“Who dared to be judge, jury, and executioner of his own sick brother?”
The fence
In AA’s second year there were only two groups of alcoholics, “struggling, nameless.” A newcomer knocked at one of them and talked frankly with its oldest member. He was desperate, and he wanted to get well. “But,” he asked, “will you let me join your group? Since I am the victim of another addiction even worse stigmatized than alcoholism, you may not want me among you.” The book never says what it was.
The oldest member called in two others. Turn the man away and he would soon die; let him in, and “only God knows what trouble he’ll brew.” They asked whether they should sacrifice one for the many. Then one of the three said what they really feared was their reputation, and five words kept running through his mind: “What would the Master do?” “Not another word was said.” The newcomer went to work carrying the message, and never troubled anyone with his “other difficulty.” Bill W. later placed the story in Akron, with Dr. Bob as the oldest member.
In “A.A.’s other group,” in New York, “a salesman we shall call Ed” sold automobile polish and preached against God. Told to stop it “or get out,” he picked up the foreword to the book then being written and read its line on membership aloud. “When you guys wrote that sentence, did you mean it, or didn’t you?” So Ed stayed, and stayed sober, until a sales trip in 1938. He wired for money, and nobody came. In a cheap hotel in a neighboring state, his hand brushed the bureau beside the bed and found a Gideon Bible. About two weeks later he turned up on a member’s stairs: “Have you fellows had your morning meditation?”
As AA grew, so did the rules. In 1940 several Cleveland groups wouldn’t let a drinker into a meeting until he had been in a hospital or “talked to by ten men.” From 1943 the office in New York asked the groups to send in their membership rules. Listing them, Bill recalled, took a great many sheets of paper. In the Twelve and Twelve’s telling, “The total list was a mile long.”
The long form of the Traditions in 1946 said the opposite: “Our membership ought to include all who suffer from alcoholism. Hence we may refuse none who wish to recover.” When the Traditions came out, some groups, especially those with long lists of “protective” rules, reacted violently, Bill wrote. But group after group, the rules went.
It’s AA’s second year, at the small group in Akron. A newcomer tells the oldest member he has another addiction, one with a worse stigma than drinking. Will they let him in?
Three of them talk it over. Then one asks: what would the Master do? Nobody says another word, and the man goes to work carrying the message.
In New York, a salesman the Twelve and Twelve calls Ed rails against God. Told to quit or get out, he reads them the line they’ve just written: the only requirement is a desire to stop drinking. Did they mean it? Ed stays.
As AA grows, the groups make rules anyway: men at the door sniffing for liquor; in some groups, no one in until he’s been to a hospital or talked to by ten men; a woman newcomer seated with the wives. When the office collects the rules, the list runs a mile long. Group after group, the rules fall.