SEEKING HELP

Back in 1993—way back then—by the Grace of God, I went to get help. I was behaving like a real asshole, yelling at people who didn’t agree with me—including my own wife and kids (and even the dog). I was a mess but I couldn’t see it. One day—and I really mean "by the Grace of God"—I finally got a glimpse of my behavior. I was standing in the front hall of my house yelling down at my older son, who was eleven years old then, and from the scared look on his face I saw that whatever he had "done wrong" wasn’t equal to my horrible reaction.

It was this quick glimpse that got me to seek help.

I had seen an article in the local paper, the Westport News, for an event to be held in the vacant building which for years was the location of "The Ships Lantern" Westport’s most notorious bar—the one often mentioned in AA meetings. The "Ships" had been the sight of many drunken nights for me. It probably was no co-incidence that the event which was to begin my healing process was held there!

A group of Vietnam Vets who called themselves the "Vietnam Veteran’s Assistance Foundation" was sponsoring a talk by Kitty Kelly a New York television entertainment reporter who had decided to quit her job and open an orphanage in Saigon for Amer-Asian children—the illegitimate kids of American Soldiers and Vietnamese woman.

With the exception of my buddy from Nam Walter Jackson and my former Commanding Officer Joe Hebert, I had not spoken with another Vietnam Vet since the war. I had gone completely underground. So showing up at the Ships was a huge leap for me. I’m sure that by having the meeting in familiar territory was part of God’s plan.

The Saturday of the event, I drove around the block a few times peering in the window. I noticed Kitty Kelly’s well-known head of curly silver-gray hair. I could also make out the figures of men standing around talking.

As shy as I was at that time, about meeting new people and heading into new territory, it truly WAS A MIRACLE that I dared myself to open the door to the old bar. But that’s all it took—that one simple act of opening the door.

Instantly I was greeted by Charlie Graney, the friendly and out going leader of the group. I don’t know exactly what it was I said to him—actually, I think it was nothing at all. It was most likely the angry, tired, lonely, fed-up frightened look on my face that gave me away in an instant. Of course I was a Vietnam Veteran.

"You’re in the right place," is what Charlie said. And I felt—I knew—that my healing journey had begun…

(to be continued)