Big book broadway edition third

The Big Book of Broadway — 5th Edition has been added to your cart. Go to Cart. Unable to add to Wish List You are not logged in. Click here to log in. For fast, easy shipping in the EU, please visit MusicRoom. Visit MusicRoom. Though none of these principles had the force of rules or laws, they had become so widely accepted by that they were confirmed by our first International Conference held at Cleveland.

Today the remarkable unity of A. While the internal difficulties of our adolescent. For this There were two principal reasons: the large numbers of recoveries, and reunited homes. Another reason for the wide acceptance of A. Without such support, A. Some of the recommendations of A. Neither does A. Alcohol being no respecter of persons, we are an accurate cross section of America, and in distant lands, the same democratic evening up process is now going on.

More than fifteen percent of us are women. In all probability, we shall never be able to touch more than a fair fraction of the alcohol problem in all its ramifications. Upon therapy for the alcoholic himself, we surely have no monopoly.

Surveys of groups in the United States and Canada indicate that A. Women now make up more than one fourth of the membership; among newer members, the proportion is nearly one third. Seven percent of the A. The basic principles of the A. The Twelve Steps that summarize the program may be called Los Dose Pasosin one country, les Douse Etapes in another, but they trace exactly the same path to recovery that was blazed by the earliest members of Alcoholics Anonymous.

In spite of the great increase in the size and the span of this Fellowship, at its core it remains simple and personal. Convincing testimony must surely come from medical men who have had experience with the sufferings of our members and have witnessed our return to health. A well known doctor, chief physician at a nationally prominent hospital specializing in alcoholic and drug addiction, gave Alcoholics Anonymous this letter: To Whom It May Concern: I have specialized in the treatment of alcoholism for many years.

As part of his rehabilitation he commenced to present his conceptions to other alcoholics, impressing upon them that they must do likewise with still others. This has become the basis of a rapidly growing fellowship of these men and their families.

This man and over one hundred others appear to have recovered. I personally know scores of cases who were of the type with whom other methods had failed completely. These men may well have a remedy for thousands of such situations.

You may rely absolutely on anything they say about themselves. Very truly yours,. In this statement he confirms what we who have suffered alcoholic torture must believe that the body of the alcoholic is quite as abnormal as his mind. It did not satisfy us to be told that we could not control our drinking just because we were maladjusted to life, that we were in full flight from reality, or were outright mental defectives.

But we are sure that our bodies were sickened as well. As laymen, our opinion as to its soundness may, of course, mean little. It explains many things for which we cannot otherwise account. Though we work out our solution on the spiritual as well as an altruistic plane, we favor hospitalization for the alcoholic who is very jittery or befogged. The doctor writes: The subject presented in this book seems to me to be of paramount importance to those afflicted with alcoholic addiction.

There was, therefore, a sense of real satisfaction when I was asked to contribute a few words on a subject which is covered in such masterly detail in these pages. Later, he requested the privilege of being allowed to tell his story to other patients here and with some misgiving, we consented.

The cases we have followed through have been most interesting; in fact, many of them are amazing. They believe in themselves, and still more in the Power which pulls chronic alcoholics back from the gates of death.

Of course an alcoholic ought to be freed from his physical. Frothy emotional appeal seldom suffices. The message which can interest and hold these alcoholic people must have depth and weight. We feel, after many years of experience, that we have found nothing which has contributed more to the rehabilitation of these men than the altruistic movement now growing up among them.

Men and women drink essentially because they like the effect produced by alcohol. The sensation is so elusive that, while they admit it is injurious, they cannot after a time differentiate the true from the false. They are restless, irritable and discontented, unless they can again experience. This is repeated over and over, and unless this person can experience an entire psychic change There is very little hope of his recovery. On the other hand and strange as this may seem to those who do not understand once a psychic change has occurred, the very same person who seemed doomed, who had so many problems he despaired of ever solving them, suddenly finds himself easily able to control his desire for alcohol, the only effort necessary being that required to follow a few simple rules.

I have everything to live for! I must stop, but I cannot! You must help me! Although he gives all that is in him, it often is not enough. One feels that something more than human power is needed to pro- duce the essential psychic change. Though the aggregate of recoveries resulting from psychiatric effort is consider- able, we physicians must admit we have made little impression upon the problem as a whole.

Many types do not respond to the ordinary psychological approach. I do not hold with those who believe that alcoholism is entirely a problem of mental control. I have had many men who had, for example, worked a period of months on some problem or business deal which was to be settled on a certain date, favorably to them. They took a drink a day or so prior to the date, and then the phenomenon of craving at once became paramount to all other interests so that the.

The classification of alcoholics seems most difficult, and in much detail is outside the scope of this book. There are, of course, the psychopaths who are emotionally unstable.

We are all familiar with this type. They are always "going on the wagon for keeps. There is the type of man who is unwilling to admit that he cannot take a drink. He plans various ways of drinking. He changes his brand or his environment. There is the type who always believes that after being entirely free from alcohol for a period of time he can take a drink without danger.

Then There are types entirely normal in every respect except in the effect alcohol has upon them. They are often able, intelligent, friendly people. This phenomenon, as we have suggested, may be the manifestation of an allergy which differentiates these people, and sets them apart as a distinct entity.

It has never been, by any treatment with which we are familiar, permanently eradicated. The only relief we have to suggest is entire abstinence. This immediately precipitates us into a seething caldron of debate. Much has been written pro and con, but among physicians, the general opinion seems to be that most chronic alcoholics are doomed.

What is the solution? Perhaps I can best answer this by relating one of my experiences. About one year prior to this experience a man was brought in to be treated for chronic alcoholism.

He had but partially recovered from a gastric hemorrhage and seemed to be a case of pathological mental deterioration. He had lost everything worth while in life and was only living, one might say, to drink. He frankly admitted and believed that for him There was no hope. Following the elimination of alcohol, There was found to be no permanent brain injury.

He accepted the plan outlined in this book. One year later he called to see me, and I experienced a very strange sensation. I knew the man by name, and partly recognized his features, but there all resemblance ended. I talked with him for some time, but was not able to bring myself to feel that I had known him before. To me he was a stranger, and so he left me. A long time has passed with no return to alcohol. When I need a mental uplift, I often think of another case brought in by a physician prominent in New York City.

He was rescued by a searching party, and, in desperate condition, brought to me. Following his physical rehabilitation, he had a talk with me in which he frankly stated he thought the treatment a waste of effort, unless I could assure him, which no one ever had, that in the future he would have the "will power" to resist the impulse to drink. However, he did become "sold" on the ideas contained in this book. He has not had a drink for a great many years.

I see him now and then and he is as fine a specimen of manhood as one could wish to meet. I earnestly advise every alcoholic to read this book through, and though perhaps he came to scoff, he may re- main to pray. Silkworth, MD. I was part of life at last, and in the midst of the excitement I discovered liquor. I forgot the strong warnings and the prejudices of my people concerning drink. In time we sailed for "Over There. We landed in England. Much moved, I wandered outside.

My attention was caught by a doggerel on an old tombstone: "Here lies a Hampshire Grenadier Who caught his death Drinking cold small beer. A good soldier is ne'er forgot Whether he dieth by musket Or by pot. My talent for leadership, I imagined, would place me at the head of vast enterprises which I would manage with the utmost assurance.

I took a night law course, and obtained employment as investigator for a surety company. The drive for success was on. My work took me about Wall Street and little by little I became interested in the market. Many people lost money but some became very rich. Why not I? I studied economics and business as well as law.

At one of the finals I was too drunk to think or write. Though my drinking was not yet continuous, it disturbed my wife. We had long talks when I would still her forebodings by telling her that men of genius conceived their best projects when drunk; that the most majestic constructions philosophic thought were so derived. By the time I had completed the course, I knew the law was not for me. The inviting maelstrom of Wall Street had me in its grip. Out of this ally of drink and speculation, I commenced to forge the weapon that one day would turn in its flight like a boomerang and all but cut me to ribbons.

It went into certain securities, then cheap and rather unpopular. I rightly imagined that they would some day have a great rise. I had developed a theory that most people lost money in stocks through ignorance of markets. I discovered many more reasons later on.

Our friends thought a lunacy commission should be appointed. Perhaps they were right. I had some success at speculation, so we had a little money, but we once worked on a farm for a month to avoid drawing on our small capital. That was the last honest manual labor on my part for many a day. We covered the whole eastern United States in a year. I had arrived. Drink was taking an important and exhilarating part in my life.

There was loud talk in the jazz places uptown. Everyone spent in thousands and chattered in millions. Scoffers could scoff and be damned. My drinking assumed more serious proportions, con tinuing all day and almost every night.

There were many unhappy scenes in our sumptuous apartment. There had been no real infidelity, for loyalty to my wife, helped at times by extreme drunkenness, kept me out to those scrapes. In I contracted golf fever. We went at once to the country, my wife to applaud while I started out to overtake Walter Hagen.

Liquor caught up with me much faster than I came up behind Walter. I began to be jittery in the morning. Golf permitted drinking. It was fun to carom around the exclusive course which had inspired such awe in me as a lad. The local banker watched me whirl fat checks in and out of his till with amused skepticism. Abruptly in October hell broke loose on the New York stock exchange. After one of those days of inferno, I wobbled from a hotel bar to a brokerage office.

It was eight o'clock, five hours after the market closed. The ticker still clattered. It had been 52 that morning. I was finished and so were many friends. The papers reported men jumping to death from the towers of High Finance. I would not jump. I went back to the bar. My friends had dropped several million since ten o'clock so what? Tomorrow was another day. As I drank, the old fierce determination to win came back.

Next morning I telephoned a friend in Montreal. He had plenty of money left and thought I had better go to Canada. By the following spring we were living in our accustomed style. I felt like Napoleon returning from Elba.

No St. Helena for me! But drinking caught up with me again and my generous friend had to let me go. This time we stayed broke. We went to live with my wife's parents. I found a job; then lost it as the result of a brawl with a taxi driver. Mercifully, no one could guess that I was to have no real employment for five years, or hardly draw a sober breath.

Liquor ceased to be a luxury; it became a necessity. Sometimes a small deal would net a few hundred dollars, and I would pay my bills at the bars and delicatessens. This went on endlessly, and I began to waken very early in the morning shaking violently.

Nevertheless, I still thought I could control the situation, and there were periods of sobriety which renewed my wife's hope.

Gradually things got worse. Then I got a promising business opportunity. Stocks were at the low point of , and I had somehow formed a group to buy. I was to share generously in the profits. Then I went on a prodigious bender, and that chance vanished. I woke up. This had to be stopped. I saw I could not take so much as one drink. I was through forever. And so I did.

Shortly afterward I came home drunk. There had been no fight. Where had been my high resolve? I simply didn't know.

It hadn't even come to mind. Someone had pushed a drink my way, and I had taken it. Was I crazy? Renewing my resolve, I tried again. Some time. I could laugh at the gin mills. Now I had what it takes! As the whisky rose to my head I told myself I would manage better next time, but I might as well get good and drunk then.

And I did. The remorse, horror and hopelessness of the next morning are unforgettable. The courage to do battle was not there. My brain raced uncontrollably and There was a terrible sense of impending calamity. I hardly dared cross the street, lest I collapse and be run down by an early morning truck, for it was scarcely daylight.

An all night place supplied me with a dozen glasses of ale. My writhing nerves were stilled at last. A morning paper told me the market had gone to hell again. Well, so had I. The market would recover, but I wouldn't. That was a hard thought. Should I kill myself? No not now. Then a mental fog settled down. Gin would fix that. The mind and body are marvelous mechanisms, for mine endured this agony two more years.

Sometimes I stole from my wife's slender purse when the morning terror and madness were on me. There were flights from city to country and back, as my wife and I sought escape. Then came the night when the physical and mental torture was so hellish I feared I would burst through my window, sash and all.

Somehow I managed to drag my mattress to a lower floor, lest I suddenly leap. A doctor came. Next day found me drinking both gin and sedative. This combination soon landed me on the rocks. People feared for my sanity. So did I. I could eat little or nothing when drinking, and I was forty pounds under weight. Hydrotherapy and mild exercise helped much.

Best of all, I met a kind doctor who explained that though certainly selfish and foolish, I had been seriously ill, bodily and mentally.

My incredible behavior in the face of a desperate desire to stop was explained. For three or four months the goose hung high. I went to town regularly and even made a little money. But it was not, for the frightful day came when I drank once more.

After a time I returned to the hospital. My weary and despairing wife was informed that it would all end with heart failure during delirium tremens, or I would develop a wet brain, perhaps within a year. We would soon have to give me over to the undertaker of the asylum. They did not need to tell me. I knew, and almost welcomed the idea. It was a devastating blow to my. I, who had thought so well of myself and my abilities, of my capacity to surmount obstacles, was cornered at last.

Now I was to plunge into the dark, joining that endless procession of sots who had gone on before. I thought of my poor wife. There had been much happiness after all.

What would I not give to make amends. But that was over now. Quicksand stretched around me in all directions. I had met my match. I had been overwhelmed. Alcohol was my master. Trembling, I stepped from the hospital a broken man. Fear sobered me for a bit. How dark it is before the dawn! In reality that was the beginning of my last debauch. I was soon to be catapulted into what I like to call the fourth dimension of existence.

I was to know happiness, peace, and usefulness, in a way of life that is incredibly more wonderful as time passes. Near the end of that bleak November, I sat drinking in my kitchen. With a certain satisfaction I reflected There was enough gin concealed about the house to carry me through that night and the next day. My wife was at work. I wondered whether I dared hide a full bottle of gin near the head of our bed. I would need it before daylight.

My musing was interrupted by the telephone. The cheery voice of an old school friend asked if he might. He was sober. It was years since I could remember his coming to New York in that condition. I was amazed. Best Latin Songs Ever. The Harold Arlen Songbook. Community Song Book. PreTime Hymns. Seesaw Vocal Selections. Jazz Keyboard for Pianists and Non Broadway for Two.

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