incident took place in 1976.

I don't know what happened, but I know that it happened. I am unwilling to say that God intervened in my behavior, but on the other hand, that is a possibility.

There is always the danger that some will apply the notion of God to every inexplicable occurrence, while at the same time there will be those who would eliminate, without question, such a possibility. Because of this, I am determined to clarify my position and not allow either of those conclusions to be assumed.

The subject of God, and or spiritual beliefs, is a delicate one, if not downright impossible. On one hand, God is made to appear positive, while on the other, countless believers have joined in or agreed with the slaughter of those who don't share their beliefs.

To speak about God as if everyone knows what is being referred to, is as troublesome a question as I have ever encountered. What I believe, I'm sure, is vastly different than what others believe, and I'm sure that what many believe is something I have found akin to a closed doctrine of absolute nonsense, if not outright insanity.

Therefore any reference I make about God is my own and does not signify in any way my belief or acceptance of anyone else's position or belief, including Alcoholics Anonymous or any of it's members. God in no way means the same thing to all people.

(part 174) A NEW BEGINNING

In detox, I knew if I could make it through the first three days, I would be OK. I kept checking myself to see if the obsession to get loaded was back, but it wasn't. After five days I left detox and moved into the general alcoholism program at Long Beach Hospital.

It consisted of physical therapy, group therapy, and a general reorientation into the premise of living clean and sober. Although I participated in the program without reservation, my focus was dominated by my belief, that the book Alcoholics Anonymous held the key for real and lasting sobriety

Unlike my previous experiences with trying to get and stay sober, I was now determined, not only to read the book, but to study it's contents in depth, and do what it suggested as the process by which living clean and sober could be accomplished and sustained.

This completely different state of willingness on my part to learn and open myself up to vast changes was revolutionary, and signaled the disappearance of my old attitudes.

The new battle for me at Long Beach Hospital was my refusal to take antabuse to insure I would not drink. When questioned by staff as to why I was unwilling to take it, I said I was not going to trade a dependency on drugs and alcohol for a dependency another drug, and make antabuse my higher power.

I told them I was reading the book Alcoholics Anonymous, and coming to an understanding of my need for a higher power, more along the lines of a belief in God. With some skepticism, they allowed me to maintain this position.

After six to eight weeks, I agreed to go to an even more rigorous alcoholism program at Camarillo State Hospital for ninety days. I was somewhat reluctant to go to Camarillo, because of my negative past history with the place, but agreed in the end to give it a try.

I did this purposely, because it was a significant challenge to my willingness to change and grow. As I said, on a deeper level I was now forming a personal relationship with God, and this was a real test of my trust in that new partnership.

Based on my first hand experience with some force, which had prevented me from putting a bottle of scotch in my mouth and taking a drink, I'd become open to the possibility that there may be a God that cared about me. This was something I was once sure of, but had lost.

This new and powerful perception became the overall guiding light along with the book, Alcoholics Anonymous, that allowed me to move forward in my new journey.

In one hand, I had a power greater than myself that I began to rely on, and in the other, an actual text book of sorts to help explain to me, through the experience of others, how I might deal with living sober.

Armed with these two powerful tools, I felt as though there might well be an answer for me at last, and a way forward through the ever present brambles of my existence.

In spite of my previously failed attempts at sobriety, this time would be different in multiple ways. In the past I'd always ended up at Carol's by default and habit, so I needed a change.

As well, I found a voice of my own, and did not fall prey to asking others how I should proceed. I got my direction out of the book, and when confronted by other's opinions, I weighed them against what I'd learned by reading.

If an opinion ran contrary to what was in the book, I felt no obligation to entertain it. More than anything else, this allowed me to keep the confusion to a bare minimum, and this for me was an imperative.

In the Camarillo Hospital program there were about two hundred and fifty people, and I think three of them got clean and sober, and stayed clean and sober; I was one of those three persons.

From Camarillo I went on to Clare Foundation in Santa Monica on Pico Blvd. It was an old converted motel at the time, turned into a halfway house, where I lived for five months.

Once again, I was breaking the habit of depending on Carol, and this was of primary importance to me in the beginning.

Every old significant repetitive pattern had to be acknowledged, broken down, and altered, to prevent me from slipping back into my old ideas. My refusal to take the easier, softer way of relying on Carol was definitely a new idea.

I had chosen instead to go through two live-in hospital programs and then into Clare Foundation, rather than to repeat my past. I was finally able to cut that habitual umbilical cord, and for me this was critical.

(part 173) FREEDOM FROM BONDAGE

There is no glory in the telling of these things, nor from my standpoint, any condemnation in the iteration of the facts. They are what they are. What I am doing is relaying, as best I can, the events and the mindset that existed at the time being discussed.

Whether I was right or wrong is a judgement I will leave to the reader. I do not do now, what I did then, but what I did then was what I did as a result of where my addictions and madness led me.

Had I not been who I was, and had I not pursued what I pursued, perhaps none of this would have ever happened. I told you that my thinking at the time was "Fuck me, fuck you, fuck life, and fuck God," because that was exactly what I was thinking when the event with the bottle occurred.

I wanted to drink and couldn't. My mental and moral state was outlandish and deeply flawed, but during those moments, by whatever means, something which ran contrary to my decisions and actions, intervened in my behavior and did not permit me to take one more drink.

That force, that thing, whatever it was, superseded all that I was in that instant. It was not subtle, it was absolute. It was not vague, but overwhelming. All of my will could not put that bottle in my mouth.

I am sure there will be various opinions about what it was. In my mind, it was and is, the most concrete evidence I have of a "power greater than myself" stepping in against my will saying, "That's enough Bobby, that's enough."

There wasn't a decision on my part to stop drinking, or to invite or accept God, or any other power into my life that morning. To the contrary, and this is important, this power exhibited itself of it's own accord, whether or not I invited it or agreed to it, which I hadn't. It was not left up to me in any way.

When I came to, hours later, believe me, I needed a drink, and could have gotten one, but I didn't want one. This for me was a dramatic difference. I could not ever remember not wanting a drink. For those of you who can take it or leave it, this may seem absurd, but for me, this was an absolute difference in my behavior and thinking.

On April 1, 1976, I sat in a heap in the home of my old AA sponsor. I was coming down hard. I shook uncontrollably and cried like a baby as the alcohol's effect wore thin.

Every fiber of my being needed a drink, but I wouldn't take one. As I continued to disintegrate before the eyes of his family, my old sponsor asked if I wanted a drink, knowing what I was going through. "No!" I croaked, "I don't want any."

He'd seen this before and knew my history in AA. He'd seen me come in and then go back out, so with some reluctance he tried to believe me when I said I wasn't going to drink.

He asked what I was willing to do to stay sober, and I said, "Anything!" He asked if I would go to a hospital, and I said, "Yes!" It was clear that a "cold turkey" come down was going to be brutal, so he wanted me to be in the hands of someone who could deal with seizures if they occurred.

I'd come down hard before, but this time was going to be the worst. It gets progressively harder each time the body and mind have to go through this process.

I'd gotten sober in his house before, and it had been bad, so this time he wanted to spare his family having to watch me go through it again.

He called another member of AA who showed up within the hour, and together they put me in a car and drove me to emergency at L.A. General.

The hospital did not want to take me, but these two men refused to leave. They sat there with me for hours, and watched me sink ever deeper into distress. Periodically they'd ask me if I needed a drink, saying, "We can get you one if you need it."

"No!" I squeaked, "I don't want any." Finally someone from the hospital asked if I was willing to go by ambulance to Long Beach General, which had a detox center and alcoholism program. I said I would do anything, anything at all.

The two men who took me to the hospital spent most of their day making sure I got to where I needed to go. They missed work and never complained.

They had plenty of reason to believe that this was another time when Bobby Jameson was going to get sober just to end up drunk again, so it has always amazed me that they did what they did, for free, for another sick alcoholic, me.

(part 172) THE TURNING POINT

I sat alone in the car looking at the empty parking lot at Mayfair market. The early morning gray and a sunless sky added to my sense of feeling lost.

I took another drink of scotch and stared at the bottle in my hand. I didn't know where to go or what I was going to do, so I just sat there for a long time and drank.

After burglarizing a number of hotels in the past few months, I felt like a real sleazebag. The outlook for me on this day was pretty grim.

I longed for the good old days when my future looked bright, and none of what I knew now bothered me. I remembered all the places I'd been, things I'd done, and people I'd met before today.

April Fool's Day, and the joke was on me, except it was no joke. This was as real as it got. This is where I'd gotten after 31 years of life. Drinking alone in a car, at six in the morning, feeling like shit for stealing someone's luggage out of their hotel room.

After some time, I started the car and drove out on the street. I told myself to be cool so I wouldn't get busted for drunk driving on top of everything else that was going on.

Twenty minutes later, I pulled up to the curb in front of my old AA sponsor's house and sat there staring at it. It was still early so I was pretty sure no one was up.

I tried to drive away a couple of times, but didn't. Finally I got out of the car and walked up the driveway to the back of the house. I didn't want to wake anyone, so I didn't knock on the door; I just needed a place to think.

Bottle in hand, I checked the back door and found it open. With a sigh of relief I let myself in and headed for the family room and a large soft chair. I'd been in the house many times, so it wasn't a problem maneuvering my way around.

I don't know why I'd decided to come here because in my mind I had no plans to stop drinking. If anything, I wanted to drink myself into total oblivion and even death, but found that accomplishing that was extremely difficult to do.

I settled back in the big chair with a sense of relief and stared off into space. I looked at my life and asked myself what I really thought. What did I think? Where did I stand? My answer was this. I stood in the middle of nowhere.

At that moment, I didn't believe in anything, including myself. I was a disaster in every way in my mind. I thought specifically, and I do mean specifically, "Fuck me, fuck you, fuck life, fuck the planet earth, and fuck God." That was my exact position. I asked myself if I would ever stop getting loaded? "Fuck no," I thought, and tried to take another drink.

I lifted the bottle, but couldn't make my arm put it to my lips. I tried repeatedly, but couldn't do it. It was as if someone had a hold of my arm and wouldn't let me put the bottle in my mouth.

I just couldn't do it, and believe me I tried over and over again. This is the last thing I remember until later that morning, when I came to, and the whole family was staring at me saying something like, "Hey, he's waking up. Bobby's waking up."

My old sponsor's son had gotten up and gone to the bathroom and found me on the floor. He'd thought I was dead and woke up his parents. Together they had picked me up and carried me to another room and put me on a couch or bed, I don't remember.

Now they were all staring at me as I came to, and looking both concerned and relieved at the same time. I began apologizing to them for coming in and being drunk and uninvited, but they said it was OK, and they were just glad I wasn't dead.

I told them how I tried to take a drink and couldn't, but it just came out like blither. My head was turning and I felt like death warmed over. My sense of remorse was overwhelming, and I was ashamed of coming into their house like this.

I'd scared the crap out of them and realized that all I'd been thinking of was myself. That was it. All I ever did was think about myself, that was exactly the problem. Never them, always me. Never her or him, but me, me, me. My feelings, my life, my this, my that. I was tired of the bullshit of being me.

I needed a drink, but didn't want one. I needed to get up and leave, but stayed. I wanted to blame someone, but couldn't. I'd run the gamut. I'd burned down every bridge, used up every favor, and was finally staring in the face of my problem, me.

I couldn't lie to myself any more. I couldn't blame anyone else any more. It was me drinking and using. It was exactly that and nothing more.

It was the getting loaded that had brought me to where I was on April 1, 1976. To the turning point. I remembered that from AA. It said "We stood at the turning point."