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> From: NewParadigmFund@aol.com
> Date: November 11, 2010 9:17:06 AM EST
> To: perowan@gmail.com, skovaleski@hunton.com, tjd@larashullmay.com, cjtfarrell@gmail.com
> , dcduplessis@mlaworldwide.com, peter.judge@cox.net, icelandfish@msn.com
> , nick_yacoub@yahoo.com, azizasis@yahoo.com, gregtafe@yahoo.com, dshapiro@umw.edu
> , chriskennemer@gmail.com, jeff@motternmasonry.com
> Subject: Fwd: Today, Wednesday, November 10, 2010 Note
> Anniversaries!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!...
>

>
>
>
> November 11: a certain Armistice Day with Bill W.
>
> This is November, the 11th month of the year;
>
> • The 11th Tradition reads: Our public relations policy is ba
> sed on attraction rather than promotion; we need always maintain per
> sonal anonymity at the level of press, radio, and films.
> • The 11th Step: Sought through prayer and meditation to impr
> ove our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying onl
> y for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.
> • The 11th Promise: We will intuitively know how to handle si
> tuations which used to baffle us.
> _________
> A.A. Thought for the Day
>
> When I think of all who have gone before me, I realize that I am
> only one, not very important, person. What happens to me is not so
> very important after all. And A.A. has taught me to be more
> outgoing, to seek friendship by going at least halfway, to have a
> sincere desire to help. I have more self-respect now that I have
> less sensitiveness. I have found that the only way to live
> comfortably with myself is to take a real interest in others. Do I
> realize that I am not so important after all?
>
> Meditation for the Day
>
> As you look back over your life, it is not too difficult to believe
> that what you went through was for a purpose, to prepare you for
> some valuable work in life. Everything in your life may well have
> been planned by God to make you of some use in the world. Each
> person's life is like the pattern of a mosaic. Each thing that
> happened to you is like one tiny stone in the mosaic, and each tiny
> stone fits into the perfected pattern of the mosaic of your life,
> which has been designed by God.
>
> Prayer for the Day
>
> I pray that I may not need to see the whole design of my life. I
> pray that I may trust the Designer.
>
>
>
>
>
> A certain Armistice Day with Bill W.
>
> On November 11, 1934, Armistice Day, the day set aside to
> commemorate the end of the Great War, the stock market was
> closed, but Lois had to work, and Bill decided to occupy himself
> with a round of golf at a public course on Staten Island.
>
> To get there, he first had to take a subway into lower Manhattan,
> then walk to the ferry terminal. Once on the Staten Island side, a
> bus would take him halfway across the island to the golf course.
> The amount and variety of travel involved may itself have been a
> proximate cause of the debacle that followe. Almost certainly, the
> fact that, by awful coincidence, Bill’s seatmate on the bus was carr
> ying a rifle also played a role. Bill would say later that the rifl
> e reminded him of one he had had as a boy. Traveling with a strange
> r with a rifle on Armistice Day must have put him in mind of other r
> ifles as well.
>
> When Bill struck up a conversation with the man, he learned that his
> new friend would be celebrating Armistice Day with some target
> practice. His destination was a rifle rage even farther down the
> island thanthe golf course. As they talked, the bus was struck from
> behind by another bus. No one was hurt, but the bus they were on
> was damaged badly enough that they had to wait for a substitute
> bus. While they waited, Bill’s new friend suggested they visit a ne
> arby bar.
>
> The man ordered scotch. When Bill ordered ginger ale, the man asked
> him why he wasn’t drinking. In reply, Bill launched into a long-win
> ded presentation of Silkworth’s theory about alcoholism as a mental
> obsession accompanied by a physical alergy. He also recounted in so
> me detail the difficulties he’d had before coming to the conclusion
> that he simply couldn’t drink any amount of alcohol, ever.
>
> The substitute bus arrived, and the men continued their journey
> uneventfully, arriving at the stop near the golf course around
> lunchtime. The man with the rifle disembarked to take another bus
> to the rifle range. At his suggestion, they decided to have lunch
> together at an inn near the bus stop.
>
> Bill had another ginger ale with his sandwiches, and his friend had
> another scotch. As they were about to leave, Bill fell into a
> reverie about the wonderful time he had had on the first Armistice
> Day, which he had celebrated in a small French town. The bartender
> chose this moment to come over with two scotches and invite them to
> have an Armistice Day drink on the house.
>
> Bill downed the scotch without a moment’s thought. The man with him
> could not believe it. “You must be crazy!” he said. Bill,
> aware too late of what he had done replied in the affirmative. The
> man went on to his target practice, but Bill continued to drink.
>
> Somehow, he eventually made his way to the golf course. He
> purchased a bucket of balls at the course’s driving range, but his s
> hots were so erratic and he raised so many divots that he was ejecte
> d. Bill kept drinking. He finally arrived home at five o’clock in
> the morning, so drunk that he fell in the entryway under the stars a
> nd gashed his head.
>
> Lois, who had not slept all night worrying about him, raced
> downstairs as soon as she heard the commotion. She found her
> husband on the floor, unconscious and bleeding badly. His golf
> clubs were still over his shoulder, a sad reminder of her hope
> for a new life when she had bought him the putting green.
>
> I copied this excerpt from Francis Hartigan’s biography of Bill W.,
> pages 55- 56.