“It can be done—even on an oil tanker!”
Letters from sea
Merchant seamen had found AA during the war, as 4 · Ink-stained wretches tells, and their first group formed in Manhattan in June 1944. That December it took over AA’s old clubhouse on West 24th Street, and doctors at some of the wartime rest centers for merchant sailors were steering drinkers toward AA. But a seaman on a long voyage had no group at all.
By March 1946 the captain of an oil tanker was writing to AA’s office. The son of a clergyman, he had served in the First World War and then gone to sea. In the Second, his company lost ship after ship and he lost friends, and he drank. In his last year of drinking he commanded a tanker carrying aviation gasoline, then left his ship in Galveston and was drunk most of the way to New York. “I have few contacts ashore with A.A. so I have to rely on the Book,” he wrote.
The office wrote back, and he kept writing, from the Gulf of Mexico, Baltimore, Oakland and Hong Kong. When his pumpman brought him a quart of cold beer, he put it in his closet. That July he slipped, and ended up in jail in Beaumont, Texas. He was ashamed to tell the office, and owned up a month later. “I don’t think I could have done it without the letters,” he wrote that summer.
In September 1947 he got a ship of his own. That November he sailed from San Francisco on a fourteen-month voyage to the East, in a 29-year-old tanker under the Panamanian flag, the Algonquin, as he named her in 1959. He kept a case of Scotch aboard to entertain port officials. On his desk the Big Book lay beside his daughter’s photograph, as a trap: agents, doctors and customs men asked about it, and when the drinks came round he told them he couldn’t drink, that he was an alcoholic. “I’ve caught two that way in a very short time!”
In Sydney in March 1948 he met another AA member for the first time in four and a half months. “Letters help a lot since I can’t talk A.A. much,” he wrote. On July 14, 1948, between Calcutta and Palembang, he was two years sober.
That fall the Grapevine printed his letters, unsigned, as “A ‘Loner’ at Sea.” In 1949 the office began mailing men at sea a few pages of members’ letters, The Internationalists Round Robin. AA came to know him as Captain Jack S., the captain “in a Standard Oil tanker, spreading A.A. as he sailed,” as Bill W. wrote in 1957. At AA’s convention in St. Louis in 1955, lone members came in “from the far reaches and isolated outposts” to meet each other. In 1976 a Loners meeting merged with the Internationalists, as the Loners-Internationalists Meeting. Captain Jack died in December 1988, at 91, a few months after his 42nd AA anniversary.
It’s March 1946, aboard an oil tanker somewhere at sea. The captain is a clergyman’s son who drank his way through two wars. Now he’s trying to stay sober with no meetings at all, just the Big Book and letters to AA’s office in New York.
His pumpman brings him a quart of cold beer. It goes in the closet. That summer he slips and lands in jail in Beaumont, Texas, and a month later he owns up. Then he keeps writing: from Baltimore, from Oakland, from Hong Kong on Christmas Eve. He keeps the Big Book beside his daughter’s picture, so visitors will ask about it.
In July 1948, between Calcutta and Sumatra, he’s two years sober. His letters become a Grapevine series, and then a meeting by mail that’s still going.