“They had behaved like a bunch of actors sent out by some Broadway casting agency.”
The assignment
AA reached Philadelphia in 1940 with a salesman, Jimmy B., who had gone there for a job, and two of the city’s doctors, A. Wiese Hammer and C. Dudley Saul, were soon singing its praises to a friend: Judge Curtis Bok, one of the owners of the Saturday Evening Post. That winter Bok called in Jack Alexander, a reporter known as hard-nosed, who had just finished an exposé of the New Jersey rackets. Alexander hesitated, Pass It On says, until he heard that AA “had connections with both religion and Rockefeller.”
Four members called on him at his apartment. They were good-looking and well dressed, he remembered, drank nothing but Coca-Cola, and spun yarns about their drinking. When they left, he was sure his leg was being pulled. Bill W., whom he met the next day at AA’s office on Vesey Street, struck him as “a very disarming guy,” but so frank about his own past and his mistakes that Alexander thought him “either incredibly naive or a bit stupid.”
Bill had a plan of his own. “We gave him our records, opened the books,” he wrote, introduced him to the trustees and to members of every kind, and showed him AA from New York and Philadelphia to Chicago, by way of Akron and Cleveland. Though he was not an alcoholic, Bill wrote, Alexander soon became “a true A.A. convert in spirit.”
Two things worried Bill. He asked Alexander to leave out the Oxford Group if he could, since Frank Buchman’s remarks about Hitler had led to charges that it was pro-Nazi (Stockbridge, in What Not to Do, tells them), or at least to say nothing that stung: “After all, we owe our lives to the group.” And the Post wanted photographs. “No pictures, no article,” the editors said, as Bill remembered it. Over the protests of fearful members, he gave them the pictures.
The article, with the subtitle “Freed Slaves of Drink, Now They Free Others,” led the issue of March 1, 1941, which reached the newsstands on February 24. It called Bill “Griffith” and Dr. Bob “Armstrong,” and it printed the Alcoholic Foundation’s mailing address. In Toledo a new member was handed a two-dollar roll of nickels and sent from newsstand to newsstand until he had bought 40 copies.
It’s the winter of 1940, in a reporter’s apartment. Jack Alexander of the Saturday Evening Post has just finished exposing the New Jersey rackets, and now one of the magazine’s owners wants to know about Alcoholics Anonymous. Four of its members come to see him. They’re well dressed, they drink Coca-Cola, and they tell wild stories about their drinking. When they leave, Alexander is sure he’s been had. They acted like a bunch of actors from a casting agency.
So the members take him in hand: their records, their books, their founders, their meetings, from New York to Chicago. A month later he sits down to write, and he believes them.
In March 1941 the Post prints his story, with the address of AA’s office. By the end of that year AA has four times the members it started with.