April 1986
CLOSING TALK – 36th General Service Conference
Bob P___, G.S.O. Senior Advisor
This is my 18th General Service Conference, the first two as a director of the Grapevine and A.A.W.S., followed by four as a general service trustee. In 1972 I rotated out completely–only to be called back two years later as general manager of G.S.O., the service job I held until late 1984. Since the International Convention last year, of course, I have been senior advisor. This is also my last Conference so this is a special moment for me, an emotionally charged experience, so I have taken the liberty of writing out this talk.
Since this is listed on your agenda as a closing talk, you might reasonably expect it to relate to what has taken place at this Conference. But it won’t. I’m not even going to refer to this fine Conference theme, except to say it is very appropriate, and I will express my personal thoughts on
A.A.’s future in a few minutes.
I wish I had time to express my thanks to everyone–in this room and elsewhere–to whom I am indebted for my sobriety and for the joyous life with which I have been blessed for the past nearly 25 years. But since this is obviously impossible, I will fall back on the Arab saying that Bill quoted in his last message, “I thank you for your life.” For without your lives, I most certainly would have no life at all, much less the incredibly rich life I have enjoyed.
I came into A.A. in 1961, so I have lived through nearly half of our Fellowship’s history. And with each passing year, I feel more and more blessed to have come in when many of the early giants of A.A. were still around. I knew Bill, of course, and literally sat at his feet as he spun his famous “bedtime story.” I heard Bernard Smith deliver his last talk at the Miami International Convention. Brilliant and articulate, his contributions were tremendous. Marty M___ helped me in my early sobriety and I even lunched frequently at the ANSA Club with “Popsie” M___ who took Marty to her first meeting at 182 Clinton Street. Also with Bert T____ whose loan from his mortgaged shop enabled the Big Book to be published. It was Dr. Harry Tiebout who sent me to A.A.
They are all gone now and legions more like them. The memories bring tears to my eyes. But there is one remarkable A.A. pioneer still with us today – Dr. Jack Norris. He has been a tower of strength for over 36 years. He has lived more A.A. history than the rest of us put together; indeed he not only lived it, he helped make it. Cherish him. We will not see his like again.
The other person here I must thank by name is John B___. He came on board at G.S.O. in May 1984 and in due course succeeded me. Thanks to his tolerance and understanding, the succession has been effected without a harsh word or an uncomfortable situation between us. John has a fine mind and a wealth of management know-how, and he is a very active and faithful member of A.A. We are fortunate to have him in this period of some serious problems. G.S.O.’s affairs are in good hands.
Some years ago, the Conference had as its theme “Service — the Heart of A.A.” If service is indeed the heart of A.A., then truly our staff members are the heart of service. Working with them these past 12 years has been not only a unique privilege, but one of richest pleasures of my A.A. life. I will always be grateful to them for having taught me so much — and for giving me so much support and love. And when I speak of the staff, I am, of course, including those devoted and able people at the Grapevine.
Nor can I let this opportunity pass without thanking another group of people: our nonalcoholic friends and coworkers at G.S.O. Dennis Manders and Nell Wing, with both of whom I have just been spending considerable time in connection with my current and continuing project of writing the in-depth history of our Fellowship. Ed Gordon and Madeline Whitlock Jordan and Shirley Grant and Dotty McGinity. Yes, and Tony and Elizabeth and Lynda (whom you all know!) and all the others to whom we all owe so much. For the rest of my life, when I refer to these extraordinary, dedicated friends, I’ll write “Nonalcoholic” with a capital “N.” They, too, have given me the great gift of their friendship and love.
Tomorrow we will say good-bye to our rotating trustees — an occasion that almost always breaks me up, because we at G.S.O. get to know the trustees so well. I have worked with literally scores of trustees over the years, and some of them are my dearest personal friends today. I am particularly grateful to have worked with such legendary Class A trustees as the great Austin McCormick, Archie Roosevelt, Travis Dancey, Arthur Miles, Mike Alexander and Jim Estelle. I had the unique opportunity to report to three chairmen of the General Service Board: Dr. Jack; Milton Maxwell, a dear man who advanced immeasurably the understanding of A.A. by professionals; and our present able, sensitive and dedicated chairman, Gordon Patrick. All three have given me generous support, have helped me grow and have enriched my life.
Now, what of you, the delegates? During my time on the boards and at G.S.O., I’ve known and worked with about 1,700 of you. You, of course, are what service is all about. You’re the cornerstone of the whole service structure-not just here in this room, but back in your areas where the day-to-day work is done. Two past delegates–delegates who never went on to trusteeship and are, in fact, junior to me in sobriety–are today my valued and beloved A.A. sponsors: one in the East and one out West.
Actually, neither credit nor gratitude can be apportioned among the different kinds of service workers–so much to this group, so much to that. All are essential, regardless of title. In fact, the most important title in Alcoholics Anonymous–the only one that really counts–is “A.A. member.” As they say, “The highest you can get in A.A. is sober.”
What is true throughout A.A. is that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. Just as in an A.A. group, a bunch of sick people are transformed into a healing force that has electrified the world, and a bunch of society’s losers are transformed into winners–so all of us in this room–delegates, trustees, staff and directors–are more than just the sum of ourselves. We are transformed into the group conscience of A.A. as a whole. We are also the torchbearers for those who have gone before. Just as they passed the torch to us, so shall we pass it on to service workers yet to come.
What we have done here this week rests solidly on the actions of the 35 other Conferences that went before us. Likewise, what we did here will surely affect what future Conferences will do. Thus, all of us are part of the continuum of A.A. history. To some small degree then–as stated in our Conference theme–each of us is responsible for A.A.’s future.
Those last remarks are a direct quote from the closing talk which my predecessor, Bob H____, delivered nine years ago. Some indication of his remarkable prescience and wisdom! Indeed, there are a handful of people in this room who may have realized by now what a sneaky trick I have pulled here: I have lifted Bob Hitchins’ own closing talk almost in its entirety, adapting it as my own, with my own experiences and my own feelings. Bob was only the third paid manager of G.S.O. after Bill turned the job over (Hank G____ and Herb M____ went before him); I was the fourth and you, John, are the fifth. Bob was also my service sponsor and my friend, whom I loved very much and to whom I owe probably the largest debt of gratitude of all. When
I heard him deliver his talk to the 1977 Conference, I knew through my tears, what my own closing talk would be. Isn’t that the way A.A. works?
But now let me conclude by offering my own thoughts about A.A. ‘s future. I have no truck with those bleeding deacons who decry every change and view the state of the Fellowship with pessimism and alarm. On the contrary, from my nearly quarter century’s perspective, I see Alcoholics Anonymous as larger, healthier, more dynamic, faster growing, more global, more serviceminded, more back-to-basics, and more spiritual–by far–than when I came through the doors of my first meeting in Greenwich, Connecticut, just one year after the famous Long Beach Convention. A.A. has flourished beyond the wildest dreams of founding members–though perhaps not of Bill himself, for he was truly visionary.
I echo those who feel that if this Fellowship ever falters or fails, it will not be because of any outside cause. No, it will not be because of treatment centers or professionals in the field or non-Conference-approved literature, or young people or the dually-addicted or even the druggies trying to come to our closed meetings. If we stick close to our Traditions and our Concepts and our Warranties–and if we keep an open mind and an open heart–we can deal with these and any other problems that we have or ever will have. If we ever falter and fail, it will be simply because of us. It will be because we can’t control our own egos, nor get along well enough with each other. It will be because we have too much fear and rigidity and not enough trust and common sense.
I mentioned rigidity. If you were to ask me what is the greatest danger facing Alcoholics Anonymous today, I would have to answer: the growing rigidity that is so apparent to me and many others. The increasing demand for absolute answers to nit-picking questions. Pressure for G.S.O. to “enforce” our Traditions. Screening alcoholics at closed meetings. Prohibiting non-Conference-approved literature, i. e., “banning books.” Laying more and more rules on groups and members. The decline of the church at the end of the Middle Ages was symbolized by their neglect of human suffering and the souls of sinners to argue in their conclaves over “how many angels can stand on the head of a pin.” My friends, at our conclave this week, I heard some arguments over “how many angels can stand on. the head of a pin.”
And in this trend toward rigidity, we are drifting farther and farther away from our co-founders. Bill, in particular, must be spinning in his grave, for I remind you that he was perhaps the most permissive person I ever met. One of his favorite sayings was “Every group has the right to be wrong;” he was maddeningly tolerant of his critics; and he had absolute faith that faults in A.A. were self-correcting.
And I believe this too, so in the final analysis, we’re not going to fall apart. We ‘won’t falter or fail. At the 1970 International Convention in Miami, I was in the audience on that Sunday morning when Bill made his last brief. public appearance–only a few minutes, really. He was too ill to take his scheduled part in any other Convention event, but now, unannounced, on Sunday morning, he was wheeled up from the back of the stage in a wheelchair, attached with tubes to an oxygen tank. Wearing a ridiculous bright orange host committee blazer, he heaved his angular body to his feet and grasped the podium–and all pandemonium broke loose. I thought the thunderous applause and the cheering would never stop, tears streaming down every cheek. Finally, in a firm voice like his old self, Bill spoke a few gracious sentences about the huge crowd (about one-fifth the number who were in Montreal) and the outpouring of love and the many members there from overseas and (as I remember) with these words: “As I look out over this crowd, I know that Alcoholics Anonymous will live a thousand years–if it is God’s will.”
That’s precisely how I feel as we part this afternoon. A.A. will indeed and surely live a thousand years. If it is God’s will!
